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imaginespazzi · 10 months ago

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Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance.

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away.

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night.

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily.

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved.

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else.

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone.

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?”

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around.

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet.

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late.

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard.

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave.

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay.

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months.

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question.

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away.

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter.

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart.

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine.

Until she’s not.

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine.

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck.

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down.

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out.

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers.

“What?”

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home.

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind.

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight.

April 2033

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age.

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word.

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her.

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen.

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother.

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes.

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room.

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it.

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse.

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too.

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever.

“Why would this be about Clémence?”

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again.

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown.

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen.

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks.

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?”

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave.

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off.

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had.

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years.

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen.

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown.

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again.

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it.

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp.

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could, “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze.

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever.

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too.

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back.

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk.

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug.

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face.

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs.

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests.

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women.

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins.

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking.

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world.

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette.

“Clém-” Azzi sighs.

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home.

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand.

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence.

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip.

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless.

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up.

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly.

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently.

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns.

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air.

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door.

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles.

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand.

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally.

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow.

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously.

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much.

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound.

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells.

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right.

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi.

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first.

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder.

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs.

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice.

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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exhaslo · 1 year ago

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Can you do like a God Miguel and devil fem reader, this is my first request so please no hate 😭 Oh yeah AND SMUTTTTT

That man is basically a God, haha. Usually I see this request the opposite way, so this is going to be so much fun!

Warning: MINORS DNI, Smut, teasing, taunting, handsy, oral sex (m receiving), riding, rough sex, dirty talk, doggy style, creampie

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"C'mon, Big Boy. Afraid to show a lil ol' devil like me what a taste of Heaven looks like?"

This was a sight to behold. No one had ever dared to question or even go against Miguel's ruling. There was a reason why the two dimensions were split between Heaven and Hell. There were a whole list of reasons.

One of them, being devils like you.

You gave a wicked smile towards Miguel, the God of Heaven himself, the ruler of all Angels. Hell, the very man whom separated the Angels and Devils. He was one who controlled all. One who could change the course of fate itself.

"What's a Sinner like me to do in order to enter your pearly white gates of Heaven?" You cooed, getting on your knees.

"You have already made your choices in life. You must live with the consequences of your actions." Miguel spoke.

You gave a pout, pressing your lower lip out while pressing your breasts together.

"But, it wasn't all my fault! I'm here to confess my sins and do right. Please, give me a chance? Isn't that what Angels do? Give second chances?" You begged.

Miguel grunted lowly as he shooed his Angels away. They had started to whisper amongst themselves because sadly, you were right. Miguel disliked it when a devil would sway the good hearted with cruel twists of truth.

"You wish to be redeemed? How do you plan on doing so?" Miguel asked. You bit your lower lip, finding his scowl hot,

"I'll do anything."

-------

Miguel sure had you work your way into heaven. As God, he personally oversaw your progress. Every human you helped; everyone good deed you did; everything was in his sight.

Even your advances. You were sly as you did your job. Poking your ass out slightly; accidently having a tit pop out; hell even using the old lollipop trick. You were doing whatever it took to try and sway Miguel in your favor.

"Hm, excellent work. Perhaps I just might consider your arrival into heaven after a few thousand more good deeds." Miguel hummed. You felt your eye twitch,

"Thousand? Isn't there anything more..." You slid your hand down Miguel's chest, "Intense I could do?"

"Have you forgotten who I am?"

"I haven't," You whispered in his ear, slowly lowering your tank top, "I know that you rule over everything. You see everything while no one can see you. You poor stressed God."

"I'm not stressed." Miguel huffed as he glanced around the human world, "I know what you've really been after this whole time."

"Hm? You have?" You cooed, "Then why entertain me?"

"Because even a God gets bored."

In the next second, both you and Miguel were in what looked like a human hotel room. A smile curled upon your lips as you spread your legs on the bed, slowly removing your top. You gave Miguel a seductive look, motioning him over,

"So bored that you'll entertain a devil?" Miguel scoffed,

"So bored that one might say I am stressed." He tried to change the topic, but sighed, "Sometimes even I grow jealous of how easily humans find pleasure."

You raised a brow, your smile growing wider. You sat up, reaching for Miguel. Your hands stroking down his chest as you threw your top across the room.

"Allow me to give you a show then?" You whispered.

Swapping places with Miguel, you proceeded to give him a little lap dance. As you moved your ass against his crotch, you started to take your bra off. For a God like him to entertain a devil like you, oh this was going to be good.

You nibbled against his ear as you took off you pants, revealing no underwear. A chuckle escaped your lips as you glanced down towards Miguel's erection.

"Hm, does mini God wanna play?" You cooed.

"Perhaps I could show you what heaven tastes like after all." Miguel played along.

Oh, that made you wet. You hands were all over Miguel now. You just had to strip him, but slowly. You cute little devil tail twirled as you started to grind against Miguel's white robes. You stroked his face, watching his temptation grow,

"Shall I do all the work?" You whispered. Miguel just smirked,

"Weren't you the one who needed to get into heaven?"

You huffed as you removed his robes. Eyes widening at the sight of his dick. He wasn't a God for nothing. With a lick of your lips, you got on your knees and started to work your magic. You had good deeds to do after all.

"How many deeds if I make you cum?" You hummed with a lick of his tip.

"A hundred."

"Oh? Then I'll have my work cut out."

"It's a good thing stamina doesn't exist for me." Miguel said with a smirk, which made you quiver.

Ignoring that thought for now, you returned to stroking and sucking Miguel's dick. Of course God doesn't have stamina. Even devils and angels had it. Well, at least you were trying to earn his forgiveness and not the other way around.

You moaned lowly as you started to take Miguel deeper. His dick was thick and long. Just the thought of him ravishing you was making you horny. Not to mention the sounds of his grunts was delicious. If only you were a succubus, this would make a fine meal.

"Still waiting to be impressed." Miguel teased.

You felt your eye twitch as you kept sucking. What more did he want? Gasping, you felt his hands on your head as he started to thrust into your mouth. Tears started to form as you tried to breathe through you nose.

"Here's your first hundred." Miguel groaned.

You nearly gagged as Miguel cummed inside your mouth. Moving away, you swallowed what you could, but coughed up the rest. There was so much. Wiping your mouth, you glanced at his still harden erection and chuckled,

"If that's the case, then this will be easy."

--------

"Are you giving up already? What a poor little slutty devil you are." Miguel mocked as you bounced on his cock.

You were drooling as you rode Miguel. His dick fit so nicely inside you, stretching all your walls as you fucked him. His tip hit the far back of your cervix, making you really see heaven in a different light. You had only fucked him for a few minutes and you felt like giving in.

"Is this all Hell has to offer?" Miguel asked. You flinched, feeling yourself about to cum again,

"N-No...J-Just....so...ah~" You whined, jumping down once more only to cum.

"This is why you need my help."

Miguel held your waist and started to thrust up inside you, causing you to moan and squirm. His dick was too much. He was hitting you in all the right places. Gripping your hips, Miguel watched your tits bounce as he fucked you from below.

"Tsk, tsk, this poor little devil wants forgiveness right?"

"Y-Yesh~"

"I'll give it to you. One load at a time."

You shuddered towards his words as he released a heavy load inside you. Gasping, you felt Miguel press you against the bed, entering you from behind. His grip was still tight as he started to pound your pussy.

"Such lewd sounds you're making. Does my dick feel that good?"

"Ah~ Ah~ Y-Yes!" You cried out, gripping the bedsheets. Miguel chuckled, listening to the sound of his dick slapping into you,

"Can you feel my holy presence inside you? Is this the taste of heaven you wanted so much?"

"Ah~ Mhm~"

You couldn't think. You felt your eyes roll back as you focused on Miguel pounding you. His hot cum just begging to spill before his next load. This was truly paradise.

"So cock drunk that you can't even think. What a slutty devil you are." Miguel hummed, feeling you cum around him, "But you are doing the best deed there is."

"Mhm!" You gasped as Miguel slapped into your gummy walls faster,

"Keep coming to me for your forgiveness and I'll happily give it to your horny pussy." He groaned, cumming once more, "How does that sound?"

"Ah~ Y-Yes~ Yes~" You moaned loudly.

Miguel just chuckled in response, turning you over. You were out of breathe and fucked out. Miguel glanced at your body, watching your devil wings disappear since you had no energy. Another chuckle escaped his lips as he watched his cum leak out of you,

"Don't suppose you want to start a new race? I have unless stamina after all."

You had a long road of forgiveness ahead of you, but you weren't complaining in the slightest.

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I CAN FEEL THE JUDGEMENT FROM ABOVE, BUT WE ALL KNOW I'M GOING DOWN! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x reader

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yanderedbdimagines · 4 months ago

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Hi ! I love your work and I saw requests were open !! I was wondering if you could write something about Trickster going sentient, like reader is a DBD player and Trickster is their killer main and he's becoming sentient ! He starts acting yandere, getting mad when they buy another killer, talking to them through the game etc ? Pleaaase !!

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Thank you so much for appreciating my work!

And of course! Trickster has always been one of my favorite go-to killers as well. He still kind of is! He may not look terrifying at first glance, but what he’s capable of is what truly makes him scary to me. I tried to capture that feeling in this piece as well. Also, I believe his anger would actually be quite subtle, put potent in a way. He's called the Trickster for a reason after all. :P Especially towards his obsession.

PS: If any character in the game somehow became sentient, I’d throw my computer out immediately. Let alone a killer! I would totally freak out! xD

PSS: I don't know any Korean. If I messed it up by using translators wrong, I'm sorry in advance!

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Warning!: NSFW elements present!

The Trickster

Ji-Woon Hak had always been your go-to killer. Maybe it was the thrill of playing him. The way he laughed in insanity, coupled with that crazed giggle as he chased survivors down, and the sheer passion and arrogance laced through his Korean voice lines. His presence in the game simply felt different from the others. All the way down to his disturbingly good chase music, which is an excellent representation to his character.

And as such, he’s indeed a star. Effortlessly charming and dangerously captivating. Before the Entity took him, the crowds adored him for a reason, oblivious to the gleam in his golden eyes when the screams began behind closed doors, embedded into his music like secret, bloody confessions. They never recognized the torture hidden in his music, layered beneath the melody like a secret only he was twisted enough to understand.

Killing wasn’t just second nature to Ji-Woon. It was the purest form of his self-expression.

And to you, that was the real horror. Because unlike many others in the Entity’s grasp, he wasn’t a monster made. He was a monster born. Just another handsome face, smiling for the cameras, waving to his adoring fans. His darkest secrets not buried, but hidden in plain sight. Or more so within earshot. And no one ever dared to hear them until it was too late.

Maybe that was why, after months of playing Dead by Daylight, you never really strayed from him. You bought his skins, experimented with his builds, mastered his mechanics and the precise arc of his blades. He was your constant pick.

So at first, the strange things that eventually started to happen didn’t really bother you.

It began in the character selection screen. His model glitched once. A wide smirk suddenly etching itself onto his features. He turned around more often while you waited in lobby, flashing you that saucy wink of his. There was a slight lag when you hovered over another killer, an occasional stutter in his idle animations, a minor bug where his eyes tracked your cursor just a bit too smoothly.

You decided to ignored it.

Then the loading screens started taking longer. Freezing for a second too long when his face suddenly appeared, as if the game itself hesitated. And once, in the middle of a match, you left the desk for a moment to grab something from your drawer, letting the killer stand idle in a house in Springwood.

That was when you heard it, just as you returned. Faint. Threading between the distant caws of crows and the crackle of the Entity’s realm. A voice, which sounded silky and teasing. Familiar.

"Getting distracted, 자기야1?"

Your hand jerked on the mouse. It had to be a bug. A voice line triggering where it shouldn’t. You brushed it off as a trick of the mind.

Then, after a while, the disconnects started. Not often, but just enough to be annoying. Almost every time you played another killer, you’d be booted mid-match. No error message. Just a sudden return to the desktop. Whenever you played survivor, you almost always found yourself facing the Trickster, with a hint of a stutter as you tried to get your character away from him.

But when you played as Ji-Woon himself? Smooth. No lag. No crashes.

Still, you pushed it aside. Games had bugs. Maybe the servers were acting up. You refused to get paranoid over minor issues, or the fact that barely any other killer ever appeared when you played survivor. Perhaps you just had a weird streak of fate.

Then, one night after watching a video, you tabbed back into the game and noticed that his theme music in the killer selection menu was different. Slower and warped. Like it was played underwater. The Trickster was staring at you. Not in his usual cocky way, but with his head tilted slightly, his smile smaller than usual and his golden eyes literally locked onto yours. As if he were waiting for something.

The screen glitched once, then again, and everything returned to normal. But matches grew even more strange after that. Survivors went down faster, their screams more real and distorted and their models twitching unnaturally. It scared you.

If you played as a different killer, you’d get disconnected mid-match much faster. Yet whenever you switched back to Trickster, the game stabilized.

Then one night, you apparently made a mistake. Out of curiosity, you went up and purchased another killer. the Oni, which you considered to be a change of pace. The moment you returned to the killer selection screen, it flickered; static sprinkling the menu. Trickster’s model was there on the right, but his grin had vanished. His head tilted, his bright pupils narrowed into thin slits of displeasure.

Your hands trembled over the keyboard. “It’s just a game…” you murmured, shaking your head and blinking a few times. Then his voice, unlike any recorded line or in-game effect, but unmistakably real, echoed through your headset. Smooth and cold.

"Not to me, 공주님2."

Deep down, you knew this game was no longer the same. But you played it off as a lack of sleep this time around, shut down the PC, and took a well-earned break.

You naively came back a few hours later. You loaded into the Temple of Purgation, picking the Oni. You’d bought him for a reason, after all. But as the match began, the camera panned over the environment and, for a split second just before it faded to your POV, you saw him.

Not the Oni. The Trickster.

He stood at the very edge of the mists, just beyond the temple’s crumbling stone archways. The fog curled unnaturally around him, clinging to his figure like something alive, shifting and parting just enough to reveal the glow of his golden eyes. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t part of the match. He was just… watching.

The moment you took control, he was gone. Your fingers twitched over the keyboard. That wasn’t normal. Maybe a graphical glitch? Some weird overlap from previous matches? You shook it off and pressed forward.

At first, the game ran fine. You chased down survivors, activated your power, played the match as you normally would. But something felt off. A heaviness in the air, a strange, crawling sensation at the back of your neck. Then the game began to stutter. Not lag and neither was it a bug. The frames dragged deliberately, as if the game itself resisted your input. The Oni’s movements felt sluggish, like wading through thick and invisible muck.

And then came the laughter. Soft and breathy, slithering between the sounds of gameplay.

"Tch. This isn’t like you, 자기야1. You’d rather be that clunky old fossil than me? Where’s your sense of taste?" His accent runs heavy alongside the bite in his tone.

Your blood ran cold. That wasn’t an in-game line. Your eyes flicked to one of the killer’s perk icons. Oni’s nemesis perk, just as you’d chosen. For a brief moment, Ji-Woon’s smirking face in a similar art style replaced it before snapping back. Your stomach twisted as another hitch in the frame rate distorted the screen. Pixels twisting as if a presence bled into the code.

"You're ignoring me," he observed, his voice still smooth but tinged with bitter distaste.

The game audio warped beyond recognition, the chase music slowed to a sickening drag then sped up erratically, like a scratched CD skipping. The survivors’ animations twitched unnaturally. Every time you activated the killer’s skill, the deep, guttural roar sounded way off. Higher, smoother, mocking. Obviously replaced with the voice of a certain Killer. "Not so fun, huh?" You hear him huff in amusement, teasing you as he does.

Frustrated, you slammed the Escape key. Nothing happened. The match wasn’t over, but you couldn’t do this anymore. With shaky hands, you forced your PC off manually, the screen cutting to black. Your reflection stared back at you in the dark monitor with wide eyes reflecting unease. You ripped off your headset and exhaled hard. It was just a game, you told yourself. You even debated uninstalling it. But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? It’s just a game.

So you didn’t play it for the rest of the night.

The next day, curiosity won out. You had planned to delete the game. To scrub it from your system and be done with whatever hellish events had occurred. But after you booted up your PC, a Steam pop-up appeared.

Your pulse quickened as you skimmed the message.

Dead by Daylight – Security Update

A large leak had been addressed. Some players had reported strange in-game activity. An exploit that allowed hackers to take control of matches, resulting in unusual interactions. The developers apologized for the inconvenience. As compensation, a DLC of your choice would be free upon logging in.

Your fingers hovered over the mouse. This had to be the reason. Just some script kiddies messing with the servers, triggering audio or animation glitches. You exhaled a sigh of relief and launched the game.

The menu loaded smoothly, the music creating a subtle backdrop as you navigated the interface. Your gaze shifted to the killer selection screen. Trickster stood in his usual spot after you’d selected him. His stance casual yet confident, the infamous bat balanced nonchalantly on his shoulder. He executed that distinct head tilt. The one accompanied by an unnecessarily seductive "ah,". At that moment, his animation seemed to hesitate, his eyes lingering on the screen a fraction longer than usual. The light caught his left earring, making it glint momentarily before falling back against his neck due to retaining the previous angle of his head. Then, just as smoothly, the bat returned to his side.

Despite the brief, unsettling pause, his expression remained unchanged. A confident smirk played across his lips when he moved to inspect his bat, his golden eyes glinting with sharp amusement, as if privy to a joke you hadn’t yet figured out. No flickering. No static. Everything appeared perfectly normal.

Your tense shoulders loosened slightly. Maybe you had imagined it all. The breach is fixed, after all. You claimed your free DLC, already planning to test out the desired killer and survivor later. But first… just one more match with the Trickster.

Your cursor hovered over the Play button for a second before you clicked. The match queued instantly. No lobby, no loading delay, no lag. Your gut twisted. As the screen transitioned, unease slithered down your spine. The game had loaded, but something was obviously wrong.

The usual environmental sounds; distant caws of crows, the occasional metallic groan of the Entity’s influence, were gone. You panned the first-person camera over the map. No survivors moved between cover. No crows startled into the air. No gens sparking in the distance. Just you. Alone.

Your eyes darted to the UI. The HUD was intact- your abilities, perks, and power displayed as they should be. And yet, there were no objectives. No unseen timer counting down. No signs of life. Just silence. A cold prickle crawled over your skin.

Then, a soft chuckle. Rich, amused, present. "Finally. Just us." Your breath hitched. The sound came through your headset. Close. Way too close.

The screen flickered. Your blood ran cold.

No…

You tried moving Trickster forward, pressing the left mouse button to swing through the empty air. He responded as normal. Smooth, precise, as if performing a well-rehearsed act. But there was nothing to do. No generators humming to life, no players fleeing, no exit gates. The map lay barren, stripped of its usual chaos. Each time you struck the environment in boredom, a mocking chuckle, sly and knowing, echoed in your ears.

Desperate, you opened the pause menu, but there was no option to leave the game. Your fingers trembled over the keyboard as you muttered, “What the hell is it this time?”

Then a soft laugh, closer and intimate, as though whispered from right beside you. "Aw, don’t look so spooked,공주님2. Isn’t this what you wanted? More time with me?"

Without warning, the camera shifted. Its movement not commanded by you, but as if pulled by an unseen hand. The perspective tilted down ever so slightly, as if the Trickster was studying himself.

No. As if he was studying you.

"You play me so often," his voice purred, smooth as silk and dripping with amusement. "Devoted, aren’t you? You never thought I’d actually notice, did you? Never thought I’d appreciate your little habits?" A chill crawled up your spine.

“This can’t be it. This isn’t real,” you whispered, almost pleading. “You are not sentient,” you insisted, but your voice wavered- thinning into uncertainty.

"Mmm, that's what you keep telling yourself," he replied, that familiar, teasing lilt threading through his tone. "A cute little parrot, endlessly repeating the same little song. 정말 웃기잖아, 자기야3. If only you repeated my name like that instead. I’m as real as I can get. " Your breathing grew shallow.

Then something shifted in the distance. A subtle, unnatural shadow moving where it shouldn’t be. You spun the camera up and to the side, heart hammering, but the map remained empty. Still, the sensation of being watched crawled over your skin. Your hands grew clammy as you gripped the mouse like a lifeline. You needed to leave. Now.

Alt + F4. Task Manager. Nothing worked. Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your body braced for a potential scenario- the chase, the hunt, the moment his blades would sink into your flesh. You weren’t special. You were just another victim…

Right?

Then the screen flickered. A brief stutter, a pause. For a fraction of a second, the game froze, and when it stabilized, Trickster’s weapon was gone. He wasn’t on it anymore.

Your hands froze over the keyboard for a second, before you abruptly stood up and took a step back, already leaning down to forcibly shut down the computer. A hand suddenly shot towards you after it suddenly angled its way back onto the screen. Distinctively bloody as it reached for you. You gasped audibly as you almost fell backward… But the hand never breached the screen. It halted abruptly at the boundary, suspended between the digital world and your reality. Crimson droplets clung to its outstretched fingers as it quivered against an invisible barrier. For a fleeting moment, you caught a glimpse. A flash of yellow fabric and a hint of a naked, muscular chest splattered with blood. But the view was distorted, obscured by the in-game camera’s interference, as if the interface itself rejected his intrusion.

Then came a low murmur. A string of curses in Korean, rough and frustrated. Though you couldn’t make out every word, the anger in his tone was unmistakable, raw even, as he cursed the limits that kept him at bay. Almost immediately, the bitterness dissolved into his familiar, self-assured mockery before he slipped off the screen.

"이건 정말 불공평해요, 공주님4," he drawled, voice dripping with playful disdain. A mind game. It had to be it. "If only this screen wasn’t in the way. 당신은 아직 모르는 재밌는 것들을 놓치고 있습니다5."

The taunting words slithered through your headset. His crazed laughter, edged high with mischief and frustration, filled the silence afterwards.

In that moment, your heart pounded with a mixture of terror and panic. At the end of the day, the screen itself remains unchanged. A game paused on an empty map, the digital world eerily still. Yet Trickster’s presence still lingered at the edge of reality. You could sense it.

With eyes wide, you forcibly shut down the PC, yanking out every cable from the back of your computer screen and desktop afterwards. You vowed to never, ever play Dead by Daylight again. Not after everything you’d just experienced. After all, who knows what might have happened if he had truly breached his way into your room. You believe that he’d most definitely would have tortured you to death, unaware of his true intentions. You could only shiver in fear and disgust at the very thought of it.

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1 = 자기야 = jagiya = babe.

2 = 공주님 = gongjunim = princess

3 = 정말 웃기잖아, 자기야. = jeongmal usgijanh-a, jagiya.= It's so funny, babe.

4 = 이건 정말 불공평해요, 공주님 = igeon jeongmal bulgongpyeonghaeyo, gongjunim = This is so unfair, princess.

5 = 당신은 아직 모르는 재밌는 것들을 놓치고 있습니다. = Dangsin-eun ajig moleuneun jaemissneun geosdeul-eul nohchigo issseubnida. = You're missing out on fun things you don't know about yet.

#yandere #dbd #dbd x reader #dead by daylight #reader insert #the trickster #ji woon hak

94 notes · View notes

cursedonyx · 10 months ago

Note

I read the post about students reacting to mc dying in their arms. You should do the professors (including Black)

Thank you for the ask! 💚

Hogwarts Legacy Professors React to MC Dying in Their Arms

Link to student reactions here

⚠️Content warning for Death and Body Horror Below the Cut⚠️

Professor Hecat

Dina Hecat had rarely found herself as impressed with a student as she was with you. Your tenacity, your aptitude for magic, your ability to pick up new and complex defensive magic was unmatched, though Sebastian made a valiant effort to maintain a solid second place behind you. Such was your prowess that Dina thought you might make an excellent Auror, and determined to tutor you privately once you expressed an interest. It was a thrill to begin with, to teach you all the tips and tricks an Auror might need in their arsenal, you picking them all up as if it was as easy as breathing, to the point that Dina grew complacent.

She’d heard tales of your exploits during your fifth year, of course, and fought beside you during the Battle for the Repository. She was confident that you could handle anything thrown at you, and you impressed her over and over and over. But all it took was one tiny misstep, one foot wrong, and all her Ministry training and the reason behind it was thrown into sharp relief.

The troll was supposed to be an easy dispatch. You’d defeated one when you were brand new to magic, after all. Dina had taught you an advanced form of confringo, or at least, she’d taught you the theory. It was a powerful spell, a short step below feindfyre, and she was eager to see it in practice. But the troll had flung its club just as you began the incantation, and everything went wrong. You were distracted as it flew towards Dina, and you lost control of the spell.

The resulting inferno was too much for mere aguamenti, and there was nothing Dina could do but wait for the flames to die down, listening to you scream as you blundered about in the middle of the fire, unable to find a way out. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of you was a charred skeleton, your clawed hand leaving sooty streaks on her skin as she took it, hoping that this was some kind of nightmare, some kind of illusion or hallucination, anything but brutal, cold reality.

There was an investigation, of course. Why was a seventh-year student out fighting trolls? Why was this student doing so under the instruction of a faculty member that should have known better? Why had this professor allowed things to get so out of control?

Dina avoided Azkaban for her neglect by a narrow margin, but she had to give up her teaching post. She passed a little over a year later, having drunk herself to death, unable to cope with the guilt.

Professor Ronen

Abraham Ronen had always had such a love of fun and games, determined to make each of his classes a joy for his students. Yes, he recycled ideas through the terms, a large timetable in his office holding large lists of games he could incorporate that was appropriate for each year of Charms classes. But even so, after several years in his position, he found these games began to grow repetitive, and he wanted to liven things up.

That’s where you came in. Your ingenuity was famous throughout Hogwarts for a reason, and so he called on you one day after class, requesting your assistance in thinking up new games to play. He gave you a list of the spells he was to teach his seventh-year students, promising to waive your homework for a month if you helped out. You took to the task like a kappa to water, assailing Abraham with a variety of ‘games’ that would help the other students learn. The problem was, most of your games involved far too much risk for his liking, including trying to steal a dragon egg. Despite your protestations that you knew where to find one, Abraham wasn’t having it. But he’d promised, and you’d promised, and a deal was a deal.

So extreme were your ideas that when you proposed the still dangerous but comparatively tame idea of delayed-action bombarda combined with glacius, Abraham thought the idea of students running through a booby-trapped field, freezing the latent explosive spells, was a positively marvellous idea.

The students were less keen. They, unexposed to your particular brand of fun, saw the folly in such a practice. But you, determined that everyone should have fun, decided to be the first across the field. Abraham realised far too late just how foolish this game was, and had barely raised his wand as you danced across the minefield before disaster struck, and you were blown apart.

He tried his best to gather the pieces of you that rained down. A severed foot here, a shattered forearm there, holding his robes like an apron and gathering you up. It was futile, of course, for once a witch or wizard’s head is detached from their body, even the very best healers only have a few seconds to make it right.

He could never get that image out of his mind. One moment you were smiling, laughing, joking, teasing the others for their hesitancy, and the next you were in bits, everything that you were tumbling from the sky in slow motion. Every student in that class was scarred for life, set to fail their Charms NEWTs, fifty promising careers suddenly thrown down the toilet. Abraham resigned in shame, and did not go home to his wife. He wandered until he became lost, and lost himself until he found a cliff. Only by shattering himself on the rocks below could he find some form of atonement for his sins.

Professor Sharp

Aesop Sharp had always preferred to be somewhat gruff and stern. It kept his pupils in line, and his firm but fair approach ensured that everyone that took his classes passed with good marks, even if they had a tendency to blow things up, a practice he’d secretly taken to calling “doing a Garreth.” You, on the other hand, slipped past his guard. Maybe it was your incredible aptitude for offensive and defensive magic, or perhaps it was your endearing wit and charm. It could have been your happy-go-lucky nature, your ability to smile no matter how dire things seemed to be, always poking fun at yourself before anyone else. He found himself growing fond of you, thinking of you as some kind of wayward nibling.

He still had to give you detentions on occasion, of course, because even you couldn’t cheek the Potions Master and get away with it, no matter how well-intentioned your words had been. He found such hours to be more of a delight than a chore, happy to talk to you about anything and everything, even laughing a little as you revealed some of the mischief you’d gotten up to, things he’d normally give more detentions for.

One evening in the dungeons, you were cheerfully scrubbing out the cauldrons, and you asked him about is days as an Auror. You told him about an Ashwinder camp you’d caught wind of, and how you wished you could eradicate them. Aesop knew he should report it to Officer Singer and keep you out of it, but hell, he’d seen you fight, and there was something in him that yearned for that spark of excitement that came with defeating his enemies. He suggested travelling with you to wipe them out, considering it worth at least three detentions. You joked that this meant you had two free passes to be cheeky in class, and he told you not to push your luck.

If only he’d known. If only he’d taken a moment to think. If only he’d listened to his Auror instincts that told him this was a bad idea.

You’d both crept up on the camp, wands at the ready. There weren’t many of them, but enough to pose a bit of a challenge. Aesop had every confidence in you, he knew your skills after all, but unfortunately, the Ashwinders did as well. The moment they saw you, they didn’t bother with their typical hexes. They knew enough about you to know they couldn’t waste a second if they wanted to live. Three Killing Curses were sent your way, and one found its mark.

Aesop thought he knew loss when his partner was killed in Scarborough, but this was something else. Watching the light go out of your eyes, the ghost of your last, confident smile on your face, broke him like nothing had broken him before. He didn’t even try to resist when the Ashwinders took him, snatching his wand and throwing him in a cage along with the kneazles they’d poached. He couldn’t get the image of you out of his mind, your still body lying amid the debris of the Forbidden Forest, already ignored and forgotten by your foes, left for whatever scavengers crept through the night to feast. He refused food and water as he was dragged from one end of the country to the other, kept prisoner by those that had killed you. It took weeks to kill him, but one morning, lying on the floor of that cold, hard cage, he just didn’t wake up.

Professor Black

Phineus Nigellus Black preferred to let the students of Hogwarts think he was a cold-hearted, pompous bastard. It was much easier to work this way, easier to make the tough decisions a Headmaster of Hogwarts needed to make. Budget cuts, cancelling quidditch, extending exam season and banning Hogsmeade visits to ensure student safety was easier to weather if his heart was already hardened to the complaints and cries of woe, the bitter mutters, the whispered insults, the playground songs made up to poke fun at him. Yes, it hurt, but he was better than that. Stronger. Prouder. He had a job to do, after all, and Merlin only knew the previous Headmaster had left a hellish mess for him to set right. He had to be hard to be kind. He preferred not to pay attention to those around him, erecting a hard wall around his heart.

You, however… you were different. He heard about what you did in your fifth year, and though he found it hard to believe at first, he paid a bit more attention to you as time went by, and found the tales of your prowess were, if anything, undersold. Phineas made an effort in your final year to take you under his wing, seeing a potential candidate for the position of Minister for Magic in your future. He wanted to teach you the finer points of politics and bootlicking, introduce you to the right people, like the Gaunts, the Blacks, the Malfoys and more to give you the boost you needed to clamber up that slippery ladder. The only gifts he knew how to give.

You were resistant, of course. What kind of firecracker would you be if you weren’t? Phineas relished the challenge, demanding more and more of your free time until you began to understand just what kind of privileges came along with knowing the right people and scratching the right backs. Ominis knew it and used it to his advantage perhaps less than he should have done, but this seemed to tip the scales in Phineas' favour, and you finally began to listen and learn from his wise tutelage. He found himself swelling with pride as you whipped about your newfound allegiances, terrifying students and teachers alike, reining you in when you frightened Hobhouse so much he wet himself, his scolding gentle and warm. He might have had five children, but you showed promise.

Unfortunately, even the shrewd and clever Phineas couldn’t have foreseen the simple dangers of existing in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He’d taken you to the trophy room, waxing lyrical about the famous witches and wizards that had come through Hogwarts, pointing out their accolades with relish, his hand on your shoulder, a rare and affectionate gesture of genuine pride. He told you that you could achieve just as much, perhaps more, if you applied all your skills and knowledge in the right ways. He even smiled at you, and his eyes were warm.

You asked to see a particularly bright medal on a high shelf, and Phineas, taking a leaf out of your muggleborn book, decided to give the other life a try, just for once. If a muggleborn could be as impressive as you, perhaps he didn’t have to use magic for everything. He tried to reach the medal by hand, even climbing on the shelf to do so, smiling as it made you laugh. He climbed down, medal in hands, his brow furrowing as your face grew ashen. The next moment, you had barrelled into him, throwing him out of the way of the falling shelf.

By the time he picked himself up, scolding you for your behaviour, it was too late. The falling shelves and shattered glass had crushed you, slashing your neck. By the time Phineas realised you weren’t just pratting about like you usually did, you’d bled out, your skin pale, your eyes wide and unseeing. Phineas sat on the floor beside your corpse, holding your fingers closed over the medal that read:

Most Impressive Display of Honour.

Professor Garlick

Mirabel Garlick had endured her share of enamoured students, villagers, and even fellow professors in her time. She dealt with it all with the grace and decorum that was expected of such a sunny personality, treating all and sundry with the same level of ardent attention and big, bright smiles. She had a soft spot for you though, someone who appreciated magical plants for the marvels they were. She didn’t mind when you stayed after class to quiz her on the less known properties of pufferpods or the right way to tamp down earth around a mandrake to ensure maximum comfort. She’d heard all about your little adventure to see the giant venomous tentacula, and had been curious about your knowledge ever since.

She was more than happy to help you grow your plants bigger and better than what the school board advised. She even cleared out Greenhouse Four for your personal use, encouraging you to grow things most students would only ever see if they were extremely unlucky. But she trusted you. She believed you knew what you were doing, swept up by your enthusiasm, tempted by her own curiosity to see just how far you could push your skills.

So it was that the pair of you ended up breeding a new kind of Devil’s Snare, one that was resistant to light and heat. It took time, and though you both occasionally wondered what the purpose of such a plant would be, you were too excited by the prospect of your experiments bearing fruit to worry about consequences. Mirabel should have known better. The only defence against a Devil’s Snare is light and heat, and both of you pushed away thoughts of protection against such a thing. It seemed playful, intelligent, happy.

It was early on a Saturday morning when Mirabel decided to look in on Greenhouse Four. It was only by chance that she had decided to do so, and she would spend the rest of her life wishing she had been five minutes sooner. She saw the Devil’s snare distract you with dancing tendrils as it had so many times before, only this time, you were too close. It wrapped you up faster than a spider wraps a fly, crushing the life from you. No matter how many incendios she cast, no matter how much she shouted and beat at it, even conjuring a torch to hold against the vines, all it did was hurt you more as it crushed the life from you, each snap of your ribs loud above your gasping breaths, the crunch of your spine grinding in her ears, the blood from your nose splattering on the floor as your lungs punctured, your eyes bulging out of their sockets. Even still you fought to draw breath until there was no more room in your chest.

Mirabel had never felt so helpless. She sank to her knees, waiting as the Devil’s Snare took you into its core to feed upon your corpse. She didn’t resist when the vines caressed her face, then wrapped around her throat, her wand lying forgotten on the floor of Greenhouse Four.

Professor Fig

Eleazar Fig had always had a soft spot for you. He’d watched you grow from a novice to a master in the space of a year, popular and clever, beloved by your peers and professors alike. He always made sure to make time for you in his office, sharing a cup of tea as you discussed your past adventures, gossiped about the students, or just had a jolly good chinwag. You both shared a love of adventure, and made time at least once a month to get up to mischief, whether it was investigating old ruins, clearing out mongrel dens, or just running the occasional errand for those in need. You delighted in having your mentor along for the ride, and he adored helping you where he could.

Unfortunately for you, your exploits over the years made you enemies. Though you helped a good many people and made plenty of friends, there were those that were hard done by when you stole from them or caused them trouble on behalf of someone else. Eleazar knew this, and made sure to continually warn you to watch your back, clucking like a mother hen. Perhaps he warned you too much, his words of caution becoming background noise as you continually avoided retribution for your misdeeds. Eleazar did his best to keep you safe all the same, ardently researching your enemies and eliminating plots before they came to fruition.

But after almost a year of no schemes against you, he dared to relax. He invited you out to lunch at Steepley and Sons, intending to enjoy a quiet cup of tea, some nice sandwiches, and perhaps even a slice of cake, his treat, of course. He wanted to catch up properly, to make sure you were happy, on top of your homework, getting on with your friends. You wanted to know how he was coping after Miriam’s passing, if he was back on the scene, how his work as a teacher was going, and can he please get you out of detention with Professor Sharp?

Neither of you expected after all this time there were still those that held a grudge. The young wizard helping Mrs Steepley was actually an Ashwinder, and they poisoned your cup of tea. It took a moment to take effect, but once it did, the only way to save you was locked away in Hogwarts Castle. Even accio couldn’t have got the antidote to you in time.

Eleazar watched as your face went ashen, seemingly sinking in on itself as you clawed at your throat. He caught you as you listed sideways, his eyes locked on yours, trying to comfort you, soothe you as you struggled to draw breath, not even a pin able to pass through the tightness of your throat. Your nails left bloody furrows on your neck, your feet kicking feebly even as someone ran for J Pippin’s, hoping he’d be able to help. Eleazar knew better. He just held you as your body jerked, the last of your life sliding through his fingers as he tried oh so hard to hold on to it, begging you silently to just hold on a little longer. You were all he had, the last spark of joy in his cold, dark life. Once you were gone, there was nothing left for him. A swift unforgivable curse delivered to his temple as he lay in his chamber was enough to ensure he could see you and Miriam again.

witchdoctorpirate ~💚

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy reactions #hogwarts legacy professors #tragedy #professor fig #eleazar fig #professor sharp #aesop sharp #professor garlick #mirabel garlick #professor hecat #dina hecat #professor ronen #abraham ronen #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #duncan hobhouse #garreth weasley

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mightyflamethrower · 1 year ago

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15 Facts About E. Jean Carroll’s Allegations Against Trump the Media Don’t Want You to Know

1. Bergdorf Goodman has no surveillance video of the alleged incident.

2. There are zero witnesses to the alleged sexual attack.

3. Carroll first came forward — conveniently — with the allegations while promoting her book What Do We Need Men For? in 2019, which featured a list of “The Most Hideous Men of My Life.”

4. Carroll was unable to remember when this alleged attack even occurred. She told her lawyer in 2023, “This question, the when, the when, the date, has been something I’ve [been] constantly trying to pin down.” She has jumped years — originally beginning with 1994, then moving to 1995, and even floating to 1996. She cannot remember the season in which the alleged attack occurred either.

5. The Donna Karan blazer dress she claims to have worn during the alleged incident was not even available at the time of her claims. Trump Attorney Boris Epshteyn told reporters, “She said, ‘This is the dress I wore in 1994.’ They went back, they checked. The dress wasn’t even made in 1994.”

“And that’s why the date’s moved around. This is the 80s. Is it the 90s? Is it the 2000s? President Trump has consistently stated that he was falsely accused, and he has the right to defend himself,” he added.

6. She never came forward with these allegations over the years despite constantly being open about sexuality, posting things that were very sexual in nature on social media — many of which Trump has shared. They include remarks such as “How do you know your ‘unwanted sexual advance’ is unwanted, until you advance it?” and “Sex Tip I Learned From My Dog: When in heat, chase the male until he collapses with exhaustion … then jump him!”

7. She said she was never raped, telling the New York Times’ podcast, The Daily,“Every woman gets to choose her word. Every woman gets to choose how she describes it. This is my way of saying it. This is my word. My word is ‘fight.’ My word is not the ‘victim’ word. I have not — I have not been raped,” she continued. “I have — something has not been done to me. I fought. That’s the thing.”

8. She named her cat “Vagina.” “Her dog, or her cat, was named ‘Vagina.’ The judge wouldn’t allow us to put that in — all of these things — but with her, they could put in anything: Access Hollywood,” Trump told CNN.

9. Joe Tacopina, an attorney for Trump, pointed out in May 2023 that Carroll’s entire story has incredible similarities to a 2012 episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. In that episode, titled “Theatre and Tricks,” an individual talks about a rape fantasy in Bergdorf Goodman — the same department store where Carroll claims the incident took place.

10. Speaking of shows, Carroll loved Trump’s show The Apprentice.

“I was a big fan of the show. Very impressed by it,” Carroll said on the witness stand, adding that she “had never seen such a witty competition on TV, and it was about something worthwhile, competing.”

11. Carroll made a joke associating sex with Bergdorf Goodman in a November 1993 edition of Elle, which was before the alleged Trump attack took place. As Breitbart News detailed:

Carroll was responding to a letter from a female reader concerned that she was having trouble achieving orgasm through sexual intercourse alone while the reader said that she could climax through foreplay. “Is there any way I could learn to reach orgasm through sex?” asked the reader in the November 1993 edition. “Maybe books I could read?” Carroll replied with the following advice (emphasis added): Dear Snowed Under: Stop flagellating yourself. Gadzooks! At least you have orgasms. And if that isn’t spontaneous sex I don’t know what is. Most women (about 70 percent) experience difficulties climaxing through intercourse alone. So you’re perfectly normal. Begin by reading For Yourself by Dr. Lonnie Barbach. She’ll give you excellent instructions on how to have an orgasm during intercourse. Then after 313 queenhell love-wiggles, move on to Gretta Garbo’s favorite love position – the top. (In erotic scenes, Garbo is always above the man. So are Sharon Stone, Bette Midler and Katherine Hepburn). Indeed, this location works better for women than the fourth floor of Bergdorf’s.

12. Carroll is financially backed by anti-Trump Democrat megadonor Reid Hoffman, who has openly admitted to visiting convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein’s private island.

13. Democrat party activists back her as well, as Breitbart News detailed:

Indeed, one of Carroll’s attorneys is Roberta Kaplan — a Democrat Party activist who led the group Time’s Up. She left the activist group after it was revealed she was aiding former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo in attempting to discredit the Democrat’s accusers. It served as a great irony as Time’s Up seeks to defend women from what it claims is discrimination and harassment. This fact has led to mounting speculation that Kaplan only gets involved in cases that she views as politically expedient. Further, Federal District Judge Lewis Kaplan is overseeing the process and has connections to Carroll’s other attorney, Shawn Crowley. She was actually a law clerk for Judge Kaplan, and he officiated her wedding. That aside, Trump has denied knowing the left-wing activist as the only evidence of any contact is a single picture with Carroll greeting Trump and his ex-wife Ivana at an event greeting line over 35 years ago. Carroll has yet to provide solid evidence of this alleged encounter and will not use the dress that she claims had DNA on it from this alleged incident. Even Trump publicly said the dress should be part of the case. Further, there are no eyewitnesses of this alleged incident, which supposedly occurred at the popular New York City department store.

14. The lawsuit was only able to proceed after Democrats created the Adult Survivors Act in 2022. She conveniently pursued this suit in November following the law going into effect, which allowed her to avoid the statute of limitations for this case.

15. Carroll once said, “Most people think of rape as sexy.”

Donald Trump Jr. also retweeted a list of facts about Carroll, urging others to take a look:

- She couldn't recall the date, month, season, or year the incident happened -

She never told anyone about it, despite being publicly obsessed with her own sexuality -

The dress she claims to have been wearing didn't exist at the time -

Her description of the dressing room at Bergdorf Goodman was inaccurate, making her sequence of events impossible -

Her lawsuit was bankrolled by Jeffrey Epstein pal and Democrat (and Nikki Haley) mega-donor Reid Hoffman -

Democrats created a law (The Adult Survivors Act in 2022) to enable her lawsuit to proceed - Her accusation is the exact plotline of an episode of Law & Order (one of her "favorite shows") -

Trump's Apprentice was also one of her favorite shows -

She has a history of falsely accusing men of r*pe, including Les Moonves - She told Anderson Cooper, "most people think of r*pe as being sexy. Think of the fantasies." -

She made a career promoting promiscuity, even writing glowingly of sexual assault and naming her cat Vagina

We owe Stalin and Hitler a huge apology. We are ever so bad as they ever were. This isn't Justice. Its punishment for for disobeying the deep state elites.

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nickeverdeen · 7 months ago

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Cabin 20, Hecate

Hecate’s children are naturally gifted in magic, capable of casting spells, crafting enchantments, and summoning mystical forces

They often have a natural affinity for spellbooks, runes, and ancient incantations

As children of the goddess of crossroads, they’re drawn to moments of choice and change

They often feel a strong intuition about which path to take, whether in life or during quests

They’re skilled in creating potions, salves, and elixirs

Their cabins often smell of herbs and strange brews, and they’re the first to offer a healing draught or a vial of explosive liquid during quests

They exude an air of mystery that draws others in but also keeps them at a distance

People often feel a mix of fascination and intimidation in their presence

They have a deep understanding of the Mist and can manipulate it to hide themselves, obscure events, or confuse mortals

Advanced children of Hecate can even alter how the Mist influences other demigods

Many of Hecate’s children have animal companions, often creatures associated with magic like black cats, owls, or snakes

These familiars are more than pets—they’re extensions of their magic

They feel most powerful at night, particularly under a full moon

They often stay up late practicing spells or stargazing, drawn to the mysteries of the cosmos

They can create elaborate illusions to trick enemies, entertain friends, or provide temporary shelter

These illusions can be so realistic that even other demigods struggle to distinguish them from reality

Their understanding of crossroads and potential outcomes makes them excellent strategists

They’re often the ones devising clever plans on quests, though their methods can be unconventional

Hecate’s children are collectors of magical artifacts and seekers of forbidden knowledge

Their bunk spaces are often cluttered with ancient books, crystals, and odd trinkets with unknown powers

Many of Hecate’s children have a connection to one or more elements, such as fire, water, or earth

They incorporate these elements into their spells and combat techniques

They feel a special connection to places of transition—crossroads, doorways, thresholds

Despite their magical prowess, many of them feel isolated due to their powers

Others might view them as strange or dangerous, leading Hecate’s children to seek out close-knit friendships

While not as physically powerful as children of Ares or Athena, they use magic to enhance their combat

They might summon shadows to fight for them, enchant their weapons, or disorient their foes with illusions

They’re fascinated by myths, folklore, and legends—particularly ones involving magic

Their storytelling skills are captivating, often weaving elements of mystery and wonder

In the midst of battle or crisis, Hecate’s children maintain an unsettling calm

Their ability to analyze the situation and choose the best magical solution makes them reliable in even the worst circumstances

They feel a kinship with creatures like nymphs, satyrs, and other mystical entities

They’re often the ones who can negotiate with or befriend these beings during quests

On nights of major celestial events, they may perform rituals to honor their mother

These rites often involve offerings left at literal crossroads, calling for guidance, protection, or power

They understand the delicate balance of light and dark, good and evil

They’re less concerned with traditional ideas of morality and more focused on the consequences of their choices

Hecate’s children are protectors of hidden knowledge and guardians of mystical secrets

They’re deeply aware of the responsibility their magic carries and strive to use it wisely—most of the time.

#cabin 20 #hecate

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tyrantisterror · 7 months ago

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At Sea Without a Map pt. 28

"My name is Sailor," you say, and at this point it's not really a lie anymore. "My friend here is called Calibani." Her cheeks blush blue at you calling her a friend. "She's been helping me survive out here while I try to find my way back home - out of this Sea of Monsters. We heard you might be able to help me."

The metal eyeball-looking-thing whirs and swivels in its socket for a moment, the hexagonal machinery of its iris twisting inward as it scrutinizes you closely. Then it relaxes. "Plausible enough. Come in, come in my good fellow!"

The sharp plates of the door retract into the door frame, opening to a short hallway with another, different yet equally bizarre door, which opens at your approach to reveal... another short hallway with another different yet equally bizarre door that opens to, you guessed it, the same exact sort of nonsense over and over again until, after like fifteen doors or so, you finally enter a room that's more than ten square feet.

What greets you on the other side is, well, a well-worn cliche. It's a mad scientist's lab. Not just a laboratory, mind you, but specifically the platonic ideal of what a mad scientist's lab would be, with all sorts of strange, menacing equipment of unclear purpose, tesla coils that spark with electricity, a huge and retro-looking computer, and a grim-looking operating table complete with straps to keep its unfortunate occupant restrained. And of course, in the middle of it all, is a freak in a labcoat.

From behind, you could almost trick yourself into thinking Dr. Neptune was no different than you. Sure, the lab coat and black gloves are a little "saturday morning cartoon," and his head is in some sort of jar, but one could argue those might have a practical use. But when he turns to face you, you have to accept the truth: that's not a human, that's a movie monster, a brain in a jar piloting a robot body in a mad scientist costume. Not just a normal brain, either, but some sort of mutant brain, with a single, inhuman-looking eye growing between its two main lobes, and a layer of skin that obscures all but the deepest wrinkles of his gray matter.

"I must say, it's refreshing to finally see another human face!" the brain-in-a-jar says to you through a very advanced voice processor built into his glass head dome. "I believe you said your name was Sailor? That's nominative determinism at its finest!" He hops over to you on his one... leg? and grabs your hand with his own. His grip is firm and slightly uncomfortable, feeling akin to getting your hand caught in an umbrella as it's folding up. After a rigorous shake, he releases you, then laughs, "Tell me, Sailor, how does it feel to have traveled farther than any astronaut?"

You stare blankly at the brain-in-a-jar, trying to process this latest batch of bullshit you've been given to handle. "What," is all you manage to say in reply.

"Ha ha, you don't even realize it, remarkable!" Dr. Neptune claps you on the back with his mechanical hand, an unpleasant sensation that's enough to rouse you out of your stupor. "So you've been told the name of this place, but not its nature, is that right? Well, allow me to enlighten you, my fellow human being! You, my good friend, have indulged in Inter-universal travel!"

"...Inter...universal?"

"That's right! I imagine you come from a universe like mine, where humanity hasn't even managed true interplanetary travel yet. Yet here you are, having gone beyond planets, stars, even galaxies, landing in an entirely separate reality from the one you knew!" If the brain had an actual face, it'd be beaming. "Feel the magnitude of it yet?"

You stagger backward, unsure of what to make of this. "How is that even possible?"

"An excellent question!" Dr. Neptune replies. "I imagine you, like most travelers to this particular universe, are here by accident rather than by choice. So, tell me, Sailor, how did you come to be here?"

Gulping, you briefly look at Calibani for emotional support, then sigh and tell the doctor, "Well, that's part of the problem. I don't know how I got here. In fact, I can't really remember... anything about my life before. I know I had one, I have vague ideas of what it must be like, but nothing concrete or specific. My only real memories are from when I first found myself on a boat out here at sea."

Doctor Neptune regards you for a moment. "Hmm... interesting. Amnesia is a common, though not universal, symptom of inter-universal travel. But the only cases I can think of occurred during the return trip, as a sort of trauma response - the traveler's brain forces them to forget the full details of their journey so as to return to normalcy in their home reality."

Calibani's eyes light up. "Does that mean Sailor is native to the Sea of Monsters, then?" she asks. "That they're already home?"

"No, I don't think so," Dr. Neptune says. "I've studied the Sea of Monsters quite extensively, and I can say with relative confidence that the only humans in this universe are travelers from other realities. And while I may not know of other travelers off the top of my head who experienced amnesia when entering the Sea, that doesn't mean it's a major anomaly - there are plenty of mundane ways to suffer amnesia, after all." He thinks for a moment before gazing intently at you with his sole, inhuman eye. "Something to investigate further later. You, I imagine, have plenty of questions of your own, so let me be of service by sating your curiosity with my immense expertise!"

He's right, you do have many questions, and as per your custom, you consult your compass on which topics to broach and how thoroughly to discuss each of them.

(You know the drill by now - all topics will be discussed, but the more vote one gets, the more detail we'll go into, and as always feel free to submit questions you'd like to ask in the replies of this post.)

#At Sea Without a Map #ASWaM Chapter 5: The Madman and the Monster

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 10 months ago

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what were the Doctor's and the Master's education like? like which Chapter schools did they go to and how long did they stay and such?

What were the Doctor and the Master's school days like?

The early lives of the Doctor and the Master contain a lot of contradictory information, so below is the path of least resistance.

🌱Early Days

The Doctor (AKA Theta) was from the Oldblood House of Lungbarrow, and the Master (AKA Koschei) was from the Newblood House of Oakdown, both of which were in the Prydonian Chapter.

In their youth, they would have both undergone a period called brainbuffing. This intensive education, supervised by robotic avatroids in their Houses, involves learning the very basics.

🎓Academy Initiation

At the age of 8, candidates for the academies take an entrance exam. Both Koschei and Theta passed these and were taken from their Houses and put in dormitories at the Prydon Academy.

Theta and Koschei met on the first day and instantly bonded, becoming fast friends. They were both tutored by Borusa, a stern yet influential mentor. They would often cause trouble together and go AWOL from classes. One excursion led to the death of a fellow student named Torvic - an event that would change Theta and Koschei's lives forever.

🌌 The Untempered Schism

Somewhere in the first term, both Theta and Koschei were taken for the Untempered Schism initiation, where they were made to stare into a gap in spacetime.

Koschei: Koschei's experience was very traumatic. He was overwhelmed by the sound of drums—a relentless beat that would haunt him for the rest of his lives. This drumbeat, coupled with the fallout from that day with Torvic began to warp his mind and soul.

Theta: Theta, on the other hand, was terrified by the Schism, and he ran away. This instinct to run would become a defining characteristic of his lives.

Once this was complete, their proper education began.

For more on grade levels/years, see the related section.

🏫 Entrance to the Time Academy

In 5th Grade at around aged 20, students take the entrance exam for the Time Academy. Both Theta and Koschei passed these. They didn't need to go anywhere else, because Prydon Academy is also the Time Academy - it's the only academy able to give out the title of Time Lord.

🧠 The Time Academy

For more on classes taught, see the related section.

The curriculum at the Time Academy was challenging and varied. From advanced temporal theory and stellar engineering to telepathic disciplines and even recreational mathematics, the Academy was designed to push young Time Lords to their limits.

Theta and Koschei were inseparable for a lot of this time, sharing a love for experimenting with forbidden sciences. They played pranks, like trapping a teacher in a time loop, and often skipped classes to engage in unsanctioned experiments. Koschei excelled at hypnotism and took pleasure in teaching Theta some of his tricks, although their uses of these skills would diverge dramatically in the future.

They were also part of an elite group known as the Deca, which included other future renegades like Ushas (who would become the Rani). The Deca engaged in activities ranging from building 'time flow analogues'—devices to disrupt each other's experiments—to forming a band called the 'Gallifrey Academy Hot Five,' where Theta played the lead perigosto stick and Koschei played the drums.

Amidst all their studies and mischief, the two made a pact to one day explore every star in the universe together. Cue the sad violin music. 🎻

🎓 Graduation

As they approached graduation, the differences in their outlooks became more obvious. Koschei saw himself as destined for greatness, driven by a desire to control and shape the universe. Theta, in contrast, was more of a dreamer, fascinated by the beauty and mystery of the universe rather than its domination. Their friendship began to fracture after an incident where Koschei broke a promise, leading Theta to realise that their paths were too different to remain friends.

According to some accounts, both Theta and Koschei graduated at around 236 years old, as part of 'The Class of the 4th Millennium' or 'the Class of '92'. While Theta supposedly passed his Time Lord qualifying exams with the lowest possible passing grade—51%—other stories suggest he was expelled before he could graduate due to his political views.

🚀 Beyond Graduation

Some accounts suggest Koschei stayed on at the Academy to get another degree, while others say he went into teaching for a while, or maybe something else. Theta, meanwhile, might have worked a few jobs before he took a TARDIS and left, depending on who you ask.

💬|🧸🏫What are young Gallifreyans/Time Tots taught?: Detailing what the kids of Gallifrey are taught.

💬|🧸🏫How do grade levels work in Gallifreyan schooling?: How the Gallifreyan education system works.

💬|🏡👪What does a traditional family/House dynamic look like?: Houses and their internal structures.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

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batsplat · 7 months ago

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ok, in light of casey and vale’s reunion at the ranch. what are your top 5 or maybe 10 motogp feud developments of the year? could be something like casevale link up or someone saying something insane or it could be some insane fact that you’ve uncovered this year which changed/added to your perception of some rivalry?

excellent ask. obviously I got sent this around the time of the actual ranch visit and prevaricated on answering it, partly because one of my personal top three feud related revelations had not as yet been posted. now it HAS been posted - and while there's other as-yet-unposted material that would probably make this list, I'll have a crack at it with what we've got lol. also, this isn't a particularly balanced list... because obviously 'stuff I've found out this year' is a pretty big caveat. I haven't found out that much stuff this year! generally it's been to do with sete/valentino tbh, and most of it is stuff I've been sent by other people. I've been slacking on doing my own feud research. so as much as I'd like to sneak in a dovi/jorge cameo or whatever, unfortunately there's quite a few feuds where we are currently in a bit of a stagnation period... no real advances in the field I'm afraid. I've decided to go for the nice and round number of six items as nobody's attention will last that long anyway. no need to overdo things

6. casey mentioning valentino's qatar 2007 head rub three times in his autobiography: okay, look, there's a slightly irritating element to this discovery in that... y'know. I could've figured this one out YEARS ago because it literally just relies on reading casey's autobiography closely enough. which you'd think I would have done by now. the process by which I cobbled this one together has been documented here, and now we obviously also have a lovely gif of the moment itself at our disposal. just to refresh everyone's memory, even the bloody photo itself made it to the autobiography:

I love this! casey's so deeply weird about valentino and he's so repressed about it and he lets it slip in such funny ways. such a short moment for it to live so incredibly rent free in casey's mind. as always, it is important to note that casey is not giving an accurate recollection of events. I have little way of knowing whether valentino was still friendly to casey away from the track - but I can use casey's own metric of direct post-race interactions and tell you categorically that valentino continues to warmly congratulate casey after early 2007. there's this fun little technique I use to assess casey's claims called 'the power of my own eyes'

mugello 2009 first time vale lost his home race in a bajillion years and this is how he acts with casey on the podium... let's start a conversation

the underlying reasons for why casey takes such liberties in narrativising the rivalry have been previously discussed in much depth in this parish - and as ever it is fun and neat to note how casey's narrative has become accepted because he has taken advantage of a prevalent narrative about valentino and his affinity for feuding. old tricks used against the teacher!! mainly, though, this kind of thing is a fun little reminder of how rewarding it is to do a lot of reading between the lines where casey is concerned. he does let a lot slip, if you know where to look

5. jerez 2024, the weekend experience: I was thinking about putting something related to the pecco/marc set-up for next year in this post but quite honestly I am increasingly pessimistic about how that will unfold. like,, I do think there's plenty of stuff there and that in this kind of scenario any two of prime jorge, casey and valentino would start stabbing each other, any two of prime jorge and valentino could get something going with pecco, and marc would start a war with any of those three. but I'm just not convinced about this specific combination... and sometimes it's a good idea to set your expectations low. so unfortunately we continue to have to rely on old feuds to keep us fed, which means that valentino's link to pecco somehow remains the most surefire source of narrative tension. I don't particularly like this state of affairs and maybe somebody below the age of 35 should start pulling their weight, but it is what it is. sometimes you just have to contend yourself with archival research. anyway, I really enjoyed jerez!! it was fun having valentino there for all that stuff, the marc/pecco duel was only second to jorge/pecco sepang in terms of on-track thrills, plus repeatedly cutting back on marc does kinda feel like #heritage at this point. grateful that bez moved his ass once this season to get valentino to parc fermé

but above all I really enjoyed that valentino description of marc - how marc attempts to show his superiority over his opponent and that 'when he sees that you are less strong or are already bleeding, he bites harder'. that's lovely stuff. obviously valentino is correct in his assessment of marc... but what makes the whole thing more fun and dramatically juicy is that especially that second part is even more true of valentino himself. valentino sniffing out weakness is basically his entire MO as a rider, including in very practical terms how he likes to study and put pressure on his opponents during races. he's also someone who's always liked to attack from a position of strength - you see this most obviously in the 2008-09 period and it is something jorge himself acknowledges quite explicitly in his biography. idk, something about seeing a little bit of yourself in your enemy... and yeah, 'biting your rival harder when they are already bleeding' is just such a poetic little phrase that I've made heavy use of it since then. old man's still got it

4. what hrc was told at qatar 2004: this is another one of those slightly annoying ones where I suppose I theoretically could have found this out years before I did, but. having finally had the chance to watch the footage from that route 46 route 93 documentary and the bits about sete, twas very much worthwhile. I really enjoyed what valentino said, just a nicely rich text especially given the scarcity of comments he's made since 2004 - but I was particularly interested in the testimony from juan martinez, sete's crew chief. both of which are discussed in some depth here. as far as I can tell, martinez did quite literally say him and sete talked to hrc about the little grid rubber trick valentino's team pulled, which?? he claims it's for 'safety reasons' to try and convince them everybody needed the track cleaned - which is all well and good, but you don't need to be a witch to guess what hrc was going to do with that information

this testimony plus a few more details I've unearthed but haven't posted - primarily relating to the actions of fausto gresini and other honda bigwigs that day - make me increasingly convinced that valentino did have a legitimate grievance at qatar. including directed towards sete. obviously, the manner in which he responded to said grievance was still completely mental... but idk, I'd always had a sneaking suspicion that there had to be something to valentino's accusation. which makes sete's arc throughout that 2004 season and especially from qatar to sepang even more interesting!! I do think he wasn't being entirely honest in that sepang presser, but I also think he panicked a bit for fairly understandable reasons. idk obviously this is just such a fascinating few weeks for everyone involved, so I'm thrilled how I've found out so much more about that time period in such a short amount of time. again, mostly not off the back of my own research!! but I am grateful for what I have been allowed to Divine

3. valentino's podcast adventures: I still haven't talked properly about what valentino said about jorge but I will and I should, because those bits are all pretty enjoyable and fit into the rivalry write-up I did earlier this year. also, the casey stuff was excellent!! more of the valentino ambition vs casey talent theme, plus just some fun descriptions of laguna 2008 I will absolutely integrate into my long post about that race. nothing NEW exactly, but it's always nice having someone confirm your working. and the marc stuff was really fun!! obviously I was particularly keen on the alzamora stuff because I've always felt like there had to be more to his role. the argentina 2015 stuff is just really interesting in relation to what jorge has said (perhaps reflecting paddock gossip at the time question mark) that marc felt valentino deliberately made him crash, so you get into this excellent mutual j'accuse situation. and assen!! obviously valentino's description of marc's attitude isn't particularly novel since it does chime with what we have actual footage of in the presser, but the idea of a private lil confrontation is so much fun. especially paired with marc saying at sachsenring he felt assen was his best race of the season!! 2015 is one of the best puzzle box seasons to try and unravel what 'really happened' and why - and we really haven't gotten new details from one of the two blokes involved that often over the years. always appreciate some additional insight

and obviously the best bit - zero mention of sete. friendships, rivalries, even feuds can fade... curses last forever

2. the 'ciao sete' shirt valentino wore in 2004: which has now been posted here, god bless. this has been living rent free in my mind for weeks at this point, not a day has passed where I haven't thought about it. it has singlehandedly made motogp-blogging on this website worth it because I doubt I would have ever discovered it myself. I love this so so dearly. look at this absolute cunt

a third t-shirt has hit late 2004 feuding towers

first of all, that's a dyke aunt. that is a mother. some deep concentrated evil lesbian energy. I'm not straight but he can get it. second of all, what the FUCK is wrong with you. the best part is that this has been sent to me along with a steady diet of extra details confirming they were like. properly properly friends before all this shit went down, which makes every additional feud-related revelation particularly wild. they were close!! it's so brutal, it's so malicious, it is INCREDIBLY funny and I laugh every time I see those photos. I love the playful edge, the double meaning of 'bye thirst', that marriage of joy and cruelty that is so quintessential to the arc he goes on that year. just having a laff... one dead, dozens injured. I feel like I increasingly have a handle on why valentino went SO far with sete and what it was specifically about losing to sete that drove valentino nuts, which does also leave me with rather a lot of sympathy for poor sete in all this. endless ritual humiliation is one hell of a punishment for your former friend to inflict. that being said, unfortunately it is also hilarious. ah well

1. CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH: casey!! visited!! valentino!! at!! the!! ranch!! CASEY VISITED VALENTINO AT THE RANCH. out of NOWHERE too, just suddenly opened tumblr to a bunch of asks and messages on a random sunday evening. I'd previously expressed myself sceptical on the vale/casey dinner front, feeling rather safe and secure in the knowledge they had not done so in the twelve years since casey's retirement. which, y'know. fantastic timing, lads. but I still think my reasoning mostly holds up - obviously, this was a more casual 'valentino harassing casey into sticking around' affair and not quite the soul-searching soul-baring exercise in exorcisms casey might be looking for. and idk, just vindicating of my general read of that relationship. casey's feelings towards valentino are extremely complicated - this weird cocktail of how he feels about valentino as a person and then valentino the character and also valentino the literal embodiment of the sport. valentino doesn't hate casey... and crucially, he also does not seem to particularly mind casey's bi-yearly habit of talking shit about valentino. I mean, come on, SOME of that stuff must get back to valentino. I'm consistent in my stance that - while casey obviously has plenty of legitimate grievances - I do also think valentino could reasonably take issue with some of the ways casey has characterised valentino and their rivalry. if valentino has his complaints, he's clearly not about to share with the class - and there's really not any bitterness whatsoever in how he's talked about casey these last few years. he's content to pass the reigns to casey in narrativising their rivalry to the public. pretty interesting, no?

idk, I like how true the entire ranch visit felt to their dynamic... valentino might have done what he needed to do to beat casey, but there was never any real personal animosity on his end - at most their intense bickering during 2010-12, but even there it was never that serious to valentino. and now, that's all done with as far as he's concerned... the door is open, if casey wants it to be. and casey, always just a bit more cautious and wary and far more conflicted, who clearly still has all these grievances relating to valentino he needs to share with the world... but when they're actually face-to-face, those have always had a habit of falling away. valentino in all his boundless enthusiasm and sincere belief that casey is as good a rider as they come, dragging around his erstwhile rival to proudly show him around his precious home. and casey, who once idolised valentino and perhaps even wished they could have been friends, allowing himself to be dragged along. it was sweet... it warmed my cold dead heart. I liked it. and I am going to laugh very hard indeed when casey gives his next interview discussing how valentino taught him about the horrors of the human condition

#most of my sete scholarship is happening in messages at the minute but that could easily fill up a top ten list #found a clip of an interview of him post qatar 2004!!#just so much fun to actually be able to watch him lol. his perpetual :D paired with how clearly obviously beyond furious he is #also yeah he did curse sete. don't have a clip of THAT but enough quotes of him talking about it #which i did post about but only in a longer essay so. nothing i can easily link to for the purposes of this list #//#brr brr #batsplat responds #//it #//currt #//ht #//curst #i need to give somebody dovi/jorge brainworms so they can do some extensive research #feel free to send in your application #//brr brr

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