#Chapter 2 versus Chapter 5

[ptts2023]

AROWRA: REDEMPTION (BOOK 5) CHAPTER 5: FORGOTTEN OR WORSE (SAMPLE)

Arowra: Redemption Book 5: Chapter 5 Forgotten Or Worse

Azura And Krobelus Azura have made a name of himself as a powerful warrior. So, it wasn't easy for him to admit that he failed to kill Rengart II. As for Krobelus the Death Mage, she is not as powerful as Azura, so if Azura failed to kill Rengart II, then her chance of success would be even lower. But, she casted the Nightmare spell on Rengart II. This time, there are no mages to despell the Nightmare spell. Example: Last time, Mayleigh Planecaster and Firiona Nightingale was able to despelled the Blood Fued spell Krobelus casted on Rengart II.

Rengart II Even though, Rengart II is weighed down by all the weights in his life and locked in prison. But, he still constantly pushing himself to train in combat. Also, the art of war study. "You bloody fool! Haven't you learn anything? Why did all these adversities happened to you in the first place? Why you constantly pushing yourself to train in combat and the art of war study? A stupid ignorance blind bloody fool. More stupid than stupid can be." The Nightmare spell created an illusion of Azura saying those things to Rengart II. "Shut up! I fought hard and I train hard. So, I could forgive myself for being so weak." Rengart II argued back. "Finally, a true reflection of your entire life. A bittered disappointment. A disgrace to the Rayhart kingdom. Do you have any idea of what is being a king is like or what is being loved is like?" The illusion continue criticizing Rengart II. "I was a leader in my group. We care about each other and watched each other backs." Rengart II argued back. "You are so pathetic. Haha. Where is that group you are talking about? I supposed being so alone and miserable making up things to comfort yourself would seem not pathetic to you. Am I wrong? Come on, face the reality. Hang yourself with those ropes to end your suffering." "It is some kind of spell." Momentary, Merlin casted the spell on Rengart II have reached Rengart II. Meanwhile, Merlin's spell have made Krobelus can't have vision over Rengart II's cell. "Damn it. It is those mages again. I supposed his group didn't abandon him afterall. I have to warn Azura about this." Krobelus thought out loud. Back to Rengart II's cell. The Nightmare spell illusion continue to criticize Rengart II. "The truth hurt. Knowing you have royal blood. Inherited as the next king. And, you still failed so miserably in life. Oh yeah. We could read your mind. You are thinking of trying to restore your position and out smart all of us. But, it is because of your arrogant thinking have led you to your downfall and miseries. You could have just live your life. Even if the king didn't pass the heir to you as the next king. You are still a prince with royal blood. Loved by many people. Live a fullfilment life with happiness. Instead of locked in prison to rot. It is not just rotten in prison…" "Stop it…" Rengart II stopped his combat training. Then, he walked over to his desk. He wrote down the following on a piece of paper: "Sometime something is best forgotten. But, it is never that simple." "In the legend, it is the deformed creature, Crorc that his appearance is so hideous that people would push him away from civilization/society. So, he became the guardian of the legendary swords. But, outside of the legendary swords legend, the king have once wielded those legendary swords and defeated the emperor. Hatred, hated, and hideous Royal blood, royalty, and not hideous Even if I wielded the legendary swords have forgotten. I still have to play my role in this legend." He brainstormed.

Matobo, Gaea Mayleigh Planecaster have return back to Matobo, Gaea from her trip to Celestrial Lumious, Avalon to visit Elspeth Tirel. In her palace, she have assigned rescue teams to Pyramid, Vaulthelm to rescue Rengart II. But, the rescue teams have reported back to her that Rengart II's cell have relocated. Also, there are too many people have claimed to be Rengart II. She recalled seeing files of laboratory making clone of Rengart II. Also, files of the spreading Rayhart's Virus that killed many people. So, she concluded that it is not that simple to just send in rescue teams and expected to rescued Rengart II. She decided to have a meeting with Steam Wingswell. She knew Steam is Claire Wingswell's father. Claire and Steam is Rengart II's compaions since early years. Mayleigh and Steam got into talk about Rengart II. "Pissed off princess. Unfortunate delimma. Not a sight I would expected from the Princess of Matobo." Steam said sadly. "No one said war is a pretty sight to look at. Yes. That is it fuel the anger. Making things more confusing and complicated. So what if I'm pissed off? Like you have never seem someone who is pissed off before? First you have a pissed off princess. Then, you have a dissapointed princess. Go on. Until the unfortunate delimma destroy everything." "It is quite an elaboration. I get it the message, princess. I will continue the search for Rengart II. Technically speaking, Rengart II could have claimed his throne to be the next king. So this search for Rengart II is not just for Matobo. But, also for Tazlansteam." "In time like this. And, the many battles I have fought. My image is a blood rage princess who is obsessed with power and conquest. There is no caring in me to care about finding Rengart II's whereabout. Or, no claims that I have made prayers for Rengart II to be safe. I wanted to correct this image of me. And, redeem myself that do I care enough to want to make prayers for Rengart II to be safe." He gave her a nod. Then, he left the throne hall.

Caught In the Politics Rengart II and Mayleigh is caught in a changing world with the Auradon Reckoning and revolution happening in Arowra. In Greek Mythology study, Gaea is the goddess of life. Also, Uranus and Gaea are the first god and goddess. This mean according to the Greek mythology, Uranus and Gaea are the father and mother who gave birth to all the gods and goddesses including the titans. In addition, dicitionary have added the word, Gaea or Gaia. The dictionary definition mean life. Also, countries from around the world have used the word, gaea to mean life. As a resut, the word gaea could be the following: commonly used word, slang, religious word, or political word. Even though, the country of Gaea want to stand for liberty. At the same time, want to claim that a country with liberty yield life. That is why the country of Gaea is named after Gaea, the goddess of life. But, outside of the country of Gaea's beliefs and values, the geography of Gaea is a country filled with deserts and mountains. Constant battles between the many different tribes. And, constant revolution. Thus, the barren land, constant battles, and constant uprising yield for a nurturing touch. This nururing touch could intrepreted as a mother nurturing a new born baby. In a way, Mayleigh, the Princess of Matobo is the leader to Gaea's beliefs and values. Such as Gaea finally, have a leader to lead Gaea through their turmoils. As a result, the public appearance of Mayleigh. And, parades of Mayleigh. To the people of Gaea is their salvation. As for the politics, the harsh criticism have made the following criticism against the kings: the brutal and savage kings obsessed with power and conquest. This power hungery have made the Rayhart kingdom as a kingdom mad for power and would destroy anyone or anything who get in their way. As a result, Rengart II who is rotten in prison. Because of his madness and obsession for power. Mayleigh the awaited return princess for her ruling and bring hope to her people. Because of her nurture, unity, and liberty. So, Rengart II and Mayleigh got caught in the politics. Even though, Rengart II is fighting very hard against it. And, Mayleigh have send rescue teams into Pyramid to search for Rengart II. But, people only see the following: Rengart II and Mayleigh live in two different worlds. This two different worlds could not live together. As a result, Mayleigh abandon Rengart II and forgot that she ever met him. And, continue with her life. As for Rengart II, Rengart II done it to himself. He had everything. Yet, his madness and obsession for power have drove him to rotten in prison.

Forgotten Or Worse Even though, Rengart II is not a mage, but because he have been leading the mages in his group, so he could tell that he is under a spell. This mean he could tells that the Nightmare spell is reading his thoughts. To him being forgotten is so far away, because of his obligations to his royal blood and beimg the next king to the throne. So, he try very hard to avoid the topic, "Being Forgotten". In addition , he correlated that this trying very hard is falling into the Nightmare spell trap. As a result, he made a plan to hide his identity for awhile until he is out of prison. This hiding his identity could misunderstand as being forgotten. Group1: Tazlansteam royalists who are still loyal to him. Group2: Northern Flagship members who are still loyal to him. Group3: Stormwhisper tribe members who have been under his command. He break down the people in those 3 groups into many teams. He used the many teams to execute his plan on hiding the Rayhart's Armor and the legendary swords. Because there are many different teams, so the trackers who is tracking him don't know which team is the real team. Such as which team have the Rayhart's Armor and the legendary swords. Only when the 12 planet signs are put together, then the location of the Rayhart's Armor and the legendary swords are revealed. Even though, he knows there is a problem such as because he have hidden the armor and 2 swords mean he can't used them in combat. But, that is the price he have to pay. As the many teams is executing the plan to hide the armor and 2 swords, he is being transported in a caravan from Pyramid, Vaulthelm to Etymoser Lake, Skyel. Miles away from the city of Clockwork Hill, the caravan got ambushed by the Municipality & Marauder (MM) tribes. The conflicts in the MM have made the MM going by another name, Freedom Fighter (FF). So, calling the MM as MM or FF is not wrong. Even though, it is all from the will of Merlin's spell. Example: In chapter 4, Merlin have casted a spell to break Rengart II out of prison. But, to many people the MM ambushing the caravan seem like a natural event.

12 Planet Signs Riddle Rain last words before he spared Rengart II and Rengart II's parents and grandfather. And, left Arowra: "It is a tragic ending." Rengart II still remember Rain's last words, so he didn't expected anyone would able to solve the riddle. The following is the riddle: Rengart II and Mayleigh is a perfect example of 2 worlds could never be together, so how could 12 planets be together? This riddle was not meant to be solve.

[godmodebeginswithlesbians]

i love how, thinking about the amount of plot armor each character gets, alcryst and hortensia are Extremely Relevant to the plot compared to all other non main characters

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 23

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22

A/N: oh my good lord i am sooo sorry for how long it's taken for me to update this i've been down the pitt/mohabbot rabbit hole and im still there but i got out long enough to write this chapter oh boy oh boy im sorry

When Rafe feels someone come stand next to him at the bar, the last person he expects for it to be is John B.

Rafe leans against the bar on his elbow, waiting for one of the bartenders to get their drinks, when John B joins his side. But while Rafe’s pose remains at ease, he can just sense the tension in John B’s body as he leans forward with his arms crossed on the bar. Rafe arches an eyebrow at him but doesn’t say anything, easily noticing the tic in John B’s jaw, his gaze ahead since he doesn’t look at Rafe just yet.

Things felt civil enough when he and Isla had arrived; he and John B hadn’t shook hands or anything, but it was still progress, in Rafe’s opinion. The fact of the matter is, Rafe doesn’t give a shit about the old Kook versus Pogue mentality that he had lived in for years, not when having that kind of thought process would mean he would lose Isla. She’s far more important to him than old rivalries, and he’s more than ready to move past them and make nice with her—and, in turn, his sister’s—friends if it meant the stress would fall off Isla.

So, instead of running his mouth and antagonizing the situation like his old self would, Rafe simply quietly, and patiently, waits for John B to speak first.

It doesn’t take him long.

“You get it, right, why it’s been hard for us to accept Isla and. . . You,” John B says, speaking haltingly like he was trying to find the right words as he drags his gaze to Rafe’s.

Briefly pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, Rafe exhales sharply through his nose. “I get why you guys have a hard time looking past our shit history. I don’t get how it was easy for you to ice Isla out like that,” Rafe replies. He’s trying to be civil, he really is. But then he thinks of how heartbroken Isla has been, how many tears she has shed, and Rafe is filled with the primal, visceral urge to protect her from anything and anyone that could even potentially hurt her. And whatever his history with the Pogues, he hates that her own friends had been the ones to inflict that kind of pain on her. 

Though, it’s not surprising. It’s the people you love the most that have the greatest potential to hurt you.

John B’s jaw works and Rafe can tell he’s frustrated. “It wasn’t easy,” John B argues, and when Rafe’s expression remains unconvinced, John B lets out a huff. “It wasn’t,” he insists, his spine straightening. Rafe still has a few inches on him. On all of them, really. “I—Look, it’s not right how we reacted. I know that. But we all just felt. . . Blindsided by your relationship, alright? With everything in our past, none of us really understood why you of all people.”

If Rafe had thinner skin, he’d be more insulted by John B’s words. He won’t lie to himself—it does sting a bit that her friends took one look at his relationship with Isla and immediately wrote it off simply because of him. He gets it and, not for the first time, he regrets all of the shit that has gone down between him and Isla’s friends. The unnecessary fights, provocations, the put-downs. Sure, it was all mutual, each side dishing an equal amount, but it certainly doesn’t gain Rafe any brownie points with the Pogues.

“But—” John B continues, pulling Rafe out of his thoughts as he takes a look at the other guy. John B fiddles the sleeve of his suit jacket, his jaw working. “I miss Isla. We all do. We’re not us without her.”

Rafe shakes his head, releasing an almost disbelieving chuckle. “She’s right there, man,” he says, vaguely gesturing in the direction where she sits with Sarah. “She’s been waiting for you all to get over it, or at the very least, fucking talk to her instead of shutting her out.” He thanks the bartender who places their drinks in front of them, and Rafe pushes one of the glasses towards John B, who looks at the glass briefly before lifting his gaze to meet Rafe’s pointed one. “If you all miss her as much as you’re saying, then do something about it.” Rafe grabs two of the glasses, while John B also takes the one for Sarah. “And, for shit’s sake, get JJ to take back that stupid ultimatum. Get through to him, will you?”

It pisses him off just thinking about it and based on the radio silence Isla has been facing from JJ, Rafe has no doubt he was serious about giving Isla those choices. He has seen the way it weighs on Isla even if she tries to push it away with smiles that don’t quite reach her eyes always. Rafe knows all of her smiles, each of them beautiful in their own way, but it hurts to see the sadness in that specific smile—the one she forces because the pain of her strained relationship with her friends makes her hold back. 

“Yeah,” John B responds with a sigh, nodding when Rafe eyes him. “Yeah, I’ll talk to him. All of ’em.”

Rafe nods stiffly. While he’s glad that John B will finally get their group to get their heads out of their asses, he’s still a little annoyed that John B didn’t do it already—that it took a conversation with Rafe to kick his ass into gear. Maybe he just needed to see Rafe and Isla together to realize they aren’t fucking around, that their relationship has nothing to do with her friends, and make John B see the truth of it. Whatever. He wishes they just listened to Isla, took her word for it. 

He and John B return to the table and Rafe isn’t surprised that Isla and Sarah are eyeing them both curiously, a touch of worry in Isla’s green eyes. Rafe gives her a reassuring smile as they approach them, setting the glasses down on the table as he returns to his seat next to her. 

Isla’s hand finds his knee, leaning closer as she whispers, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he tells her truthfully with a smile. “All good, baby.” He takes her hand that’s on his knee and laces their fingers together, feeling her relax under his touch. Rafe presses a kiss to the back of her hand and is relieved to see the smile that curves at her lips, leaning into him more as Rafe mirrors her smile.

From behind her, he sees John B watching them. Rafe sees the smile on the other man’s face and he takes it as a sign that things between Isla and her friends will be looking up. 

Cocktail hour passes uneventfully, with Rafe and sometimes Sarah having to make the rounds as Ward’s kids—plus, there are plenty of people here Rafe works with, too. He doesn’t drag Isla around with him and often catches sight of her talking to John B, the two of them far more relaxed with one another as the night progresses. They all have dinner together once the welcoming and keynote speeches are done, and as the tables are being cleared away, John B excuses himself to go to the bathroom.

Sarah is pulled into a conversation with someone Rafe vaguely recognizes and Isla turns in her seat to face him. Rafe mirrors her position to face her as well, legs parted to make space for her, his arms resting on his thighs as his back hunches forward a bit, looking up at her. Not for the first time, he’s struck by how stunning she is, effortlessly so. The dress brings out her green eyes, fitting her perfectly, and his blood thrums with the desperate need to peel it off of her, run his fingers along every dip and curve of her body that he already knows intimately well.

“It’s going well, I’d say,” Isla quips with a smile dancing at the edge of her lips as she looks down at him, as she sits with perfect posture and he’s leaned down, weight on his arms resting on his thighs.

“What is?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Her smile widens a bit, showing off dimples he’s brushed his fingers along countless times already. It’s a breath of fresh air, every time he sees her smile. Drives him crazy. “You and John B being in the same room,” she tells him quietly, like it’s a secret between the two of them. “I’m glad you two decided not to give me and Sarah heart burn.”

“Anythin’ for our ladies, I guess,” Rafe replies with a teasing grin, fingers idly running up and down the length of her calves, one of them exposed thanks to the delicious slit of her dress.

Isla huffs out a laugh, her jewelry glimmering under the lights. “What were you two talking about? At the bar?” she asks curiously, fingers idly playing with his tie.

“He told me how he missed you,” Rafe tells her truthfully, watching as Isla’s eyes widen slightly. It kills him, a little, at the idea that that’s so surprising to her. “They all miss you. And I told him there’s a very easy way to fix this, and that he should just talk to the rest of your friends because everything about this is stupid.”

Her lips tremble with the effort of suppressing her laugh, shaking her head as her gaze softens, fond and warm. “I appreciate it,” she says and the way her eyes shine, Rafe knows she means it. 

Rafe smiles, giving into the urge to kiss her as he leans towards her, only to be interrupted by Sarah coming to stand next to their chairs. “Hey, sorry,” Sarah says, getting both of their attention as they look up at her. Sarah shoots Rafe a concerned look, and it has his back straightening. “I—John B went to the bathroom a while ago and hasn’t come back. Can you go check?”

Rafe blinks. “You want me to check in on your boyfriend. . . In the bathroom?” he asks slowly, face scrunching up.

Sarah bounces from one leg to another. “I saw Topper head in that direction and I—just—can you please?” 

Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, suddenly understanding Sarah’s apprehension. He wouldn’t put it past Topper to corner John B in the bathroom and, frankly, Rafe is pretty sure John B can hold his own. But then he sees Sarah’s, and now Isla’s, worried expressions, and he’s on his feet without much thought. “I’ll check,” he tells them, earning grateful smiles from them both before he turns to walk out of the hall.

He smooths down his tie as he strides out of the room, leaving the party behind as he heads towards the bathrooms. Rafe’s jaw works at the idea of what he might be walking into, though he has a pretty good idea if Topper did, in fact, go to the bathrooms to confront John B, what Rafe is about to see. Topper, it seems, doesn’t know when to quit, and while Rafe didn’t bat an eye when they were friends, it pisses him off now.

Especially when he opens the door to the men's room and sees, unsurprisingly, Topper getting up in John B’s face.

Rafe’s voice is casual as he says, “Any closer and you’ll be kissin’ him, Top.” John B’s gaze meets his around Topper as the bathroom door swings shut behind Rafe. “What the hell are you doing?”

Topper doesn’t turn to look at him. “Nothing we haven’t done before, man,” he answers, his gaze no doubt fixed on John B. It’d be a bet Rafe wins, he knows, as he stares at the back of Topper’s blond head. “What, you here to defend your new friend?” he asks with a sneer that has Rafe rolling his eyes.

Rafe tilts his head slightly. There’s no one else in the bathroom, as far as he can tell. “No. I’m here to make sure you don’t get your ass kicked which, honestly, I don’t really give much of a shit about. But if I were you, I’d back up.”

He notes the tension lining Topper’s shoulders under his suit jacket before he takes a step away from John B and turns to face Rafe. “What, are you two besties now? You’re gonna defend him?” Topper tilts his head. “Weren’t you the one who said he wasn’t good enough for your sister or your family?”

Rafe doesn’t wince or flinch at the words he had spoken in the past being thrown back in his face. Frankly, he has said worse things to John B’s face. Behind Topper, John B doesn’t look upset, either. Whatever Topper’s goal was, he misses it as Rafe levels a flat stare at him. “Yeah, and I also said I’d prefer Sarah dating you over him.” Rafe shrugs, the picture of nonchalance. “Clearly, I said a lot of shit I was wrong about.”

That, he notices, takes John B by surprise a bit, his eyebrows rising behind Topper. But Rafe is being honest—now that he knows how much Sarah loves John B, and how much that love is returned, he regrets ever questioning their relationship. Now that he has Isla in his life and has gotten a taste of the kind of happiness that comes from being with someone you know, deep in your bones, you are meant to be with, Rafe would never want that to be taken away from his sister.

He thinks he might go crazy if it was taken away from him.

“Unbelievable,” Topper laughs as he gapes at Rafe, bewildered and mocking as he walks over to him. “You’ve become one of them now, is that it? You fuck a Pogue long enough and you turn into one?” His smile is more of a sneer. “Just like your sister, huh?”

Ice freezes over Rafe’s blood as his temper simmers, a protective sort of rage seeping through him. His voice stays eerily steady as he says, “Better watch your mouth, Top. I don’t think John B or I take it too well when people talk about our girls like that.”

He sees how that triggers, so to speak, Topper. The idea of Rafe accepting John B as Sarah’s boyfriend, even though they’ve been together for a year, pisses Topper off, clearly. His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing with fists curling at his sides. And maybe the guy is stupider than Rafe could see before, because he steps up to Rafe, obviously trying to be intimidating and falling short. Rafe would laugh, if it weren’t for Topper musing, “Maybe I should get myself a Pogue.” He flicks the front of Rafe’s tie, widening his eyes in feigned wonder. “Hey, you think Isla would be interested in taking turns? Maybe I can see what the hype’s about, since Sarah’s been pretty used throu—”

It was Topper’s own fault, really, for thinking he’d be able to finish that sentence without taking a hit.

The adrenaline numbs Rafe to the pain in his knuckles right after it collides with Topper’s jaw. The blond stumbles back and John B locks his arms around him, pinning Topper’s own arms to the side as he struggles and thrashes against John B’s grip, but it’s tight and unrelenting. John B’s expression is hard, lips curled in a sneer as he prevents Topper from swinging back at Rafe. 

Topper’s lip is bleeding, his teeth having cut it upon Rafe’s fist’s impact, and Rafe steps towards him, flexing his fingers and feeling the tension and sting as he grips the lapels of Topper’s suit jacket. He sees the anger in Topper’s blue eyes, the curl of his bleeding lip as he’s forced to still in his struggle. Rafe easily towers over him and a primal sort of satisfaction rushes through him at the flicker of fear in Topper’s eyes, rearing back as far as he can, but John B is right there, not giving him much room to cower.

Rafe’s voice is dangerously low, the intent to put Topper’s head through a wall loudly clear in his tone. “Let’s get one thing clear, Thornton—I’m sick of you actin’ as if you’re owed something by everyone. You walk around picking fights with people you think have fucked you over, but you’re only embarrassing yourself.” Rafe’s grip on Topper’s jacket tightens, his blood boiling and pulse rapidly firing. “If you ever think about Isla and Sarah again, I’m going to ruin your fucking life. You won’t be able to show your face in the entire state if you keep this bullshit up. Not even your judge grandpa will be able to save you. You fucking get me?”

Indignation swims in Topper’s eyes, staring at Rafe as if he’s never seen him before. “You’re throwing away seventeen years of friendship for—”

“Yeah,” Rafe says tightly, not bothering to let Topper finish. “I am.”

He lets go of him then, his gaze meeting John B’s behind Topper, who waits a beat before he lets Topper go. Topper shoves away, straightening himself and his suit jacket out, his gaze never straying from Rafe. A trickle of blood leaks from the corner of Topper’s mouth, his perfectly styled hair in slight disarray, which makes Rafe feel more satisfied than it should. 

He stares at Topper, though, and Rafe can feel their near two decade long friendship crumbling between them. Topper’s been his longest, oldest friend; they’ve known each other since pre-school, have made countless memories together, raised plenty of hell. Rafe knows that things have been shifting between them as he was becoming more familiar with his feelings for Isla, as the two of them started going out. The whole Kooks versus Pogues mentality seems so far away to him now, and he wishes that the same could be said for Topper.

But it’s abundantly clear that while Rafe has started a new chapter in his life, Topper has fallen far behind.

And it hurts, if he’s being honest, to see their friendship implode. But Rafe also isn’t going to let Topper get away with the shit he spews about his girlfriend and sister. The friendship, despite its longevity, isn’t worth that.

Topper pulls out his handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket, glaring at Rafe as he wipes at the blood on his face. “You’ve lost your damn mind,” he mutters with a shake of his head,  moving to walk past him. He throws him and John B another dirty look, sharper towards John B and—more hurt towards Rafe, who swallows down the tightness in his throat. “Fuck this.”

He storms out, the door falling shut behind him, and the bathroom is left in a tense silence. Rafe runs his tongue along his teeth, fingers once again flexing at his side as he looks down at them, taking in the harsh redness already forming where the skin broke a bit. Slowly, the tension seeps out of his muscles—very slowly, and the silence of the bathroom is broken when John B speaks up.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he says idly, straightening the front of his shirt and suit jacket as well. 

Rafe exhales roughly through his nose. “It was a long time coming,” he corrects with a mutter as he looks at him. He looks fine, but Rafe still asks, “You good, man?”

There’s a flicker of surprise in John B’s dark eyes before it disappears and he nods. “Yeah, I’m alright.” His gaze dips to Rafe’s hand. “What about you? Might need to ice that hand.”

“I’ll live,” Rafe says with a short chuckle before he lifts his chin. The air shifts, not as tense, but he still looks John B in the eye and asks meaningfully, “We good?”

John B stares at him for a beat before he lets out a breath as well, the corners of his lips tipping up in an accepting smile. “Yeah, man, we’re good.”

Rafe nods, feeling more relieved than he anticipated, and he and John B leave the bathroom to head back to the party. He doesn’t look to see where Topper scurried off to as he and John B head back to the table. Rafe’s knuckles aren’t bleeding, but they are a bit raw, and he doesn’t have a hope in hiding it because the second they near the table where Isla and Sarah are sitting, his girlfriend immediately clocks the injury.

“What happened?” she asks, alarmed but hushed as she gets to her feet, her hands immediately grasping his—gingerly, her fingers holding his as she looks at the raw knuckles with concern creasing her forehead. 

Even Sarah stands up, coming over to them with her eyebrows furrowing together. “It’s not a big deal,” Rafe assures them and despite the tension from earlier, he feels a smile ease onto his face as he gets crowded by his girlfriend and sister.

Sarah shakes her head. “You punched Topper?” she asks, disbelief coloring her tone. And a hint of laughter, if he listens for it.

Isla looks up at him, eyes slightly wide in surprise. He shoots her a flat look that has the corners of her mouth curving up. Before either of them can say anything, a hand appears holding a bag of ice, wrapped in one of the white cloth napkins. All three of their heads follow the hand that leads to John B, who raises his eyebrows at a surprised looking Rafe.

“It’ll help with the swelling,” he says, gaze unwavering, and when Rafe takes it with his uninjured hand, it feels like accepting an olive branch.

“Thanks,” Rafe says genuinely with a dip of his chin, which John B returns, as Rafe places it on his knuckles. His gaze flickers, then, and he catches Isla and Sarah looking between the two of them as if they both grew a second head. When he looks back at John B, the brunette is clearly fighting back a smile, and Rafe finds himself huffing out a laugh as he looks back at a bewildered Isla and Sarah. “You two are gonna dry your eyes out if you don’t blink soon.”

“What is going on.” Sarah asks, though it comes out more as a statement, a demand. 

John B drops an arm around Sarah’s shoulders, grinning. “We kissed and made up,” he says with a casual shrug.

It has Rafe snorting out a laugh, surprisingly enough, even as he sucks in a quiet breath when he adjusts the ice on his knuckles. Isla grimaces, still holding his hand from the bottom, as Sarah shakes her head, blinking at Rafe and John B. “I’m so confused.”

Isla cracks a smile in her direction. “Don’t question it.” She looks back at Rafe, her voice quieting, just for him as she looks up at him through long eyelashes and asks, “Are you okay?”

Rafe meets her gaze, the world around them slipping away as he sees the way she searches his eyes. He knows, right then, she doesn’t mean just physically. That she knows what it’s like to be on opposite sides of a friendship, and that something fundamentally has broken between him and Topper. But right now, Rafe can’t make sense of it all.

So he gives her a gentle smile and responds, “Ask me again later?” and, to his relief, she nods after a beat of hesitation. 

“Uh, should we leave before Dad finds out you punched someone at this party?” Sarah pipes up, brown eyes darting around the room.

Rafe’s jaw tightens. “If Dad knew what Topper was saying, he wouldn’t be upset.” He blows out a breath through his nose. “But I’m ready to head out,” he adds, glancing at Isla in question, who nods in agreement.

John B smiles. “I know a place we can go.”

*****

If anyone had told Rafe, months ago, that he would be having a beer in John B’s backyard—in the backyard of the Chateau—Rafe would’ve laughed in your face. Maybe said something rude and condescending for even suggesting such a thing.

Yet here he sits, in one of the hammocks even, with a cold beer in his hand and legs spread so Isla could slot hers in the space in between. Through the leaves of the trees around them, Rafe sees the clear dark sky, stars winking in and out of existence as the hammock gently sways under their weight. John B and Sarah are in the next one, their positions mirroring his and Isla’s, and it all feels a little surreal to Rafe.

Inside the Chateau, a few of the lights are on where Big John hangs out. Rafe hadn’t missed the surprise in his eyes from behind his wiry sunglasses when he realized Rafe was accompanying the group of them, but the man had greeted and welcomed him with the same kind of friendliness he always did whenever Rafe happened to see him. Which is a little more than often, given that Big John and Rafe’s dad are friends.

“I’m thinking another boneyard party,” John B muses thoughtfully, his head resting back as he, too, gazes up.

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, because the last one definitely wasn’t broken up by the cops.”

But Isla hums with a smile. “But the last one did have a hand in us getting together,” she says, meeting his gaze.

Rafe grins, remembering that night well. John B looks between them. “Wait, really?”

Isla nods, chuckling. “Remember I said some touron gave me a ride home after we all split up when the cops came?” John B nods and Isla jerks her chin at Rafe. “My knight on a shining motorcycle.”

Sarah feigns a sniff, one hand to her chest and the other wiping a fake tear. “He does have a heart.”

“You’re so funny,” Rafe says sarcastically with a roll of his eyes, but Sarah’s responding laughter has him shaking his head with a small smile of his own. His eyes land on Isla opposite of him and she’s watching him with that gentle smile, one that hints at her dimples, and Rafe’s chest tightens at the sight of her.

Still in her dress, though this time his suit jacket is draped over her shoulders to shield her from the night chill. “It was very sweet,” Isla tells Sarah and John B with a smile before her gaze flicks back to Rafe. She’s looking at him as she tells the couple in the next hammock, “He didn’t have to save my ass, but I’m glad he did.” Rafe’s pulse thumps happily as she nudges her painted toes against his hip where her legs are stretched out next to him. “Who knows if we’d be here if he hadn’t?”

Rafe watches her, unable to see anything or anyone else. “I would’ve found a way,” he replies, the words wrapped in a vow.

Isla’s smile widens, dimple deepening. He loves the sight of them. To his right, he hears John B groan. “Ugh, you were right. They are cute together.”

Both Rafe and Isla look over at them, catching Sarah’s grin and John B’s head shake, though he seems to be hiding his own smile in his next sip of beer. Hearing John B say that clearly delights Isla, green eyes shining in the dark, and Rafe finds himself appreciative of John B’s words, too.

Sarah just grins smugly, triumphantly. “I love being right.”

-

taglist: @jenniesbuttercup-blog @combatbabys-world @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @fl0werlver @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielaperez11 @katieeeeb @cenzie811148

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

Click here for chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4 & 5

Chapter 6: Drunk in Love

It was one of those rare nights at Ted’s, the kind of night where everything felt electric, where every win felt like it was followed by more laughter, and every drink only added to the buzz of the moment. Apparently, Ava and Paige, both captains of the victorious teams, had decided to celebrate the win together over the weekend. The girls were so excited to get drunk, but you, not so much. You were dreading seeing Paige again after reading her entire diary the past few nights. You hadn’t had enough sleep after all the things you discovered about Paige and how she sees things. You had just finished getting ready when the girls picked you up at your dorm. Hailey’s at her room, losing her mind over her paperwork. Your team arrived earlier than the others. When the clock struck midnight, athletes from both the basketball and swimming teams started showing up at the party.

You and your girls were starting to get settled when the women’s basketball team arrived. You ran your gaze through them until you spotted Paige. She’s wearing an all-black outfit—black cargo pants, a fitted black cropped shirt that shows her toned stomach, and a low-back slicked-back bun. You averted your eyes because you didn’t like that you were checking her out. Girl, move on!

The girls had decided to play beer pong—classic, fun, and with just the right amount of friendly competition. Ball versus swim team. As the games went on, you found yourself unable to focus on anything other than her. Her eyes, the way they would flicker in your direction with a mix of mischief and something deeper. It wasn’t how she used to look at you before; there was something more intense there, a pull you couldn’t ignore.

You watched as Paige took her shot, her fingers brushing lightly against the rim of the cup. A slight touch, almost imperceptible, but it made your pulse quicken. Her eyes met yours again, and for a second, the entire world around you both seemed to fade out. The tension was thick. The kind you could cut with a knife. She didn’t break eye contact, and neither did you. You were aware of the heat rising in your chest, of the way your heart skipped a beat when her gaze lingered on yours a little too long.

The next round of beer pong was more than just a game. It was a challenge. Whoever lost had to take shots—lemon shots, no less, where the lemon bite was as sharp as the alcohol itself. The stakes were high, and you found yourself trying not to think too much about how your hand brushed against Paige’s as you grabbed your drink. The briefest touch, but it felt like a spark, and you felt yourself freeze. She’s teasing me, you thought. No, wait… maybe you're the one teasing her.

The game continued, and when you lost a round, you knew what had to come next. You handed Paige the lemon, and her fingers grazed your palm as she took it. It was subtle, but enough to make your breath hitch. You watched her bite into the lemon, her lips curving slightly as the sourness hit her. You took the shot swiftly, then suck into the lemon she's biting. You swore you saw her eyes flicker to your lips, something almost reckless in her gaze. The look lingered for a beat too long before she looked away, and your heart did that strange thing it always did around her.

The night blurred as everyone kept drinking and goofing off, but you couldn’t shake the image of Paige’s gaze when she bit into that lemon. Something was building between you two, something that neither of you was willing to admit. Then, as the night dragged on, you noticed Paige becoming more carefree, more uninhibited. The alcohol had taken its toll on her, and she was laughing more loudly than usual.

Her gaze kept coming back to you. Every glance, every smile, seemed to pull you deeper into her orbit. It wasn’t just the alcohol anymore. You felt the undeniable magnetic pull between you both, a tension that had always been there but now felt like it was going to break.

You were sitting on the couch, taking a break from all the dancing, when Paige was suddenly beside you. She was leaning in, her breath warm against your neck, and you could feel the heat rising in your chest again. You remembered a certain entry in her diary. It was a small party organized at your parents' house, and you invited Paige over. You both were being silly and started drinking wine secretly. You were both drunk off of it, but clearly, Paige had it under control because she wrote an entry about it, with crossed-out words that changed your whole perspective on her.

She looked stupid laughing uncontrollably, drunk off that wine. I wanna kiss her lips so bad. Can I? I don’t know if I’m gonna get another chance again, though. But I don’t want to take advantage of her. I wanna wipe off that smirk from her lips.

"Are you okay?" Paige’s voice was soft, teasing, but the look in her eyes betrayed her words. She leaned closer, her face just inches from yours. "You looked like you remembered something."

You tried to tell yourself this was just the alcohol talking, that she didn’t really mean what she was saying, but the way she looked at you, so intensely, so raw, made it hard to breathe.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your mind, but it was no use. You could feel her presence, her warmth, all around you.

"Get away from me, Paige. You’re drunk," you muttered, hoping she’d back off, but part of you didn’t want her to.

Her smirk deepened, but her voice was steady. "I’m not. This is me sober, with full-on self-control."

"Oh, really? You don’t look like you’re in control of yourself," you retorted, your own words hanging in the air as you felt the distance between you narrowing.

She raised an eyebrow, almost provocatively, and then—before you could react—she scooted closer. Now, your faces were mere inches apart, and you could feel the electric pulse of tension between you both. She reached up, slowly, her fingers brushing through your hair to push the loose strands away from your face.

"I don’t think you’ll like what I’d do if I lose control, baby," she whispered, her voice low, raspy, sending shivers through your body. Her lips were so close, you could almost taste them. "I missed you so, so much. You have no fucking idea."

Her words sent a jolt through your entire body. You knew you should push her away, remind yourself that this was just the alcohol talking, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in place, caught in her gaze, drowning in the heat between you two.

She caressed your cheek softly, her touch delicate yet intense. "Why’d you disappear from me? I almost went after you to New York… but I thought, if you wanted me there, you’d still be talking to me. And you weren’t." Her breath hitched, her eyes losing their playful edge, replacing it with something more vulnerable, more raw. "So I stayed silent and let you go. I know you don’t remember everything you’ve done to me… and maybe I should still be mad, but being this close to you and masking my feelings with anger isn’t cutting it."

She exhaled deeply, her eyes still on yours, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe. Her hand was still on your cheek, warm, soft, and comforting in the middle of everything.

"I think I’m starting to lose control now," she said with a bitter little laugh, her words trailing off.

You wanted to respond, to tell her that she was drunk, that this wasn’t the right time, but all you could manage was a soft, "Paige, you have Azzi by your side."

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual playful smile. It was almost sad. "Oh, yeah. Azzi’s been there for me all this time. That’s why she’s my best friend. She gets me. She knows everything about me." There was a hint of something else there, something deeper, and you could feel the weight of her words.

"That’s why you don’t need me anymore. You have Azzi," you insisted, trying to convince yourself as much as her.

Paige’s eyes softened, but the sadness was still there. "Azzi is needed by her own girlfriend. And you… I thought you were mine."

Her words hung in the air between you both, the weight of them pressing down on your chest. Everything felt like it was unraveling, and you didn’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away.

Paige's words kept echoing in your mind, but the shock had turned to numbness. Did she really just say that? You kept asking yourself, but every time you tried to convince yourself it was just the alcohol talking, your mind kept racing. You were shocked—What the hell is going on between us? But you refused to acknowledge it, denying the possibility of something more. It felt too complicated, too messy. So, you bottled it all up and focused on getting through the night.

Paige was gone—drunk as hell. Her body was limp in your arms, and she kept giggling like a mess, leaning on you like she could barely stand. She’s wasted. This is just the alcohol talking, not her, you told yourself over and over.

The girls eventually found you, and their concern was obvious. "She’s trashed, dude," Nika said, eyeing Paige as she swayed in your arms. "You need to get her home." And then they went back to partying.

Shit, you thought. You had no idea where Paige's dorm is. She never told you that. After an internal conflict, your only option was to bring her back to your dorm. This is fine. She’ll crash, you'll take care of her, and that’s the end of it.

You took an Uber back to your place, with Paige hanging all over you in the backseat. This is torture, you thought, her hand draped across your chest, her body leaning into you like she couldn't get enough. You could feel her breath against your skin, and each time she shifted, the proximity was driving you crazy.

"You're so warm," she slurred, leaning even closer, pressing her face into your shoulder. "You always smell the same… like… like I remember…" Her voice trailed off, and you caught her looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. There was a mischievous smile on her lips. Why does she do this to me? you wondered, unable to stop your heart from pounding.

By the time you reached your dorm, you were barely holding it together. Paige could barely walk, and you were struggling to keep her on her feet. You knocked on the door, hoping someone would answer before you both collapsed on the floor.

Hailey opened the door and immediately raised an eyebrow when she saw the state Paige was in. "What the hell happened to her?" she asked, concern on her face.

"I don’t know," you muttered, exasperated. "She’s… just wasted. I don’t know what to do with her."

"She’s drunk as hell, obviously," Hailey said, stepping aside to let you in. "Don’t worry, I know her. I’ve seen her around before—remember those food containers we always find on our doorstep? She’s the one who brings them. I saw her one night. She told me not to say anything, and I figured you’d figure it out."

Your mind was racing as you processed this new information. Hailey just answered your speculations about Paige being the one who brought all those food containers when she mentioned something about you eating dinner the other day.

Hailey helped you get Paige to your bed and when you finally managed to lay her down, she went back to her room after you muttered your thanks. You looked at Paige and you realized you still had one problem to deal with. Paige’s clothes. You looked at her, lying there in her outfit, the alcohol-induced haze making her look vulnerable—soft, almost innocent despite the teasing smile she kept flashing. Shit, why are you even thinking like this?

"Paige, we need to get you out of your clothes," you said, trying to sound authoritative, but your voice came out more annoyed than anything. You wanted to get this over with, but her reaction made your frustration bubble up.

Paige blinked slowly, a slight giggle escaping her lips. "Mmm… you wanna help me, huh?" she purred, her fingers trailing lazily over the fabric of her shirt as if she was teasing you on purpose.

You're now sitting at the edge of your bed, "Paige, seriously. You’re too drunk to be acting like this," you muttered, fighting the urge to tell her to get off your bed, to just go to sleep.

Her hand found yours, resting lightly against your lap. "You don’t mind, do you?" she whispered, drawing small circles on your palms.

You pulled your hand back, trying to keep your composure. "Paige, stop. You’re wasted. Just let me help you get to bed, okay?" You feel your own body betraying you, responding to her proximity even when you knew you should be pushing her away.

She nodded like a baby and started sitting up. You pulled her top off her head, then you slid her shoes and pants off. Now she's only in her black sports bra, boxers, and socks. This is hell, you thought as you dragged your hand across your face.

She just smiled up at you, her fingers grazing your arm as she settled back against your pillow. "You’re so cute when you get all serious. You know that?" she whispered, her voice slurred but affectionate. "I missed this. I missed being with you… like this. Don’t leave me again, okay?"

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even find the right words. You were overwhelmed, your heart pounding in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay indifferent, to act like none of it mattered. You pulled the blanket over her, keeping some space between the two of you.

"I’ve been dying to do this for so long," she breathed, her voice a fragile whisper, each word searing through you like fire. She propped herself up on one elbow, her lashes fluttering slowly as she leaned in, unbearably close—too close. "I’ve imagined a thousand scenarios of being this close to you since you left me," she confessed, the weight of her longing suffocating and consuming.

You froze. The words hit you harder than you expected. What the hell is happening right now? You couldn’t figure it out. It was like she was slipping between two versions of herself—drunk and teasing, and something else… something softer.

"You need to sleep it off, Paige," you muttered, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. You turned away from her, facing the wall now. But one second in, and you already felt her hot breath against your neck.

"No," she said quietly, pulling you closer, hugging you. "I want to stay like this. Just for tonight."

You felt her arms tighten around you, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. She was there, pressed against you, her breath soft against your skin. The alcohol may have made her words slurred and her actions bold, but there was something else beneath it all, something real.

You closed your eyes, unable to fight the way your heart betrayed you, but you tried to keep the distance—both physical and emotional. This is just temporary, you reminded yourself. She’s drunk. Tomorrow, this will all be gone.

But as her body relaxed against yours, as her breathing deepened, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that maybe… just maybe, something else was happening between the two of you. Something neither of you could control.

Just for tonight.

Taglist: @0phantom0 @authentic-girl03 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @sjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj @thelightknight21 @kmoneymartini @shartnugget26

[lheslie]

ooo !!! what about scarlet witch reader x invincible variants ( any of ur choice!! )

Ooooh, I've thought about Scarlet Witch Reader Versus Invincible Variants, by never about Scarlet Witch Reader X Invincible Variants.

I have something in mind- except it's not an X reader. It's like a harem kind of thing.

Where the reader is rejected by Main Mark because he doesn't feel the same way as the Reader.

But then the Invincible War Happened and you tried fighting against the other Invincibles, but you couldn't because they had Mark's face.

So instead of killing them, you made a Binding spell, so now HEAR ME OUT which makes them obey your every call, and it turns out these Invincible Variants want YOU-

So they're like, "Who gives a shit about your Mark, you have like eight of us now." Mohawk Mark says.

"Yeah, babe we're hotter and stronger than that pussy." Shiesty Mark snorts.

"You were by my side, I made thousands of statues to commemorate you even in death, and THAT FUCK TARD REJECTED YOU?!?" Target Mark yells.

"You and I promised eternal love, we got married in my dimension." Viltrum Mark saddly spoke.

"You and I were inseperable in my dimension, you were my everything." Omni Mark mutters.

"He's fucking stupid to let you go, in my dimension, you belonged to me." Sinister Mark declared.

"They took you away from me, and now I'll make sure that'll never happen again, even in different time, space and even dimensions." Prisoner Mark Promises.

"We were partners in crime, we even break our bones together, you were insane like the Harely quinn of my dreams." No goggles Mark added.

Although you and Main Mark aren't together you're still friends and you knew about Cecil putting in something in Mark's brain, so Instead of handing the Marks into Cecil's care, you INSTEAD let them live inside your house, where they call fight for YOUR LOVE AND ATTENTION.

Main Mark knows all of this, HE DOESN'T APPROVE-

But Shiesty is like. "Who gives a shit, he's fucking stupid."

IT'S LIKE AN OTOME GAME HAHAHA

I WANT TO MAKE IT AS A SERIES BUT I AM HAVING A HARD TIME TO MAKE IT INTO ONE I HAVE LIKE CHAPTER 1 AND 2- but I am not confident on making it until 5 so it's in my drafts for the time being.

[etherealily]

𝙒𝙃𝙄𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙎𝙃 // Nate Jacobs.

My other Nate fics. If you have the time.

Nate Jacobs + Fem!reader. Dark. SFW, but discretion advised.

Part 2 : 9 Lives Part 3 : Blessed Part 4 : Shards Part 5 : Eighteen Bonus chapter : Sin

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

Desc.: You're needed. Now.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

It's not like you even knew Nate.

You knew of him, sure, quarterback and shit, but still, it was unlikely your paths would ever cross.

Until they did.

Until he started following you on Instagram.

That shit... was so unbelievably odd that you almost blocked him because you thought it was a fake account. But then you saw the mutuals. Holy shit. This was legit.

The fact that his account was private didn't surprise you. Yours was public because you had nothing to post and his was private because he had everything to hide.

You sent him a request. No biggie. I mean, he had to accept, right? He was the one who followed you first - it was only fair. And if it took too long, then you could always unsend it, yeah? Yeah.

It didn't take too long. It barely took three minutes.

Okay. Cool. Weird but cool.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you. An average social media interaction. Good.

--------

Come Friday evening, you decided that watching Maddy cheer was a little less important than your deadline and building your portfolio.

She absolutely supported you (rolled her eyes and said 'whatever, nerd. You still love me, right?') but was a little upset about it (pouted and called you a cunt).

Three hours went by, and you surprised yourself with the amount of work you were getting done. This is great. Friday evening well spent. Work a bit more, and then-

Nate Jacobs tagged you in a Close Friends story.

Close Friends? Tagged? NATE JACOBS?

Okay, one : no fucking way were you on his Close Friends.

Two : there were virtually zero pictures of the two of you, so tagging you was moot.

Three : there was supposed to be a game starting about fifteen minutes from now, Blackhawks versus whatever pretentious team they were going to beat, so why the fuck was he even online?

(Oh, yeah, the Blackhawks were absolutely fucking awesome.)

The story was only text. Text and nothing more.

Y/N, accept my message request. Now. I am not fucking around.

What message request? WHAT the fuck was going on?

You frowned, immediately scrolling over to messages. Shit. There was a request.

A picture, along with six other messages.

This was so strange. It was especially strange that he found the time to text you, when he was supposed to be practicing throwing the old pigskin around for the victory of his school. But text you he did. As if him following you wasn't enough to give you whiplash. "Yo."

"You're not here." No shit, Sherlock.

"You should be."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? This was the most excruciatingly awkward interaction you'd ever had.

"You should be here. Come."

Did he think he was super macho with all this mysterious, vague, one-word bullshit he was spewing? You know what, you'd actually bet your entire school tuition he did. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of asking why.

"U don't just send requests to random people. Don't act like you don't know me. Don't ignore my texts."

"I'm fucking losing it. Come now or else."

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

This was the most random thing to ever happen to you. Nate Jacobs, some random jock you never even said one word to, was texting you as if you had been best friends since two years old and you had always been all rah-rah-go-team for him.

You were almost scared to open the picture. Instagram asked you if you were sure. Once, twice. You should have listened. But you didn't, and you were about to face the consequences.

Red. That was the first thing you saw, and the first thing that had ever grossed you out enough to physically throw your phone away.

So much red.

Above the red, concealed almost cruelly, was a black box with white text in it. For a moment, your eyes were overwhelmed, so overwhelmed with the monstrosity in front of you that you couldn't even begin to comprehend what the words meant. You picked your phone back up, squinting your eyes and blocking out the rest.

He must have noticed you accepted his request, because you saw 'Typing...' pop up way too fast for him not to have been waiting.

"I'll cut deeper if you don't show up."

Nate Jacobs was a cruel and manipulative bastard of a man who you would happily let die.

But not like this.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You glanced at the screen and then back at the road, from time to time. There was no indication that he was typing. The 'online' sign still stayed. Okay. So he either just threw his phone away while still on your chat or he was about to-

Nate Jacobs started an audio call.

Clearly tonight wasn't going to be the night you stayed in and finished all your assignments, like you'd decided.

"Pick up or I'll fucking kill you."

Yup, that sounded about right.

You laughed, incredulously. The genuine threat wasn't lost on you, but what else does one do in this situation besides laugh at the absurdity of it all?

Better safe than sorry. You swiped up.

"Y/N, please just come."

It felt so weird to hear him say your name. It felt even weirder to hear him say 'please'.

"Why?"

"You need to be here." His voice was unwavering.

"Look, Jacobs, I'm sorry, but I have projects and assignments to work on. Not to mention, my portfolio-"

You wanted to see how far you could take it. He couldn't hear your car's sounds, and he couldn't possibly track your location, so according to him, you were still sitting at home, petulantly.

If he was joking, he'd just cuss you out drunkenly. If he wasn't, he'd... keep begging.

"Jesus fuck, Y/N, just come!"

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Keeping your calm was the best thing you'd ever done for yourself, the greatest form of self-care you could give yourself, because Nate Jacobs sensing nervousness was like sharks smelling blood in the water. Quick and bad.

"I have important shit, too, you know? Scouts are here, Y/N, please!"

"Look-"

"Coach, I know, just five more minutes - FUCK, Y/N, you gotta come.", he pleaded, his tone becoming far too pathetic to brush off.

"Why?"

"Why? Whaddayamean why?", he huffed out, frustrated, as if you were supposed to know this already.

2 + 2. What galaxy we live in. The colour of the sky. Why you were needed at the game. According to this asshole, all these things were common knowledge.

"I will cut deeper."

"Stop bullshitting, Jacobs."

You hoped to god that your voice didn't betray your bewilderment. This better be a sick fucking joke.

"I'm cutting."

"Stop."

"Coach says the five minutes are up, but I won't play without you here."

A video. SHIT. FUCK.

"What the fuck is your problem?!"

Actually, no. This better not just be a joke, because if the entire school was in on this shit, you would end up cutting him.

The grunts of pain and sharp inhales from his side of the call got more and more grotesque as you pulled into the school parking lot.

The school had an unsettling vibrancy to it after hours, and this was only exacerbated by the fact that you were supposedly the cause for a boy to slice through his own skin. It shouldn't have seemed this vibrant, this overwhelming, this vivid, this.... bright, but it did. The world moved at an eerily quick pace, like a carnival ride on LSD.

As you ran across the parking lot and gripped the gate to the stadium and basically swung right past it, you finally realized how fucking loud a crowd could be.

It was like they knew that their QB might be bleeding out because of you, because they seemed to scream loud enough to torture you for eternity.

Immediately manhandled by Chris McKay -another jock you had absolutely no connection to, but who seemed to have a very personal grudge against you-, you were pushed out of the locker rooms as quickly as you came in. Fuck's sake.

"Let me go , McKay!"

"Coach is trying to calm him down, and if he sees you, we got no idea what he might do, okay? OKAY?", he ordered, sternly, through clenched teeth as he shook your shoulders.

He was earnestly trying to be calm and gentle, but his fingers gripping harder and harder into your arms did jackshit to help his case.

"Okay."

He nodded, sighing in some emotion that seemed oddly like relief.

What, did he expect more of a fight? Did he expect you to be all 'no, I gotta see him now?'

You had no clue who the hell this bastard was, let alone what he wanted. No way were you going to kick and shout for him.

"What the fuck is his problem?", you asked, sighing against McKay's chest, exhausted.

He shrugged, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. "He's stressed about the game."

"So he cuts himself in my name? We don't even know each other, dude!"

"Okay, he isn't exactly the one you go to for rationality, alright?"

"Yo, the fuck's going on, man? The game was supposed to start-"

The other team's captain.

"Yeah, we're just, uh, dealing with a situation over here.", assured McKay, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from going ballistic at Nate. Or you. Most likely Nate. But even more likely you. "Tell your coach we're so sorry, and we'll be out in a minute, tops."

The other guy scoffed, grumbling as he stomped away, glaring more at you than McKay. What, did everyone know now?

"He thinks we're trying to hook up before the game.", explained McKay, patiently, almost embarrassed. "It's a thing some athletes do, 'for luck'."

Jocks were the weirdest fucking aliens to ever exist.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

Crimson traced paths through the blinding white of the bandages wrapped tightly like dependent vines around his palm. Noticing the lack of uniformity of white, Coach tsked. "We need more. McKay!"

"Yes, Coach?"

"One more, then you can send her in."

"She came?" Nate's voice, though feeble and exhausted - and now, hopeful - was heard through the tiny gap in the door that McKay made sure would remain tiny as he passed the last bandage to him, and you didn't want to admit it, but it broke your heart.

Ew. Nate Jacobs was breaking your heart?

Coach finished wrapping Nate up, and McKay guided you in, with both measured aggression and protectiveness.

Nate's eyes lifted and brightened up immensely, a feat you'd only thought possible by a lone spark igniting and breaching every inch of a dry leaf.

"You came."

"Son, I don't know what the hell you were thinking-"

"No, no, Coach, she's here, we can play."

Everyone stopped breathing at that moment. What the hell did the self-wounding quarterback asshole just say?

"What'd you just say, Jacobs?"

"We can play. Y/N's here. This isn't my good palm, anyway, so it's fine. Let's go."

And just like that, Nate was back. The amount of theses that could be written on this sheer anomaly of a man, the amount of studies that could be conducted, the amount of shock anyone else in this situation would go through- all unheard of.

No one else could handle it, though, besides all the people right there in the room. The best friend : self-taught and well-versed in handling him, the Coach : the authority figure that could calm him down with a bunch of fatherly words and....

And you : no one knew what the fuck you brought to the table. But something told you no one else would have survived in your shoes.

"Alright... then...?" Even Coach was absolutely speechless.

Nate nodded briskly, shooting up with a sudden burst of energy as he smiled at you.

Smiled.

Ladies and gentlemen : Nate Jacobs was on crack, confirmed.

He drew you in against his chest with an extremely unprecedented jerk, and you locked eyes with McKay behind him as he did so.

Not crack. Probably fent.

Your questioning gaze- which obviously said 'what in the everloving fuck is he doing?' - was met with a shrug and a look which suggested he barely even recognized his best friend right now.

"Okay, let's go WIN this motherfucker!", shouted Nate, patting your shoulder and loudly clapping his hands together before sprinting out of the locker rooms into the cheering football field.

It was dressed entirely in Blackhawk colours and bathed in a fluorescent, sickeningly pale light that you had to now spend an hour and a half in. Ugh.

Whiplash or not, you were about to throw up.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

You know those moments after a surreal event? When you just... sit. Stare into space and... ruminate.

You were having one of those in your car. The game had ended, really well, too, with the Blackhawks winning by a landslide. Your windshield had never held such secrets before. You stared through it.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Bang.

You turned. Nate Jacobs' fist fell on your window more times than you thought was necessary. 'Unlock the door, Y/N.'

You shook your head. Not a fucking chance in hell.

"'Y/N, don't be difficult, unlock the fucking door."

Something in you told you that that would be the worst mistake of your entire life.

"I'm sorry, I just want to talk, yeah?"

You had no idea if he deliberately made it a point to rest his bandaged palm on the window in full display to manipulate you, or if it was just a coincidence.

Just a coincidence, right?

You sighed, nodding your head in the direction of the passenger's seat as you unlocked it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He slid in, grinning as he shut the door.

"You catch the touchdown?"

"Yeah. I did."

"What'd you think? Smoothest match yet?"

"Sure."

His grin gave way to a lour as he scoffed. "Why are you so cold? Our school won."

"Why am I so cold? Why am I so cold? You asshole, you just cut yourself to make me show up!"

"Because you didn't show up when I asked nicely!"

"You're a psychopath." The effect of this word on him was oddly intriguing. He seemed to both be offended by it and seemed to get off on it.

"Can I just explain?", he sighed, sucking on his teeth for a moment as he watched other students, cheering, whistling, hooting and drinking, through your windshield.

You gestured at him to continue. He wasn't worthy enough of your words.

"You know athletes have...", he trailed off, searching desperately for the right word of vindication.

"Small dicks?"

"Okay, deserved.", he muttered, rolling his eyes. "Look, we have, like... superstitions, sometimes. For luck."

"Like the hooking up thing."

"How do you know about that?"

"McKay told me."

He scoffed, shaking his head as if his friend had divulged the biggest secret, as if he had broken some moral code.

"Alright, fine, whatever. But, uh, I pretend like it's not something I do, but I kinda have them too."

If he was about to say what you thought he was going to, you were about to press into the wound just to watch him bleed again. How dare he.

"My, um, my first game, I bumped into you on my way to the locker rooms.", he admitted, clearing his throat as if to clear space for whatever he was going to say - because it was so obviously the solution to String Theory, like he was making it out to be.

But oh, shit. He actually was going to say it.

"And we won. The next game, I did the same again, by accident. Y'know, just, this time, I fist-bumped you."

"When the fuck did you-"

"You were drunk, and you were cheering all of us on with your friends. You went for McKay's fist, but I did it instead. Uh, yeah, anyway. So, from the... maybe fourth? Yeah, the fourth game, I made it a point to at least brush my arm past you. Haven't lost a game since."

Your touch was his good luck charm? Was he clinically insane? Or was he just a massive loser?

"What's next? Our rising signs are aligned?"

"It's not a fucking joke, Y/N!", he snapped, his fist clenching.

"Really? Because it's pretty fucking hilarious."

"You know how hard it was for me to even admit I had superstitions, let alone about some random nobody girl I've never even talked to?"

No, no, he was not trying to make you feel bad, no goddamn way.

"You know how hard it was for me to see some random nobody guy bleeding out because of me?"

"It wasn't that deep." The pun was intended. It was so evidently intended that you wanted to slap the smirk off his lips.

"Yeah, okay, get out."

"Okay. You better show up to the next one, babygirl, or I'll have to take more drastic measures."

The audacious son of a bitch ruffled your hair and winked before he left.

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"C'mon, Y/N, don't be a cunt. Just do it. High five me. Fist bump me. Hug me. Whatever. Just do it, I've got a game to get to. And... everyone's watching."

The very next weekend, there was another game. Last game of the season. And you were supposed to be there, of course, because Nate's 'entire life depended on it.' And what's worse? He'd dragged you there, from your internship.

That's right. He'd basically come to your place of work, interrupted a conversation with your boss, and tugged you along with him because of his borderline insane obsession with having to touch you for luck.

He could have gotten away with it, too, if his 'good luck charm' theory hadn't involved you having to make contact with him right before the game.

And now you were out there on the field. Backing away from him. Refusing.

"Y/N, please."

"Fine."

You slapped him across the face, as hard as you possibly could.

The entire football field gasped.

He'd fucked up your week with the picture of the blade carving into his skin, and now, he was fucking up your career by costing you your internship. And what's worse, he didn't even care.

"Go. Play now."

He clenched his jaw, closing his eyes to suppress his rage before he opened them again. "That's not how it works. It has to be mutual. Like a fist bump. Or bumping into each other."

"Oh, okay.", you shrugged, grabbing his wrist before using it to uppercut him. "NOW go. PLAY."

You didn't know if you were being 'whoo'd or 'boo'd by the crowd, but at this point, the only thing you could hear was the red hot fury in your boiling blood.

He bit his lip as you let go of his hand, and before he jogged out onto the field, you could have sworn he said something that, if you'd heard it right, could cut through your entire soul and ruin your self-perception for years - something absolutely, shatteringly degrading.

You hoped you'd heard wrong.

Taking your seat in the stands, you scrolled on your phone, ignoring the entire fucking game. As expected, text from your team leader.

Gone. Internship gone. LoR gone. Nate Jacobs? About to be gone.

-------

He won.

He. Fucking. Won.

And that smirk that he gave you before blowing you a kiss that immediately morphed into flipping you the bird made you want to genuinely ask him to recreate that video once again.

You hated yourself for it, but yes.

You wanted him dead.

All the trauma he'd given you the past week couldn't be left unpunished.

Oh, to knock him off his pedestal. OH, to be the one to make him scream in pain instead of arrogant mirth.

"Whoo! Nate FUCKING Jacobs, baby!", he cheered in your ear as you gritted your teeth, walking back to your car. "And, of course, you."

You threw your bags into your car, ignoring him as you get in, starting the engine. He thumped on the hood of the car. "Come on, you can't still be mad! Your boss was looking down your shirt, anyway!"

"Oh, and I'm supposed to believe you did this out of the goodness of your heart?", you scoffed.

"That's right, baby, chivalry ain't dead."

"No, but you're about to be. Get the fuck out of my way."

"Hey, I need a ride. Gimme a lift."

"No chance in hell, Jacobs."

"Stop wounding me. Let me in."

"Or what?"

"I'll break your window.", he shrugged, casually. Normal things. The sun will rise tomorrow. Seasons will change. He'll break your window.

"I wouldn't be letting you in if I didn't think you were psychotic enough to actually do that."

He chuckled, sitting as he rested his duffle bag on his lap. A couple moments later, he looked up at you. "What? What are you waiting for?"

"Tell me where to go."

"You don't know where I live?"

"Okay, let me explain this to you, slowly. I didn't know jackshit about you till, like, a week ago. I didn't know your age or what kind of car you drove, or even what classes we shared, much less where the hell you live!"

"All this shit just proves that you don't observe people around you. You only care about yourself."

"If I only cared about myself, you'd have bled out last week."

He sighed playfully, resting his feet on your dashboard because he very evidently knew you would have a neurotic breakdown. "I, for one, know your age, the kind of car you drive, all the classes you have, plus your favourite colour and food."

"The first two are moot.", you replied, ignoring his silent mockery of the word 'moot'. "Next, you know I'm in all of Maddy's classes. And the rest you can find on my account. Account stalker."

"Account stalker. God, sweetheart, you're such a child. You don't want your account stalked, don't have a public one."

"I barely even post anything!"

"Oh, yeah, what about last month?"

He was looking at your profile last month? "I'd gone to France. It was a photo dump."

"It was unnecessary."

"Okay, you know what this is?"

He raised a brow.

"This is post-game audacity, is what I call it. You won. You're Mr. Big Shot, so you think you can just-"

And that's when Nate Jacobs kissed you.

To call it the worst fucking moment of your life would be a massive understatement. "Drive."

"You did not just fucking kiss me."

"You want me to do it again?"

"NO."

"Then drive."

This motherfucking bastard of a man!

════════════════════ ⋆⋅🏈⋅⋆ ═══════════════════

"You wanna come in?"

No way in hell were you going into Nate Jacobs' house. Especially when there was a party going strong.

"I'm good."

He rolled his eyes, his arm leaning on the top of the window as he leaned in. "I don't bite. Initially."

"Ooh, you don't bite initially, oh, please let me come in right now! Shut up and get in, Jacobs."

"You've earned the right to call me Nate. Congrats. Begin using it."

"Why? We're never talking after this."

He scoff-snickered. "Oh. OH, so that's how it is.", he nodded, amused.

"Yeah, yeah, that's how it is."

He guffawed, banging on the hood of your car. "This ain't funny anymore. Come in."

"What? No."

"Is there really only one way to ask you to do something?"

"No, Jacobs, don't you dar-"

But he didn't listen. When did he ever? His fingers emerged from his pocket with his knife in tow. NOT AGAIN. This was the most cunning, calculating, manipulative, Machiavellian-

"I'm cutting. This time, my wrist."

"You're so fucking dumb, y'know that? You're psychopathic."

The grin on his face showed that you were wrong. He wasn't offended. He was 100% getting off on it.

Drops of blood reached the floor, and you realized you couldn't just drive off and leave this guy here - he'd probably still be cutting just to prove a point.

"I hope you die.", you mumbled, getting out of your car and slamming the door.

"I'm trying, dude!", he laughed, pointing at his wrist. Oh, this sick bastard.

"Not dressing that wound?"

"C'mon, blood is sexy. Badass."

Nate Jacobs was about to see how 'badass' blood could really get.

And when you were done beating the everloving shit out of him, you kissed him. Because he deserved to know how infuriating that shit was, too.

The next day at school, it was normal. You didn't acknowledge him, and he didn't acknowledge you.He didn't seem to care about the fact that you hit him so hard he almost had a concussion. An average social media interaction. Good.

How it should be.

But then he texted you.

Fuck.

[yumeka-sxf]

Japanese Linguistic Observations in Spy x Family - part 5

Part 5 - Translating humor and wordplay

Translating jokes from one language to another can be difficult, especially when the humor revolves around wordplay that's only apparent in the original language. Luckily for a comedy series like SxF, most of the humor relies on concepts that are universal to all languages, but there are the occasional jokes that require creative translation in order to get the same effect in English. What I think is the most well-known example of this kind of joke in SxF is from chapter 26, where Yuri tells Anya that "knowledge is power" during their tutoring session.

The Japanese phrase for this is 知は力 ("chi wa chikara"). Anya mishears this as ちわわぢから ("chiwawa jikara"), which means "chihuahua power," which is why we see the image of a muscular chihuahua in her thoughts. This results in Yuri calling her チワワ娘 ("chihuahua girl") from then on. Obviously this joke would be lost if translated directly, so Casey Loe, the official English translator for the SxF manga, got creative with making it work in English. He cleverly utilizes the English expression, "the whole enchilada," which sounds enough like "swole chihuahua" for Anya to believably mistake the two. This translation also makes it so that Yuri calling Anya "chihuahua girl" later on makes sense.

But unfortunately, because a series can have different companies working on the localization of its anime versus its manga, inconsistencies between the two often come up. In this case, the anime team translated this joke completely differently, and less effectively in my opinion. You can see from the below screenshots that they had Yuri use the word "unleash," which then led to Anya associating a (muscular) dog without a leash as powerful (?) Again, this translation was a stretch in my opinion and not as good as the manga version. This also makes it so that translating Yuri's nickname for Anya as "chihuahua girl" won't make sense.

But what's interesting is that, many months and episodes later in season 2, they stayed consistent with that translation and had Yuri call Anya "stupid leash girl" in episode 28.

Despite my dislike for this translation, I have to give them kudos for remembering it all that time later and not just directly translating it as "chihuahua girl." Though it makes me wonder if they'll stay consistent in season 3 where Yuri will be referring to Anya as "chihuahua girl" once again.

A further complication is that, not only do these kinds of inconsistencies exist between the anime and manga translations, but they also exist between the different streaming services that stream SxF with English subtitles throughout the world. I only have access to the subtitled version from Hulu, which is where my screenshots are from, and I think other streaming services in the US like Crunchyroll, Amazon, Netflix, etc, use the exact same subtitles. So when I refer to "the Hulu subtitles" throughout this post, I mean other major US streaming services too. However, I'm not totally sure if they all do share the same subtitle script, so if anyone who has these services could confirm, that would be great! However, @tare-anime informed me that Muse Asia's English subtitles for SxF are completely different! For example, they translated the above joke more closely to the original, by using the phrase "puppy power" and keeping Yuri's nickname for Anya as "chihuahua girl."

There are further differences with Muse Asia's translation as well, for example, they directly translate Anya's names for Loid and Yor, "chichi" and "haha," as "Father" and "Mother" instead of "Papa" and "Mama."

(thanks again to Tare for the Muse Asia screenshots!) This is different, not only compared to the Hulu subtitles, but also the official English manga as well, both of which have Anya consistently use "Papa" and "Mama."

Tare also let me know that Disney Plus in Asia, another service that streams SxF, has yet another version of the English subtitles! And these are only the subtitled versions for the US and Asia - if SxF is streamed with English subtitles in other countries, I wonder if those are different as well. That means there's at least 3-4 different English subtitle scripts for SxF, with different ways of translating certain things, like what I described above. This could make things confusing for someone without any knowledge of Japanese who reads the English version of the manga and watches the subtitled version of the anime on one or more streaming services...if they read the first few volumes of the manga with the "swole chihuahua" translation, then watch season 2 of the anime, they're gonna be confused about why Yuri calls Anya "stupid leash girl." There's other more minor inconsistencies too, like how the Hulu subtitles have Yor call Anya "Miss Anya" all the time, but the manga doesn't.

I'm sure there's some licensing reasons why there isn't one official English subtitle script that all the streaming services can use, and why they don't consult the manga translations, especially for the more difficult-to-translate parts. It seems like wasted effort for so many official English translations to exist for the same thing.

But anyway, back to the translations of jokes in SxF, another one that stood out to me occurred in chapter 23. During the scene where Loid is asking Anya about a name for Bond, he explains how dogs have trouble discerning the sounds of consonants. The phrase he uses for this is 子音の聞き分け("shiin no kiki wake"), which means "distinguishing consonants," with "shiin" meaning "consonant." However, there's another word "shiin" with the kanji 死因 that means "cause of death." This is what Yor thinks he means - 死因の聞き分け ("shiin no kiki wake"), which means "determining the cause of death." So in her thoughts, she imagines asking Bond if he prefers death by blood loss (失血死) or by being crushed (圧死), and when he shakes his head at both, she says "you're not good at these distinctions, are you?"

This is a difficult joke to translate, so Casey got a bit loose by having Loid use the word "plosives" instead of "consonants," and then having Yor mishear it as "explosives." He then changed up Yor's dialogue by having her say that Bond prefers C-4 explosions over other methods of death.

While I don't think the translation of this joke worked as well as the previous one (I feel like Yor wouldn't know about C-4 explosions?) I couldn't come up with anything better myself, lol. It just goes to show how translating things as closely to the original as possible isn't always the best choice…but oddly, that's what the Hulu subtitles did! For some reason they opted not to even attempt to rework this joke for English, and kept both Loid and Yor's dialogue as exact translations. This results in an exchange that makes no sense and will leave people wondering how Yor could mistake Loid's "can't tell consonants apart" as "can't tell causes of death apart."

However, there are some cases where the wordplay works similar enough in both Japanese and English that the joke can be translated without too much modification. An example of this is in chapter 59 where Becky asks Yor how she was able to "get" Loid…"pierce his heart" as she puts it. Yor thinks she means this literally, to which she replies that she wouldn't hurt Loid.

The Japanese version is very similar, with Becky using the verb 射止める("itomeru") which means "to shoot down" (with an arrow). However, it has a figurative meaning too, which is "to win" as in "win someone's heart." Yor thinks Becky means the literal meaning of shooting down, so she says that she wouldn't shoot Loid and that she doesn't even use a bow and arrows.

The Hulu subtitles translate it more or less directly, having Becky say "shoot an arrow through his heart" and keeping Yor's "I don't use a bow and arrows" that the manga omitted. Rare case where I think the anime translation worked better than the manga!

In the case of this joke, the concept of "shooting someone's heart" to mean "winning someone's heart" is universal in both English and Japanese, so little reworking was needed. This also helped keep consistency with Yor's tendency to associate otherwise benign concepts with violence due to the nature of her work.

I'll wrap up this post with what I think is the most commendable translation of a joke so far in the manga: how Casey translated the names of the guest characters at the ski resort in chapter 94.

Their names are puns in Japanese as well, and Annie over on Twitter already did a great breakdown of how each of the wordplay in their names was translated, so definitely check out that thread here. Since this chapter has yet to be animated, I'm really curious how the anime translators will handle this…since it seems like they don't reference the manga, they'll probably either translate the names literally or come up with their own pun names, and either will unfortunately lead to the same kind of inconsistencies between the anime and manga translations that I touched on earlier.

To summarize, humor can be a very culture/language specific thing, so it's up to the translator to make sure the same feeling is conveyed in their translation even if they have to essentially make up their own jokes. With that said, it's a shame that there isn't collaboration between the translators of the anime and manga to ensure consistent translations across the franchise. So I hope this post helped shed light, not just on how some of the jokes in SxF were conveyed in Japanese, but also on why some things in the English version of SxF seem inconsistent between the anime and manga.

Continue to Part 6 ->

<- Return to Part 4

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: The Art of Letting Go

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

Only know you love her when (she lets you) go

(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort

Words: 7.9K

TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3

December 2023

A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 

She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 

And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 

It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.

“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 

“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”

“Zoe-”

“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”

Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 

“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 

“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”

“Please-”

“Z-”

“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”

“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 

“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 

It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 

“This isn’t about-” 

Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.

“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 

Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”

“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”

Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 

“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”

***

She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 

It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 

The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-

“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 

“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.

“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 

“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 

“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 

Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”

Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 

“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”

Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 

She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 

“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 

“I think she crashed-”

“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 

“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”

“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 

“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”

No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 

“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”

Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”

“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”

Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 

“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”

“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”

Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 

“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 

“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 

“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”

She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 

***

74 missed calls from Paige

did u go to the hospital 

pick up ur fucking phone 

dude

azzi

this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 

PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 

AZZI 

just say ur ok at least

please 

called ur mom 

said u had a concussion and some bruising 

thats not too bad 

ur so fucking stupid 

it could be so much worse 

please pick up 

AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 

so u can call carol and not me ok 

thats just fucking perfect

dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 

so maybe just pick up 

or call me back

u wanna play this stupid game fine 

ignore me for now

but i’mma be in dc for christmas

ur gonna have to talk to me 

i know where u live 

***

The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 

It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 

“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 

Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”

Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”

“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 

The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 

“What?”

“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 

“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”

“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”

“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 

Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 

“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”

“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”

Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”

Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 

“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”

“Well isn’t it?” 

“Of course n-”

“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”

Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”

“Azzi c’mon-”

“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”

Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”

“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”

“I don’t-”

“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”

When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 

“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”

“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 

“Had.”

“What?”

Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”

“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 

“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”

“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”

The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 

“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.

“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”

“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 

“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”

It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 

“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 

“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”

Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 

“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”

Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-

“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”

Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”

“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 

The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 

“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 

Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 

“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”

“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”

“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 

“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”

Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”

“Well tough luck because I do.”

“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 

“Goodbye Paige.”

***

December 2024 

azzi please just let me in 

ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 

and i get it 

but i can fix this i swear 

i know u know im here

please fucking let me in 

i fucked up 

i know 

im so fucking sorry

but dude we can fix this

just 

can u just fucking let me in

i really wanna see u 

i really wanna talk 

can we just fucking talk 

please 

merry christmas az

u know what fuck u actually 

didnt mean that sorry 

i was just mad 

u make me really fucking mad 

christmas breaks almost over 

i have to go back soon and ik u do too

we should talk before that 

ur so fucking stubborn 

but so am i

im not giving up 

i won’t 

January 2024

hi 

i miss you

ur really fucking annoying

not texting me back

but its fine

i’ll just fucking spam 

i had an ok day today 

practice was kinda ass 

not me tho

i was great

as always 

bet i made more threes than you did 

bro im watching ur game

and

what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 

get in the gym az jfc 

oh that was a good pullup

not better than mine

but decent 

been a fucking month azzi 

just fucking call me back 

or text me idk 

i miss u 

sooooooooooo

hows ur day

good? good.

hows mine?

oh kinda shit 

lets see

we lost in front of all these uconn legends

to their fucking rival 

everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 

some people are saying i suck

they might not be completely wrong 

now would be a good time to reply az 

like maybe make me feel better

fuck u actually 

what the fuck am i doing 

idk if u even read these 

February 2024

idk maybe i should stop 

like maybe only fucking psychos do this 

but idk bro 

i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 

well sc was a shit show 

i mean we knew it but holy shit 

i really wanna talk to you about it

it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 

and u giggling 

fuck i miss ur laugh

i miss you

idk if u just ignore these

so idk if ur gonna even see this 

but 

i wanted to tell you first 

before u saw it from somewhere else 

im staying at uconn 

u were right

i didnt want to leave yet 

i want my 4 years

but 

just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said

that i dont wanna be in la with u

i do

its not about that

i just need to do whats best for me

and thats staying here 

fuck

i get what u meant now

u didnt pick ucla over me

fuck fuck fuck 

im sorry az

is this how u felt 

when i didn’t text u back 

because it’s actually fucking hell 

i miss you so fucking much dude

i’m so sorry 

i’m really fucking sorry azzi 

for all of it

please just call me back

March 2024

last pac-12 tournament mvp!!

dude i’m so proud of you

we also won 

idk if u heard 

it wasnt easy either 

everything just always fucking goes wrong 

fucking pisses me off 

but oh well 

u know i dont even like texting 

idk how many messages ive sent u 

its gotta be hundreds atp 

insane shit on my part 

tf is wrong with me 

did u see the bracket

see u in the final 4 azzi 

April 2024 

i fucking told u 

i told you id see u in the final four

fucking meant it

fuck 

gonna kick yalls ass

revenge szn

we’re built different in march

cleveland here we fucking go 

but also

cant avoid me anymore 

i cant fucking wait to see you az  

***

UConn 87     UCLA 84 

There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 

“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 

When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 

The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 

But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 

The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 

“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 

The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”

***

When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 

“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 

“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”

“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 

“I-uh-” 

“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”

Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 

“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”

“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 

Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 

“Hi,” Paige says softly. 

Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”

“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”

“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”

Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 

“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 

“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”

“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”

“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’

“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 

“Paige please.”

“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”

Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 

“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 

Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 

“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”

Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 

Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”

They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 

“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 

“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”

Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 

“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”

[writerbugg]

Good Luck

Chapter # 5 Cinematic

Platonic Yandere Dc x reincarnated Reader

Wattpad

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (You are here), Chapter 6

The whole tradition of cinema is dominated, really, by films about good guys versus bad guys, good versus evil. But we have very few films about the nature of evil itself. - Joshua Oppenheimer

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

Jon lies on his bed, staring at nothing in particular. It had been a few weeks since Y/n went with the Waynes, and he had to admit, the apartment felt empty without her.

Shifting around, Jon reaches for the picture frame on his nightstand. A soft smile spreads on his face as he looks at a seven-year-old Y/n standing with the Justice League, a contagious smile on her face.

"I wonder what she's doing now.."

──●◎●──

Y/n stands at the front doors of the manor, watching as Clark pulls into the driveway, discomfort bubbling in her gut.

Something told her this meeting wasn't going to go well.

"Y/n!" Clark quickly exited his car, rushing to Y/n and scooping her into his arm. "Oh Y/n, I'm sorry the others couldn't come and visit. They were too busy with work and school, but if the chance arises, I'll make sure they make it next time." Clark reassured the girl.

"Oh uh, that's good, thanks," Y/n muttered, leaving Clark's grip.

Clark frowns at Y/n's distant behavior, shooting a look at Bruce before smiling again. "I'm here to spend time with you Y/n, maybe try and jog your memory..." He reaches into his pocket and grabs two movie tickets. "See! I got us tickets to your favorite movie!"

Y/n takes one of these tickets. 'The Incredibles' strangely fits in this world.

A sigh resonates from behind Y/n, Bruce frowning at the two of them. "Clark, you know I can't let you do that. It's too soon to be trying anything yet."

Clark glares harshly at Bruce, "I don't see how you can stop me Wayne, and I'm pretty sure I know what's best for my kid."

Grabbing Y/n's hand, Clark drags her back to his car, ignoring Bruce's protest.

Clark makes Y/n sit in the front seat before going around the front and entering the driver's side. As if trying to comfort her, Clark gives Y/n a side hug as he leaves the Wayne manors driveway.

──●◎●──

Minutes go by in uncomfortable silence, the radio station humming some random song quietly, the low hum of the car engine filling the space between them. Clark, gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes darting from the road to Y/n. She was staring blankly out the window, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass.

"Y/n," Clark began, "I know you don't remember, but the last time we went to the movies together was your 13th birthday. You wanted to see the Incredibles then."

Y/n frowned, a knot forming in her stomach, guilt filling her, though she didn't know why.

"I thought... maybe if we watched it again, it might help jog some memories," he continued, the words coming out in a rush. "It's always been your favorite. You'd watch it over and over, even when I begged for something else." He let out a strained chuckle that seemed to contradict the radio's happy tunes.

Y/n didn't answer, continuing to look out the window at the passing buildings. Clark's heart ached with a dull, relentless throb. His mind raced back to the days before whatever this was stole his daughter away. He remembered her laughter, her curiosity, the way she would pepper him with questions about everything and anything.

Now, Y/n couldn't even look at him. Desperation gnawed at him, a dark shadow lurking at the edges of his mind. He needed to bring her back. He needed to see that spark in her eyes again, to hear her laugh, to know that she was still there, somewhere beneath that cold, nervous expression.

As they drove, Clark glanced at the rearview mirror, catching sight of his reflection. Lines on his face seemed deeper, his eyes hollow. He barely recognized himself. The effort of holding it all together was tearing him apart, piece by piece.

"Remember the time we went camping?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You caught your first fish, and you were so excited you almost fell into the lake." He chuckled again, but it quickly turned into a choked sob. He bit down on his lip, hard, tasting blood.

Y/n gasped, "Clark-"

"Dad," he corrected sharply, his tone laced with frustration. "Call me Dad, Y/n."

Clark almost immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice as Y/n recoiled slightly, a look of guilt crossing her features.

"I-I'm sorry, sweetheart," Clark stammered, reaching out to touch her hand. "It's just... I want us to be a family again. I want... I want you to remember."

His heart almost completely shattered when Y/n moved her hand away.

The radio continued to play its happy tunes as the two sat in silence.

...

The car pulled into the parking lot of the movie theater, the neon lights flickering to life. Clark turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"We're going to get through this," he said, more to himself than to her. "I promise you, Y/n. We'll find a way."

──●◎●──

Chapter 6

A/n: Sad times :,) Anyways, guess who's out of school AHHHHHHHH!!! And guess who's also going on a trip to EUROPE!!! AHHHH!!! I'm so excited y'all.

@rosecentury

[kinardsevan]

BuckTommy/911 fic masterlist

as promised, here is your master list for everything I've written so far (and will continue to update as it changes):

(Divide added because this is getting kinda long now)

UPDATE: UNDER CONSTRUCTION - (this list is getting fairly long, so it may grow in to separate pages as I work on it in the coming days/weeks)

The Song Lyric Series:

Just as the title suggests, these have mostly been lyrically driven. The intention is for them to remain looser than a story, but so far it's been the same plot. (subject to change)

what if there's a little boy that needs a safe place :

Chapters: 1 Rating: M Warnings: n/a

“I’m sorry Evan,” Tommy stated genuinely as he watched Evan drop his towel and then redress. “I honestly don’t know what to say.” Evan huffed, unable to hold all the feelings in any longer. Everything felt so tight—his chest, his throat, his stomach. He couldn’t keep it all buried inside against Tommy’s lack of an answer. OR. The one in which Evan is not okay with a drunk rando flirting with his very beasty, very sexy boyfriend and it leads to professions of love.

they all led me to him (he's one of the good ones:

“I might’ve mentioned fucking you properly earlier this evening,” Tommy says, and even in the midst of wanting the older man to tear his body apart, Evan knows that this moment is as serious for Tommy as it was for Evan earlier. “Yeah,” Buck rasps, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips against Tommy. “Please do so.” “I’m not going to,” Tommy replies softly. OR. Tommy wants Evan to understand just how in love with him he is. Chapters: 1 Rating: E Warnings: n/a

i'll be here (and you can lay by my side) :

Chapters: 2/? Rating: E Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

When Tommy has to look back on this weekend in the years that come to pass, he won’t have the words to express how things went from so right, to so wrong. He’ll struggle to even find a way to comprehend the trauma inflicted by having his soul shredded right in front of his face and absolutely unable to prevent it. And at its worst, he won’t even have words to explain it all. OR. part 3.

Multi-Chapter Stories

your arson's match, my somber smile (the love of my life): Chapters: 4/? Rating: n/a (subject to change) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

In that moment, the nanosecond in which he had crystal clarity, only one thing mattered to him. As his feet finally slipped out from under him, just before the warped metal came swinging down at another angle, he looked Bobby in the eyes. “Tell Tommy I love him.” And then the world was black.

guilty as sin (i choose you and me, religiously): Chapters: 1/2 Rating: T Warnings: n/a

Buck and Tommy's first kiss, as told through Tommy's POV.

Never Til Now (Rolling Up The Welcome Mat) Chapters: 5/? Rating: M (for themes) Warnings: n/a

"Maybe there’s something about tangibility, about holding the real thing versus just the idea of it, but it cracks something open in him that hasn’t existed in a long time. Because all of a sudden, he can’t imagine not having this. Not getting to see Evan like this, every day. And it’s barely been thirty seconds." - In March 2025, with plans to propose, Tommy realizes Evan wants kids. the problem is, Tommy doesn't. In November of the same year, in a happenstance exchange, he meets their baby girl. (OR, we take a trip through a dual timeline in which the idea and reality of having kids drives Evan and Tommy apart, and then brings them back together.)

The Devil Doesn't Bargain Chapters: 14/? Rating: E Warnings: Rape/Non-con, Self-harm, Suicidality (discussed and attempted), PTSD, Anxiety, ALL THE TRIGGER WARNINGS

Tommy Kinard lived a whole life before he walked into Evan Buckley's life, and it's not one that he's offered up much of so far. Until Evan starts asking questions. Trigger warnings for sexual assault, abuse, and so forth.

you're the only one (who ever gave a damn) Chapters 2/2 Rating: M (for themes and mild sexual content) Warnings: Rape/Non-con

“I um… I don’t know,” he admits softly. “C’mon, Tommy,” Eddie replies. “No, not like that,” Tommy says, looking back up at Eddie. “Not like I don’t have a real excuse. I don’t know like…like I really don’t know, Eddie. I was drunk. I remember being at the bar with you and the other guys, and joking about you and Evan sparring the next time we were going to train, and then…” He pauses, shakes his head. “Nothing. I woke up in a house I didn’t recognize.” Eddie stares at him, coffee cup in hand and mouth slack, and Tommy waits for the judgment to come. He’s fully prepared for Eddie to tell him what a dick he his for going home with some other guy and having drunken sex. But Eddie doesn’t speak. Eventually, he’s quiet so long that it makes Tommy uncomfortable. “Look, I know you’re over there judging me-..” Eddie blinks a few times, shaking out of his reverie as he lowers his coffee mug to the counter. “Tommy, man, that’s not cheating,” he states matter-of-factly.

a set of empty bones chapters: 22/? rating: E warnings: rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence, PTSD, suicidal ideation, self-harm

“You’re not even paying attention right now,” he growls. “Look, Eddie,” Evan tries, lifting his hands up in surrender. Eddie’s eyes trail from his eyes down to his lips, his chest, and then back up at him, and Evan doesn’t like the way it feels. Something about the entire moment feels uncomfortable to him. Eddie sets the bowl on the counter and puts his hands on Evan’s ribs, pushing him back towards the fridge. “Eddie, man, what’re you doing,” Evan stammers nervously. BTHB: "you can scream all you want", lacerations, betrayal

Minis:

the rhythm of your heartbeat: Evan has night-terrors. Tommy has to contend with them.

you are the reason: post 709 buck/bobby conversation in which Buck makes it to Tommy's.

Connecting: 709 deleted scene. Evan is getting dressed before the medal ceremony, and Tommy's pretty sure he's going to make them late.

oceans deep, rivers wide: Evan has a realization after a work incident. Tommy concurs. burn it to the ground: Tommy knew the first time he kissed Evan Buckley he was burning his whole life to the ground.

for a thousand years (and a thousand more): In which Tommy tells Evan what it was like falling in love with him. 30 Day Fluff Challenge: Concept list found here

Prompt Minis: here

Others/Oneshots:

something stronger than me (i can hardly stand up, i can hardly breathe): Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for language) Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, TW: Self-harm, TW: Suicidal ideation

It had been years since he’d been down this low. At least, that’s how he’d been presenting it to others. But in the darkness of his apartment, where his boyfriend couldn’t see his legs because their schedules were conveniently not aligning ever since Gerrard’s arrival…his thighs were coated in fresh wounds.

The Saboteur: Chapters: 1/1 Rating: M (for language) Warnings: TW: homophobic language, TW: harrassment

Five times Tommy Kinard is faced with having to file a complaint against Vincent Gerrard, following his reinstatement at the 118.

take me to the other side Chapters: 1/1 Rating: E (for themes) Warnings: n/a

“So what’s on your mind,” Tommy asks him. “Are you imagining a specific scene? Or a particular want you’re thinking about?” “Not a scene, necessarily,” Evan says, twiddling his thumbs. He’s struggling to piece together the words in the right way to convey what he’s actually wanting. “Okay,” Tommy says, accepting his answer. When Evan doesn’t speak again right away, Tommy prompts him. “I want…?” Evan gulps. “I want…I-i want you to t-t-tie me up."

you're the only one (in the dark, i see) Chapters: 1/1 Ratings: T (for language) Warnings: n/a

He closes the door behind Tommy, his hand still resting on the handle for a beat as he stares at Tommy’s back. He wants answers, and if this is his last chance to get them, then God damn it, Evan’s going to get them. - Tommy breaks up with Evan after Gerrard's return to the 118. Evan is not okay with this decision.

BuckTommy Week 2024

Day 1, Date Night: Rating: General

clay wheels and no ghosting: Tommy and Evan attempt ceramics and talk about things.

Day 2, Emergency: Rating: M (suggestive language)

Under the Weather: Evan and Tommy fall ill

Day 3, Bad Weather Days Rating: M (Graphic Depictions of Violence) Chapters: 2/2 its hurting (but it ain't dead) : Tommy is pissed. No one called him to ask him if he was cool with this idea, and it really doesn’t matter to him in the moment that they didn’t actually have to. It was Evan. They had allowed his boyfriend to put himself in the line of fire without bothering to even ask if that was something he was alright with. He wasn’t even forewarned; just showed up to a scene where they’d been asked to send extra support in plain clothes. But if he’d known…oh, if he’d known…

[cosmerelists]

Mistborn Era 1 Characters Read The Mistborn Era 2 Books

As requested by @foxofscadrial :)

[Spoilers, as you might imagine, from all of Mistborn Era 1 & 2!]

I've done this for Stormlight a couple of times: Stormlight characters read the The Stormlight Archive (link here) and they also read just the Kaladin chapters (link here). Now we're going to have the characters from Mistborn Era 1 sit down to read the Era 2 series: how will they react?

Now, just for the record...some of these characters are in both eras. For those characters, it's their Era 1 version doing the reacting, if that makes sense--like they're seeing their own futures.

1. Vin Live Reactions

Vin: This world seems so beautiful... So green... So vibrant... I'm gonna cry... Vin: THE STATUES OF ME AND ELEND 😭 Vin: Wow. I wish *I* had guns. Guns seem cool. Vin: It.....feels weird that everyone wants to be me. Like, sometimes I barely wanted to be me. Vin: ....Allrianne set the gender norms? I'm so sorry, women. Vin: TENSOOOOOOON! That speech about me...I can't take it... Vin: Killing a whole building of people, huh? Been there, Wax. Been there. Vin: I'm kinda glad Sazed became god. It seems like a hard job. Glad I didn't get it. Vin: ...Man. I REALLY wish we had guns!

2. Lord Ruler

Lord Ruler: Ugh, it's even worse than I imagined. Lord Ruler: Everything was so STABLE and SAFE under my rule. Lord Ruler: And now people have "freedom" and "fun"...and giraffes for some reason. Lord Ruler: You all are gonna do SO bad in the Cosmere-wide fight. Lord Ruler: Good riddance. Lord Ruler: ... Lord Ruler: Also, that guy who ends up taking over--Lord Mistborn or whatever. Lord Ruler: Who even is he???

3. Sazed

Sazed: ... Sazed: ... Sazed: I seem stressed.

4. Marsh

Marsh: ... Marsh: So, it seems that I never escape from my brother's shenanigans. Marsh: ... Marsh: Strangely comforting, I'll admit.

5. Elend Live Reactions

Elend: Heck yeah. Democracy. Elend: Huh. The noble houses stayed, huh? I just...don't know how I feel about that. Elend: Wait a sec....did they just recreate the noble/skaa divisions but with hereditary nobility versus workers? Elend: No...don't be crazy, Elend. At least it's not horrible slavery. Things are better! Way better! Elend: Ugh, are they abusing the outer cities too?? That train system is so horribly inefficient!! Elend: Is it too late for me to tutor Spook in legislative philosophy???

6. Breeze & Allrianne

Allrianne: Omg, Breeze, can you believe it? Our ancestor is the hero! Breeze: Seems like quite a...scruffy independent fellow. Allrianne: Not a Rioter OR a Soother, though... That's unfortunate... Breeze: Wears nice suits in the Rough, though. Now THAT I can get behind. Allrianne: I think we did good. 🩷

7. Spook

Spook: Well. Spook: Huh. Spook: Knowing that my street slang is gonna be High Imperial one day... Spook: That might be just enough to get me through all this alive.

8. TenSoon

TenSoon: I could imagine many fates for myself. TenSoon: Serving humans and the Lord Ruler forever. TenSoon: Being killed. TenSoon: Undertaking the Resolution and turning back into a mistwraith. TenSoon: ... TenSoon: Inspiring a line of stuffed toys for human children was NOT something I ever considered. TenSoon: I'm so glad I met the Ascendant Warrior.

9. Tindwyl

Tindwyl: It is...gratifying to see that the Terris people have survived. Tindwyl: And that feruchemy has survived with us. Tindwyl: *tsks* Naming a street after me, though. It would be more valuable for them to come to understand the real us, rather than mythologizing us to such a degree. Tindwyl: Wax naming his daughter after me, however... Tindwyl: ... Tindwyl: That honor I will accept.

10. Kelsier Live Reactions

(Note: This is the living Final Empire version of the character)

Kelsier: ........There are HOW many metals?!? Kelsier: Heh. Flowers. You would have loved that, Mare. Kelsier: Oof, no Mistborn. That's kinda harsh. Kelsier: YOU'RE FUCKING KIDDING ME--THEY CALLED IT ELENDEL?! (muttering) They could have at LEAST called it Vindale. Kelsier: "Ascendant Warrior," huh? That's my girl. Kelsier: "High Imperial." LOL. Kelsier: Omg, Marsh?! Marsh?!? Kelsier: SAZED IS GOD?! Kelsier: Heh, nice to know I have a crew in any reality. Kelsier: Yeah. I think I'm gonna be fine.

[gtgp1]

THE LOVE I HAVE FOR YOU | MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen x Joanna Hensley (OFC)

face-claim: taylor russell

ABOUT — Joanna Hensley is brilliant, neurodivergent woman from a part of D.C. the world ignores. Her mind is her greatest asset and, due to a late diagnosis, her most misunderstood trait. Over the course of her story, there comes a battle between her deep-seated need for stability, quiet, and understanding versus her intense, all-consuming and chaotic love for a world (and a man) that offers none of it.

From a self-doubting, reclusive dropout to a world-renowned F1 aerodynamicist. She must learn to define success and happiness on her own terms, even if it means letting go of the love that defined her.

WARNINGS — Infidelity, toxic relationships, vague mention of the Christian Horner allegations (eventually), social anxiety, autistic!ofc, inattentive ADHD, imposter syndrome, sense of inferiority and wasted potential, financial difficulties. (if you read and feel like i missed anything please feel free to let me know)

NOTES — I can’t promise consistent updates but I’ll try for once a week!

Chapters below the cut. This list is subject to change (as with everything that I have ever written ever— I am liable to write more than I originally planned on. So there could be more than 21 chapters). Hope you enjoy :))

Part I: The Downshift (2017 - Mid 2021)

Chapter 1: The Forum and the Flashback

Chapter 2: The Georgetown Ghost

Chapter 3: A Name for the Noise

Chapter 4: Finding the Downforce

Chapter 5: The Call from Milton Keynes

Part II: The Slipstream (Mid 2021 - Early 2023)

Chapter 6: First Lap

Chapter 7: An Invitation

Chapter 8: Rules of Engagement

Chapter 9: The Yellow Flag

Chapter 10: The Lie

Chapter 11: The Architect

Part III: The Chicane (2023 - 2024)

Chapter 12: The Silverstone Briefing

Chapter 13: A Clear Signal

Chapter 14: The Puncture

Chapter 15: A Glimpse of Green

Chapter 16: Return to the Pit

Part IV: The Final Flag (Late 2024 - 2025)

Chapter 17: A Fragile Peace

Chapter 18: December 6th

Chapter 19: Painting it Papaya

Chapter 20: Broadcasts from Another Life

Chapter 21: Nothing Can Change This Love

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Levels of Editing

The 5 Stages of Editing: Beta Reading, Developmental Editing, Line Editing, Copyediting, Proofreading

The Editorial Process

Writing

Drafting

Sourcing feedback from beta readers

Self-editing

Developmental editing or manuscript evaluation

Line editing

Copyediting

Proofreading

Publishing

2 Levels of the Process

MACRO / STORY LEVEL

This is where developmental editing (also sometimes called content editing, substantive editing or structural editing)

and manuscript evaluations (sometimes known as manuscript reviews or editorial critiques) are to be found.

It’s big-picture work that looks at the novel as a whole. Editors who specialize in this level of service focus on how your book works – stuff like structure, plot, flow, point of view, characterization and pace.

Story-level editing involves the following concepts:

Character arc: Goals, motivations and conflict

Effective dialogue

Genre: Impact on writing style and length

Narrative arc: Beginnings, middles and ends

Narrative style: Viewpoint, tense, voice and distance

Plot and subplot analysis

Problematic representation, stereotyping and othering

Story structure and pacing

Themes: the main ideas that connect the components of the story

World-building: creating engaging settings

MICRO / SENTENCE LEVEL

Includes line editing, copyediting and proofreading.

Sentence-level work that looks at the text on a line-by-line & word-by-word basis.

Sentence-level editing involves the following:

Chapter sequencing

Character-trait consistency

Cliché and awkward metaphor

Dialogue expression: style, tagging and punctuation

Effectiveness of sentence-level narration

Letter, word, line and paragraph spacing

Narrative style: Consistency of viewpoint, tense, voice

Effectiveness of narrative distance

Pace and flow: Special attention paid to repetition and overwriting

Problematic representation, stereotyping and othering

Spelling, grammar, syntax, punctuation, hyphenation and capitalization

Standard document formatting using Word’s styles palette: indentation, paragraph style, section breaks

Told versus shown prose

The Levels of Editing

STAGE 1: BETA READING

Authors send drafts of their novel to test-readers.

To receive feedback on structural issues such as plot, pacing, characterization, writing style and reader engagement.

Not the place for uncovering micro problems (spelling/grammar).

Beta reading may be free (via, say, a writing group or a critique partner) but some professional editors provide paid-for services (sometimes called early reviews) that provide guidance on the next-best editing steps.

It’s a good first step for those who want someone else to take their novel out for a test-drive before deeper levels of intensive editing begin.

STAGE 2: DEVELOPMENTAL EDITING

Also called structural or story editing - the shaping stage where decisions that affect how the novel works as a whole are made: Plot, story arc, structure, pacing, characterization, genre, narrative viewpoint and tense.

When the reader has finished the journey, they should feel satisfied by the experience of reading your work.

The journey might be bumpy. There are peaks and troughs – action, contemplation, and deduction, all of which are structured and paced so as to engage the reader as the story unfolds.

Developmental editing is where your story is tested and revised so that readers want to turn the page.

Alternative: Manuscript Evaluations/Critiques

Critiques can be thought of as mini developmental edits.

A professional editor provides a report that analyses the strengths and weaknesses of the writing, and what the author can do to improve their book.

Unlike full developmental edits, no changes are made to the book file. They’re an affordable first step for any author who wants to learn how to implement their own structural revisions.

Additional: Sensitivity/Diversity Reading

This is a niche form of evaluation in which a specialist reports on the potential misrepresentation and devaluation of marginalized others.

Readers are looking out for cliched, harmful, biased or false content and non-inclusive language.

Sensitivity readers focus on how others’ identities are represented in terms of race, sexuality, gender, physical ability, mental or emotional health, political beliefs, religion, age, culture and socioeconomic status.

Others identify potential problems with how those who’ve experienced abuse, trauma, violence, bigotry, illness, bereavement and poverty are portrayed.

They’re a valuable addition to the editorial process for authors who want to positively diversify the voices in their fiction but don’t have the lived experience of the individuals/groups they’re writing about.

Identifying goals and selecting a sensitivity reader with the appropriate experience is essential.

STAGE 3: LINE EDITING

The smoothing stage.

Sense is checked and flow is mastered so that the reader is driven to stay on the page and immerse themselves in the story’s world.

Good writing acknowledges that readers absorb words in a certain way – in the West we read from left to right and top to bottom, regardless of the device through which the book is delivered. Though our brains allow us to take in more than one letter and one word at a time, unless we’re scanning we move through sentences from start to finish. Those sentences should say what they need to say, and only that. Too many words, or repetition of what’s already known, can make the reading experience boring and frustrating.

Authors can play with sentence length and language style to reflect the historical period, genre, and the mood of a given scene. And punctuation is not about pedantry. It’s a powerful pacer that can evoke tension and impart clarity.

If a strong story compels readers to turn the page, line editing is what helps them want to stay on it.

Alternative: Mini Line-Level Critiques

No changes are made to the book file.

Instead, a professional editor provides a report that analyses the strengths and weaknesses of sentence-level craft.

The editor may suggest recasts to dialogue and narrative with a view to improving line-level flow, pace, drama and readability.

They’ll also offer advice on layout, spelling, punctuation & grammar conventions.

They’re an affordable first step for any author who wants to learn how to implement their own sentence-level revisions.

STAGE 4: COPYEDITING

The correcting stage

Inconsistent or incorrect spelling, grammar, and punctuation are attended to, and where logic is checked, such that the reader is allowed to follow the story without distraction.

Compelling writing makes readers forget that they’re reading.

Copyediting removes distractions.

Style sheets are the author’s and editor’s friend.

They record decisions on the language choice (e.g. American or British English), style (e.g. -is- or -iz- spellings, both of which are standard in British English), proper-noun spelling, character traits, location identifiers, the book’s timeline, use of idiom, dialogue treatment, how numbers are rendered, how capitalization and hyphenation are handled, and a hundred other decisions.

Many professional editors carry out line- and copyediting simultaneously because they’re complementary processes.

STAGE 5: PROOFREADING

The quality-control stage

Any final literal errors and layout problems are flagged up such that the book is fit for publication. Since human beings are doing the editing work, it’s rare for a book to get to the pre-publication stage without a few snafus remaining.

During the previous rounds of editing, new errors might have been introduced by accident. The design process can cause problems too:

Some elements of the book (a heading, a paragraph, a footnote) might be formatted inconsistently and incorrectly … think about indents, line spaces, end-of-line wordbreaks, page-number chronology, running heads and alignment just for starters.

Proofreading is the final line of defence.

The Order of Play

There’s a logical order of play when it comes to editing.

Think of it like building a house:

Developmental editing is like laying the foundations and building the structure

Line editing and copyediting are like plastering the brickwork, painting the walls, and sanding the floorboards

Proofreading is where you move in the furniture and fill in any tiny cracks that have appeared

Swap the order around and you’ll end up in a pickle.

At best you’ll waste time; at worst you’ll waste money.

Let’s imagine you invest in smoothing your prose and eradicating most of the spelling, grammar, punctuation, and consistency problems (line editing and copyediting). Then you discover a gaping plot hole that requires you to move two chapters, rewrite three, and make 75 sentence-level tweaks throughout the rest of the book (structural amendments).

Every move, every deletion, every rewrite, and every tweak brings with it the chance of damaging the line/copyediting work.

That’s time and money down the drain.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

[pxnsneverland]

Heartbreak Hotel | austin!elvis x oc (part 3)

(gif source: austinbutlermischief)

plot summary: Angel Casteel is a small town girl who lucked into working as a costume designer at a film studio. Unfortunately, her confidence in herself wavers as she is assigned to work with Elvis on his latest motion picture. Overcome by his star power at first, she slowly starts to realize there is a man behind the fame, a man she understands. But as they grow closer, the world grows more turbulent, especially Elvis's world. Will this Angel be able to save Elvis from himself and the people around him? Or will getting mixed up in his word prove to be her downfall as well?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

pairings: austin!elvis x oc

word count: 2501

warnings/notes: N/A

Chapter 3: A Christmas Showdown

Even after a few days, Martin Luther King's death weighed heavily on Elvis' mind. Angel could see him straining to keep his cool. Even completing the film seemed less important to him. Angel did her best to console him and distract him from his inner turmoil, but it didn't seem like enough. The Colonel also attempted to deflect Elvis' attention, despite the fact that his plan contained a whole new musical extravaganza for Elvis. Christmas Elvis.

“Jingles, Jingles,” Colonel Parker sang, “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Claus lane,” as he steered a reindeer-drawn sleigh engraved into a 3D copy of the stage Elvis was to play on.

Angel and Elvis sat outside around Elvis' trailer, trying to stay cool in the scorching heat of Los Angeles. Elvis shifted his gaze between the Colonel and the diorama. There was a quiver in his eye as he tried to conceal his disgust at the prospect of a Christmas special.

“Elvis Presley’s Wonderful World of Christmas,” Colonel said, straightening up, “Brought to you by the Singer Sewing Machine Company, to every television set in America.”

“Elvis and Christmas?” Angel questioned.

“Why not? My boy is a good Christian son of God. The fans will love it. It only takes three days to tape and there’s no audience.”

“I’m not questioning that Elvis is a Christian. I’m sure his mama taught him well. But Elvis singin’ in front of a bunch of fake Christmas sets?”

Colonel Parker glared at Angel. “With all due respect, Ms. Casteel, I don’t know why you’re questioning anything. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Elvis said, folding his arms. Elvis's voice was firm, his stance protective. The Colonel’s eyes flickered with surprise, perhaps unaccustomed to Elvis asserting himself in matters outside his usual domain.

“Colonel, she’s right,” Elvis continued, his voice softer now but no less determined. “This Christmas special— it's not me. It doesn’t feel right, not now.” He glanced at Angel, seeking her support. Angel nodded, squeezing his hand. She could see the conflict written all over his face—the desire to please his fans and follow the Colonel’s guidance versus his own artistic integrity and current emotional state.

Colonel Parker adjusted his glasses, seemingly calculating his next words carefully. “Elvis, son, I know it’s been a tough time for you. But this could be a good distraction. Plus, it's good publicity.”

“I appreciate that, Colonel,” Elvis replied slowly. “But maybe this ain’t the time for distractions. Maybe it’s time I faced things head on.” His gaze hardened slightly as he looked back at the Colonel. “This special... it ain’t going to help me do that. Plus I ain’t sang and performed live in years. I don’t know if a Christmas special is the best way to start that up again.”

Colonel Parker wrinkled his brow. He gave Angel a disgusted glance before returning his gaze to Elvis. Angel could care less. She didn't appreciate how he handled Elvis or how he purposefully sheltered him from anybody else's perspective that contradicted what he wanted Elvis to accomplish. He was attempting to transform Elvis into a puppet, removing the rebel everyone had grown to love.

“Why not?” Colonel asked Elvis. “A Christmas sweater. Made on the new Singer home knitting apparatus.”

Elvis shook his head, a mix of frustration and resolve flickering across his features. "Colonel, it’s not about the sweater or the stage or any prop you can throw in there. It's about what feels genuine to me," he said, his voice steady and firm. "I can’t sing about joy and peace when my heart is heavy. It wouldn’t be honest. It wouldn’t be right."

Colonel Parker’s face hardened, the lines deepening around his mouth. "Elvis, think about your career, son. This is an opportunity. A big one." His tone was persuasive but tinged with a hint of desperation.

But Elvis was no longer paying attention. On the little TV his cousin Jerry had dragged out, he was watching Robert F. Kennedy. He was delivering a speech in protest of Dr. King's assassination. Angel rose up and approached Elvis, laying a hand on his back. He naturally placed his arm over her shoulders. For days, the TV had been tuned into the riots and carnage in Elvis' birthplace of Memphis. That, more than anything else, had broken him.

“Memphis is burning,” Angel said quietly, my gaze fixed on the screen.

“You’re right, darlin’. And a damn Christmas special ain’t gonna help.” Elvis looked at the Colonel over his shoulder.

Colonel Parker sighed heavily leaning on his cane. He ran a hand over his face. “We took the Hollywood phonies for every nickel they had and, after filming ends next week, it is time for us to pack up our tents and move onto greener pastures.” He drew in closer. “We’ve seen Elvis the Rebel. We’ve seen Elvis the Movie Star. Now, we will see Elvis the Family Entertainer. The people need to believe in hope, happiness, the spirit of Christmas!”

“You turnin’ into an appliance salesman?” came Jerry’s voice.

Elvis tensed. “What did you say?” 

Angel attempted to retain hold of him. “Elvis, don’t…” Her grip wasn't strong enough, and he slid out easily, slowly heading towards Jerry. “Jerry was just jokin’.”

“I don’t give a damn if he was jokin’ or not.” Elvis jabbed a finger at Jerry's face. The dark-haired vocalist was shaking. “Listen, Jerry, I don’t need you to question me about how I support my family and every goddamn person here! You understand me?! If you don’t like it, you can pack your shit and go back to Memphis.”

Jerry's face paled, his eyes wide as the last vestiges of humor vanished. The tension in the air was thick, everyone around could feel the raw nerve that had been touched. Elvis' hand was still trembling when he finally lowered it. Angel was worried Elvis’s next move would be a punch to Jerry’s face. Instead, Elvis stormed off into the trailer slamming the door shut behind him.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Jerry.” Angel’s gaze was fixed on the door through which Elvis had vanished.

Jerry's shoulders slumped, his face reflecting a mix of regret and fear. "I didn't mean no harm by it," he murmured, more to himself than to Angel. His gaze shifted uncomfortably from the door to the ground.

Angel sighed heavily, rubbing her temples as she tried to ease the tension headache that had begun to form. She turned to Jerry, her voice soft yet firm. "Elvis is under a lot of pressure, you know that.”

The air around them felt heavy, charged with an uncomfortable silence following the outburst. The Colonel, still leaning on his cane, finally spoke up, attempting to regain some control over the situation. "Let's all take a breather," he suggested gruffly. "Give Elvis some space to cool down." He shuffled away, leaving Angel and Jerry alone in the dusty parking lot filled with trailers and equipment.

"Go talk to him," Jerry urged after a moment, nodding toward Elvis' trailer. "He'll listen to you, Angel."

Hesitating only briefly, Angel nodded in agreement and headed towards the trailer. She stepped inside locking the door behind her. Elvis sat on the couch, holding a glass of whiskey in his hand, lingering. His eyes were distant, a storm of emotions swirling within them as he stared into the amber liquid. The trailer was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with Elvis's shallow breaths.

After a long moment, Elvis sighed heavily and turned to look at her. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said softly.

Angel took a seat on the sofa next to him. He took her hand and brought it to his lips to kiss her fingers. "It’s just all piling up, you know? The news from home, the pressure from the Colonel, trying to be what everyone expects me to be." He paused, his voice cracking slightly. "Sometimes, I feel like I’m losing myself in it all."

Angel squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know, Elvis. I know it's tough. But you're handling it as best you can." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "Maybe this is a sign, huh? Maybe it's time to start doing things your way, to make music that speaks from your heart."

Elvis looked up, his eyes meeting hers, a flicker of hope amidst the weariness. "You really think so?" he asked, his voice a mix of vulnerability and aspiration.

"I do," Angel replied firmly. "People fell in love with Elvis Presley not just because of your voice or your moves, but because you're real. You bring something no one else can."

Elvis considered her words, letting them sink in. He set the glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink and leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's time to shake things up again. Like the old days. Ah, but the Colonel’s got his sights set on this Christmas special. And there’s a lot hanging on it. Contracts, commitments." His voice tapered off as the weight of the situation settled over him.

Angel reached out, her hand gently brushing his cheek. “But you've never been one to shy away from a challenge, have you?" Her words were soft but carried an undeniable truth that seemed to resonate within him.

Elvis nodded slowly, a resolve building in his eyes. "No, I haven’t," he admitted, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "And maybe that’s exactly what I need to remember." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his gaze still locked with hers.

The air in the trailer shifted subtly as if acknowledging his decision. Angel gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "And I’ll be with you every step of the way," she promised.

Elvis leaned in, his forehead resting against hers for a moment as he absorbed her support and affection. Then he pulled back slightly, a new lightness in his demeanor. "Alright then.”

*********

The last day of shooting was here and gone. Angel had packed her sketchbooks and spare fabrics. She was ready to go home and get some sleep for the night when she saw the light from Elvis's trailer flickering. She assumed he'd be sleeping. He had looked so worn out. She put her arms about herself to keep herself warm as she headed to the trailer. She carefully opened the door and let herself in. Except for the little TV, everything was pitch black. Elvis was stretched down on the sofa, still clothed in the outfit he had been wearing when he walked off the set. A tape recorder stood next to him, playing his rendition of "Here Comes Santa Claus” that the Colonel had forced him to record. The tune had been released to the public the day prior and was already generating a lot of attention. It didn't matter, however. Elvis despised it, despised having to even do it in the first place.

She approached him gently. It took him a while to realize he wasn't alone. He looked at her, his steely gaze softening and becoming kind and welcoming. Angel put her back against the wall. “Satnin…” He had informed her early on that only his mother had called him that, but she had adopted the moniker since hearing it made him happy. “Are you alright?”

“Hi, darlin’.” He glanced down, as if he was trying to think of anything to say but couldn't. He seemed deflated, fatigued by more than just filming. He reached behind him to switch off the recording, clearly sick of hearing himself sing.

“What’s goin’ on, Elvis?” Angel asked gently, sliding down next to him on the sofa. Her presence seemed to comfort him as he let out a long sigh and leaned back against the cushions.

“I don’t know, Angel. I just… I feel like I’m selling pieces of myself every time we record one of those songs, you know?” His voice was low, filled with a tired resignation that made her heart ache for him.

Angel laid her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I know it’s hard. But remember what we talked about? Doing things your way…” She trailed off, hoping he would catch onto the encouragement she was trying to offer.

Elvis turned to look at her, his eyes showing a glimmer of the fire she knew so well. “Yeah, I remember,” he murmured. “It’s just tough, Angel. The contracts, the expectations—they don’t just disappear.”

Angel laid down and curled into Elvis’s side. He placed an arm around her waist drawing her in closer and kissing her brow. His gaze shifted to the televison as he let his lips linger in her hair. On the screen, they were in the middle of broadcasting Dr. Martin Luther King's Memorial. Mahalia Jackson was singing in a manner that made the whole globe want to stop and listen.

There was silence for a bit until Elvis let out a long sigh. “I’m so tired of playin’ Elvis Presley. Sometimes I wonder if I even know who that is anymore.”

“You’ll find him again,” Angel assured him firmly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. And you don’t have to play with me. Here, you’re just Elvis. The man, not the legend. I don’t care about the money or the fame or anythin’ else. I just want you to be happy. And I’d do anything to see that smile on your face again.”

He looked down at her, appreciation flickering in his eyes. "You always know what to say, don’t you?" He smiled wistfully and turned his attention back to the television. The solemn notes of the memorial service seemed to echo his own internal struggles. Elvis shut his eyes. He put his hand in Angel’s hair and started rubbing her head. “Just stay with me, darlin’, and I’ll smile all you want.”

“I’m right here.” She raised her head just enough to kiss him. “But Elvis…you’re only truly happy when you sing the music you love. I saw it even before I knew you.”

He didn't say anything, but his grasp on her tightened. He cracked open his eyes and returned his gaze to the television. Angel leaned against him once again. Mahalia Jackson was still singing, her voice carrying everyone's agony and sadness.

“Mahalia Jackson,” Elvis said quietly, “I used to hear her sing at East Street Church.” He pointed at the television. “That’s the music that makes me happy. Music that comes from nowhere else but the soul.” He turned up the volume on the TV so that the woman's voice filled the whole trailer.

“Then sing that music, baby. And don’t let anybody tell you you can’t.” 

Elvis fixed his gaze on the screen. His free hand reached out and interlaced their fingers. “I think it’s time to make some changes.”

Stay tuned for part 4!! Click HERE to view!

[mortuarywriting]

Falling into Place

Ao3 Link - [First] - [Next Chapter ->]

All things considered this isn't what you were expecting to wake up to when you went to bed. One minute you're on your phone, trying to pass out, and the next? You're here. You've had some interesting greetings in your life, but dropping about six feet and having twelve guns leveled at your face? That takes the cake

Warnings:

Reader Insert, Plus-Size Reader, The Author Regrets Everything, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Isekai, canon divergence Look we're gonna dig into the implications of omegasverse changing bits and pieces of history as well as addressing whatever the FUCK is happening as CoD's history. Idk man Godzilla is canon and nobody bats an eye at that fact and you think I'm gonna be normal about that? No

You could be having a worse day, you think, as you stare at the interrogation table you're cuffed to. They could've shot you the second you fell the six feet from the sky into a random army base. That's a very real thing that could've happened.

But no, you just had a dozen guns pointed at you in one moment and a slew of questions you didn't have satisfying answers for.

No, you had no idea how you got there. You'd been in bed tooling around on your phone and then you were falling.

They asked who you worked for, and were not impressed by your mundane answer. You didn't work for some pmc or intelligence organization. You asked them to their faces if they thought you could pass a PT test if you tried. Not that they answered or appreciated your point, mind.

It was only after you gave them whatever identifying information you had that things got… spicy.

"I would love to tell you what this designation of yours is if you tell me what you mean. Is it like a classification of civilian versus enlisted? Is it physical? Is it your horoscope? I don't know what I don't know," you explain again for the Nth time. You didn't wanna play twenty questions but here you fuckin were, captive audience and all.

The man asking you questions had lost his charming good cop look. He was getting more and more annoyed on this one, "your designation," a demand, not a question and sure as shit not an answer.

"Again, would love to tell you! I don't know what you mean! Feels like some kinda Star Wars thing," you grumble the last bit to yourself but the man cocks his head.

His eyes narrow, "what are… Star Wars, you said?"

You blink owlishly, "beg pardon?"

"Star War. Clarify."

It's your turn for your brow to furrow, and furrow it does, "Star Wars? As in the multi-billion dollar franchise created by George Lucas and eventually sold to Disney," your tone is questioning, just shy of asking if the guy lived under a rock but his expression didn't let up and the last thing you needed was bad cop, so you continued, "the story of what happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? The political space series of movies versus Star Trek's more scientific and discovery based longstanding TV show? Nine major movies and the Clone Wars before Disney sunk their talons in. Like yeah we got more shows and movies that expanded the universe but they also cut out decades of book contributions in their acquisition and that kinda sucked. But yeah, that Star Wars?"

"Nine movies," his tone is disbelieving, and now it's your turn for your eyebrows to raise, "can you name them?"

You nod, "well yeah. Do you want them in episode order or release?"

His brows furrow, "did they not release in order?"

"In a sense? Three trilogies, 4-5-6 back in the late 70s early 80s, then 1-2-3 in the late 90s early 00s, and 7-8-9 through the teens. So order, yes, just… not a cohesive one."

"Release, then," he leaned back and crossed his arms, a position you'd love to mimic if you weren't cuffed to the table for… an indeterminate period of time now, actually.

"A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi-"

"Woah now, empire? What's a jeddy?"

You give him a blank look, trying very hard to mask your disbelief as you look between him and the mirror behind him. You look at your reflection, take a deep breath, and- "sir would it be easier for you to maybe check the internet?"

He seemed to bristle, nose flaring and looking at you expectantly.

You just… kinda sat there. You tapped your fingers together on the desk and kept the eye contact he was intent on. It took a good minute and him getting progressively pissier before you simply ask, "would you like the other movies now?"

You didn't expect an explosion of movement from the man. He downright snarled and slammed his hands on the table as he burst to his feet, the sudden change sending his chair screeching back before falling with a clatter. You leaned as far back as your cuffed hands would allow, eyes wide and a panic rising.

Both of you turned to look at the door when it slammed open with a barked, "Williams!" 

The man who opened it reared back a bit, "Christ, layin' it on a bit thick," he groused, his tone sounding more like someone chastising a teenager for using too much Axe body spray. He smoothed his posture back into something casual as he fanned the air dismissively with a hand, "cap wants you to take a walk."

Your interrogator- Williams, apparently- stares at the man in the door, the two locking eyes before the one in the door straightens from his purposely relaxed posture. You watch the both of them, noting the shoulders tensing as the two just. Staring at each other? Eventually the guy who'd been grilling you looked away and stormed out, the man in the doorway letting him slip out easily enough before turning a charming look back to you.

He took a minute to fan the door a few times to get newer, blissfully cool air in before he entered the room, "sorry 'bout him. He really did a number in here," the new guy tsked before closing the door quietly behind himself.

Your brow furrowed even as you slowly relaxed a bit, had this Williams guy like… farted or something? A nice quirk of ventilation keeping you from smelling something abhorrent? Either way you simply shrug as he walks in and tips the chair back up, sitting and giving another reassuring smile, "how you doing, love?"

You opened and closed your mouth a few times before simply settling on, "I'm a bit… whelmed? This has been," you give as vague a rolling gesture as you can without your cuffs rattling too badly, "a lot? And I have no idea what just set him off either?"

It's the man before you's turn to quirk a brow, "no idea?"

"If I knew the answers to his questions I'd've given 'em by now. I don't, though, and then he just started staring? And hell I just thought it was some kinda macho 'I can stare the truth out of you,'" you pitched your voice lower and pushed your shoulders out for a second to mimic the douchebag behavior before settling, "so I kept eye contact because I'm so out of my depth I have no reason to lie at all and now…" you trail off, gesturing around the room, "all that."

The man nods slowly, "alright love, could you tell me about the last five years?"

Your brows furrow, "oh fuck, 2019 was five years ago wasn't it. God, time is an illusion. Anyway, you want what I was doing leading up to and through the pandemic?"

You think he might've startled for a second but he simply moved to scratch his chin, "mhmm. Just your thoughts on the last five years is all."

So… you ramble. Because he was nice and not prodding or asking weird questions. You talk to him about your job before the pandemic, how people thought covid was just a flu until the death tolls kept climbing, how tons of governments dropped the ball on a local or country-wide level and how that kicked back onto your life, and then the absolute crapshoot of the last election cycle, the shitty 'oh no this is the new normal everything is fine' behavior that has lead to surges and cycles of a fucking plague and so on. He simply nodded, gave some sympathetic hums and winces appropriately at your experiences.

"And did you go back and watch Star Wars through that? Or other things Disney owned?"

And, well, that was a weird way to phrase it but you shrugged, "the mouse is just shy of a monopoly and not one that anybody can take that down so… yeah, I guess? They kept putting shows out and expanding their Star Wars universe so that's been kinda neat to watch but not just them, no. Couple other games and stuff like that to keep me busy, too," you kinda handwave and shut up because panic rambling to MILITARY PERSONNEL is probably not your smartest move in hindsight. Especially when you don't know his name. A+, self.

You tap your fingers against the metal table as he looks at you, "and you said covid has a long term effect of ruining people's senses of smell and taste?"

You nod slowly, "yeah, dude? It's one of the biggest warning signs for most people? Like if everything starts tasting like it was made by a middle class white mom who keeps shoving random letters in her kids names you should swab? That kinda shit?"

What rock has this guy been living under? You were pretty sure the military were supposed to be way more familiar with this shit all things considered, but you've been wrong before.

It was his turn to give you a bit of a wide eyed look before he poorly covers a laugh, "alright, that's fair. I need to go talk with my captain," he hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the window, which didn't surprise you that there had been people back there. He offers a reassuring smile as he stands, humming idly as he pushes the chair back in. He pauses mid-step, "you mentioned that there were cards…?"

You find yourself nodding slowly, "yeah it was important and you couldn't fly or go to certain places if you didn't have one for a while. Should still have a picture of mine buried on my phone," you really didn't wanna get another first-round of covid shots, you REALLY didn't wanna repeat the 24 hours of suck for no reason.

"Cool, thanks," he flashes another charming grin before he slides out of the room.

You lean back in your chair, what an odd guy. Nice though.

-------

"Right," Gaz says as he opens the door to Price and Ghost, "either our mystery guest is off her nut or she's legitimately from somewhere and somewhen else."

Ghost and Price look at each other before turning back to Gaz, this… complicated matters.

Well, it's not like you hadn't given them information to identify yourself. They'd dig up who you were one way or another.

-------

You stare blankly as the nice man from before gives you a sympathetic look, "what do you mean I'm dead?"

Behind him is a guy you're not sure if he's just fuckoff huge or if he's just moderately huge and it's forced perspective.

You don't think it's forced perspective.

You are absolutely trying not to panic spiral.

You are absolutely doing a horrible job at that.

"Well," he opens the file before him and there's a news article, proudly proclaiming "Locals Die in Horrible Freak Accident" like that's not some form of you that was looking like some smear on the pavement, "there's this. Fingerprints match up. Can check for dental if you're really curious."

"Were there even any teeth left after that," you mumble as you take and read the offered article. Seven people were involved, the pictures used are mostly flattering. Hell, you almost don't mind what pic they used for an alternate you but… "that's certainly not the pic I would've wanted. Maybe this me had different tastes?"

You take the time to actually read through the article. It's not helping because for as much as you stare at the page you're not absorbing any information. Some form of detachment, if this was really you? You'd died. A different you but a you nonetheless. You died and you're reading how it happened. There was a lot to unpack in all this and you just needed to put the suitcase away for now. You'd much rather throw it away at this rate.

You were rapidly coming to the understanding that you and Toto were not in Kansas anymore, and there wasn't a convenient yellow brick road to get yourself back home. No easy way to get the hell out of Dodge either. Was it Dodge or the O.K. Corral that was in Kansas? No the O.K. Corral wasn't in Kansas- Dodge was though, that's right. 

This analogy was getting away from you and some part of you figured this was just your brain trying to protect yourself but… wait, wasn't this a metaphor? There wasn't 'like' or 'as' or goddammit not again.

You recognize some names here and there but largely everyone involved were perfect strangers. The article doesn't cover if it would've been slow or quick. You hope for the smear that it was quick. Smears like that don't happen slowly, right? Well, not unless it's like a dramatic slide down a window, but not usually across pavement like that.

Still not sure how you feel about all of it. Bit morbid being confronted with your mortality like that.

Certainly answered a lot of questions about your theoretical passing you never thought about. Like if the obituary for you in what you know to be your own home and world is just as… really kinda just mediocre as this. Have you really done nothing of note for an obituary? Damn.

You kept pouring over the article, each pass bringing new words into focus that help connect the picture a little bit, but… Something repeated in the article made you pause, "two alphas, four betas, and an omega?" 

There was no decent way to ask about that. Any questions invoked from here would border into dangerous territory better kept between yourself and a private browser history. You knew what you were about but there was no fucking way.

"Their designations," the nice man whose name you still hadn't caught explains, "mostly explaining their secondary gender."

You look at him owlishly. You pray to whatever God might be listening that you wake up shortly. Or that the earth below your feet opens up and swallows you. Whichever comes first, the mortification will snipe you otherwise.

"Please tell me this is an elaborate joke at my expense," you are very quiet as you are trying to get really cool with a lot of things really quickly.

"Negative," the big fucker in the back practically growled and you knew that voice would do things to you if you weren't half stepped out of your own body. 

You missed whatever his followup was but your brow furrowed when you checked the date on the article, "I've been dead for months? That…" you let the paper fall from your hands. Everything about this is wild at best and very overwhelming at worst. 

A lot of this qualified as worst.

You look up at the two, missing the odd look they shot at each other as you try to pull yourself back together, "so now what? You've got a not-a-smear of me that fell from the sky onto a secure military base, and where I'm from we didn't have," you paused to gesture between the paper and the two soldiers, "dynamics was it? That was just a fanfiction special."

"Fanfiction."

The way he said it was so carefully neutral you paused, "oh my god without Star Trek to popularize fanfiction and the fan community, how has fandom evolved? Is fanfiction a thing- well, yes, it does fanfics have been a thing since Dante Alighieri wrote the Divine Comedy and even before- well, the question is more if it's still popularized? Are there still the wattpad fics of- I am getting so off track. What exactly is the next step?"

You look from the nice man to the big fucker and back, neither saying anything but looking at you with careful blankness.

You felt like you were being weighed and measured in their eyes.

You hoped to anyone listening that you weren't found wanting at least. Not when you're in the shit situation it looks like you ever so increasingly fell into.

"Considering I'm. Not smear. And very much not from here? Are blanks a thing? Or is that what a beta is I'm," you trail off, brow furrowing, "fuzzy. On the whole thing. The flavor of understanding, dynamics, and population skew tended to be dependant on the author's level of horny."

The did get a bit of a snort from the pretty one before you, the one in the back tilting his head just so as the pretty one spurred you on, "okay please don't take this the wrong way, you have given me nothing to go on but A/B/O and-" a finger was raised in question to that, you quickly explaining, "the fanfic shorthand for the universe without being a mouthful. Anyway- I've seen population numbers being roughly the same across the board, I've seen alphas and omegas at roughly 1% of the population of society on either end, I've seen alphas at about 5% and omegas at 1%- those ones are usually the most horny I swear.

"And it's all over the board, no consistency- sometimes it's betas are infertile, sometimes they're the straightman to the comedy that's an alpha and omega trying to woo each other without being too horny to function. Sometimes it's a sliding scale where being beta just means you're more the more middle-ground regulated hormonally with alphas and omegas being the opposing ends of a spectrum. Can you please say something and give me a fucking break because my panic rambles are probably like. Some kinda prejudiced. I'm still not over the 'I'm supposed to be a smear on the ground we don't even have dental images of to confirm who it is anymore' nugget you dropped on me. I think I'm doing well for this"

You would rather not tell them that as soon as you're out of this box of a room you were gonna be curled up in a ball and unabashedly weeping. That was none of their business.

The pretty one gave you what you're sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile but the quiet stretched just a bit too long. You looked from one to the other before leaning forward, "is this supposed to be soothing in some way? Because it's just a bit of an extended awkward silence and that's uh-"

It was the big one in the back's turn to give an amused snort, the pretty one looking bashful, "right, sorry, we uh-"

You jerk a bit, "wait, was that supposed to be some scent thing," you really didn't wanna say pheromones and potentially dig yourself into a deeper, more awkward hole based on Horny Pseudoscience.

Pretty rubbed the back of his neck, "something like that. You really couldn't smell anything?"

You know the exact Face you're making. It's very much your 'I have told you this and I'm getting tired of having to repeat it' face. You can tell he clocks it but for the record, because to your mortification this has to be recorded, you simply give a succinct, "no, I haven't smelled anything. Not from you, not from him," you jerk your head towards the big fucker, "and not from douchebag from be- Williams! His name was Williams. Nothing. Really had no clue why you were fanning the door when you came in."

You sigh, rubbing the heels of your palms into your eyes, "okay. Assuming I'm not about to be put into past tense a second time. Do we have any idea what popped me out here?"

The sentences are stilted, you know you're getting more rattled the longer you're here but sue you alright it's been the worst six hours of your life here.

They just continue to look at you, pretty keeping a polite almost customer service look as big one just stares unceasingly.

"Right. Okay. Am I going to be reintegrated to society or is this," you gesture around the little room as much as you can, "looking like my home for the foreseeable future."

No change in what you can see of either's expression, and you just sag. Deep breath in, deep breath out, "cool. Alright. Well. I know nothing of how biology is altered here, I'm not sure how that has impacted changes throughout history, and frankly I don't know what your pop culture has done. I'm assuming math and written languages are largely the same but in all fairness I don't know what I don't know."

You just stare quietly at the table for a bit longer before looking back at the two of them, "is there anything else you need because I can feel the freakout creeping up and while I know there's no real privacy, uh…"

The pretty one looked back to the big one, at some point you're sure you'll get some sort of names but for now? Now you watch the big one nod, the pretty one give you a polite smile and some vaguely polite bullshit your brain is swiftly going too far out to hear.

You only hope that whoever is behind the mirror is polite enough to look away as you put your head down on the table and give yourself the opportunity to, just this once, cry. As a treat.

[Next Chapter -> ]

[theomnicode]

How does Saitama show he cares? How to write a relatable hero character

Warning: Very, very long post incoming

As early as Chapter 2, Crab and job hunting, we're treated to a Saitama where he heroically saves a kid from Crablante, at the cost of his own wellbeing and he dreams of becoming a superhero.

After he became strong, this same caring side is greatly juxtaposed with indifference, with him watching television of Vaccineman wrecking havoc instead of immediately getting into gear. It is with same indifference that he handles Beefcake, but we've already seen this self-sacrifical side of Saitama early on.

During Saitama's dream in Chapter 4, Dark undergrounders, Saitama once again states what he desires the most is to protect the surface and protect others, which are the key element in his desire to become strong and again, juxtaposed greatly with his earlier feats of indifference.

Before Saitama got super strong, we're again shown that he cares a great deal of the people surrounding him, not just when he personally knows them and helping them gives him that sense of accomplishment that he lacks in his current life, such as saving Granny's shop, saving a little kid and his dog and beating up the monster harrassing his neighbourhood in a productive day. (Chapter 15.5, Brushing up)

We're also shown that Saitama has a lot of heart for other people's misfortunes, even towards his bullies, which gives him strenght to carry on even on the toughest times. (Chapter 8.5: 200 yen)

Which is again, greatly juxtaposed with his adult mindset of thinking how HE in particular should care and if it relates to him in any way, such as the incident of House of evolution. Which I suppose is the view of a naive, younger person versus the grown and more cynical adult. (Chapter 9: House of evolution)

So why doesn't he do things like he's always done and care for others like he's done before when he wasn't that strong? Good question. Saitama's neighbourhood emptied when monsters started to roam around more and it became a ghost town around where he lived, but that's not the only reason.

In Chapter 5, Itch explosion, we find some alarming evidence that Saitama has grown emotionally numb to things and his emphatic capacity has greatly dwindled and he experiences apathy as a result.

Apathy, also referred to as indifference, is a lack of feeling, emotion, interest, or concern about something. It is a state of indifference, or the suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivation, or passion.

Saitama does prove himself wrong though that he can still feel emotions, which led to the angry chase of one mosquito and subsequently saving that of his newfound disciple. Genos comes to his house a few days later and if nothing else, Saitama has tea to offer as hospitality.

Saitama is always fairly hospitable and shows care for his guests in offering them tea, such as the A-class trio who came to his house in Chapter 174: Beauty and even Flashy flash whom he does not particularly like in Chapter 193: Worlds I know nothing about, after shutting a door on his face.

Saitama cares little for people who are as full of themselves and bossy as Flashy Flash and Fubuki. Saitama even did a jerk move and made the latter pay for his dine and dashing when he lost his wallet.

Nevertheless, food is the foremost way Saitama shows that he cares about other people, either cooking it himself or having Genos cook for them and despite being short on money, he does not force people away from his house when he gets the chance to enjoy glorious hotpot despite his numerous complaints, even if he does grow weary of the foreign company at the end. (Chapter 89: Hotpot)

He also buys bananas to bring to Satoru aka Mumem rider when he's hospitalized by Garou later in Chapter 51: Headgear and even pays a visit to Charanko in the same hospital.

He's also told people in hospital like Forte that they should stay in bed to not aggravate their injuries, so despite being so strong, he still understands and empathizes with people who've gotten injured, probably remembering how he himself used to get injured in the past and after the bout with Tatsumaki, reminisces about the time before he started muscle training how he could not even beat wolf-level monsters. (Chapter 182: Unascertained)

-*-

In a weird way, Saitama also cares about the villains of this story that he wants to hear what they want to say to their defence and that's how Saitama would determine how the beatdown should occur. Saitama just wants to deal with them face to face in a show of mercy and he was quite aghast at Genos' way of attempting to remove the villains of the House of evolution that attacked them in a single blow. (Chapter 9: House of evolution)

Saitama looks like he plays around with the villains he faces, but he first wants to judge them and possibly talk to them in order to understand where they are coming from, such as letting Orochi monologue, having a bout with Boros, letting Tatsumaki run out of steam and he even stops to listen to Garou in Chapter 161: Sinking feeling.

Especially Boros whom he left alive despite Serious punching him, he empathizes with the feeling of loneliness and hollowness that follows him around for being stupidly strong. (Chapter 36: The power of Boros, S1E12)

The consequences of this oddly merciful tactic varies depending of the levels of collateral damage that the environment and the people caught up on it suffer as a result. One could say he especially toyed around with Garou, pretending to be the mature adult in their fight while slowly whittling him down, but he also understood Garou deeply as Tareo's sentiment of Garou being misunderstood and treated badly and hated by the society touches something in Saitama. (Chapter 162: Greatest Hero)

Saitama has in the past sympathized with criminals like Hammerhead because he too, has been let down by society and he understands that if he also had taken the same path and the same wrong steps, he'd have ended up just like him. (Chapter 14: Don't know you)

Which puts even greater importance on him having a good reputation to hold onto so the mass public does not immediately vilify of him as people tend to view him in negative light, which is why good rep is something he consciously acknowledges and places great value on.

-*-

The first instance of Saitama showing care to his new disciple Genos is when Carnage Kabuto hits him into a wall and Saitama gets annoyed at Kabuto because Genos is seemingly hurt and out of the game. (Chapter 10: Modern art)

The second time Saitama cares about his apprentice is when Genos rejoins the fight and pushes himself too hard.

Ironically, this scene juxtaposes well with Genos being overprotective of the master that does not need protecting and getting beat up and the underprotectiveness of the teacher who could have ended the bout if he so desired in a single attack before Genos could've gotten hurt, which is some of that ONE's storytelling brilliance.

It is quite hard for Saitama to break through that apathy so early in the series, but he tries. He even tries to figure a safe training method for Genos, but can't think of anything on that part either. He even showcases a bit of his real power to Genos on a spar to make sure the cyborg knows exactly what he's jumping into, only for the said cyborg to not back down.

Getting Saitama to vent about his difficulties is a major milestone in having enough rapport with Saitama, because even we as readers know very, very little about Saitama in general, as he's a very private person.

Saitama has only told Genos his difficulties about getting recognition in Chapter 15: Hobby and work and in quid pro quo, tells Genos that if he registers with him, he would make him a disciple for real.

The other time Saitama has opened up about his problems to is King when King genuinely asks and is interested in hearing what Saitama is thinking during the aftermath of the Super Fight tournament in Chapter 77: Bored as usual. King does not quite understand the heart of the issues Saitama is facing, but bless him, he's still listening and trying to help.

King gives him very valuable insight in what it means to be a hero, but Saitama's not in the good mood after what he deems a failure of a tournament and guilt in not doing anything to the rampaging monsters meanwhile that he doesn't register it as much as more boredom.

But it is a testament to the fact that Genos and King are Saitama's closest confidants and friends that Saitama bothers to confide to them in the first place. Saitama also trusts King's judgement on how to deal with Garou's issue in Chapter 169: Daybreak when he was going to cut the heroes off from beating on Garou and executing him senselessly, but lets King do it instead of him.

In a flashback, it is also revealed about King that Saitama originally helped him when he got scars around his eyes and Saitama kindly helps him calm down and open his eyes, showing a lot of care to a random civilian. (Chapter 39: That person)

-*-

Out of all the people in the series, it is Genos who is especially close to Saitama. After Genos moved in with him, they started hanging out in different outings like swimming, festivals, noodle eating contests, sparring, fishing, going to the bathouse, going to sales and the likes. Sharing is caring, they say.

They destroy a meteorite together, Saitama barely comes to the rescue in Sea king fiasco and arrives in the nick of time to save Genos and the old guys Bang and Bomb from Elder centipede, all those situations where Genos was able to see the other day...each day Genos becomes more and more important player in Saitama's life.

In Chapter 155: Results, Saitama acknowledges his disciple has grown and that his core and his heart, the things that make Genos the Genos he is, has toughened out enough to not self-destruct even though things looked bleak at best...Saitama sees first-hand how much his disciple has grown.

From that acknowledgement, to the worst mistake in Saitama's life, that one time when his roundabout way of being merciful, playing around and stalling tactic around enemies backfires on him so brutally when Cosmic fear Garou kills literally everyone in the vicinity, is a very harsh wakeup call to Saitama.

That him being late and toying around with the villain has cost him all the people he knew and all the dearest people in his life.

(I love this panel so, so much. It's so full of shellshocked emotion)

Ironically, it would not have happened either if Saitama had his way and could just speak with Garou and have a bit of a therapical discussion with him, because he still empathized with Garou and his blight and how Garou was looking for a hero who could also end him if the prospects of his evildoing deeds did not go as well as he planned. Saitama if anything, is understanding to those who want to end themselves in the series. (Rewritten chapter 164: The abominable fist that turned against god)

It is not to be however and Garou and Saitama get into a large scale, brutal fight about everything that makes them, them. The good, the evil, matters not when moons and planets are being exploded and it only matters to Saitama that he holds onto that last vestige of his humanity, Genos' core, in his hand when he battles against Cosmic Garou.

To fight against someone who can not only hold his own but to also ascertain why did he have to kill Genos to do it, to which they ultimately have no other answer besides something controlled Garou to act, to bring Saitama to the peak of his performance.

Because Saitama inwardly cares so much, he was able to grow in leaps far ahead of Garou who was merely copying him and leave him in the dust. (Chapter 168: Awakening of the gods)

At the end when Garou notices he was the reason for Tareo's death and comes to his senses, realizing that being like Saitama cannot keep their right mind without someone like Genos anchoring them, he teaches Saitama to turn back time to where this ominous future has yet to happen and Saitama smacks OPM God out of Garou, literally and thus, ending the threat.

-*-

In more recent chapters, after trying to contain Tatsumaki the best he can, he also makes sure that she is fine after using so much energy in their bout and Saitama compliments Tatsumaki on her power and gives her advice on how to let loose but take care in not destroying other people's property. (Chapter 182: Unascertained)

Saitama has recently shown more care in the form of trying to limit collateral damage, like he tells to Tatsumaki that he tried to limit her rampaging to areas without people, but to Saitama, people and their well-being always come first. As long as he doesn't have to pay for the property damages, of course, everything is all fine and dandy.

There is still more to Saitama and how he cares about people in his own way, even if he still does not recall his time travel fiasco, like how he meekly looks at the demonsterization progress from behind Blast and Flashy flash, almost visibly upset and empathizing with how harsh the electrocuting, demonsterization process is. (Chapter 196: Threat)

Currently Saitama is waiting for Blast and Empty Void's battle to end at home and eating curry udon with Manako, but he's likely to turn around if Blast shows an indication of not being able to finish the fight like he claimed. (Chapter 197: What only I can do)

Just the classic Saitama indifference.

Tl;dr: Saitama's care is often juxtaposed with his indifference, but Saitama cares about people, especially those he's close with, a lot. He even wants villains to explain themselves before he judges them.