#and I will probably post here once in a while

[fireinmoonshot]

unreal | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: Bob offers for you to share his room while your room in the Watch Tower gets renovated... there's just one problem – he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to share a bed with you. Warnings: General mentions of mental health issues (nothing specific) Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Okay, so it's been over a week since I last wrote for Bob and the response on my last Bob fic is insane. I cannot believe how much love it's gotten 🥹 I have since seen Thunderbolts three more times and I love Bob even more. This was the fic idea that won in the poll I posted earlier today and it was so enjoyable to write. I am really looking forward to writing more for him (including the other ideas that I had in the poll). I hope you all enjoy this one as well. Requests are always open! 💗

“You can share my room” are five words that Bob regrets the second that they’re out of his mouth. Not because he doesn’t want you to share his room, but just because now that it’s out in the open, the prospect of you saying yes is terrifying.

When you’d all moved into the Watch Tower, you hadn’t considered the fact that most of the building was still a work in progress. There were so many rooms that still needed to be built and while there had been bedrooms, there weren’t many and Valentina had insisted on building you all your own. Nothing but the best for my New Avengers, she’d said.

Your bedroom was the last one to be renovated. Every other member of the team had gone through the room-sharing phase while their rooms were completed. Yelena and Ava had always shared, though they’d hated every second of it – both girls loved their personal space. Both Bucky and John refused to share with Alexei. Bob had managed to come out the other end without sharing a room at all. 

Until his offer to you, that is.

“Seriously?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you look around at the others. “None of you are offering to share with me so you’re making Bob offer?”

Walker scoffs. “You think we put him up to it? Please.”

“No one put me up to it,” Bob shakes his head. “I just thought I’d ask you since… y’know… none of the others have… and you probably don’t wanna sleep on the couch out here.”

He’s not really sure why he’d offered, actually. The words had been out of his mouth before he’d had a chance to think them over, which was strange for him. He supposes it might have something to do with the fact that he’s been crushing on you for a solid few months. It would be fine, though. He didn’t have a couch in his room, but he’s slept on his fair share of floors before and this one would be no different. Sharing a bedroom with someone he was slowly falling head over heels with was definitely going to end well.

You cross the room and put a hand down on Bob’s shoulder. “Are you really sure you want me to share with you? I know you haven’t had to share before and I really don’t want to intrude on your space.” Your voice is soft, for Bob’s ears only.

He nods once. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

You don’t completely believe him. He’s undoubtedly the most independent out of all of you, but it’s been proven that he really does love being around other people. The last thing you want is to get in his way or make him uncomfortable.

“Bob,” you meet his eyes. 

His lips turn up into a small smile at the tone of your voice. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to share with you.”

That seems to do the trick, because you nod your head and step away from Bob after that before announcing that you’re going to go and start getting all your things together. 

That afternoon, you move your things into his room so that the renovations can start on your own. Bob makes some space for you – not that he has a lot of things himself – but he wants to make you feel comfortable. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re living in his room. He wants it to feel like it’s yours too.

It only starts to feel real once it’s gotten dark outside and everyone has started to retire to bed. Once he’s in his room again, sitting on a bean bag in the corner, a book in his hand and he sees you walk into his room, hair a little bit wet from your shower. 

“I just realised,” you say, stopping in the centre of the room and looking around, “that you don’t have a couch.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bob nods, closing the book and sitting up a little straighter. “I just sit here. I, uh, I changed the sheets on the bed earlier so that you don’t have to sleep in dirty ones.”

You frown and look over at him. “Me? I’m not sleeping in your bed, Bob. I assumed I’d sleep on the couch. But I can just sleep on your beanbag. I’ll go and find some blankets…”

You turn to go and leave the room when you see Bob standing up in the corner of your eye. He stumbles a little, the blanket on the ground in front of him briefly catching his feet, and then rights himself. 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” he says. “You take the bed. I’m fine with sleeping on the floor. I’ve done it more often than you think.”

“Bob… you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s really okay.”

He really doesn’t mind. As long as you’re comfortable, he will be too. He’s slept in worse places. Plus, he doubts he’d even be able to sleep soundly knowing you were uncomfortable on the cold, hard floor. How could he let the person he likes sleep there rather than on his perfectly comfortable bed?

You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, slowly starting to walk towards him. This is a losing battle, you can see that. There’s no way that Bob is going to relent and let you sleep on the floor or the bean bag, and there’s no way you’re going to let him sleep there either. You couldn’t live with yourself if he did.

“Why don’t we both take the bed?” You suggest.

Bob’s eyes widen a little and he opens his mouth and then closes it again without saying anything. That’s the last thing he’d expected you to say. Sharing a bed? Had any of the others shared beds when they’d shared rooms? He highly doubted that. The members of the New Avengers weren’t particularly comfortable when it came to physical contact. 

“I don’t think we have to do that,” he mutters.

“Why not? I don’t mind it. That way, we both get to sleep on the bed and neither of us have to be uncomfortable on the floor. I promise I’ll stick to my side.”

Bob stares at you for a moment. You’re really suggesting this. You really want to share a bed with him. But how is he supposed to share a bed with you? This is not going to be beneficial towards his crush at all. It’s definitely not going to help him in his mission to get over you… he hadn’t started on that mission yet but he was definitely going to start soon… oh, he really shouldn’t have suggested this…

“All right, then,” he hums, and then squeezes his eyes shut as he winces. What the hell is he doing? Why are the words he’s speaking and the thoughts he’s having so out of sync?

You smile at him – one of the beautiful smiles that always sets his heart alight – and then move towards the bed. “Which side do you usually sleep on?” 

“Closest to the door,” he says, starting to walk towards it.

“A man after my own heart,” you grin, voice teasing as you pull the sheets back to the other side of the bed and slip underneath them. “Can you get the lights?” 

Bob tries his best to ignore your words, thinking about how he is actually after your heart, and slowly walks towards the light switch. He turns them off, then makes his way towards the bed in the dark. His heart is racing in his chest. It’s not until he’s sitting on the bed, hands fisted in the sheets, that he realises he’s sweating bullets.

He’d forgotten. How could he forget something like this? He’s always run hot. He’s been known to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, especially after a nightmare.

Maybe, once you’re asleep, he can slip out of the bed and go back to the bean bag without waking you up… surely that would be okay. He could make up some excuse in the morning about not being able to sleep in the bed…

“Everything all right?” You ask from beside him.

The room is so dark that he can’t see you to tell how far away from him you are, but your voice is close. He trusts that you’ve stuck to your word, though, and that you haven’t crept over to his side of the bed.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea actually.”

He hears the sheets rustling and can somehow tell that you’re sitting up now. 

“Why not?”

Bob sighs and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. He doesn’t know why he’s so embarrassed about this. It’s not like you don’t know. You were there in the vault. You heard him admit it to Yelena. You’ve seen so many parts of him that he hates and you’ve never judged him for any of them, so why would you judge him for this now?

“Hey,” your voice is gentle. “You can tell me. If you don’t want me here, I can go.”

“No,” Bob shakes his head, quick to respond. He doesn’t want you to feel like you’re not welcome here when truthfully, all he wants is to have you here with him. He just wishes he wasn’t so awkward about it. “It’s not that. It’s just…”

“There’s no rush.” 

He turns to look at where you’re sitting, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness so he can see you just barely. “I run hot,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I sweat a lot during the night. I should just sleep on the floor by myself.”

There’s silence for a moment and Bob takes that as your answer. He swings his legs off the bed and is just about to stand up when he feels the mattress shift underneath him, and then he feels your warmth pressed against his side.

“Hey, no,” you hum, leaning your arm against his. “Don’t do that. You don’t have to worry about things like that with me. If you sleep on the floor, I’m sleeping on the floor too. You’re not giving up your comforts for me.”

Bob turns to look at you through the darkness. “I’d just make you uncomfortable.”

“No,” you reach down and find his hand, entwining your fingers together. It’s true that the members of your team are bad when it comes to physical contact, but you don’t mind it. Bob’s always been a little concerned about touch ever since the incident that had happened a few months back but you can tell by the way he doesn’t tense up at your touch that he doesn’t mind it. You’re surprised to find you can actually feel him relax a little. “You won’t.” 

“I won’t?” 

“No,” you repeat. “I’m really glad you offered for me to share your room, Bob. I don’t care if you run so hot that the whole bed feels like a giant inferno. I’m not going to leave unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t. ” 

You give his hand a squeeze. “Okay, so should we get back into bed and try and get some sleep then?”

Bob nods and then remembers it’s dark and you probably can’t see him. “Yeah, all right.”

He hates the feeling of emptiness when you let go of his hand. He can feel the mattress shifting as you move back to your side of the bed. It takes every part of him to swing his legs back up and to lay down. It’s only once his head hits the pillow that he feels truly relaxed. It’s strange, even just knowing that you’re right beside him puts him a little bit at ease.

“I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” You say, voice so close to him that he almost jumps.

“Okay,” he murmurs, staring up at the dark ceiling above him. 

He’s so certain he’s going to wake up in the morning and all of this will have just been a dream. Not a good dream, not a bad dream. Just an unreal one. One where you hold his hand and sleep beside him. One where, as he’s drifting off to sleep he can feel the warmth of your body inches away. One where he can remember the feeling of your arm pressed against his with such clarity it almost feels real. 

But when he wakes up in the morning, the first thing he sees is you sleeping soundly beside him and he knows it wasn’t a dream. A small smile makes its way onto his face. He can’t remember the last time he slept through the night without waking up… not until right now. 

[fruitiesss]

bob reynolds NSFW alphabet !

as requested lol, i listened to the people and the people want bob smut.

MINORS + AGELESS DNI. SMUT.

send requests in! characters are on my pinned posts, just give me a hot minute to write them ^^

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Bob's very into cuddling and being close in general, he's also a human heater so if you're not cold you're gonna have to push him off until you are (his pouty face ensues). If it was really messy, he'll run a bath and get in with you situated on his lap. He keeps water bottles by the bed and isn't above running quickly to the store to grab some food if you need it.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Bob likes his hands. They're almost constantly in use because he likes to fidget and read, so he's more than capable with them, and he loves the way you come apart under them.

He'd like your thighs and hips, it's something to hold onto while he fucks into you or when you ride him. He also loves the squishiness of them, much better than any stress relief toys you buy him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Bob's never been in the place mentally (or physically) to risk having a kid at his age. He's always used condoms or pulled out when he's been in quick hook-ups before (though not many, he's quite inexperienced). You would have to sit him down and discuss kids with him first, but even then he's still hesitant and nervous.

He prefers to cum on your stomach or back if you'd let him. He cleans it up fast though, knowing the stickiness when it dries is less than desirable.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He rarely watches porn - why would he need to, he has you! - but does when you're away on a long mission or a trip. He takes inspiration from it and tries to incorporate a position or kink he'd watched that he thought you might like.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) This boy is inexperienced. As I said before, he's had a few hook-ups here and there but he's never been interested enough to learn. You're gonna have to teach him a few things and he is so eager to please you in any way you want. He's incredibly good at following orders.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) COWGIRL. FUCKING RIDE HIM HE WILL CUM INSTANTLY. Just the way he can see you - all of you - makes him harder than a fucking rock. Ugh, this man will have his hands anywhere, eyes half lidded in pure bliss as he watches you bounce.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Bob's a mix of both. He's serious when he's concentrating, trying to reach the spot that makes your toes curl, but he laughs and jokes with you when he's not. He can't take himself seriously and neither can you, it feels so good but it's also really funny.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) He's never taken care of himself properly before. Now that he's clean, he probably trims a little down there so it's not completely unbearable but he won't be smooth or clean shaven. He dyed his hair blonde ONCE and nobody will let him forget it, so YES the carpet matches the drapes thank you. He also doesn't mind if you shave or not. Hair is natural and he understands that, he actually prefers if you don't shave, as long as you're clean.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Sex for him is all about connection. He's done the unfeeling, unromantic stuff before and he hates it. You are his everything and he needs you to know that. He's complimenting you with every other word, letting you know how much he loves you or how good you make him feel. He is all about you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He rarely jacks off because you're right there all the time. Though when you're out of town or on a long mission he will do it a couple of times just to keep himself sated until you can come back. He's needy for you always.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) BOB LIKES HIS HAIR BEING PULLED. Grab it by the roots and pull and he will give you the sweetest sound you've ever heard. He loves praise too, call him a good boy and he's already on his knees for you so he can do anything you want. He's a switch 100%, will do anything you want but likes to be dominated sometimes.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) He likes being in bed with you, he's very hesitant to do anything in public because you're his to see and he's yours to see. He will if you really want to, but he won't like it. When he's really needy, he'll corner you wherever you are in the tower until you take him up to one of your rooms, with him following like a dog on a leash.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) You. If you're in the mood, he's in the mood. If he sees you, he's in the mood. Wearing something revealing? He's on you. You opened the floodgates when you first laid with him now lie in the bed you made.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He's not into any kind of bodily fluid (other than cum, obviously) or anything where he hurts you or you hurt him. He refuses to lay a hand on you. Unless it's a soft slap. Impact play is a big no no.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) He likes to get his dick sucked. He loves it, actually. You look so pretty on your knees with his cock in your mouth. He prefers giving, though! He wasn't so good at it when he started out but he has definitely gotten much better since he started out and he is a MUNCH. This man will spend hours between your legs if he can, his intense eyes staring into yours.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Bob as a person is very soft and sweet despite everything he's been through. He would take it slow and sweet with you, afraid to break you as if you were made of glass. He could take you fast and rough but he wouldn't be able to keep it up.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) He doesn't like them. Too fast, it blurs in his head. He needs to know you're satisfied before he can leave you. He will take you for a quickie if you really, really beg him and only if you're in a place where you can't get to your beds.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) He likes to experiment with anything you bring to him. He'll do anything (other than his nos) at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Thanks to his powers, he has very good stamina. He'll last about 6 rounds with water breaks in between but if you wanted more, he will give you more. Anything for you. He'd last the whole day for you.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) He's never seen the need for them. His hand did the job just fine when he was low on money (or needed the money for drugs) and even now he doesn't see the need for toys. He doesn't get jealous if you have any toys either, he'll use them on you if you're into that.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He thinks he's a tease but really he gives in whenever you so much as pout at him or whine. He's so smitten for you and wants to provide everything you need.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Bob will be quiet at first, biting into his hand to stifle any of his moans or grunts so he can fully hear the beautiful noises he elicits from you. But that's when he's on top. Get him submissive and that boy is LOUD for you. Pull his hair and he WILL moan. Overstimulate him and he WILL whine.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) He likes to bite and suck marks into your skin. Especially in those spots that are hard to cover up. It gives him a sense of pride, knowing that he did that to you. He's also very bitey in general. Very cute.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) He's not small at all but he'd not HUGE. I'd say he's 6 inches, nice and thick. Knows how to use it once he gets the hang of sex in general. It curves slightly to the left and has a nice pink tip, cut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) This guy is super needy. He's ready for you at any time, you just need to ask and he's already pouncing on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He only lets himself fall asleep once he's sure you're comfortable enough to. He is very sleepy after, though. He's falling asleep as he's scrubbing you in the bath, head slumping forward onto your shoulder until you nudge him. Once you're taken care of though, he's out like a light on the bed.

[thecurioustale]

To go off on a tangent of my own...

In my college years I performed Extensive Research on how a nobody can get their fiction published, and consequently I was Ready to Go on that count for a while, "merely" pending the completion of said fiction...

In the centuries that followed, something strange happened to me. I began to suspect that no traditional publishing house would ever want to touch my work without Extensive Edits, and, concomitantly, having precise control over my fiction was becoming more and more important to me. I was becoming less willing to accept Extensive Edits even as I was becoming convinced that there could be no other path to success with a traditional publisher.

In time this decision made itself, not all at once but gradually, the old traditional model spalling away and finally disintegrating entirely. When faced with the dilemma of choosing the integrity of my work or choosing better access to an audience, it was no choice at all.

Meanwhile, self-publishing was becoming more sophisticated. A family friend had been publishing some of her work for years on one of the early-era Internet-based self-publishers, Xlibris. Perhaps not fully comprehending what exactly a traditional publisher does, I started to think that independent publication might just be the way for me.

By the time mountain ranges had risen and fallen, and I completed my first novel, Amazon had come along and taken away all of the up-front capital costs required. There was no longer any barrier to entry! So I published it online and got probably a couple dozen readers! (One order of magnitude higher than I'd have gotten were it not for the OP posting about it on Tumblr.)

But this anodyne anecdote isn't why I'm posting this; it's just the setup:

When the Prelude to After The Hero came out, it occurred to me that I was a Published Author now. I already had a Patreon, and, small though it was, I was technically being paid to write. So I was also a Professional Author, if not financially self-sufficient about it. These were strange hats to wear, as I'd always associated "professional authors" and "published authors" (I'll just combine those two into the latter now) with the people whose books show up in all the bookstores and whose works audiences are large enough to sustain ongoing fan communities. I was obviously nowhere in that realm, yet I was technically allowed to wear their hats now, and I had to think about What That Meant.

I realized I had come to associate being a professional author with fame and fortune. Not a state of A-list celebrity, necessarily, but fame and fortune all the same. And that's not really what authorship is. Authorship is in the word; it is no more and no less than writing works and, at least sometimes, finishing them.

But there is a deeply unsatisfying side to this. It's like being sold on Disneyland and arriving only to find you're in a regular old park with a short slide and a couple of those cute animals on giant springs. Something's missing, and it is both easy to see what that is and hard to articulate how the discrepancy matters.

What does it matter, really? Are the comforts of money and the intrigue of attention more important than the art itself? Not really. But then why do they hold such sway? And I think it's because of a quirk of my psyche that probably doesn't impact most people quite as forcefully: There is an issue of acceptance and belonging at work here.

I have many ways of talking about this, both in my fiction and nonfiction. I like to use the metaphor of the horizon most of all: beautiful landscapes and cityscapes, which disappear when you enter into them. They seem to exist in this place where others are allowed to dwell but you yourself are not. And, having dealt with a lot of rejection in both my child and adult lives, it's no surprise that I would be highly compelled by the allure of belonging.

There's an episode of The Simpsons where Homer discovers a secret society called The Stonecutters whose members include practically all of Springfield's well-known faces other than Homer himself. The Stonecutters are played up as being this mysterious, wonderful thing, with fantastic food, great parties, even private roads with chandeliers. And by the end of the episode Homer has become its leader! But, in so doing, everything about The Stonecutters that gave this exquisite secret society its potency vanishes. It stops being fun or interesting, and everyone else leaves the society and forms the No Homers Club. The magic is lost.

We have brains that are evolved to compose narratives where none exist, and build legends out of mundane facts. Our cities upon the horizon, and their glorious ways, sparkle magnificently. But rarely, if ever, do we ourselves seem to be able to step inside such places and dwell there without them disappearing around us—even when our lives are going very well, let alone when they're not.

I think a lot of Tumblrinos would just look at all of the above and say "tldr impostor syndrome," but I would not agree with that. For one thing, I have become increasingly opposed over the past ten years to the rampancy of biomedicalization of our identities and bodies. I don't like deploying biomedical frameworks as a cultural affiliation marker or as a form of expression. I've heard people claim that "everyone has impostor syndrome." Maybe in your worldview, buddy, but not in mine. To me that's a misuse of psychological nomenclature. But even if that objection weren't in effect—let's say I conceded it for the sake of conversation—the bigger reason that I don't agree with boiling down what I've written here to "impostor syndrome" is that it isn't accurate. I don't have any real doubts about the artistic wholeness and high quality of the Prelude, or of any of the novels I am presently writing. I know I'm a good author. I don't feel like I don't belong in the secret club of Professional Authors. I think I do! Rather, I feel that it is closed off to me by powers outside my control for reasons having little or nothing to do with me. I'm not saying that I see the world as being "against me." Nothing so dramatic or self-centered! I see the world as being cold and unthinking in many respects, and me being a poor fit for it on top of that, and, thus, mainly by circumstance, me not fitting into it. And, like a cosmic rounding error, there seems to be no fixing this. I've never fit in, and I probably never will. I'm not an impostor. I'm an outsider.

A Guru of Horizons, they called me once...

Long ago I used to fantasize that completing my books would lead to fame and fortune. But what I really wanted was to be accepted for who I am, in the context of doing the things I love. That, too, is an illusion of the horizon. No one will ever know you well enough for that. And fame and admiration are a sword because of it. For you will be misunderstood, and, to people like me at least, that makes all the difference. It will slice into you. At best, you will only be accepted as a "close enough" by dear friends. But, mostly, in the words of my star-captain Cherry Ilyapa, people will wrap your skin around their own dreams and thoughts, and sink your eyes into its sockets, never thinking how garish it might be.

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 2

Paige x Azzi

Warnings: language, alcohol, dumb sapphics not communicating

Dual POV - 7K words

A/N: holyyy ??? thank u sm for reading the first chapter!! legit thought i was gonna post into the void so if you saw this, i’m kissing your forehead through the screen <3 next one’s longer. messier. high in yearning. sorry in advance (but also. not at all.) would love to know what you think!! little comments keep me going fr so just know i appreciate youuu 🫶

Paige POV

Paige sat on the edge of the couch, one sneaker still half-on, fingers tangled in the laces like she’d forgotten what they were for. Her head spun—half from the alcohol, half from everything else.

The room was quiet, save for the dull hum of the fridge and the yellow light over the stove casting long shadows across the floor. Her phone buzzed somewhere across the room. She didn’t check it.

She was still in the same pants Azzi had seen her in. That mattered for no good reason.

She pressed her palms to her eyes until stars bloomed behind her lids. She didn’t cry. Paige never cried. But the ache had settled deep—familiar now—and she wondered if she even remembered how. If it might help. If it might do anything at all.

She groaned and fell back into the couch, the room spinning slightly with the motion. So she closed her eyes. And that was the mistake. Because her mind didn’t go to the party, or the noise, or the laughter she hadn’t really listened to. It went where it always did: straight to Azzi.

Not the Azzi from tonight. But the Azzi who used to sit cross-legged on her bed, eating cereal out of a mug, one sock on, one sock off, looking at Paige like she wasn’t something to admire but something to keep.

If she were here, she’d be telling Paige to get water. To wash her face. To change out of her jeans. She’d braid Paige’s hair so it wouldn’t be a disaster in the morning. Probably force her to eat something.

But Azzi wasn’t here. So Paige did none of that. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for her phone. Doesn’t untie the sneaker still half-dangling from her foot.

Her mouth is dry. Her head hurts. And still, nothing feels as hollow as the space Azzi used to fill without trying.

She can still see her, clear as day: curled up at the end of the bed, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, twisting the drawstrings into little knots while Paige rambled about something that didn’t matter. A game. A play. A headline she hated. And Azzi would listen, always.

There was one night. Paige doesn’t remember what led to it—what they’d talked about, if anything at all. Just the way Azzi sat behind her on the floor, legs wrapped loosely around her waist, fingers moving slowly through her hair.  No music. No talking. Just touch. And the safety of being known.

And for once, Paige didn’t feel like she had to fill the silence. Azzi never asked her to be anything but there. She hadn’t realized what a luxury that was. Back then, it felt inevitable. Automatic. 

Now, silence feels different. Sharper. Meaner. Azzi would’ve known what to do with it. Would’ve filled it without trying. Would’ve made the air feel less heavy just by being in the room. But Azzi’s not here. So Paige just sinks deeper into the couch, lets the ache stretch wider across her chest, and tries not to wonder what Azzi’s doing.

If she’s curled up in that baseball player’s bed. Wearing his hoodie. Making him mac and cheese like it means nothing. Like she hasn’t done all of that before, for someone else.

And then—like punishment—a memory surfaces. 

Her bedroom. After a loss Paige had claimed like it was hers to carry—because that’s what leaders did, right? They absorbed the blame. They held it so no one else had to.

She’d sat with her knees pulled to her chest, back against the headboard, arms wrapped so tight around her legs it hurt. The room was dark. She hadn’t turned the lights on when she came in, hadn’t taken off her sneakers. Sweat clung to her skin, dried cold and uncomfortable, but she couldn’t make herself move.

The door creaked open. Azzi didn’t say anything.

She stepped in barefoot, silent, already in one of Paige’s sweatshirts—too big, the hem brushing her thighs, sleeves half-swallowed. She didn’t hesitate. Just crossed the room like she knew the floor plan of Paige’s grief.

She climbed onto the bed, moved slowly and knelt beside Paige. For a second, she didn’t touch her. Just looked. And then, gently, she reached out and cupped Paige’s arm.

“Come here,” she murmured.

Paige didn’t resist.

Azzi guided her down like she was something fragile, easing her back against the mattress until Paige was lying flat, stiff at first, eyes wide and blinking toward the ceiling.

Then Azzi lay down beside her. She pressed their bodies together, slid an arm beneath Paige’s head like a pillow, the other curling around her waist. Their legs tangled like instinct.

And she said nothing. 

Not you played fine.  Not you did everything you could. Not I’m proud of you.

She just stayed.

And Paige—who didn’t cry, who never let herself fall apart, who carried the weight of every game like it was stitched into her jersey— let herself lean in. Just a little. Just enough.

She remembered thinking: Azzi loved her even at her worst and never once asked her to be anything else.

She’d been so dumb. So fucking ungrateful for it—whatever “it” had been. She groaned as her phone buzzed again.

Dragging herself upright, she blinked at the screen. Sixty-something texts from Nika, letting her know she’d be staying elsewhere tonight. Paige gave the last one a thumbs up. No words. She didn’t have any left.

She retreated to her room like it might offer some kind of silence that would actually stick. She tried to sleep. Really tried. Stared at the ceiling. Flipped her pillow. Closed her eyes. Counted her breaths. None of it worked.

Eventually, with a sigh sharp enough to count as surrender, she reached for her phone again.

The group chat had finally calmed down. Just a few heart emojis and someone’s blurry selfie from the kitchen. Most of her teammates were probably asleep. She could’ve left it there. Should have. But her thumb kept scrolling. Down past Liv. Past Jana. Past everyone. Until she found Azzi’s name.

Her stomach twisted at the “last sent” date. Had it really been a month? She tapped into the thread. And winced. The screen was all Azzi. A wall of quiet, one-sided effort. 

Azzi: hey. just checking in.

Azzi: you left your sweatshirt in the locker room btw

Azzi: i know you’re busy. just wanted to say good luck on your exam today.

Azzi: saw you in the gym this morning. you looked tired.

Azzi: i miss you

Azzi: forget it. Sorry.

Azzi: i know we’re not really talking right now. but you’re still my best friend. that hasn’t changed.

Azzi: i’ll stop bothering you.

She stared at the final message a beat too long, then tore her eyes away.

It wasn’t like she had intentionally ignored them. She hadn’t meant to shut Azzi out. She just didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to bridge the space between who they used to be and whatever they were now.

Because the thing was, it wasn’t not knowing how she felt. That had never been the issue.

Loving Azzi had never been the problem. That part had always been easy. Natural. A constant in a world that changed too fast and asked too much. And if it had just been them—no cameras, no noise, no one else pulling—maybe things would’ve stayed simple.

Paige would’ve stayed. She knows that much. She would’ve chosen Azzi. She wouldn’t have given up. But somewhere along the way, it all got tangled. Messy. It wasn’t on purpose.

She just kept running out of space. Out of time. Too many people. Too many eyes. Always something to prove, someone to answer to. 

Azzi usually understood. She always had. She knew there was a version of Paige that didn’t belong to herself. The one in postgame interviews, in highlight reels, on social media.  She never seemed to resent it. Never made her feel guilty for the things she couldn’t control. Which is why Paige didn’t understand when it shifted. Didn’t know what changed.

The first crack happened quietly. Azzi had said something once, soft, but sharp in that way she always was when she didn’t want to start a fight but couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Sometimes, I just wish I was your first choice.”

It made her feel like a villain in a story she didn’t know she was in. Like she’d missed a moment where something shifted, and now she was paying for it without ever understanding the rules.

And from there, the fissures in their existence began to splinter. Quiet, invisible hairline fractures but there, cracking outward from the very fault line of who they were. Moments that used to feel easy began to catch. Silences stretched longer than they used to. Texts went unanswered a little too long. Jokes didn’t always land the way they once did.

Nothing big. Nothing loud. Just a slow, soft shift. And then, all at once, the space between them stopped feeling like a pause and started feeling like distance. Like something had shifted beneath them, and neither of them had the words to name it.

And Paige hadn’t asked. Hadn’t said, are we okay? Because she thought they were.

Because Azzi still braided her hair on road trips. Still sat beside her during film. Still laughed at her dumb jokes, even when they barely made sense. But there was something in her eyes that had started to fade. Some warmth that flickered a little too low.

And now Paige couldn’t stop thinking about it, how Azzi had kept showing up, softer and softer, until eventually, she disappeared entirely. 

Her phone buzzed again on the pillow beside her. Not Azzi. It never was anymore. She blinked away the sharp-edged memories and looked back at her phone. Her thumbs hovered over the screen, the thread still open—Azzi’s name at the top.

She typed:

i miss you too.

Stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again:

are you still up?

Backspaced. Studied the rhythm of the blinking cursor. She sat there a moment longer, the silence pressing in from every side, the ache spreading like a bruise she didn’t want to touch.

Then she tried again. Slower this time.

i don’t know how to do this. 

She stared at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something braver. Then she deleted them too and turned off her phone. Because reaching out meant admitting something had broken. And Paige wasn’t ready to know if it couldn’t be fixed.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡⌦ .｡.:*♡❁۪۪ ཻུ♡˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡

The sun filtered through her half-closed blinds too early, nearly cracking her skull in two. Paige groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes like that might block out the damage. Her head pounded. Her mouth tasted like shitty vodka.

She didn’t remember falling asleep. Didn’t remember turning off her phone. But it was there on the nightstand, face-down like she’d been trying to forget something. She stared at it for a long time before reaching.

Just one swipe. Just a glance. Azzi hadn’t texted. Paige let the phone fall back against the sheets and rolled onto her side, eyes squeezed shut.

Last night clawed at the edges of her memory. Blurry, uneven, softened by too much cheap liquor and not enough food. There’d been laughter, music, the low hum of voices bleeding together. But even through the haze, she remembered those moments.

Azzi looking at her. And then not. Azzi’s skin brushing up against hers in the photo—too warm, too familiar. Azzi glancing sideways, just for a second, before pretending she hadn’t. Azzi. Everywhere. All at once. And also not at all.

In the room. In her mind. In the silence of a phone that hadn’t lit up all night. Haunting her in the softest, sharpest ways.

Paige sat up, her joints stiff, mouth still dry, heart beating just a little too loud for how early it was. She didn’t bother with a text. Or a real breakfast. Just pulled on yesterday’s hoodie, tied her sneakers, and grabbed her keys like muscle memory had taken over.

The world outside was too bright, too loud. The sky an offensive kind of blue. But the gym– the gym was still dark when she walked in. Still cold. Still quiet.

Just the echo of her footsteps and the soft hum of overhead lights flickering on.

She liked it better this way. Before the noise. Before the crowds. 

She set a ball down at half court, took a breath, and started to shoot. One after another. Each shot a little too hard. A little too fast. Each one missing just slightly left.

She kept going. Kept moving. Sweat beading at her hairline like she could outrun the night before. Sweat it out, burn it off, leave it behind. As if sheer effort could scrub her thoughts clean of brown eyes and perfect curls. And that damn look in the photo.

“You’re a freak.” Paige stopped the ball with her foot, chest still rising and falling, and turned to find Nika leaning against the wall like she hadn’t just caught her in the middle of a silent spiral.“I fed you enough alcohol to give you a three-day hangover.”

Paige grinned. “Some of us are just built different, I guess.”

Nika rolled her eyes and strolled to the middle of the court. She sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and watched as Paige kept shooting—thud after thud echoing through the empty gym.

Then came the throat-clearing.

Once. Twice. Three times. Paige exhaled hard, let the ball roll to a stop, and dropped down beside her.

“How nice of you to join me,” Nika said sweetly, not looking at her.

Paige shook her head, eyes drifting toward the championship banners swaying faintly in the rafters. Nika didn’t hesitate.

“You text her?”

“What?” Paige muttered.  “Who?”

Nika scoffed, waving her off. “I’m way too hungover to play this game with you.” She turned to face her now, voice flat. “Last night—when I walked your wobbly ass home—you said, and I quote, ‘I’m gonna text Azzi and fix all of this.’”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She picked at the edge of her sock, eyes still fixed on the rafters like they held better questions.

“I thought about it,” she said finally, quiet.

“Would call that progress for progress’s sake,” Nika muttered, “but I’m not a liar.” She exhaled, slow. “It’s been a month, P.”

Paige shrugged. “I thought we were doing an okay job with it. The team doesn’t seem to notice.”

Nika groaned, but this time it was softer. Less theatrical.

“Paige,” she said, quieter now. “Not everything is about the team.” She paused, studying her. “You’re not doing well. You think we don’t notice, but we do.” Paige didn’t move.“You’re quieter. You’re in the gym at all hours. You barely talk unless it’s about basketball.”

“I’m just… focused,” Paige muttered. “With the season coming up.”

Nika frowned, gentle but sure.

“I know I’m not Azzi,” she said, “but you don’t have to lie to me.”

Paige’s jaw clenched. She didn’t look at her. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the gym lights overhead. Then, so quiet it almost wasn’t there:

“I don’t know what to say, Nika.” She exhaled shakily, like the truth hurt to hold. “I’m scared that if I say it out loud—if I admit she walked away—then that means she’s really gone.” Her throat tightened. “And I don’t know how to live with that. I don’t think I can.”

Beside her, Nika swallowed, then shifted closer—close enough for their knees to touch, for the silence to feel less overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around Paige and tugged her in, firm but gentle. Like she wasn’t going to let her fall apart alone.

“It’s Azzi, P,” she murmured.“You and her—you're not just some on-again, off-again thing. You’re Paige and Azzi. That’s been a fact as long as I can remember. Even now, when everything’s messy and sideways, that doesn’t just disappear. You’re not cut off. Just out of sync. That’s not the same as losing her.”

Paige, in a rare moment of surrender, let herself lean in and buried her face in Nika’s shoulder like she could hide from the truth inside it.

“Then why,” she whispered, voice splintering, “does it fucking feel like I have?”

Nika didn’t answer right away. She just held her tighter, arms secure around her like she wasn’t going to let her fall any further. 

“Because you love her.” She felt Paige stiffen just slightly, like the words landed somewhere too deep. “That’s why it hurts like this,” Nika added, voice gentler now. “Because it’s real. And because it’s her.”

Paige didn’t have the energy to argue. Because Nika was right.

She loved Azzi. Not in the loud, all-consuming way people always talked about. Not fireworks or grand gestures.  It was quieter than that. Slower.

The kind of love that snuck in when she wasn’t looking and made itself at home. The kind that curled up in the passenger seat on long road trips and pressed in close after late-night losses. The kind that didn’t demand attention, didn’t ask to be named because it was already stitched into everything.

She loved her in the way her body remembered, in the pause before a joke, in the instinct to reach for her hand without thinking. In the way she looked for her in every room before realizing she wasn't there.

Azzi was the quiet in the chaos. The place her soul went to rest. The thing that ever felt like hers, even when nothing else did. 

And maybe that was the problem. Because when you love someone like that—so completely, so unconditionally—you start to believe they’re part of you.

You forget they’re allowed to leave. You forget they don’t have to stay. Even if you would’ve. 

Azzi POV

Azzi woke up slow.

The sun filtered through the blinds, soft and gold, warming the edge of her pillow. The weight of the blanket pressed gently over her shoulders, and the mattress dipped slightly behind her. Someone was beside her. Still half-asleep, Azzi smiled.

She didn’t open her eyes. Just breathed in and let herself sink closer—muscle memory guiding her, like it always had. The shape was right. The warmth. The way their knee bumped gently against hers. For half a second, she thought, Paige.

She hummed, content, pressing herself into the comfort like it might last.

“No time for snuggles,” someone muttered. “I’m hungry.”

Azzi’s eyes flew open to find Caroline. Her best friend is lying on her side, scrolling through her phone like she didn’t just shatter a perfectly good morning.

Azzi groans. “Why are you in my bed?”

“You fell asleep on mine. You stole my blanket. I followed my blanket.”

Azzi buries her face in the pillow. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, here I am. A gift.”

Caroline sits up and stretches, already tossing the blankets back with no regard for Azzi’s fragile morning peace.

“You promised me breakfast,” she says. “Don’t think I won’t hold you to it.”

Caroline jumps off the bed, heading towards the door. 

“Five minutes or I’m leaving without you,” she called over her shoulder, already halfway to the kitchen. “And I swear I’ll eat your leftovers out of spite.”

The door clicked shut. And just like that, the space beside Azzi was empty again. She didn’t move. Just stared at the mattress, the faint dent where someone had been.

It wasn’t the same shape. Wasn’t the same warmth. But for a second, she’d believed it.

For a second, her body had reached for something it used to know by heart. She curled her fingers into the sheets, pressed her face into the pillow like it might still smell like her. Like Paige.

It didn’t.

She kicked the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed like she could shake it all loose. Moved too fast for a Sunday morning, pulling on jeans, shoving her arms through an old hoodie, twisting her curls into a bun without so much as a glance in the mirror.

She didn’t check her phone. Didn’t need to. She already knew Paige hadn’t texted.

By the time she stepped outside, Caroline was already on the sidewalk, sunglasses on, coffee in hand, looking annoyingly well-rested for someone who’d hijacked Azzi’s bed.

She held out the cup with a little smile. “You always forget your caffeine when you’re in a mood. You know the student centers is terrible.”

Azzi took it without arguing. They started down the block in silence, the morning quiet except for the soft scuff of their sneakers on the pavement. After a while, Caroline glanced over.

“You okay?”

Azzi shrugged, eyes on the sidewalk. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Caroline didn’t call her out. Didn’t push. She just nodded like she believed her. Or at least understood why she didn’t want to talk about it.

Then, gently: 

“Whenever you’re ready, I’m here.”

Azzi didn’t reply. But her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup. And Caroline didn’t say anything else.

The student café was warm and buzzing, sunlight pooling across the tiled floors and clattering dishes. The line moved slow, but Azzi didn’t mind. She liked places like this—too loud to think, too small to fall apart in.

Caroline pointed to a table in the back while Azzi ordered for both of them, and by the time she slid into the booth, Caroline already had her phone out and a croissant torn in half between them. Cam arrived a few minutes later, all easy charm and windblown hair. 

“You two look like you’re recovering from something,” Cam said, sliding into the seat across from Azzi.

Caroline didn’t look up from her phone. Just gestured lazily in Azzi’s direction. “She is.”

Cam raised a brow but didn’t push. Just slid a pastry toward her like it might solve something. Azzi offered a grateful smile.

Caroline didn’t dislike Cam. She just didn’t buy the whole “he’s good for me” campaign Azzi had been running lately.

I can tell you’re not happy, she’d said one night. Azzi had shut it down before it could bloom into something messier. Because she needed Cam. Needed the steadiness, the ease, the way he never asked for more than she offered.

He was warm. Present. Simple. A safe place to land after limping her way across the scorched battlefield that was being touched—then abandoned—by Paige Bueckers.

It had been almost two weeks. And Cam really was a good guy. She figured if she told herself that enough, one day, it might matter. 

They made small talk. Caroline filled the silence. Cam laughed at something she said. Azzi tried to stay tethered to the moment, to the clink of forks and the smell of coffee and the way Cam looked at her like she was still whole.

Jana appeared halfway through the conversation, sliding into the booth beside Caroline with a groan and a dramatic yawn.

“I know,” She says. “The coffee is shit but I’m desperate.”

They all laughed. Even Azzi.  She was halfway through a sentence when the bell over the café door chimed again. Caroline stilled across from her. Eyes tracking the door.

“Shit,” she murmured, just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi didn’t have to look. Not at first. She didn’t need to. Some people enter a room quietly. Some crash. Paige didn’t do either. She just shifted the gravity.

Azzi’s spine straightened. Her breath caught. Something deep in her chest tightened—like muscle memory reawakening after too long asleep.  And when she finally let herself look toward the door, she nearly flinched. There was Paige. Framed in the doorway like the morning light didn’t quite know how to hold her.

Hair still damp, hoodie too big, sleeves shoved past her wrists like she’d gotten dressed without thinking. Like maybe she hadn’t slept. She looked like something Azzi had dreamed about too many times to admit.

Across from her, Cam glanced toward the door.

“Is that Paige?” he asked, voice quiet, almost casual.

Caroline didn’t look up. “Yup.”

Cam nodded, eyes following her for a beat too long. “Weird,” he murmured. “Being that recognizable. Having people clock you everywhere.” He shook his head a little. “I don’t think I’d know how to be normal.”

Azzi didn’t answer right away.

“She doesn’t really get to be,” she said finally. 

Cam didn’t respond, still watching. Just for a second. And that’s when Azzi saw it. Not awe, exactly but something adjacent. That flicker of recognition. That quiet pull. The same look she’d seen a hundred times in other people. On sidewalks. At games. In locker rooms and airports and campus dining halls. The look that said: That’s her.

Azzi had memorized it since they were sixteen. It was always the same…like the air shifted when Paige walked through it. Like something about her demanded to be noticed, even when she wasn’t trying. Especially then. She just had that effect on people. Impossible to ignore. Impossible not to want. 

And Azzi had spent years pretending she was the only person in the world immune to it. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Because she understood the awe. She understood the pull. The quiet hunger to know Paige. To unravel her. To be the exception in a world full of admirers. Azzi had felt it too. Still felt it, low and constant in her stomach. Sharp. Stupid. Unrelenting.

Loving Paige hadn’t protected her from wanting her. It had only taught her how impossible it was to ever truly have her.

And now she was here—walking past them, coffee in hand, eyes fixed on her phone like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Azzi caught her in the blur of her peripheral vision—still didn’t look, not really—until Jana’s voice cut through the quiet:

“Paigey! Don’t be rude. Say hi.”

Azzi stiffened. Caroline froze mid-sip. Paige paused. She didn’t look up right away. Just tapped once more on her screen, like she was taking care of something important. Then, finally, she lifted her gaze.

“Hey,” she said, quiet but pointed. Her gaze swept across the table, barely grazing Azzi, landing instead on the boy beside her.

Cam straightened, offering a hand. “I’m Cam.”

Paige looked at it for a moment too long before shaking it once.

“So I’ve heard,” She said. “Paige. Nice to meet you.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. Not for anyone at the table.

Paige didn’t sit. She didn’t even shift her weight like she might. Just stood there, coffee in hand, gaze flicking back to her phone like she was already halfway out the door.

Cam cleared his throat, trying to recover. “You hit the gym this morning?”

Paige nodded once. “Early workout.”

“Respect,” he said, with a small laugh. “I can barely get myself out of bed before ten.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t even pretend to. Azzi hadn’t moved. She was still staring at the spot just past Paige’s shoulder, like if she looked directly at her, she might combust.

“Are you going to sit down?” Jana asked, proving once again her innate ability to never sense the tension.

Paige’s lips twitched, not a smile, but something close to it. Tired.

“I actually can’t stay,” she said, eyes shifting to her phone. “Meetings.”

“Oh yes, our very own superstar,” Jana teased. “What endorsement are we chatting about today? Gatorade? Nike? Can you get me new shoes?”

That actually made Paige laugh. Short and real and gone too fast.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Paige lingered just a second longer, thumb tapping the edge of her coffee cup. Then, like it was nothing, she held out a small brown bag to Azzi.

“They had the cherry thing today,” she said, not quite meeting her eyes. “You always miss it.”

Azzi froze.

Jana blinked. “The cherry tart? I literally just asked and they told me they were out.”

Paige shrugged, “Guess they just think I’m special.”

She set the bag on the table in front of Azzi, casual as anything. Then turned, already stepping back.

“I’ll see you guys at practice.”

The door chimed behind her. And Azzi still hadn’t moved.

Jana sighed dramatically, breaking the silence. “Must be nice being Paige Bueckers. A god among mortals.” 

Cam chuckled, reaching for levity like it could stitch the moment back together. He slid an arm around Azzi’s shoulders.

“You alright?” he asked softly.

Azzi’s throat bobbed. Her eyes drifted from the untouched pastry bag to Caroline, who was already watching her. Not curious. Not surprised. Just steady. Soft in that way Caroline always was when she already knew the answer. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.

Her gaze said it all: You thought she wasn’t looking. But she was.

Azzi swallowed again, the ache rising higher now. Cam’s arm was still draped over her shoulders, his thumb brushing back and forth—like comfort could be that simple. But it wasn’t.

It was too much. Too close. Too easy. And somehow still not even close to what she needed.

Her skin buzzed with it. This gentle, well-meaning touch that felt like the wrong language spoken fluently. Carefully, she shifted out from under it.

“I need to make a call,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Then she stood, the pastry still untouched on the table, and stepped out into the morning light.

When the fresh air hit her lungs, Azzi sucked in a sharp breath, like she could force the panic back into place. But it didn’t work. Because across the street, Paige was still there. Still lingering.

Hands in her pockets, eyes half-lowered, like she was waiting for someone. Their eyes met. Paige tilted her head. Observant. Measured. Like she was trying to read something in Azzi’s face she no longer had permission to name.

And something hot surged up in Azzi’s chest. Not heartbreak. Not quite. Anger. Sharp and clean and useful. It almost felt good because it had an edge. Because it gave her something to hold. The urge to move buzzed in her limbs. To cross the street. To do something. To shove her hands against Paige’s chest and say you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to show up and act like you still see me. Still know me. Still care.

She imagined saying, I’m not yours to be generous with anymore.

But she didn’t move. Not an inch. She just stood there. And across the street, Paige didn’t either. For a few suspended seconds, they just existed. Two people who used to share a world. Now standing on opposite sides of it.

And despite everything, Azzi let herself think about it. Let herself remember who Paige had been once. Not to the world, not to the cameras or the crowds or the girls who lined up to take pictures after games but her Paige. 

The one who always found her first in a room, no matter how loud it was. Who could spot her from across a court full of chaos and send a look that said, You okay? without ever saying a word.

The one who unraveled quietly in her dorm room. Kicking off her shoes, hoodie tugged over her head, lying backwards across Azzi’s bed with her legs dangling off the side, eyes closed like the silence was the only thing keeping her together.The one who said I’m tired only to Azzi because she didn’t trust the world to know she wasn’t always strong.

The one who touched her like the world wasn’t watching because when it was just them, it never felt like it was. Fingers brushing her wrist under the dinner table. Knees knocking together during film. A hand lingering at the small of her back as they wove through post-game crowds.

Paige had never been soft for many people. She couldn’t be. But with Azzi—god, with Azzi, the edges always fell away. Her voice would go quieter. Her gaze would linger longer. She’d lean her head on Azzi’s shoulder like it was second nature, like she forgot she wasn’t supposed to need anyone.

She’d reserved that softness like it was something sacred. A secret Azzi never had to ask for, because it was just… offered. Freely. Quietly.

And Azzi—foolishly, selfishly, with both hands and her whole heart—had believed it would always be hers.

Because when Paige looked at her like that, all edges gone, all pretense stripped away, it felt like forever. But maybe it never was. Maybe Paige had just been handing her borrowed things. Little pieces of gentleness, of trust, of a love too soft for the world to see and Azzi mistook them for promises. 

Maybe she’d been holding something that was only ever meant to pass through her fingers. And now, standing in the echo of that quiet, Azzi couldn’t stop wondering:

What if the most devastating part of loving Paige Bueckers was never losing her but realizing she was never really hers to begin with?

Paige’s POV

Practice was hell. Sweat-drenched, leg-aching, breath-in-her-throat hell.

Season was approaching and Geno was one bad pass away from a full-scale meltdown. Paige wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and narrowed her focus.

Ball. Feet. Breath. Because basketball—basketball still made sense.

It was the one place she could still breathe without thinking. The one place where everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to be. Even now. Even after.

Across the court, Azzi moved like a second heartbeat. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Azzi cut left, and Paige was already pivoting. A no-look pass, seamless and clean. A catch in stride. A shot. Net. They didn’t miss a beat. Not one.

Their bodies remembered: the rhythm, the weight, the pull of each other’s gravity. It was muscle memory. It was chemistry. It was grief, dressed up in a perfect assist.

Paige wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She was a professional, first and always.The game came first. The team came first. So mostly, she was grateful. Grateful that whatever had splintered between them hadn’t followed them here…that on the court, they still fit. Still moved like they were breathing the same air.

But there was still that ache. A pinprick under her ribs that she couldn’t shake. 

The damning knowledge that she could still find Azzi in motion. Still trust her without hesitation, without a word. But once the buzzer went off, once the world came rushing back in, she didn’t know how to reach her anymore. Didn’t know where to stand. Didn’t know if she was still welcome.

Geno’s whistle cut through the air, sharp and final, knocking her out of the thought. Practice was over. Just like that. And all at once, the noise returned, sneakers squeaking, water bottles snapping open, the hum of voices rising back into the space she’d carved out for silence.

Paige blinked, wiped her face with the hem of her shirt, and told herself to move.

But everything felt off—like the world was half a step ahead of her, and she couldn’t quite catch up. She moved slowly through the locker room. Slow to pack her bag. Slow to drift toward a conversation she would’ve once led without thinking. Like her body remembered how to be there, but not how to belong.

Her eyes flicked around the room, not looking for anything, until they landed on Caroline. Who was already watching her.

Caroline: Azzi’s best friend. Loyal, soft-spoken, sharper than she let on.

Paige had no idea what she knew. If Azzi had ever told her. If she’d shared any of it…them. Or if Paige had just been erased from the story.

She felt the thought creep in, uninvited and sharp: Maybe Azzi was embarrassed. Embarrassed that it had happened. 

They held eye contact for one suspended second. Not hostile.  Not soft. Just long enough for something to pass between them—something Paige couldn’t name. Then Caroline looked away. And so did she.

Eventually, Paige tugged her bag over her shoulder. The locker room had long since emptied out, and for a moment, she let the silence linger like it might settle something inside her. It didn’t. She stepped out into the hallway, footsteps echoing down the linoleum.

Outside, the sun had already dipped past the horizon, leaving campus washed in a dusky, dull glow. She shoved the door open and stepped into the chill, her body flinching instinctively against the wind. Her phone buzzed. She glanced down. Some email from her agent about scheduling. She didn’t read it, not really.

But then she felt it. Not a sound. Not a movement. Just a shift. The air changed. Like something important had entered the space. A whiff of vanilla. Her head snapped up. 

Azzi stood a few feet away, haloed by the dim orange spill of the streetlamp. Hoodie sleeves swallowed her hands. Curls tied up in a way that made Paige’s ribcage feel too tight for her lungs.

She looked like a memory Paige wasn’t allowed to touch anymore.

Azzi’s head turned then, like she’d felt Paige’s stare tugging at her spine. For a second, Paige braced for her to walk away. She looked like someone on the edge of it. But she didn’t.

“You’re leaving late,” Azzi said, voice soft.

Paige shrugged, because that’s what she did when she had too many feelings and no idea where to put them. “Didn’t really have anywhere to be.”

Azzi nodded, gaze drifting to the parking lot behind them like she was trying to pretend this was normal.

“Your shots looked good today.”

Paige rubbed the back of her neck, shifting her weight. Her body couldn’t take stillness in moments like this.

“Thanks,” she said, barely. “Yours too.”

Azzi smiled, if you could call it that. It didn’t reach anything. Polite and close lipped. 

“Thanks.”

And that was it.

But Paige could feel the words rising anyway, pressing against her throat like they might claw their way out if she didn’t let them. The messy ones. The ones she’d swallowed whole every day since Azzi left. Apologies that didn’t have a shape yet. Questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to. Explanations that felt like too much but not enough.  Anything to pull Azzi closer.  Even just an inch.  Even just long enough to believe that gravity hadn’t let go of them completely.

Paige had never been the kind of girl who begged. She worked. She pushed. She earned. But pleading? That was foreign. That was weakness.

And yet—For Azzi, she would.

She would get on her hands and knees. Crawl across the asphalt if that’s what it took. She would press her forehead to the ground like it was holy. Like this was devotion. Like her humiliation could be translated into worth. 

She’d offer it all: every last bit of pride she hadn’t already chipped away. The ache in her chest that hadn’t stopped since Azzi stopped being hers. The soft, aching pieces of her that still pulsed like an old bruise she kept pressing on, just to check if it still hurt.

(It did. It always did.)

She’d lay herself bare in that quiet, ugly way—the kind of vulnerability that doesn’t transform you or teach you a lesson. It just leaves you exposed. Skin peeled back. Chest split wide.

If there was even the faintest chance that Azzi might look at her and think, Maybe she’s worth it. Even if she never said it.  Even if she just stood there in the dark, hoodie sleeves swallowing her hands, eyes flicking somewhere far away like Paige was too much to look at directly.

Paige would still do it.

Because that’s what you do when someone’s name lives in your mouth like a secret. You ruin yourself for the chance that they might whisper it back.

Azzi was still watching her—closely, unbearably—and Paige felt the sting behind her eyes before she could stop it. That helpless, traitorous burn.

“Azzi,” she said. Barely. A whisper shaped like a sob, like a plea she didn’t know how to finish.

And then headlights cut through the quiet.

A car Paige didn’t recognize pulled into the lot behind them, flooding the space with too much light. And without thinking, she stepped closer to Azzi. Instinctive. Stupid. Like her body still hadn’t gotten the memo that they weren’t them anymore. That Azzi didn’t need her like that.

But Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just turned like she already knew. Like some part of her had been waiting.

“Babe!” The word hit like a slap, soft and smiling. Cam leaned out the window, eyes finding Azzi first. Like she was his to look at. “Sorry I’m late. Practice ran over.”

Then his gaze shifted. Landed on Paige. And lingered. On their closeness. The silence that hadn’t quite scattered yet.

“Oh,” he added, a beat too light. “Hey, Paige. Sorry—did I interrupt something?”

Paige rolled her shoulders back, spine straightening. She inhaled like she could breathe the ache out of her body, make her voice clear again.

“Nothing important,” she said, cool and sharp around the edges. The kind of cool that cost her something.

And she swore, for just a second, something flickered in Azzi’s eyes. But Paige had lost her map to Azzi Fudd, and now every look felt like a dead language. Beautiful. Incomprehensible.

Azzi blinked, gaze steady. “Were you going to say something?”

Paige’s throat burned. She swallowed hard. “Nah. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”

Azzi’s eyes widened, startled. “He’s not—”

“See you later.”

It came out too fast, too final. But she didn’t take it back. Didn’t wait for the explanation. Just turned, walking away before her knees could betray her. Before she did something stupid. Like stay.

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon Riley Headcanons

I cannot for the life of me try to think or write anything, my brain is literally fried and I’m going through a writer’s burnout so here’s some Simon head cannons that have been circling my head for a few weeks until then (hardly proofread)

1 - Is a man child when it comes to clothes, have to go somewhere fancy and he has to wear a suit? He’s whining the entire time, something about his tie being too tight or the tag on his jacket itching his back which leads me to the whole nudist headcannon I have for him

2 - Everyone talks about smoker Simon but what about stoner Simon? I’ll stand on this headcanon until the day I DIE, definitely buys weed whenever he’s on leaves and all his clothes probably have the faint scent of it too.

3 - Refuses to watch horror movies because they make him annoyed “I’ve lived worse.” He says, gets irrationally angry when the character does something dumb. Will stand up and leave the room if someone splits from the group in the movie.

4 - Ridiculously good at claw machines. He has “tactics” he says, will ramble on about the “weight to claw ratio” or something while standing there utterly focused, ends up walking away with four stuff animals.

5 - Weirdly good at origami, probably picked it up one day out of boredom, now he leaves perfect little paper cranes or frogs around, if you give him enough puppy eyes maybe he’ll fold and make whatever animal your requesting of him.

6 - I lowkey see his favorite fast food place being subway, if you even consider it as fast food, loves a good meatball sub or sandwich every now and then (self insert because subway sandwich’s are elite)

7 - Terrible liar when flustered, can lie under pressure in the field flawlessly, but if you compliment his cooking? “Wh—what? No, I didn’t make that—I mean—it’s just food”

8 - Can handle literal torture but one pickle on his burger? He will visibly gag and scrape the burger clean like it personally offended him.

9 - Despises glitter. Like, with a passion. Once stepped in a pile of it during a mission in a warehouse (don’t ask why it was there) took weeks to get it out of his boots. “Glitter is the herpes of the craft world,” he says (I snickered at this)

Bit of a shit post

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 6

// This might be one of my favorite chapters I’ve written so far! I tried to blend some fun with a bit of seriousness, so I really hope you’ll enjoy it. It’s kinda SPICY at some point, hehehe. I know it takes me a while to post new chapters, but I promise I haven’t forgotten about this fanfic, sometimes I just don’t have enough time. T-T

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

— Ayato opens the door —

Ayato: Haa… What happened?

Chief: Come with me! It’s about Subaru-san!

Ayato: Subaru?

Yui: ( Eh? That’s Ayato-san’s co-worker, right? I hope it’s nothing bad…! )

Place: Reception

Manager: Unfortunately, the cooking contest, as well as the filming, will be stopped for today.

Subaru-san picked a dish to make with one of the girls here, but he didn’t know it had garlic in it. After tasting it, he started feeling sick—bad enough that he had to throw up.

Ayato: Damn it…

Yui: ( Come to think of it... he’s in a group with a vampire concept and he has garlic intolerance. I can’t help but find this a bit ironic. )

( Still, poor Subaru-san... get well soon. )

Ayato: I’m going to check——

Manager: Don’t. Subaru-san is most likely resting now. He needs sleep more than anything after what happened.

Ayato: Tch… fine. But let me know when he wakes up!

Manager: Once he wakes up, I'll ask him to contact you. In the meantime, since you two share a room, I’d appreciate it if Ayato-san could spend his time elsewhere in the hotel.

Ayato: ( Did I indirectly get kicked out—? )

Well, whatever. But where exactly am I supposed to go?

Chief: Actually, now that the contest's cancelled and the other team is not present anymore, the onsen is completely free for you!

Ayato: Heh, is that so?

Chief: Y-Yes, but... since you, mister, are a celebrity, I’ll need to look for a private key first.

Can’t have fans fainting in the hallway if they see you half-dressed, right?

Ayato: Pfft, true… wouldn’t want to cause a stampede in a towel. But hurry up then. The sooner I’m in the hot water, the better~!

— Chief nods and starts searching —

Yui: ( I feel like I’m just a third wheel at this point, so it might be better if I quietly leave too. )

( Besides, my job is supposed to be done for today… and Ayato-san probably wants some space anyway.)

Chief: Wait! I almost forgot about Komori-san!

Yui: Hm? What’s with me?

Chief: Since you were Ayato-san’s cooking partner, the original deal included you getting a chance to use the onsen too, no?

I’ll find a key for you too, in case you want privacy! Just give me a sec——

Yui: …!

( Eh—!? Me? In the onsen? With Ayato-san still around? That’s…! )

Chief: Here they are~!

— hands them the keys —

But I should also mention... because the onsen is a relatively new feature of the hotel, we only have one single room so far. So, uhm... it would be great if you two wouldn’t go at the same time.

— Yui blushes —

Yui: ( Just one onsen... but what if we truly run into each other? )

Ayato: Alright, I’ll go there right now. You can go after I’m done, ‘kay?

I’m not exactly in the mood to wait around, so I’ll make it quick, no worries.

Yui: S-Sure, take your time.

Ayato: Will do~

— takes key and leaves —

*timeskip*

Yui: ( I wonder if he’s done by now… it’s already been three hours. )

— looks at clock —

( Yeah… I suppose he must be. I should start getting my things ready. )

— walks over to her bag and gets her towel —

( I hope the water helped him relax. He did seem tense after all… )

— leaves room —

Place: Onsen Entrance

Yui: ( It’s so quiet... he definitely left, didn’t he? )

( A-Anyway, I should knock or say something, just in case. )

*Knock Knock*

Uhm… Ayato-san? Are you still there?

*Knock Knock*

( No answer once again… )

— tries the handle —

( It’s locked? )

( Ah, he most likely locked it after he left, right? Yeah… that must be it. There’s no way he’d still be inside after all this time. )

— opens door with key and gets inside —

( Just as I thought, nobody’s here! )

— locks door —

( Hehe, time to finally relax! )

— starts unbuttoning her clothes —

( This indoor onsen is way bigger than I thought… The ceiling’s high, the walls are lined with smooth stone, and the pool is so huge that it almost covers the whole room! )

( No wonder the second one isn’t finished yet. This must’ve taken forever to build. The attention to detail alone is amazing! )

— slowly gets into water —

Ah~ so warm…!

( And to think they let me use this… I guess being partnered with Ayato-san really came with some unexpected perks, fufu. )

— stretches —

( So good… I feel like I could instantly fall as—— )

* Ring Ring *

( Eh!? Someone’s calling? )

— her eyes snap open—

( Wait! That’s... that’s not my ringtone? )

( Don’t tell me—! )

Ayato: “Haa... What is it this time?”

Yui: ...!

( That voice… it’s coming from the other side of the divider! )

( No… no, it can’t be— )

Ayato: “Yeah, it’s just me, why? Heh, so he finally woke up? Damn, can’t blame him though, since I had a pretty long nap too. So how is he feeling?”

“Oh, understandable. You took mine too? Mhm, it’s better this way.”

Yui: ( He… He’s been here the entire time…! )

( If he finds out I’m in the same onsen while he’s still inside, I’ll surely get in troubles! )

( What if he thinks I planned this!? )

Ayato: ( Ugh, my phone's dying.)

"I'll call you again, just need to find an outlet for my charger, 'kay?"

Yui: ( Ah, he's coming this way...! )

— gets underwater —

Ayato: ( Now where are the outlets supposed to be? Can’t see any at all. )

Yui: ( Did he leave? I don’t know how much longer I can hold my breath… )

( The water is so hot too…! )

Ayato: ( Whatever. I’ll just leave it like this for now. )

( More importantly… what is that? )

— gets closer —

Yui: ( Uuh… this pressure…! )

( I… I can’t… brea—— )

*SPLASH*

Ayato: Care to explain what the hell you’re doing here?

Yui: Aya…——

— faints —

Ayato: Fuck…!

— pulls her out of water —

*timeskip*

— Yui starts coughing —

Yui: Ngh... ah... I-I'm alive!

( But wait… why can’t I move? )

— eyes widen —

( No way! I'm tied to a bamboo stick!? )

Ayato: Finally awake, huh.

Yui: A-Ayato-san!

— face turns red —

( I-I can’t even cover myself...! This is beyond embarrassing! )

( To think that he really went as far as to tie me up… that’s completely unreasonable! )

Yui: D-Don’t look at me like that!

Ayato: Tch. You're in no position to tell me what to do.

Besides, you should be grateful I didn’t report you. Most people would’ve called the cops by now, don’t you think?

Yui: I-It’s not like I did it on purpose! I merely assumed you left! The door was locked, and… and I had a the key too, so… it’s just a misunderstanding, I swear!

Ayato: A misunderstanding, huh?

Tell me then, did you even bother checking the whole room before stripping down? If you had, you would've definitely noticed I was still here.

Yui: That’s… I can’t argue with that. But I truly didn’t have any bad intentions, I was just careless!

Ayato: And why should I believe you’re not just some stalker?

You know I’m famous. You’ve listened to my music and watched my MVs—based on what you said in the kitchen. And then there's the fact that, when we first met, you acted like you didn’t recognize me at all. Even though you're working at Yume no Mori, the very hotel that’s known for hosting events for idols.

And now, after everything, you somehow end up in the onsen at the exact same time as me?

Wherever I go, you just happen to show up too. So tell me, how do you think that looks from my perspective?

Yui: I-I think you must be mixing me up with someone else. When did I even pretend not to recognize you, Ayato-san?

Ayato: Haa… When you handed me that bottle of water outside the club, you moron!

Yui: Eh?

( What is he talking a— wait a second! The bottle of water…? )

…!

— eyes widen in shock —

( No way! Ayato-san… he was the boy I met on my very first night in Tokyo!? )

( The one who had a chest ache… who paid for my taxi… That was him! )

Ayato: Now quit playing dumb, it’s crystal clear you coming here was not an accident.

So what’s the deal with you? Are you really that desperate to get a glimpse of my body? Or is this just part of some sick little obsession you’ve got going on? Either way, it’s disgusting!

Yui: N-No! You got it wrong! I didn’t even know it was you that night!

I just saw someone who looked like they needed help, so I offered some water… that’s all!

And as for me being here... I didn’t come chasing after you or doing anything weird! I got this job through a work exchange program. It was all just a coincidence, not some plan to follow you around!

Ayato: Tch, when will you stop lying?

Yui: But I’m not!

Ayato: ( She’s not only dumb, but also got a damn big mouth. )

Fine, I’ll believe you.

Yui: ( Phew, thanks goodness… I really thought I got him mad. )

Ayato: But don’t start celebrating just yet. I’ve got a condition.

Yui: ( That tone… It’s never good when someone says "but there’s a condition" like that. )

Uuh… what kind of condition?

Ayato: Simple. You don’t tell anyone that you saw me at a private club that night. Not your friends, not your family, not your coworkers, not even your boss—no one.

— gets closer —

Actually, I want you to forget the whole thing. Erase it from your memory. You didn’t see me alone in Tokyo, and you sure as hell didn’t hand me a bottle of water in some alleyway.

Yui: ( That’s it? )

Yes, I promise.

Ayato: You better keep that promise, because if word gets out that I was in such a place, especially unguarded, it’ll stir up more trouble than you can imagine. One stupid rumor, and my entire career could take a hit. You get that, don’t you?

Yui: I-I do.

Ayato: Good. Then zip it and stop following me around. Or next time I won’t be this generous.

( I already took pictures of her in here. If she ever decides to snitch on me, I’ll make sure she goes down too. )

— unties her —

Yui: …!

Than——

Ayato: Don’t thank me. Just go put some clothes on. Then leave the onsen immediately.

— Yui nods —

Yui: ( He's scary when he's like this… But I guess I can't really blame him, can I?)

( It was stupid of me to come in without checking properly... so, I suppose it was indeed my fault. )

( To think he’s the boy I met that night after I first arrived in Tokyo... that truly caught me off guard. )

( Just what kind of person are you really, Ayato-san? )

I-I’m done!

Ayato: And why are you telling me this? You expecting an award or something?

Just unlock the damn door and leave already.

— Yui starts searching key —

Yui: ( Now where did I put it? I know I had the key when I came in… maybe it slipped into the towel?)

— checks towel —

( Oh no… it's not here either? Don’t tell me I dropped it somewhere in the changing area? Or worse… in the water!? )

Hey… Ayato-san? I… I can’t really seem to find my key, so could you maybe lend me yours…? J-Just for a second! I promise I’ll give it back right away!

Ayato: ( Seriously!? First she breaks in, then she nearly drowns, and now this? )

You're telling me you managed to lose a single key in a closed room in less than two hours?

Yui: Uhh… I must’ve dropped it somewhere without noticing...

Ayato: Haa…

— pulls out his key —

I guess if you beg nicely, I might give it to you.

Yui: B-Beg!?

Ayato: …Or do you wanna stay locked in here all night and explain yourself to the hotel staff tomorrow?

Yui: No, no!

Ayato: Good, then be a good dog and do as I tell you.

Yui: ( A dog, huh…? If that’s what you really want… )

— sits on all fours and looks at him —

Ayato: …!?

Yui: P-Please, give me the——

Ayato: You… you obscene bitch!

Yui: Eh?

( Wait what? )

Ayato: ( What the hell is wrong with her!? To sit on all fours in front of a man who’s only wearing a towel… did she want to suck me off!? )

Leave me alone already!!!

Yui: But I—

Ayato: I-I said leave me alone!

— shoves her out then shuts the door —

Yui: Ayato-san…

Yui’s monologue

So many things happened today… It’s almost overwhelming trying to piece them all together.

From carrying the luggage, to cooking with Ayato-san… and then—

The onsen. That whole incident. My heart still hasn’t stopped racing…

I came to Tokyo with simple intentions: to work, to learn, and to make new friends.

And yet…

The boy I met on my first night here and the one I couldn't stop thinking about…

He turned out to be Ayato. Ayato, the frontman of SAKAMAKIS. A name everyone knows. A face on billboards.

Someone so far removed from my world, it's really laughable to think we’d ever cross paths again—

Yet we did.

But instead of a reunion, it felt like rejection.

I made a mistake… and now he sees me as nothing more than a nuisance. Maybe even worse.

I keep telling myself that it shouldn’t matter. That it’s impossible for an ordinary person to get closer to an idol.

But then…

Why am I crying now?

[freshllamapeace]

Till the sun burns out

Remmick x reader

I posted the snippet earlier this week this is the finished product!

Warning - Dead dove do not eat, Gore, Noncon/smut, this is a rough read so you have been warned, probably not my best written smut if I'm honest

Stupid, pathetic, maybe even… desperate. The words described you well enough, wouldn’t you say? A lonely girl with nothing better to do than throw her life away. You do this because you think you're special, you think you're destined for greatness, You think one day you're gonna wake up and be the main character but you aren't. I mean how could you when you’re not even the main character of your own story. You aren't special, you aren’t destined for greatness. The only thing you're truly destined for is to die in this forest. Body broken and mangled while he loomed over you. 

It was clear you were going to die here. No way you get out of this, worst yet you could see the white walls of the house where you grew up in, the soft porch light admitting a warm welcoming glow. If you could have run a few more feet you'd be home safe. But you were just shy of that and he revelled in that. Walking circles around you like a wolf who had just cornered his prey. You hadn't even known what you'd done wrong. What made you deserving of this treatment but it didn’t matter, not anymore. 

Your leg was broken, the bone splintered in half, a jagged end poking out through the skin where your knee was meant to be. Blood leaking down the wound onto the forest floor. Your left arm was gone, ripped apart. The only evidence of it ever being there being the blood and tendons that leaked out of your bicep. The pain was unbearable, indescribable it ached everywhere. You could do nothing but cry and scream. Even your stomach suffered some blows, a large laceration planted diagonally through your chest, your internal organs threatening to spill out. The palm of your right hand was degloved, a sea of red covering the skin that was once there, tendons and muscle clearly on display for you to see. If you’d looked long enough you’d even be able to see the muscles moving, slow and concise. 

Grabbing you by your hair you were lifted from the ground and pressed into the cruel bark of a tree. A screech moved past your lips as broken body parts started to move and bend. “I told you, didn't I? That we’d make sweet sweet music together.” He pressed his mouth against your ear, hot breath assaulting your skin. “I ain’t say how but you were so eager… I ain’t wanna spoil the surprise for ya.” Using his body to keep you stationed against the tree Remmick started to fiddle with his belt. Taking his time to remove it, his eyes stayed stationed on you. Red like an amber sea and teeth glistening in the moonlight, it had been ages since Remmick had played with his food to this degree. Kissing your neck, Remmick allowed his pants to fall to his ankles, his cock in hand. 

“Please, you don't have to do this.” You cried, the cherry colored fluids dripping from your lips onto his chest. Remmick smiled, a smile he often did. It was mocking, cruel and yet the smile looked almost kind… almost. “I know little dove. ” Remmick wasted no time lining himself with your cunt. Pressing his body further onto you, you heard the sound of something stabbing into fresh. It was your bone piercing into his stomach. “Fuck.” He moaned. “You get me all hot and bothered looking like this.” Your gored body turning him on. He was disgusting, a freak of nature. Slamming himself inside you, Remmick gave you no time to prepare before setting the tempo, thrusting at a rough and savage pace. Remmick paid no attention to the bone that pierced his flesh with every thrust. Blood leaking down the wound he had created. Moving his hand down your body Remmick started to play with your clit. The rough circular motions pressed into your skin. You were in pain, your body was aching, the wounds burned and yet your body still reacted to the orgasm forced onto you by him. Your nails digging into his shoulder as you held onto him . You were trembling beneath him, breathing heavy, eyes half lidded. The blood loss was going to catch up with you, soon rather than later. “Fuck.” He groaned, his breathing uneven and his thrust getting impossibly quicker. “Don’t die yet darlin’ I'm almost there.” He whispered in your ear. “There ain’t no God above but if there was he made you just for me.” Soon his thrust started to stutter and slow, his nails began to dig into your skin creating new wounds on your broken body. A groan leaves his lips as he releases all his love and affection into you, the white liquid carrying a red tint to it. Not quite ready to pull himself out of you Remmick thrusted a couple more times making sure that you were filled with every last drop of his cum. 

“I'm going to break you over and over again.” Far too tired and dying from the blood loss the words didn’t register in your mind as anything other than gibberish. But what did register was the sharp pain you felt in your neck and the way he licked at the wound lapping up the blood. When he was done he allowed your body to crumple in on itself, you dropped to the floor. The world went black.

[erwinsvow]

i love langdons little sister but i started thinking robby’s very little sister :( they probably didn’t grow up very close so like Lexi and Meredith they probably have to start developing their relationship while they work together :( i can imagine the first time robby acts truly like a big brother is to say “you can’t date my baby sister dude!!!” and it’s like upsetting that he doesn’t approve of the relationship but also you can’t help but be happy he called you his baby sister for once :((((

omg!!! more gold!!!! we are all hell bent on making robby’s family jack’s family aren’t we. this is sooooooooo wow!!!!!! sooooo let’s see. we have the adopted after had already left for college idea. divorced parents and someone remarried and had another baby when he was already a grown man. could be a godparents had to adopt the kid after her parents died situation. all of which work just wonderfully fine. the point is that you see robby on calendar holidays, and it’s not that he doesn’t like you but it’s just that you’re kind of just. there. you were growing up when he was in medical school and residency. you were a still a kid at his wedding probably. the age difference means you have absolutely nothing to talk about, nothing in common besides some overlap in music that you both inherited from your parents and your careers. you remember reaching out to ask him about some questions when you were applying to medical school but a lot had changed and he had to hang up because there was an emergency and you had been trying for a while to get back in touch but. robby’s very busy and you’re still an annoying kid in his eyes probably and so you don’t really talk to him about the whole thinking about emergency medicine, thinking about pittsburgh thing. just surprise! there for an audition where you, of course, impress everyone. at first people think you’re a long lost daughter but you’re kind of used to that and even though you haven’t really talked to your brother much over the last couple years besides the occasional how’s school, how’s work small talk, you still get very bright eyed and happy telling them that’s your big brother. you hear how it “runs in your blood” and of course you match there and then during your first few months you start working on the type of relationship you want to have with robby. and robby’s not mean!!! he’s so nice and he has a big heart and he feels a lot for everyone but when it comes to you he’s kinda just head empty. he doesn’t know much about you and it’s also overwhelming and he definitely doesn’t like his private life being talked about at work and now because you’re here it’s talked about all the time and he hates questions so it’s just very overwhelming for you. & we know how robby is with his female mentees (which is fascinating and helps my case here a lot). so he’s trying but not really trying and you do get yelled at sort of a lot and you’ve got thick skin but you’re still just feeling like the little kid nagging someone to play with you. you don’t even remember what it feels like to nag robby because you’ve never had a chance to do so, never bothered him because he was never around. so maybe it just builds up (just like with mer and lexie!) and maybe he kind of explodes on you (he’s thinking about the shit with frank and the horrible months upcoming and post pittfest his relationship with jake and heather and all these things) and it kinda hits you that maybe all of this was a mistake. everyone else loves you beside the one person you wanted to get closer with.

so then you go on the night shift!!!!!!!! and man. oh wow. your education does a 180. you get so much more confident and you actually enjoy going to work and you get to avoid robby which secretly hurts you but you avoid thinking about it when you can. because dr. abbot is so nice!!! and of course he knows you’re robby’s very little sister. you’re practically a kid (you’re the same age as the other residents but you still feel like a kid to him. robby’s mentioned you… three times? four? in all the years he’s known him? twice it was an “ah, fuck, forgot about my little sister’s birthday” and maybe another time how you were in medical school. and then once it had come up during a drunken conversation about kids and families, how he would never do what his parents did and have you so late in their life because it just fucks everything up. of course, he never mentions any of this to you. it would hurt your feelings. and jack is very keen on your feelings.) but there’s no favoritism, nothing that makes you feel like you’re not where you deserve to be. and it doesn’t help that you and jack actually have a lot in common. music, duh. you take your coffee the same way he takes his (something you picked up since you had older parents in the house and they take theirs like him too, something you don’t mention because he might thing you’re calling him old. and you would never want to do that) and he’s surprisingly read all the books you bring on your shifts with you (a couple of classics, a mystery someone had got you for christmas, and very surprisingly one of those vampire romances where there’s two boys fighting for one girl. and he has opinions, which you try to listen to while keeping a straight face and giggle for an hour afterwards. because who would have thought?) but really, who would have thought that jack abbot would become your favorite part of each shift? that the quiet conversations you have all throughout the night are the best part of coming into work. that him borrowing a book for his day off and coming back with lots of commentary would bring you such joy. that he brings in a record for you from his own collection because he thinks you’d like it (and that you listen to it all day and all night and when you look at him, the songs play in your head on repeat). and well, some things are inevitable—life, death, taxes, falling in love with jack abbot. it’s six months of night shifts, listening to his record hum in the background while you brush your teeth at 8 in the morning, to understand that. another two months of beating around the bush. maybe it’s when he gets you a better gift than your own brother does for your birthday that you can’t take it any longer. kissing him silly when he walks you home for the millionth time because he likes to make sure you get home safe (you fuck him silly when he shows up on his day off to walk you home). and then maybe at some point in the year, maybe right as you’re heading into r2 & robby’s doing some deep thinking and having conversations with jack about what he should do about you too often, that your relationship with robby slightly changes. he lingers at shift change to ask you how your morning was, takes you to get a coffee one day and pays how a big brother would. learns about what medical school was like for you and how night shift is going. he says he hopes dr abbot is treating you good or he’ll have words and you laugh into your coffee and get flustered and he kinda… gets suspicious for a moment. finds out when everyone else does, someone telling him that it’s a bummer they lost the pool because they were so sure you and jack would make it another three weeks hiding. and robby goes hiding what? and the guy scurries away. cue the are you kidding me, jack? my sister? my little sister? and jack kind of looks at you like can I get some help here? and you’re still staring at robby because he called you his little sister!!!!!!!! anyways. it’s kinda funny because robby is the best man at your wedding

[sandelion]

The next baby in Cherche's French Dessert litter, is this outgoing little male named Crème Brulée !

Our one and only non-stripe Paradox Albino--he is practically a clone of his mama, and the first baby I laid my eyes on. Such a special boy <3 Pictured below is his mom when she was a baby so you can see how alike they are!

He was the first I offered food to, and he impressed me with his amazing feeding response! Right from the start he was immediately interested in food and has taken two frozen/thawed meals in a row and I can tell he's gonna be a beast!

Crème Brulée is a low expression Paradox Albino. He doesn't have many black paradox spots, but he makes up for it with his incredibly outgoing personality! He is so curious and wants to sniff and investigate everything. While Cherche was giving birth, Crème Brulée kept following and sniffing his mama while the others were coping with life. Here's a still from the video I took of it (video posted on instagram)

He also inherited the reduced patterning on his sides from his mom! This is one of my favorite physical attributes of Cherche that I'm glad to see was passed down. If you take a look at the baby photo of the mom above, if you look at her sides where the orange meets the white you can see there's barely any patterning! Another trait which I think may be related is that her side patterning is very lifted, the orange is below most of the patterning--I'll show an example! Below is a side view of her I have posted here in my pairing breakdown where you can see what it looks like now.

Below are just some images I pulled from google of other Albinos/Paradox Albinos

You can see how busy some of this patterning is on the sides of these animals, particularly on the plane transitioning between the sides and the white belly. On a majority of animals they have big blotches and then on the sides will have extremely busy small patterning. Cherche lacks most of that tiny busy patterning and you can see a lot of that plane where the orange meets the white with few interruptions. Not something that I am aware of other breeders noticing or breeding for--just something I love about my snake. Generally breeding for overall reduced pattern is a desired and bred for trait, Cherche seems to just possess this on her sides as normal variation/happenstance. But it is so exciting that I got to see it reflect in her baby!

Now, Crème Brulée doesn't appear to have surpassed his mom in this regard nor in paradox expression. But, time will tell about his color! He is already showing great promise in his vibrancy, having only shed once and gaining so much color! I did provide one picture of him with his fresh and shiny baby skin and even though the lighting is different, you can see how bright he has gotten when comparing it to the first and most recent photo! The baby photo of his mom was her probably a month or two older than Crème Brulée is now! I think this is the influence from dad playing a part! We can only wait and see how his color develops but this I feel may be his surpassing moment and he may have a lot brighter of color when he reaches adulthood <3

[katmaibearfan]

i got a lot of new followers during Fat Bear Week last year, so here's some quick information about what to expect from this blog / the bear cams for anyone who is new to this:

- the cams should go live sometime around mid-june, give or take about a week. The season will start slow -- there won't be many bears around. This is because the salmon run doesn't start until sometime in july, and the abundance of salmon is why they all gather at Brooks River.

- As the bears trickle in throughout june, you can expect them to be doing anything from playing to fighting for dominance to courting. They're scoping out the area and each other, because its mating season and the food hasn't arrived yet.

- Some sows may arrive with spring cubs, aka COY (Cub(s) Of the Year), which are always adorable. Keep in mind, though, that only about half of bear cubs at katmai live through their first year. Its not uncommon for a sow to return to Brooks with 2-3 spring cubs and go to den with 1 or even 0.

- Peak bear activity happens in July, because that is when hundreds of thousands of Sockeye Salmon descend upon Brooks River. During the salmon run, you can expect to see upwards of 30 bears at once at the falls.

- Many bears leave for other places in august, after the salmon run ends, and some return in september, when the bodies of the sockeye salmon (which die after spawning) begin to wash down the river.

- The posting trends of this blog closely follow the amount of bear activity on the cams, for obvious reasons. so while i will probably post a whole bunch in july and september, june and august will be a lot quieter overall.

Check out my pinned post for links to FAQs and where to find more specific information about the bears, and don't be afraid to send me an ask if you have questions!

[killerplink]

✨ first day update nobody asked for but I'm giving anyway (ft rare footage of me smiling at the end, if you count that as a smile lol) ✨

it actually wasn't as scary as I thought 🥹 the store manager?? literally the sweetest girl alive 😩 like if sunshine wore cute loafers, organized pastel stationery by color and vibe, AND was a full on tattooed baddie 💅🏻 she was so kind and welcoming I almost tweaked lmao 😭 like okay thank God I'm not the only inked up girlie in here. and I didn't even cry in the bathroom once?? that's character development baby 🫡

I spent most of the shift pretending I knew what I was doing while smiling politely and bonding with the pens 🏃🏻‍♀️ I now know where the gel pens live!! I have acquired lore!! I feel powerful ngl 💅🏻

also!! posting the other Roy fic tomorrow 🤭 but aside from that, I'm out of Roy ideas for now so feel free to drop any if your brain is feeling generous and horny, I'm still on the Roy train (will be for a while actually) 🧡

I'll probably finish the Jason one (his chaotic gremlin giving him head under the desk while he's trying to gather intel) and the Dick one (spicy time at the manor with the whole Batfamily there and he can't stfu) sometime next week if all goes well and I don't get seduced by snacks and naps 😭

thank you to everyone who sent me sweet messages or good vibes, I carried them all in my heart and also in my little backpack next to my lip oil and emergency granola bar 🥹I'm still nervous, obviously, because hi I'm me, but it wasn't the apocalyptic disaster I imagined in my head and that's a win!! 🙂‍↕️

manifesting a soft week ahead for all of us, besties 🫶🏻 no weird customers, no printer issues, no men bothering us, just cute notebooks, good snacks, delicious coffee, and the pride of surviving capitalism for another day 💪🏻

me, freshly employed and politely telling my anxiety to go fuck itself while I organize pastel highlighters ✨✋🏻

[thesexynarrator]

Contains mild spoilers

Your ultimate guide to Liam de Lioncourt.

Now let's talk basics, as we all know Liam has a love for art and intelligence. You'll be wanting a good amount of both to steal the heart of this sexy nerd.

STATS:

+10 Smarts

+10 Creativity

10 Minimum in both stats should earn you his normal ending.

If you're still hungry for more Liam has two secret endings diredtly tied to his route.

Initially locked behind RNG, so good luck!

The two endings are TTRPG & Jojo

Each ending has three events.

TTRPG:

You'll know you've triggered the plotline when you encounter Liam GM'ing for a group of non-datable npcs.

“You take a look around the tavern (well Liam describes the people in there) and narrow it down to two people who may know about the black fog..”

Option 1: “The beholder that cleans the tavern's bathrooms. It's clearly Liam's clever way of saying this character “has seen some shit.”

+2 smart, -2 creative

Option 2: “The mysterious-looking purple guy that's “definitely not” Liam's self-insert character. No artist can resist self-inserting.” 

+2 Creative, -2 Smart

---

“Nah, you're not interested in resorting to violence (yet). How can you convince the villagers to evacuate?”

Option 1: “Just rebrand the evacuation as a pilgrimage. Medieval-types are super into that religious stuff.” 

+2 Creative, -2 Bold

Option 2: People are bad at taking any danger they can't see seriously. Give them some danger they can see: UNHINGE JAW. BEES POUR OUT!”

+2 Bold, -2 Creative

---

For the final event in a plotline you need to have +10 or more in the coresponeing stat or you will fail the event.

“But he'd never forgive you for hugging him in public. Instead, it's time to defeat Liam – I mean, “Angelor the evil warlock” once and for all!”

Option 1: “If you know anything about Liam, you can get the warlock to join your side by finding a common enemy: people who misuse the word “Literally”

Smarts 

Option 2: “Fix this villain the way all evil, sexually-frustrated men get fixed: with a bug-tiddy goth GF.”

Charm 

Ending photo;

-----

Jojo:

Liam discovers a certain anime.

“Still, he's not wrong about you not getting all these Jojo references.. So what can you do to not to be the butt of the joke here?”

Option 1: “Do what you always do when people are discussing an anime yoi don't give a fuck about: disassociate and go to your happy place.”

+2 Fun, -2 Bold

Option 2: “Punch a plate of spaghetti. Since apparently everything is a fuckin’ Jojo reference, this probably is too.”

+2 Bold, -2 Fun

---

“Oh, no, Liam considering that idea is proof he's going down a dangerous rabbit hole. Help Liam avoid the pitfalls of confusing lore!”

Option 1: “You've gone down one or two rabbit holes yourself, and you've learned the best way to avoid getting stuck. Cover Liam in Lube.”

+2 Fun, -2 Bold

Option 2: “Brainrot happens when you think TOO MUCH about something. Hit Liam with a shovel every forty minutes so he cannot think properly at all.”

+2 Bold, -2 Fun

---

“We need to break him free from. the brainrot!”

For the final event in a plotline you need to have +10 or more in the coresponeing stat or you will fail the event.

Option 1: “Remind Liam of his pre-brainrot days, when he occupied his days with simpler pleasures, like drawing two beautiful men practicing sweaty glorious sex. Dosen’the miss that?”

Boldness

Option 2: “Liam's too far gone. Just smile and nod while you silently call 911.”

Smart

Ending photo;

For a guide to LIAM PROM, refer to this post.

[terubakudan]

DIR EN GREY WHO IS THIS HELL FOR @Zepp Taipei 2025/05/10 Concert

How do I even begin xD

I'm a person who rarely goes out of the house except for working, shopping and chores that need to be done. So for me to go out for leisure, there would have to be some sort of really interesting thing/activity to convince me to get out of the house.

And this time being a damn good reason is an understatement.

I've always dreamt of seeing DIR EN GREY live, so the moment they announced last year in December that they were touring in Taiwan again (after 9 years!), I was SHOOK and thought that no way I'm going to miss this chance. An actual chance to see them is more important than any other activity for me that day (say hypothetically I had a work-related thing, I would take a leave just for that, anything for Diru _:(´ཀ`」 ∠):).

I was able to buy their A ticket, which was around the mosh pit area, A ticket included a randomized member postcard and bookmark. I originally wanted to get a S ticket (which included more goodies and a Meet&Greet) but ahhhh even when I logged in the moment ticket sales started I wasn't fast enough to snag one QQ The ticket system kind of crashed(?) due to the multiple requests for tickets. My brother says though it could have been some people using bots to snag the tickets :(

Nevertheless I'm still very happy to be even able to get to see them, it was really a dream come true.

On the day of the concert, I hopped on the HSR (High Speed Rail) to Taipei!

Believe me the thing that worried me most at that time was whether the concert would be cancelled due to the weather xD It rained super hard that morning and I wondered if this was a sign of Diru making one hell of an entrance xD

My original plan was just to see Diru and go home the next morning, but it so happens that there was a JOJO-related convention on that day! As is very obvious on this blog, I'm a Grade-S Weeb xD But I'll share that experience in a separate post.

Looking for food while listening to Child Prey hits different xD

After lunch and the convention, I went to drop off my luggage at the WonderTime2- Ladies' Inn near Taipei Main Station, and it's a quaint and cozy one! It's for girls only though and if you're looking for decent yet affordable lodging this is an option.

I then took the Metro to Zepp Taipei, and just like the time I went to see the GazettE's MASS Final concert back in July 2023, I only needed to follow the fellow Diru believers dressed in black xD

Zepp Taipei is located inside the Honhui Plaza on the 8th Floor.

Me and the fellow concertgoers went to fall in line at the elevator, and there was this awkward silence and us looking at each other and probably thinking "ah yes you here too to see Diru?? Hm hm same same" and then we quietly packed ourselves in the elevator.

Once we all got to the 8th floor, we went to Zepp Taipei (just past the cinema) and fell in line according to Ticket type (S Ticket and A Ticket holders got to go in first).

Once we got inside, I found myself around the back of the shimote side of the mosh pit in Zone A, and for the first time in my life I genuinely cursed my Hobbit height xDD I'm fun-size in a way that I could only see half the bodies of the band and Kyo fully provided he's standing/crouching on his crate.

Pre-show music included the unplugged/symphonic versions of Diru songs, like Different Sense, Agitated Screams of Maggots, Inconvenient Ideal etc.

Then the show started a little past 7PM, the lights dimmed and my heart was pumping!! I was about to see one of my favorite bands ever, it was very difficult to calm down xD

The members came on stage, starting with Shinya, then followed by Toshiya, Die, Kaoru, and lastly Kyo. By this point I thought I was dreaming, to really see them in the flesh is something else.

As mentioned in this post, the members' outfits were all on point, I swore that Toshiya's outfit looked like part of a carpet though xD He even had the fancy long sleeves that you see in Hanfu.

The setlist was as follows:

Ningen wo Kaburu

The Devil in Me

DRAIN AWAY

13

Magayasou

The Perfume of Sins

Oboro

VINUSHKA

Kasumi

audience KILLER LOOP

OBSCURE

Ochita Koto no Aru Sora

Eddie

Encore

G.D.S.

CHILD PREY

THE IIID EMPIRE

Uroko

Utafumi

I was able to name every song except for the ones from Phalaris xD I don't have an excellent memory like other people but I'll try my best to recount my experience during the songs. during the whole concert I was literally losing my shit

We started with Ningen wo Kaburu after the members came out during the "holy shit that's hype" SE, great opener to a concert if you ask me. It was then followed by their more recent song The Devil in Me.

Then DRAIN AWAY started, and the crowd was already quite warmed up by this point. DRAIN AWAY has the especially nostalgic sounding opening riff and drum beat and you could really feel how happy the crowd was.

The setlist then went heavier again with 13, Magayasou, and The Perfume of Sins. Shinya was the star during The Perfume of Sins, he made our hearts pound with his drumming! I should mention that the bass and drums during this concert was especially lovely, you could feel the bass vibrations and drumbeats against your throat and chest, maybe it's also because I was in the mosh pit this time around so it "felt" especially prominent. xD

Then Oboro followed, and my god, Kyo really sang his heart out. It was so emotional, and we were all in awe. It made us all quiet in a good way.

And then all hell broke loose in VINUSHKA. The crowd went wild and this is also when I didn't give a care and just headbanged like crazy xD Prior to that I was headbanging but in a "here and there" kind of way and just watching the show. The MVP crowd definitely goes to the Japanese fans beside me though! Their own energy was able to rival Kyo's and throughout the entire show they were headbanging and pumping fists in the air and singing like no tomorrow. At several points of the show the Japanese fans were shouting so loud that another fan gave them the look like "bruh, I'm trying to enjoy a concert here". xD

Shoutout to the guy too who went "SHINNNNYAAAAAAAAAAAAA-SAN!!!!!!!!!!" xD

As if to relax ourselves after VINUSHKA, the band played the ever lovely Kasumi. The mellowness was short-lived though since they resumed with audience KILLER LOOP, and it was during this point that I thought that Kaoru looked at me. ∑(O_O;) He could have been just looking at the people in Zone B, but wow his gaze was so piercing in person I think my heart stopped for a moment. (ノ*°▽°*)

And then all hell broke loose again with OBSCURE, now normally I don't like this song but I really enjoyed this song live! Couldn't resist headbanging like crazy again. And then Toshiya gave us all a show...

...what are you thinking not a striptease no something close to that though. He pounced to the edge of the shimote side and proceeded to make love to his bass right then and there xD

The band continued the tension with Ochita Koto no Aru Sora, and closed the main show with Eddie. At this point it was only around 8PM, and of course we all begged them to come back for an encore as they each walked off the stage!

Also Toshiya finally decided to striptease...

...his bass, get your head out of the gutter. It was funny because he went off the stage from the center and then a moment later Staff-san picked up his bass and I realized what happened. xD

We clapped and shouted "encore encore encore" for about 10 minutes before G.D.S. started and they all did the walk again. And then CHILD PREY started and all hell broke loose for the third time that night xD CHILD PREY is especially fun live. It's really good for hyping up the crowd if you ask me. :D And then the electrifying energy continued with THE IIID EMPIRE, which is also extremely fun live.

Then they fucking did Uroko (I was so happy!!), and then Kyo started egging and hyping us up and we were all like "yeah!", "yeah!", "yeah!", and then he said "Last song!" and we were like "no!" xDDD

They ended the show with Utafumi, and we all headbanged and sang our hearts out since it was the last song.

They had an instrumental version of Jealous-reverse- playing during the end of the show and I don't think I was the only one who got emotional QQ The members each gave us their farewells, Shinya left first followed by Kyo, and I was debating whether to take pictures at this point but decided not to out of respect for the band.

I should mention though that before Kyo left, he gave us the warmest smile, the kind of smile that could light up the galaxy if the sun gave out. 😭

Then Kaoru, Toshiya and Die were the ones left on stage and proceeded to baptize the crowd, they threw picks and bottles for us to catch!! Toshiya had such a good arm that three bottles made it to the second floor xD Kaoru gave us all The Look™ before throwing his bottles and picks to the crowd, and had one of his bottles been just a teensy bit farther I swore it could have been mine. ( ╥ω╥ ) Die was the last one to wave and say farewell to us, and he looked so happy! He could tell that we were able to match their energy for this concert and that Taipei gave them a very warm welcome. The concert ended around 8:45PM and believe me when I tell you none of us wanted to go home. xD

We then proceeded to exit the venue after making sure there weren't any "post-credits scenes" like new album announcement, secret encore, etc.

I went outside to bask in the post-concert afterglow and made a beeline for the merch stand xD

Afterwards I decided to head back to the hotel but not before stopping by a store on the 1st floor, I was wondering why there were a few concertgoers gathered around and then I realized the amp from the store was playing Diru songs! It was Sajou no Uta, and then it was followed by raison detre. But it was getting late, so I decided to call it a night.

To end my night I took the metro back, and saw a very cute passerby who looked like [REDACTED] from 14 Days With You xD He was tall, slender but not bone-thin, had dyed pink tips on black hair, and a lovely sense of goth fashion. I internally squeed xD Quite possibly the hottest passerby I've seen so far...

....unless I see Toshiya, Toshiya is so hot it should be illegal.

I digress. xD

To close this post, I just want to say that I truly had so much fun at the concert and this day will be one of the happiest days of my life, and eventually a memory that I will cherish dearly even when I'm doing tai chi exercises at public parks.

Thank you so much Kyo, Kaoru, Die, Toshiya, Shinya for coming to Taiwan and giving us all a wonderful performance!!! I wish you all the best and if ever you guys come to Taiwan again, we'll be more than happy to welcome you.

[stardustdiiving]

Okay so going through the Rukkhadevata tag and saw one of your posts so I NEED to know: what is up with the International Teyvat Immortal Yuri Polycule. Spare no detail I'm ravenous here.

I FORGOT IVE MENTIONED FTHE ITIYP (international teyvat immortal yuri polycule’) ON THIS BLOG HELP

Massive tangent of thoughts below the cut (warning it gets kind of out of hand)

OK see. there’s less a concrete vision with this and more that I think it’s just really funny to start running with the fact Genshin is not above just canonizing lore where unexpected combinations immortal characters may know each other. Genshin in general just likes to pair up fascinating combinations of characters (like, in events and such) in a way where it gives a lot of immortal yuri crackshipping this funny sort of Canon Plausibility that’s really entertaining, especially when you start piling a lot of really specific layers of ship lore on top of each other.

To give an example: Ganyu and Yae Miko canonically know each other. This is immediately compelling. Like, okay sure both of you have been around so long as active participants in your respect nations it’s not unbelievable you guys got to know each other eventually but this raises alot of questions. How and when did you both meet. What does this mean for your respective social circles?

If you add yuri to this situation I feel you naturally have to start asking questions like “do the other Liyue adepti know about this” and “how do the Other Adepti feel about Yae Miko” which means inevitably you’re going to have to consider things like “would Cloud Retainer sit down and tell Yae Miko if she breaks Ganyu’s heart because it turns out she was just using her to cope with the fact she’s depressed Ei blocked her on Facebook after Makoto died she will peck Yae Miko within an inch of her life”. You additionally have to consider Yae Miko’s stances on any other yuri happening in the Liyue adeptus social circle. Like does Yae Miko know Guizhong and Madame Ping were gay. Does she know Does she know this. What does she think about it? Did she ever get involved for fun because Yae Miko feels like someone who probably would just be personally familiar with every immortal lesbian in Tyevat? Consequently, what do the Liyue adeptus sapphics think of Yae Miko’s weird introverted jock wife.

These are all really important things to consider. I think Ganyu and Ei would stand in the corner of a party awkwardly drinking wine because Yae Miko temporarily left them alone and Ei would be like “ummm. Thank you for….Keeping Miko company while I was In the Plane of Euthymia, Miss Ganyu” at the exact same time Ganyu is like “I’m so so sorry for going on a picnic date with your wife 231 years ago i thought you guys were Divorced and wanted to help her out because she seemed really depressed. also don’t tell her I could tell she was depressed or she’ll get scared of the emotional intimacy and explode”

And then you can just start building off of things from there. Like its canonical lore that after Egeria died in battle during the Cataclysm Rukkhadevata used her consciousness to stop the flow of Abyssal corruption in the Girdle of the Sands. this, too, can be yuri if you think about it. Who is going to stop you. The original 7 were all friends and Venti and Zhongli spent their first on screen interaction flirting at the dinner table so much they nearly gave Xiao a panic attack during the 2023 lantern rite. I feel it’s just not realistic to assume they were the only archon couple happening. We need to consider that maybe the in-game dendro/hydro bloom reaction is really good because Egeria and Rukkhadevata kissed at least once

And with Rukkhadevata being involved in this you really have to consider that any yuri you do with her curses Nahida by association. In my mind’s eye there’s a situation where the archons all meet up for the first time and Nahida and Ei are trying really hard to socialize and then Ei offhandedly drops the nuclear bomb of information referencing the fact Nahida’s previous self before she lost her memory and became like 7 years old dated her sister and Nahida’s like….what. And Ei’s like ah yes it was quite the situation. very funny. Barbados tried to get me to help you both hit it off bc he thought it would be funny but this stressed me out so I hid behind Yae Miko until it was over. And Nahida is just haunted by this information and has to go home and deal lethal amounts of psychic damage to Wanderer by informing him her previous self dated his dead aunt. The far reaching consequences of things like this are kind of compelling to me.

Im running out of steam answering this but I trust you kind of see the vision here. I just need like alot of the immortal women in teyvat to all know each other and have like an intricate web of who’s casually kind of dated/dating who that causes 20 layers of situations because of the impact it has on their respective social circles. Yae Miko is probably relevant for like 90% of it because tbh she’s probably on a first name basis with every immortal sapphic in teyvat and responsible for introducing half of them to each other . Shes organizing tea parties for them or something. Imagine this

[scribbled-entity]

Alright that's it, you know what? I'll just shove a crap ton of my related headcanons of the object shows I like, into one silly continuity, which in itself, may have AUs based on whatever I crossed over with it (may or may not be hinting on something in the works hah)

I'm calling it Restirred AU for now, because I can't think of anything else. I'll probably retag some older posts too for convenience

With that out of the way, here's the official 'first' post for Restirred AU.

The Questionable Influence Duo, Nickel and Taco

I like to think they ended up becoming friends in a way. Frenemies? It's complicated.

What do you do when you meet someone like you but you don't really like yourself all that much? But at the same time is trying to learn to be kinder to not just everyone, but also yourself?

You hate them mainly because you hate yourself, and because you know they can do better and should do better, just like how you know you could too. Yet you're all too familiar with how difficult it actually is.

Anyway, more rambling under the cut.

(Some of these are copy pasted from the stuff I typed out in Bluesky but I added a bit more.)

I'm not sure if I'm making any sense, or if I'm even articulating all this right, but wjdjfjrdjdr object show hyperfixation go brrrrrrrrr

Obviously these are just my personal headcanons, you're free to think differently.

I like to think they don't always hang out, but when they do and have the same goal, they make for an annoying force to be reckoned with. Otherwise they're competitive and often insult each other.

It certainly took a while to actually warm up to each other. But once the two did, they ended up getting along well enough, even if it doesn't seem like it. Their ability to shrug off each other's scathing insults and blatant aggressive honesty is something the two value from each other.

Though they definitely also can feed on each other's worst flaws in bad ways. Luckily, Both have other support systems to turn to and keep the two from essentially spiralling into an echo chamber of mutual spite of things they both hate. (Like I think if they were each other's only friends instead? I imagine there would've been a chance where they only strengthen each other's problematic views, both forcing themselves to only ever have each other, and only worsen their bad behavior. Being too alike that they only sink each other down sort of thing.)

They're both objects who did horrible things to others with genuine malicious intent and selfishness. Both have an innate distrust of others, critical and pessimistic opinions of everything.

Who are both trying to be better, because and with the help of those they grew to care about.

I personally think they'll make for a fun friendship dynamic. They both keep each other in check in a way, They both can feel somewhat comfortable knowing they've both struggled with similar problems and behaviors and acknowledge the issues with that and work on controlling it and coping healthier.

There's nothing quite like having someone who has gone through the same thing and thought the same thoughts to turn to. Sometimes it's not necessarily the comfort or sympathy that you need, but instead someone who understands what it's like and to process it with.

[fraeyyassblr]

───★ ˙ AWARENESS ̟ !!

: : and how to stop overcomplicating shifting. : :

(DETAILED) part 1: my thoughts.

when I recently discovered shifting just 3 weeks ago, one of the things I noticed in the shifting community was that there were so many people that couldn't shift for years. I was worried about being those kinds of people, and the people that have claimed to be shifters seemed to have waited over 2-3 years (or I thought.. since a lot of shifters have been there since 2020-2021.)

but when I went on tumblr, I always noticed the same simplistic advice. and I noticed that this advice can even be applied for things like astral projecting and lucid dreaming, which was a bigger platform of people where I noticed that it can take people most commonly days, weeks, a month MAXIMUM in the community. there were even those kinds of meditations that were really intense, they could let you see your past life, or heal your chakras, your body.. even prayer counts! but so how come it would take longer for reality shifting when it is equally as complicated as every other practice I mentioned? (4:44PM as I type this)

but most importantly, WHY is it different for others?? And why is it a reoccurring theme btw that others sleep while others shift? Why is there a thin barrier you have to tip-toe over between sleep and shifting, huh?

ofc, I was no lucid dreamer, nor was I an astral projector. but when I saw how reality shifting was, I decided to give it a go..! I overscripted which delayed me 2 weeks of actually stepping into attempting it and I thought that was a bad thing until a shifter, @theoshifts8 , told me that there's no such thing as over scripting, under scripting, or not scripting at all! (but for that, I still recommend y'all to script especially in dangerous realities because someone once shifted to a reality but immediately d1ed the first 2 seconds upon entering.)

I had four shifting attempts and my fourth attempt was the time I mini shifted. last night I tried again, and I mini shifted again but decided to go back on purpose. so it only took me days! but how come?? I was reading stories from other people as well and I've read about a person who taught her younger brother how to shift and he did on his first try, DESPITE BEING A CHILD!! and a girl who was a spirit medium and was told by her grandmother that passed away that shifting was real! and even on shifttok, older shifters would teach shifters how to shift and then they do on their first attempt or after a short period of time! why? like, it wasn't fair!

: : UNTIL I FIGURED OUT ONE THING : :

part 2: my advice put into storytelling.

IT WAS A W A R E N E S S. (not just for that DR because I'm not going to repeat the same advice to you repeated here already.. I mean awareness with the awareness. sounds stupid? Okay hear me out)

before I shifted, I was consuming a lot of things with the rebellion and denial that it would take time to shift.. because that made no sense! why would that be something inevitable if I'M the one shifting right?? I kept nagging myself about that, I was probably using the LOA unintentionally, but sincerely I was not accepting the idea that shifting would take years.

I read a blog which was a letter for shifters who still haven't shifted for so many years, and the key was literally just awareness. I noticed a pattern. it all was just awareness and nothing else mattered. awareness, awareness, awareness. I found it in all blog posts, but most just worded it differently! But how are you supposed to be aware of that DR? Someone left a comment on one of my posts about that too!! to that, I didn't find anything that talked about it.

And even methods!! I noticed they all just used only one thing which was to induce an absence of awareness FROM this reality but a big awareness to your DR. yes, some can including affirming and countdowns but that's just to enter meditation.. so I didn't really take those countdowns and affs seriously, all I focused on was my DR and how it felt. Apparently, THAT was the awareness. like, excuse me???

1. My first three attempts, I was aware that they weren't "failed attempts" because it was something I'm progressing on, but I kept a journal and would notice what I thought held me back. my first shifting attempt? I didn't shift because I forced myself to focus on the guided meditation and ended up taking a nap in the van! (Yes, I couldn't finish meditation in bed and we were in travel and I had nothing else to do but shift, then I slept.)

Why did I take a nap? I wanted to enter the void state and that's when your body is asleep but your mind is awake. the void state detaches all your awareness from your physical reality but my body dragged my mind to sleep with it because I didn't have any mental stimulation, but the meditation which was boring.

2. My second shifting attempt, backround noises. I stopped the meditation halfway because of those damn chickens that kept screaming outside.

but everytime I'd zone out in my room until I take a nap, how come they don't make a noise? I mean, they'd MAKE noise before I zone out but 5 seconds into dozing off, the sounds are gone. and that's before I black out into a nap before I consciously think about that. I remember recording a facetime where I was tired I was about to take a nap but then rewatching the video, THE CHICKENS WERE MAKING NOISES THE WHOLE TIME BUT I DIDN'T HEAR??? That's when I understood the "absence of awareness."

3. My third attempt. I trained myself to ignore the chickens by implementing the dozing off action.. And I'd feel symptoms like being detached from my physical senses and feel like I'm floating around. until I would think about my back and then I feel my back against my bedsheets. But what happened to the feeling of those flashing lights I was seeing? what happened to feeling like I wws moving? those symptoms lasted because I would focus on those symptoms.. apparently that wasn't allowed but I just forgot about it.. though THE MOMENT I thought of my room here, I felt my bed again and I was still. In. My. CR. I learned to visualise my DR to put my awareness there but I focused on my symptoms too much to think about my DR, but when I thought about my CR after being aware that I was shifting, I was in my CR.

I then understood awareness.

4. My fourth attempt, final, I allowed myself to doze off but stimulated my mind to thinking of my DR. And what I mean by this is visualizing, but also doing things, remembering things, I wasn't just laying in bed.. like purposely generating a dream in my DR from here. I got in. For a few seconds. I felt things. I saw things. But then came back again. Well, last night I shifted again and had another mini shift, but it was intentional this time because I was like "oh omg" and a shifter @theoshifts8 (go follow them) also told me that you should think as your DR self like "what am I going to have for breakfast?" okay.

It's all in the feeling and the awareness, NOT the method.

It's not in the breathwork, in counting, in affirming, no it's not.

it's in the awareness. and yourself. It's you. love. It's you.