#but had no space to finish it until this evening

[forever-rogue]

Salty

AN | Hello, as you all know Joel is alive and well and there are shenanigans afoot in Jackson. Enjoy💕

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader 

Warnings | Language 

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Joel, Main 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You loved Joel.

Joel loved you (you hoped anyway) and Ellie.

Ellie hated you.

After just over half a year in Jackson, you had finally put two and two together. All those little things you’d thought were accidents or odd coincidences weren't that at all.

Everything came down to one Ellie Williams. And that led to you making a decision you immediately hated.

“I don’t think we… should spend time together anymore.” The lump in your throat was thick, and you focused your attention on the vegetables you were tending, refusing to look at the man. You’d rehearsed this very moment in your head about two hundred times, and still, it wasn’t going to plan. Sigh.

The man next to you was silent for a few beats, trying to decide if you were being serious. When you didn’t say anything further but he heard your sniffle, he realized this wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh? And just how did you reach that conclusion, darlin’?”

“I just… I dunno, Joel. It just seems like the right thing to do.” You shrugged, adding the carrots you'd unearthed into the basket between the two of you. “I don’t… I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think I’m… interested.”

A heavy silence fell over you; you tried to continue working, but Joel remained dumbfounded, watching your every move.

“Okay,” he eventually said, causing you to relax slightly. “I’ll do as you ask and respect your wishes and all that. You gonna tell me what changed suddenly?”

“Nothing,” you lied. You’d thought about telling him the truth but highly doubted he’d believe you. He’d never think his baby girl would do something so downright vicious. “It’s just… what I want.”

“Alright.” He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, capturing your attention. “I’ll leave you to it. I think you can handle it from here, right? I wouldn’t want to get the wrong idea.”

“Joel—” His name came out as a huff, but before you could get any further, he had already walked away.

You watched after him until he was out of your sight before hastily wiping at the tears rolling down your cheeks. This hurt even worse than you had anticipated. Ellie would probably leave you alone now that you weren’t pursuing her dad or trying to take him away from her.

“I guess it’s just you and me again.” You pulled a few more carrots out of the dirt and tossed them to the side. You were going to need a new hobby to occupy your mind.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time something strange had happened, you had been baking a cake for Joel's birthday. You were in the restaurant kitchen, having talked Seth into letting you use the space to keep your plans secret.

You were almost done mixing the dry ingredients when you couldn’t find the sugar.

“Where is it…” You looked through cabinets, sure you’d seen the container at some point. Without sugar, you definitely weren’t going to finish this cake.

“Looking for this?” There was a smile on Ellie’s face as she set an unlabeled bag down next to your bowl. You relaxed and nodded. “Sorry, I was using it earlier. Totally forgot to put it back.”

“No worries at all,” you said, grabbing the measuring cup and adding the sugar to your bowl. “I was starting to worry I’d imagined it.”

“Hmm.” Ellie watched you work in silence for a few minutes. “What’s this for?”

“I’m making a cake… for Joel.” Your face warmed as a flash of annoyance shot across hers. She was well aware of what you were doing, having overheard you talking to Tommy. “I figured it’d be something nice for him.”

“That’s really sweet of you,” she smiled. “I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” you agreed.

Unfortunately, fortune seemed determined to make a fool of you.

You’d stopped at Joel’s house to deliver the cake, wanting to make it casual.

“Happy birthday,” you sang, holding up the cake with an eager look. Your heart beat nervously as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

“It’s amazing,” he whispered, heart constricting at the sweet gesture. It had been a long time since someone had baked him a birthday cake. “C’mon in. We can cut right into it.”

“Oh,” you smiled shyly, finding it hard to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re always welcome here,” he said, firm but still soft. “And I insist.”

“Okay.” You followed him inside, setting the cake on the table. Joel grabbed a couple of forks, plates, and a knife. “Is Ellie here? Should we cut some for her?”

“She’s off at Dina’s,” he shook his head. “It’s just us.”

“Well here, let me.” You cut into the cake, placing large slices on each plate. You sat down across from him, pushing a plate toward him. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

“It certainly is now.” You tried not to freak out as you took a bite. Joel did the same.

As soon as you started chewing, you realized it tasted… terrible. Gritty and salty. Anything but sweet and decadent. You reluctantly swallowed and cast a forlorn look at Joel, who was clearly trying to school his expression.

“This is disgusting,” you said, horrified. “I—I must’ve added salt instead of sugar. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention, but I thought… Ellie handed me the sugar.”

“It’s…” Joel, bless his heart, tried to make it seem better than it was.

“Terrible,” you insisted, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I ruined it all.”

“It’s not… the worst thing ever.”

“Joel.”

“It’s pretty bad,” he admitted with a grimace, “but it’s the thought. Even if that’s cliché.”

“Well,” you sighed with a grimace, “maybe next time will be better.”

Joel reached across the table and placed his hand on top of yours. His touch made your stomach flip. “It’s okay, really. Thank you for this.”

“Happy birthday,” you whispered. Your face was warm, and you swore you saw a light blush on his cheeks.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The second time you were sure that you had bad luck. Everyone has bad luck sometimes, right?

It was spring, finally warm enough not to require multiple layers. There was a barbecue going on, and Joel had asked if you wanted to go with him. He hadn’t said it was a date—but he hadn’t not.

You’d put on a sundress, feeling prettier than you had in a long time.

But as you walked to Joel’s house, something slippery on the porch made you slide off and into a lingering patch of mud.

A scream escaped your lips. You weren’t hurt—just covered in mud from head to toe. Your shoes had fallen off. Tears of frustration fell down your face, which only smeared the muck.

“Are you okay?” Joel ran outside, worried. When he saw what had happened, he had to fight a smile. He was glad you weren’t hurt—but it was a little funny. You let out a frustrated huff. He stepped off the porch and held out his hand. “Oh, darlin’.”

Just as you reached for him, he slipped and landed next to you. His surprised face made you giggle. Reaching over to wipe a spot off his cheek, you shook your head.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled. “I’d say we make a fine pair.”

“Unfortunately, I think we’ll have to clean up and change before we do anything,” you teased. Joel looked at you with nothing short of fondness. “Why’re you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” he said, leaning in. You leaned in too. “I’m just thinking I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

“Oh?” You were ready to finally close the gap when the front door burst open.

“Hey!” Ellie’s voice made you both jump apart. “What happened?”

“Slipped and fell,” you both said in unison.

“You should be more careful,” she said directly to you, brown eyes hard. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen.”

Then she turned and went back inside. A shiver ran down your spine.

“C’mon.” Joel got to his feet and helped you up. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“Thanks,” you said softly.

Something inside your stomach twisted. Something was going on.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The third time you were sure that none of the things that had been happening were accidental.

Joel had asked you on a date—made it very clear it was a date. Even though it was just Joel, you were full of butterflies.

You settled on an outfit and went into the bathroom to finish getting ready. Everything needed to be perfect.

Until… you tried to leave the bathroom and couldn’t. You jiggled the knob, convinced it was stuck, but after a few seconds of no success, you realized you were locked in.

You exhaled sharply, trying not to panic. This wasn’t an accident—but you weren’t in real danger either.

You banged on the door. “Ellie! Let me out! Please let me out!”

No response. But you thought you heard creaking down the hall. She wasn’t coming back.

You sat on the toilet, head in your hands. This was the worst. All you had wanted was a date with Joel. You couldn’t even have that.

Eventually, you pried open the bathroom window, grateful you lived in a one-story house. You squeezed out and fell a few feet onto the hard ground with a small oof.

Brushing yourself off, you made your way to Joel’s house, ready to set things straight.

Only one light was on. He wasn’t home. Your heart sank.

You knocked loudly. “Ellie!”

After a moment, the door flew open. She stood there, surprised. You laughed bitterly. “Surprised to see me?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Cut the shit,” you snapped, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. “Why have you been doing this to me? And don’t even try to lie—I know it’s been you.”

“I…” She didn’t even bother to lie. “Stay away from Joel. He doesn’t need you. We’re fine without you.”

“Is that what this is about? Me and Joel? Why does it—”

“He doesn’t need you,” she hissed. “Stay away from my dad.”

The door slammed in your face.

You stood there, stunned.

After a few moments, you trudged home, your heart heavy, when you heard your name being called. You turned to see Joel catching up.

“Hey,” he said, falling into step beside you. “What happened? I waited for over an hour, then went to check if you’d gone to—”

“I was locked in my bathroom.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. Joel stared at you, waiting for a punchline. But then he saw your expression—serious.

“I’m sorry, Joel. I didn’t mean to stand you up. I was really looking forward to tonight.”

“How did you…”

“Weird accident.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, stopping and gently grabbing your wrist. You turned to face him, fighting back tears. He touched your cheek.

“Things have been a little… off lately.”

“Guess I’m just having a spot of bad luck,” you shrugged, refusing to say the real reason. As angry as you were with Ellie, you understood. Joel was her stability—and in her mind, you were a threat.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Did you still want to grab dinner?”

“Actually, I kind of just want to go home.” You hated the way hope faded from his face.

“I’ll see you around, Joel. Have a good night.”

“Good night.” He gave your hand a squeeze but watched you walk away, his heart heavy.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Two weeks passed.

You caught glimpses of Joel, but that was it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

You missed him.

One night, as you were getting ready for bed, a knock came at your door. You almost ignored it—but you knew better. No one in Jackson would let you live it down.

With a sigh, you trudged to the door, already annoyed.

“What?” you asked before even looking—only to find Joel standing there, a bemused smile on his face.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. “What are you doing here?”

“I think we should talk.” You swallowed thickly. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yeah.” You stepped aside and led him into the living room. You sat across the couch from him. “What’s up?”

“Ellie told me what happened,” he said. Your shock was evident. “She explained what she did.”

“Oh.”

“She said she hated seeing me so miserable all the time,” he continued, and you realized you weren’t the only one hurting. “She said she felt some remorse.”

“I don’t… I do blame her—because she did those things. But I can understand where she’s coming from.” You shrugged. “She’s trying to protect you. You’re her family. She doesn’t want to lose you. It’s her way of showing love. I can’t fault her for that.”

“I know,” he said. “She told me everything. But it doesn’t make what she did right. You could’ve been seriously hurt. I told her that no matter what happened between us, my love for her wouldn’t change.”

“Of course not.”

“But tell me… were you really ready to never speak to me again?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t be happy about it.” Your face flushed and you couldn’t meet his eyes. “But if that was best for everyone…”

“Do you really think that would’ve been best?”

“Well… no. Now it seems trivial.” You met his honeyed gaze—reverent, gentle. “I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He scooted closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body. “You still want me to stay away?”

“I’m kind of thinking I want you to finally kiss me.”

You didn’t know where the boldness came from, but it had been long enough.

“Is that so?”

“It is—”

Joel kissed you gently, cutting you off. It caught you off guard—but it was perfect.

“Yeah?” His hand was on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

“Again?” Your soft request made him chuckle. “Please?”

And he didn’t waste any time.

He kissed you again.

[bruisedboys]

congressman!bucky x shy!reader

bucky flirts with his shy secretary (fem!reader)

“You look busy.”

You jump and look up from your computer to find Bucky standing in your doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there — you haven’t looked up from your screen in what’s felt like hours.

“Don’t scare me like that,” you say, hand to your racing heart. You’re not sure if it’s racing because he’s startled you, or just because of him in general.

Bucky laughs. You’d be offended, but his smile is so fond you can’t find it in you.

“Sorry, doll, I didn’t mean to,” he says.

He pushes himself off the doorframe and starts to move towards your desk. When he reaches you, he leans over your desk, knuckles pressed to the wooden surface. You try not to look at his arms, where his shirt sleeves are rolled halfway up his forearms. His vibranium arm glints at you, like its asking to be looked at.

“What’re you so busy working on?” He asks smoothly, leaning towards you a bit.

You feel the tips of your ears go red hot. He’s almost intrusively tall, and broad. To have him in your space like this scares you, but in a good way. If that’s even possible.

“I, um. I’m just editing that transcript you sent me,” you say lamely.

His brow creases. “I thought I told you it could wait til next week?”

Warmth creeps up your neck and threatens to engulf your whole face. He did, in fact, tell you to wait until next week to start editing it. You ignored his request, because you like doing things for him and you know he’s got a lot on his plate these days. Whatever you can do to help, you’ll do it. You are his secretary, after all.

“I know,” you say, with as much defensiveness as you can muster, which isn’t much. “I thought I’d get a head start.”

Bucky frowns at you, “You don’t need to do that. You’re working yourself to the bone, honey.”

You go hot all over. He says honey like he doesn’t mean to, as if it just slips out like it’s meant for you.

”Sorry,” you manage to reply weakly.

Bucky leans back and out of your space, but he still towers over you, still takes up all the space in your mind. His arms flex as he crosses them over his chest.

“That’s okay,” he says kindly. “Save the rest for next week, alright? You’ve got enough to do already.”

It’s not true. You don't have much to do at all. It’s Friday afternoon, and you’ve all but finished your tasks for the day. You’d have gone home, but you like being around Bucky too much. Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

Still, you nod. “Okay,” you agree, mostly because he’s impossible to say no to.

Bucky grins, “Good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. You wonder for a second if you’re dreaming. But no, you can feel the pinch of your nails in the palm of your hand as you clench your fist in your lap.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s moving around your desk like he has no idea the effect his words have just had on you. You’re pretty sure he has a bit of an idea, at least. You’re not very good at hiding how you feel.

“Hey, do you want to take a break?“ He asks, moving to stand over you, his hand coming to rest over the back of your chair. “Get lunch with me?”

You feel frozen in place. Somehow you manage to get your limbs to move, though they feel heavy as rocks. You twist in your chair so you can look up at him. He’s so close, his hand on the back of your chair as he smiles down at you expectantly, all sorts of handsome. You try your best to ignore the muscle of his arm so near your face.

“I— um, yeah, okay,” you say, breathless. You’ve no idea how you’re going to survive lunch with him if you’re already this far gone, but you can’t back out now.

Bucky’s grin widens. “Okay. What do you feel like eating? We can get whatever you want, doll.”

What you want is for him to kiss you, or maybe hold your face in his big, warm hand. You settle for Chinese.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍

[chimerafeathers]

you know what i think Mirabelle deserves to get a little fucked up freaky in how she processes learning about Siffrin’s loops post-canon. for fun. as a treat

thinking about this line in particular and stretching out the implications like taffy

this is a more romanticized, cutesy facet of her interests but she’s still framing Siffrin’s situation through storytelling. so like. What If.

i mean. this woman loves horror and gore and monsters and horrible things happening to innocent people. IN FICTION. in fiction!!! obviously!!!! and it’s beyond terrible that something even remotely close to any of that happened to her real friend in real life!!

BUT.

maybe. maybe sometimes, if the conditions are right, she gets a little too wrapped up in her imagination about the bloody, awful poetry of it all. maybe Siffrin tells a joke that's a little too dark and gory for anyone else, borderline or full-on Concerning, but she latches onto it without thinking about the Implications and plays along with increasing gruesomeness because FINALLYYYYY someone will play with her in the Horror Space (like Isabeau does in the romance space!!) and then. OOPS. the implications!!!! and she has to recalibrate out of Fun With Fiction mode into Oh No, My Friend Underwent A Horrifying Ordeal mode.

but being able to joke about things, even the awful things, is...kind of comforting, to Siffrin. makes them feel less like they're being babied and pitied and more like what happened was something...normal, almost? something that doesn't have to feel like the end of the world all over again every time it's mentioned, at least. so he tries to reassure her, and Odile and Isabeau have to go “actually can you PLEASE not joke about dying horribly it’s freaking us out and also might not be the Best for you? mentally???”

maybe Mirabelle will get a little Too Into trying to weave meaning and symbolism into the scant details that Siffrin gradually reveals, like she’s trying to finish the orange poem all over again, or eagerly meddling with the romantic reunion of the two actual people in the House with undelivered bonding earrings, writing their story for them without their input.

it’s easier to justify the tragedy of it all when it has a purpose, isn’t it? finding the beauty in the darkness, the love powerful enough to end the world. romanticizing the horrors until her friend can talk about them without shutting down.

and she feels guilty about hearing something and immediately thinking “ohhhhhhh this is JUST like Blorbo From My Novels,” because she should treat Siffrin’s situation with the gravity and care he deserves!! they’re a real person, not a character who exists for entertainment, to represent the ~themes~ of some story.

but if she admits as much…maybe Siffrin is safe to admit that he had started seeing the rest of them as actors, endlessly reciting their lines. maybe that’s just how people process things sometimes, grasping for metaphors when unfiltered reality gets to be too much. maybe it’s okay to talk about that part of it all, too.

[eraserbread]

Imagine forbidden romance family friend yuji and kento’s daughter nanami would be furious 😩🫣

"dad, can i pleaseeee have a friend over?"

"what did your mother say?"

"she said to ask you."

"then, go ask her again." kento nuzzles back in his chair, flipping the nonfiction book in front of him to the next page. it was evening now, past dinner and chores. supposedly, rin had finished her homework because she's at her father's neck, pouting, giving him that look she stole from him.

"but you could just say yes, and i'd leave you alone." her meticulous smile falters just before brightening her face once more. kento gives her a shadowed glare. "pleaseeee?"

"go ask mom."

rin stares at him dead-eyed for a moment. he blinks up at her, eyebrow crooked like he's wondering why she's still distracting him. "ugh, you never let me do anything-

stomping off down the hallway, ken is just glad rin took his answer well enough to leave him alone. though she's his spitting image, rin has your bite—that attitude he married and treasured. but it's different on his little girl—funnier.

he breathes out a laugh, then goes right back to reading.

what kento didn't know is that he dodged a bullet. no—a sixteen-year-old boy-sized nuke headed straight into his home.

"just wait until your dad finds out," you're grumbling, pushing rin and yuji from her room and into the hallway. and it's your fault—you ended up caving and agreeing that she could bring her friend over. after all, it's a weekend, she's overachieving in school, and her chores are done. now, you must punish her and all her calculating, mischievous ways. kento is far too light-handed for teenage girl antics.

"b-but I don't have one!" rin's classmate, yuji, whom she's known since middle school, is on trial next to her—young, pouting face round with shame.

"what's happened?" kento steps out of the bedroom, a tied robe keeping him decent. his eyes are shadowed with the promise of sleep. but he can't sleep when every light in this house is on; in fact, he couldn't sleep at all. you weren't next to him.

"i found them..." you start, letting them into the open space with a push, "in her bedroom, kissing."

"mom, wait—it wasn't like that." rin's hair is tossed, and kento is not dumb. his eyebrow twitches. images of the description flutter to the front of his mind, and it's unwelcome and ugly. he's furious. but rin would never know. kento doesn't share the hot side of his emotions with anyone but you—surely not to his livewire teenage daughter

"you think i don't know what kissing is?"

"you're being so totally overdramatic."

"i'm dramatic? no phone for a week," you hold an empty palm to your defiant teenager, ushering her with a curl of your fingers. "now."

of course, rin listens to you easily, but she still pushes it into your hands and stomps all the way back to her room. the door slams—just for good measure.

then kento sighs, shaking his head. in his mind, a fair punishment would be the inability to have more friends over—that's what he wants. just one less promise of an angsty brat in his space. "dear, i think we should reevaluate-

"shut up, kento."

nanami takes it, nodding once, sucking his cheeks when he watched rin hand over her phone like she'd never see it again. yuji watches over your shoulder, guilty as hell and suddenly two sizes too small for his baggy jeans. the truth is, he's been seeing rin on and off since they started high school. it's just a thing that led to unsure pecks on the lips behind closed doors.

it was never anything so serious until you lost your shit. now, your big, scary husband is towering over yuji with a quirk in his brow, taken aback when you walk past and shove rin's confiscated phone into his robed chest.

alone now, standing face-to-face in the bright, white light of the hallway, yuji looks so meek as he bows his head. "sir, i'm so-

kento doesn't want to talk. he hardly wanted to get out of bed, and now you've made it his personal mission to show the kid off. he and his glossy skincare still seeping into his pores, uncombed hair, and peeking chest through his garment.

but like a good husband, he takes a sigh and turns back to his room to get dressed.

and when he crawls back in bed with you after the kid is safe at home with his grandfather, he whispers in your ear, wrapping his arms around you, "well, at least you did not overreact."

"is that supposed to be funny?"

[lanadelspray02]

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 13

paige x azzi

hey guys! enjoy. thank you to everyone showing so much love :) let me know what y'all think <3

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 8545

--------------------

The locker room still buzzed faintly with morning energy—sneakers squeaking on tiles, laughter echoing off the cement walls, the low hum of pre-game chatter filling the space like static. Light streamed through the high windows in pale beams, catching on rising dust and the occasional glint of athletic tape or a metal water bottle. The air carried the usual smell of eucalyptus balm and detergent, mixed with something heavier—anticipation.

Paige stood by her locker, towel slung over one shoulder, hair half-wet and curling slightly at the edges. She moved slowly, methodically—like her body was going through the motions, but her mind was pacing somewhere else. The truth was, her stomach had been twisted in anxious knots all day. Game day was always a little electric, but this one carried extra voltage.

Because her mum was coming.

And not just her mum—but her half-siblings, Lauren and Ryan. She hadn’t seen them in months. And her mum? She hadn’t seen her at a game since high school. Paige knew exactly how it would go—tight smiles, measured critiques, maybe a hug that felt more like obligation than warmth. And still, part of her wanted to get it right. To show up. To impress. To prove... something.

And then there was this—Azzi. Them. The fact that they were finally something real now. Official. She hadn’t told the whole team yet. Only Nika and KK knew, and Paige was still figuring out how to hold something so new and good without letting the whole world pick it apart.

--------------------

Azzi was finishing lacing her sneakers on the bench nearby, back slightly hunched, earbuds dangling from around her neck. Her hoodie sleeves were shoved to her elbows, curls pulled up into a messy bun. Paige watched her from the corner of her eye, a softness melting into her features that she didn’t even try to hide.

She waited until the room cleared out a bit more—Nika had wandered off in search of snacks, Caroline and Ines had gone to the training room, KK and Ice doing some random tik tok dance and the general chaos of post-practice had quieted to a low murmur. Then, moving with deliberate lightness, Paige crept up behind Azzi like a shadow slipping through light.

She let her hands slide slowly around Azzi’s waist, fingertips grazing the hem of her hoodie. “Hey.”

Azzi startled slightly but didn’t pull away. Her body relaxed almost instantly into the touch. “Paige,” she said, a smile forming without turning around. “You can’t just sneak up on people like that.”

“I absolutely can,” Paige murmured, voice brushing just behind her ear. “Especially when you look this good after practice.”

Azzi huffed out a laugh. “Sweaty and sore is apparently your thing?”

“Only when it’s you.” Paige leaned in slightly, breath warm against Azzi’s neck. “What can I say? I have impeccable taste.”

Azzi turned her head just enough to meet Paige’s eyes. “You know we’re not exactly being subtle right now.”

Paige grinned. “You saying you want me to stop?”

Azzi shook her head slowly. “I’m saying you’re lucky most of the team isn’t in here right now.”

There was a pause. Not tense—just full.

Paige’s arms didn’t move. If anything, she held Azzi tighter, grounding herself in the quiet. “So... tonight.”

Azzi looked at her. “You nervous?”

“Terrified.”

Azzi softened. “Because of the game or because of who’s going to be in the stands?”

Paige shook her head once. “Because of who’s in the stands.”

Azzi’s gaze shifted, catching the shadow behind Paige’s words. “Your mum.”

“And Lauren and Ryan,” Paige added. “They’re excited. My mum... she’s complicated. She’s always made me feel like I had to earn her approval just to exist in her version of my life.”

Azzi turned fully in Paige’s arms now, reaching up to brush a damp piece of hair away from her forehead. “You don’t have to prove anything to her.”

“I know,” Paige said. “But it doesn’t stop me from trying.”

There was another pause, quieter this time. Paige drew in a slow breath, her fingers unconsciously brushing the back of Azzi’s hoodie.

“I was thinking,” she said, voice low. “If... if you wanted to, maybe you could meet them. After the game.”

Azzi blinked. “Are you sure?”

Paige nodded, eyes steady. “You let me into your world. I want to let you into mine. I don’t want you to ever think I’m hiding you.”

Azzi smiled faintly, but her heart flipped at the softness in Paige’s voice. “Okay,” she said. “Then I’ll be there. But only if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Paige said. “Even if it goes sideways. I want you there.”

Azzi reached up and tucked another piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “You’re braver than you think, you know that?”

“I fake it well,” Paige murmured.

Azzi leaned in and kissed her—soft, brief, grounding. When she pulled back, her thumb traced a light line along Paige’s jaw.

“You’re not faking it with me.”

Paige’s lips curved. “Good. Because you’re the only one I’m trying to impress.”

They stood there like that for a beat longer—bodies pressed together, the rest of the locker room forgotten. Outside, voices started drifting back in. Practice stragglers returning. The noise of routine starting up again.

Azzi pulled back with a soft breath, adjusting her hoodie and slinging her gym bag over her shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “If we keep standing here, Nika’s gonna come back and announce to the whole team that we’re making out behind the lockers.”

Paige smirked. “Technically not making out. Yet.”

Azzi gave her a look. “Don’t start.”

“I never stop,” Paige teased, bumping her shoulder against Azzi’s as they walked out together.

--------------------

The post-practice buzz still hung in the air, sneakers squeaking behind them as teammates trickled out of the locker room in small groups. Paige and Azzi had slipped away quietly, walking shoulder-to-shoulder down the long hallway toward the loading dock exit—away from the noise, away from the eyes.

Paige bumped her hand against Azzi’s once, a soft press of skin that said I’m here more than anything else. Azzi was still grinning—tired, a little flushed, but light in a way she hadn’t been all week.

But before they could make it to the door, two familiar voices rang out behind them.

“Well, well, well,” Caroline called, boots tapping quickly as she caught up. “Trying to sneak away like you don’t owe us details?”

Paige gave Azzi an amused look. “Should I be worried?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was already smiling. “Apparently.”

“Don’t worry, Bueckers,” Ines added as she joined Caroline’s side. “We’ll return her in mostly one piece.”

Paige gave Azzi a mock salute. “Be strong,” she said dramatically before continuing down the hallway, hands in her hoodie pockets.

Azzi turned back to face her friends, knowing exactly what was coming.

“So,” Caroline said, folding her arms. “Is that post-practice glow or post-girlfriend glow?”

Azzi hesitated—just a beat—but the smile gave her away.

“She asked me last night,” she admitted softly. “It’s official.”

Caroline let out a tiny gasp. “Finally.”

Ines beamed. “I knew it. You’ve been moon-eyed for, like, well since you got here.”

“I know,” Azzi said, laughing quietly. “It’s kind of insane how fast everything’s shifted.”

“And yet,” Caroline said, stepping closer with a smile softening her voice, “you look... really happy.”

Azzi nodded, eyes warm. “I am. It’s still new, and we’re keeping it quiet for now—only KK and Nika know. So please…”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Ines said, hand to her chest. “Your secret’s safe. Until you decide otherwise.”

Caroline added, “But when you’re ready? We’re so ready to scream about it.”

Azzi laughed again, but her tone softened as she added, “You guys have really been there. With everything. I just—thank you.”

Ines reached out and squeezed her wrist gently. “You don’t have to thank us. You’ve been carrying so much alone for so long. You deserve this.”

Caroline nodded, then teased, “Also, now that it’s official, we’re demanding one cute couple photo per week.”

“No promises,” Azzi said with a smirk.

They stood there for a moment in the quiet of the hallway, just three girls with a shared history and now a secret more tender than anything they’d passed between them before.

“Alright,” Azzi finally said, glancing toward the exit. “I better catch up with her.”

Caroline gave a mock bow. “Go be gross and in love. But like... discreetly. For now. Even though you both are doing a terrible job at hiding it.”

Azzi grinned, jogging to catch up with Paige—her chest full in the best kind of way.

--------------------

The court thundered above them.

Muffled cheers pulsed through the concrete as the crowd settled into their seats, the energy rising like a storm about to break. Inside the tunnel, the team huddled in a tight semicircle, jerseys sharp, nerves sharper. Warm-ups were done. Tip-off was minutes away.

Coach had just wrapped up the final speech—something about grit and tempo, about poise when it mattered. Paige barely heard it.

Her heart was doing that thing again. That fluttering, stuttering, too-loud beat that always came when something was about to go wrong. Or right. Or both.

She stood near the back, half-listening, her fingers tapping against her thigh. Sweat already collected along the edge of her sports bra, but she hadn’t moved in minutes.

Azzi was beside her. Not touching, not looking—but there. That presence that made it easier to breathe.

Paige risked a glance upward toward the arena’s sideline section. The lights made it hard to see faces clearly, but she knew the seats—row G, center aisle. The ones she’d sent the tickets to out of obligation more than hope.

They were there.

Her mum, in a fitted sweater, blonde hair clipped back as always. Posture straight. Expression unreadable.

Lauren and Ryan flanked her—half siblings, half strangers. Both teens now. Taller. Older than the last time Paige had really seen them outside of awkward video calls and even more awkward holidays.

She hadn’t expected to feel this... flipped. Her stomach twisted like someone had cinched it tight.

A shoulder bumped hers—deliberate, grounding. Azzi.

Paige looked at her, just for a second. Azzi didn’t say anything. Just gave her a soft, knowing nod.

I’m here.

That was all it took.

Paige let out a slow breath, her jaw unclenching. She didn’t smile. Not yet. But her shoulders dropped half an inch. Enough.

Coach clapped his hands. “Let’s go, Huskies.”

The tunnel opened, and the team moved forward in a wave of muscle memory and adrenaline. As they lined up to run out, Paige found herself next to Azzi. They didn’t look at each other. Didn’t speak.

But just before they stepped into the light, Paige let her pinky brush Azzi’s. A whisper of contact.

Azzi glanced sideways, her face neutral to everyone else—but her eyes burned soft.

They ran onto the court.

The crowd erupted.

And the game was about to begin.

The game tipped off and immediately spun sideways.

Paige missed her first shot.

Then her second.

By the end of the first quarter, she was 0-for-5, her stat line a mess of hesitation and forced plays. Nothing fell clean. Her timing was off, her footwork just half a beat late. And it wasn’t just physical—her brain kept drifting. Every time she glanced into the stands and caught the silhouette of her mother, stone-faced in row G, her hands would tense. Her vision would narrow. The crowd’s noise would turn muddy and sharp at the same time.

The second quarter wasn’t much better. She made one bad pass, then another. Turned the ball over on a drive she normally would’ve coasted through. A timeout came and went with Coach barking something about composure and flow, but the words skidded right off Paige’s armor.

Azzi, on the other hand, was locked in. Unbothered. Efficient.

By halftime, she’d sunk six threes and was the only thing keeping the team from bleeding out. Her defense was sharp, rotations tighter than they’d been all season. She wasn’t playing angry—she was playing focused. Like something inside her had sharpened to a single point.

Paige felt it from across the court. Saw Azzi’s shoulders rise and fall with steadiness after every play. Watched the way she reset her feet, called for the switch, stuck to her player like it was clockwork.

Meanwhile, Paige was unraveling by inches.

The scoreboard read 42–36.

UConn down by six.

--------------------

Inside the locker room, the air was taut. Shoes squeaked on tiles. Ice bags slapped skin. Someone cursed under their breath.

Coach ran through adjustments like usual, but everyone knew where the real shift had to come from.

Paige sat on the bench, jersey clinging to her back, head in her hands. The door was still swinging from when Coach exited.

Azzi crossed the room without hesitation, grabbing Paige by the wrist. “Come with me.”

Paige blinked up, confused. “Wait—”

“Now.”

She pulled her into the hallway, then ducked them both into a side room—equipment storage, by the look of it. A rack of clean towels and a stack of unopened ball bags took up one wall.

The door to the equipment room clicked softly behind them.

For a second, all Paige could hear was the hum of the overhead light and the thrum of her own pulse. The space was cramped and dim—shelves lined with folded towels, stacked training gear, a mop bucket in the corner that hadn’t moved since October. But here, away from the locker room noise, away from Coach’s clipboard and the sound of shoes squeaking on tile, it felt like they could breathe.

Azzi didn’t say anything at first. She just looked at her.

Paige stood with her back against the shelving unit, arms crossed tight over her chest, jaw clenched like she was bracing for impact. Her ponytail was damp at the edges, cheeks flushed, her breath coming fast and shallow.

Azzi stepped closer. Quiet. Measured. “You okay?”

Paige let out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh. “Not really.”

Azzi didn’t flinch. “You look like you’re carrying a whole storm in your head.”

“I can’t stop thinking,” Paige admitted. “Every time I touch the ball, it’s like—she’s there. Watching. Judging.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Your mum.”

Paige’s arms tightened across her chest. “She has this way of making me feel like I’m never enough. Like everything I do still needs to be... more.”

She looked down, voice dropping. “I hate that I care.”

Azzi took another step. “You care because you’re human. Because you want it to matter.”

Paige didn’t respond, eyes still trained on the floor.

Azzi gently reached out, fingers brushing Paige’s forearm, then her wrist, until their hands were barely linked. “Can I say something?”

Paige nodded, a little hesitant.

“You’re enough,” Azzi said, slow and certain. “Right now. Missing shots. Losing confidence. All of it. You’re still you.”

She tilted her head, catching Paige’s eyes. “And I’ve never met anyone more capable of flipping a game on its head when it counts.”

Paige’s lip tugged upward. Barely.

“But what if I can’t get out of it?” she asked. “What if I’ve already blown it?”

Azzi smirked. “Then let’s try something different.”

She stepped fully into Paige’s space now, eyes bright but steady. “Don’t play for her. Or for Coach. Or for the Scouts.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Play for you and if not for you, play for me.”

Paige blinked. “You?”

Azzi grinned. “Your girlfriend.”

The word landed like a spark.

Paige’s whole body seemed to react—posture loosening, face softening, heartbeat settling into a rhythm she hadn’t felt since warmups. “Say it again.”

Azzi slid her hands up Paige’s sides, settling just above her hips, fingers curling into the fabric of her jersey. “Girlfriend.”

Paige’s hands found Azzi’s waist in return, her thumbs slipping under the edge of her shirt, just enough to feel skin. “That still feels illegal to hear,” she whispered.

Azzi chuckled. “Then consider me a repeat offender.”

Paige grinned—crooked, hungry. “She sounds hot.”

“She’s incredibly hot,” Azzi deadpanned. “But she has high standards, so you might want to step it up.”

They stood there like that for a moment—close enough to share breath, close enough that Paige’s nose almost brushed Azzi’s cheek. The tension between them shifted—less panic now, more heat. Flirty. Dangerous.

“I need a good luck kiss,” Paige murmured, fingers tightening on Azzi’s waist.

Azzi raised an eyebrow, amused. “Is that your new pre-game ritual?”

“Only with you.”

With a soft sigh, Azzi leaned in and brushed her lips against Paige’s. It was a slow kiss—tender, but charged. Like everything unsaid between them was humming just under the surface.

But Paige wasn’t done.

She deepened it, mouth parting slightly, tugging Azzi closer with a low sound in the back of her throat. Her tongue just barely traced Azzi’s bottom lip before Azzi pulled back with a shaky laugh, both of them breathless now.

“You’re impossible,” Azzi said, eyes fluttering open. “This is not the time to seduce me.”

“You’re the one who called me your girlfriend in a storage closet,” Paige teased.

Azzi grinned, cheeks warm. “Win the game,” she said, smoothing Paige’s jersey. “And we’ll pick up where you left off.”

“That a promise?”

Azzi leaned in, lips brushing the shell of Paige’s ear. “Win. And find out.”

Paige groaned, tilting her head back like she was in pain. “You’re cruel.”

“And you’re gonna drop twenty in the second half, because you love showing off for me.”

Paige laughed—real this time. Her chest felt lighter, steadier.

“God, I want you,” she murmured.

Azzi kissed her one more time—quicker this time. Just enough to anchor her. “Then go show me.”

Paige pulled the door open, already recharged.

This time, when she walked back toward the team, she wasn’t running from the noise.

She was chasing the win.

--------------------

The second half tipped off and Paige was a different person.

She ran the floor like a storm. Hit her first pull-up jumper, then a three. Her handles were tighter, her cuts sharper. She moved without second-guessing, fed Azzi clean assists, then called her own number again and again.

Azzi played like clockwork beside her—syncing in step, anchoring every play.

The scoreboard flipped.

Then stretched.

By the final buzzer, it wasn’t even close.

UConn 86 – Notre Dame 68.

Paige jogged off the court drenched in sweat, chest heaving, her body humming from the inside out.

She looked toward the crowd again—toward her mother, still seated, still unreadable.

But this time... she didn’t flinch.

Because just behind the bench, Azzi caught her gaze and winked.

And Paige smiled.

The hallway outside the locker room buzzed with post-game energy — players greeting families, coaches shaking hands, teammates trading sweaty towels for oversized hoodies and warmup gear. The scent of floor polish still clung faintly to the air, cut with the tang of popcorn and Gatorade.

Paige hovered just past the end of the tunnel, her jersey tucked under her warm-up hoodie, her curls still damp at the edges. Her body was loose from the win, adrenaline still humming through her blood. But her stomach twisted as she scanned the small clump of people waiting near the railing.

There they were.

Her mother stood at the edge, her posture straight, expression unreadable. Blonde hair tucked neatly behind her ears, designer bag perched on one arm like it might shield her from the chaos. Beside her stood Ryan and Lauren — both taller than Paige remembered, both in UConn gear that looked recently bought. Lauren gave a little wave when she saw her.

Paige made herself walk.

“Hi,” she said, voice soft as she approached.

Her mother stepped forward and gave her a quick hug. The kind of hug that was more of a pat. “Congrats,” she said. “Though the first half was rough.”

Paige’s shoulders twitched, just slightly. “Yeah.”

“You can’t afford halves like that, Paige,” her mum continued, eyes sharp now. “Not with WNBA scouts watching. It doesn’t matter how strong your finish is if they’ve already written you off.”

“Mum,” Ryan cut in, his voice a low warning.

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Seriously. She played amazing.”

“I’m just being honest,” her mother said coolly, like it was a service. “It’s not personal.”

But it was. It always was.

Paige swallowed the sting that crept up the back of her throat and smiled tightly at her siblings instead. “You guys made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Lauren said, pulling her into a proper hug.

Ryan followed, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You totally cooked them in the second half.”

Paige finally exhaled, just a little. “Thanks.”

A few feet away, Azzi lingered near the wall. She hadn’t meant to listen. But the voices weren’t exactly hushed, and she’d caught enough — the tone, the bite. Her heart pinched. Paige didn’t deserve that, not now. Not ever.

When Paige’s eyes found hers, Azzi lifted her chin in silent question.

You want me to come over?

Paige gave the faintest nod.

She turned back to her family as Azzi approached, hand already sliding into Paige’s without hesitation.

Her mother’s eyes clocked the gesture immediately.

“Mum,” Paige said, voice more grounded now. “This is Azzi. My... girlfriend.”

There it was. Out in the open. No take-backs. Paige’s heart thudded once, loud and final.

Her mum’s mouth pressed into a neutral line. “Nice to meet you.”

Azzi extended her hand politely, composed but cautious. “You too. Paige played incredibly.”

There was a small pause, and Paige could feel her mother weighing every syllable. But she said nothing more.

Ryan, thankfully, broke the tension. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Lauren elbowed him. “Damn, Paige. You pulled Azzi Fudd? No way.”

Azzi laughed, genuinely this time. “We’re a package deal now, apparently.”

“Well, I approve,” Lauren said easily, grinning as she stepped forward to give Azzi a quick hug. “You’re way cooler than her.”

Ryan offered his fist. “Respect.”

Azzi bumped it, then glanced sideways as Paige visibly relaxed next to her.

“Thanks for coming,” Paige said, her voice now directed to all three of them — but clearly not her mother. “It meant a lot.”

Her mum gave a clipped nod. “We’ll let you get back to your team. Just… think about what I said, okay?”

Paige didn’t respond. Just turned back toward the tunnel, Azzi already moving in step beside her.

They walked in silence for a few beats, footsteps echoing on the concrete.

“You okay?” Azzi asked softly.

Paige shrugged. “I guess. It’s always like that.”

Azzi squeezed her hand, didn’t push.

As they slipped back into the warmth and noise of the locker room hallway, Paige tugged gently at Azzi’s wrist, stopping her just shy of the door.

“Thank you,” she said, voice thick with something heavier. “For being there.”

Azzi’s expression softened. “Always.”

They stood close for another breath, then stepped into the post-win chaos.

The game was over. But something bigger had just begun.

--------------------

The locker room was still buzzing, a whirl of post-game adrenaline and victory noise that hadn’t fully settled into celebration yet. Shoes squeaked against the tile, someone’s speaker kept skipping between songs, and KK was already halfway into planning the night out at Ted’s.

“Ted’s, ten o’clock. Don’t ghost me this time!” she called over the ruckus, pointing at Aaliyah like it was a dare.

Azzi laughed lightly, pulling her hoodie over her head. She reached into her locker for her bag, slinging it over one shoulder just as Paige glanced over from the other side of the room, her smile soft but tired. There was something in her expression — a flicker of thought still clinging to her like static, even as the rest of the team rode the high.

She caught Azzi’s eye and tilted her head toward the hallway.

Azzi nodded.

They slipped out without needing to say anything, the door swinging shut behind them. The corridor was quieter, cooler — a reprieve from the sweaty rush of bodies and too-loud music. Paige’s sneakers scuffed against the floor as they walked in step toward the back exit, neither of them speaking yet, like the silence was still stretching itself out.

--------------------

Outside, the air had the sharp edge of late evening, the sky already dark, the parking lot scattered with campus lights. Azzi’s car sat in its usual spot, and when they reached it, she opened the back door to toss in her bag. A crumpled drawing caught Paige’s eye — a sparkly unicorn with a purple mane and gold stars everywhere, half-folded in the cupholder.

Paige leaned in, brushing her fingers over the page with a small smile. “She really committed to the glitter, huh?”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “It’s been banned from three rooms in the house already.”

Paige carefully straightened the paper, tucking it a little neater into the holder before gently closing the door.

Azzi watched her, leaning casually against the car. “You’re kind of hot when you do that, you know.”

Paige turned, brow raised, amused. “What? Fix glitter bomb casualties?”

Azzi shrugged, arms crossed loosely. “Domestic Paige. Calm. Confident. Good with kids. Bit of a forearm flex. It’s working.”

Paige stood slowly, letting the door swing shut behind her. “So much for subtle.”

Azzi took a step closer, grinning now. “Please. You introduced me to your mum with a hand-hold and the words ‘my girlfriend.’ Pretty sure we skipped subtle.”

Paige groaned, pressing her hand to her face. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, I liked it,” Azzi said, her tone suddenly softer. “You didn’t hesitate.”

Paige dropped her hand and met her gaze. “You’ve let me into your world, Az. I didn’t want you thinking I’d hide you from mine.”

Azzi’s throat tightened, but she didn’t look away. “Even though… your mum…”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured. “Even though.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Paige leaned in just slightly, enough that her words dropped to a murmur between them.

“So. About halftime.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“You said if I won the game, we could finish what I started.”

Azzi smirked, biting her lip like she was trying not to smile. “I did say that.”

Paige stepped even closer, hands ghosting over Azzi’s waist like she was trying not to push her luck. “I’d argue I over-delivered. Pretty sure I didn’t miss a single shot that second half.”

“You were on fire,” Azzi said, letting her fingers trail up Paige’s arm, slow and light. “I might’ve gotten a little hot watching you.”

Paige’s grin turned devilish. “A little?”

Azzi leaned in until their noses brushed. “You were showing off.”

“I was motivated,” Paige whispered. “You kissed me. Told me I had to earn the rest.”

“I didn’t think you’d try to win the whole damn game.”

Paige let out a breath of a laugh. “Well... did it work?”

Azzi didn’t answer. She just kissed her — slow, deep, tasting of adrenaline and something sweeter beneath it. Her hands found Paige’s waist, pulling her in. Paige let her fingers tangle gently in Azzi’s hoodie, returning the kiss with just enough heat to make them both forget the parking lot for a second.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

Paige murmured, “Are you still calling for Ruby’s bedtime routine? I don’t wanna miss it.”

Azzi gave a breathless laugh. “You’re going out.”

“I can still talk to my favorite unicorn.”

“Sparklehorn’s flattered.”

“And her mum?”

Azzi tilted her head, eyes flickering with fondness. “Equally flattered.”

Paige brushed her nose along Azzi’s. “Good.”

Azzi kissed her cheek, then pulled away gently, already reaching for her keys. “Don’t get too drunk.”

“No promises,” Paige called as she stepped backward, her smile lazy and fond. “But if I do, you better answer my drunk FaceTime.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You planning something?”

“You’ll see.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing. “Bye, baby.”

“Still not over how good that sounds.”

Paige turned, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair still damp, her whole body buzzing with the high of the game and the kiss and the girl she couldn’t stop wanting more of.

As she disappeared into the gym entrance, Azzi stood for a moment by her car, hand on the handle, grinning like she couldn’t help it.

--------------------

The night was humid and heavy with the scent of beer, sweat, and cheap perfume. The inside of Ted’s throbbed like a living, breathing thing—basslines rolling through the floorboards, bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the air hot and crackling with post-win chaos. Lights pulsed like a heartbeat above the crowd.

Paige stumbled a little as she edged out from the booth, mumbling something about “needing air” to Nika, who barely noticed over the sound of Aaliyah screeching at someone to take another shot.

Her oversized white tee clung slightly to the sweat along her spine. Black cargo pants slouched low on her hips, her silver cross swinging as she pushed her way past the bar crowd. A bead of condensation slipped from her half-drunk glass and rolled down her wrist. She didn’t finish it. Didn’t want to. Her mouth tasted too bitter, her head already foggy.

The alley behind Ted’s was blessedly quiet.

Paige shoved the door open with her shoulder, blinking into the low light as the music dimmed behind her like someone had turned down the world. The air outside was cool against her flushed skin. She leaned back against the wall, the bricks rough against her spine, exhaling slowly like she’d been holding her breath inside for hours.

Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could even check it.

Incoming FaceTime: Azzi 

Her thumb barely hesitated. She answered immediately, pressing the phone up, breath hitching just a little.

Azzi’s face filled the screen — soft-lit from Ruby’s bedroom, cheeks pink and eyes already a little sleepy. Her curls were pulled back into a loose bun, and the neckline of her worn UConn tee dipped low as she shifted into frame, propped up on one elbow.

“Hey Baby,” she said, voice honeyed and low. “You drunk?”

Paige grinned, too wide and too honest. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy, words just a little too slow. “Only enough to make you look even prettier than usual. That’s like… dangerous levels.”

Azzi laughed, biting her lip. “You look good too.”

Paige wobbled a bit on her feet, pressed her free hand to the wall to steady herself. “You should see me try to walk in a straight line. It’s art.”

Before Azzi could respond, a high-pitched squeal cut through the audio, and a tiny blur of motion barreled onto the screen.

“MAMA! I wanna say it!”

Azzi turned, already smiling. “Say hi, baby.”

And then Ruby was there — cheeks pink from sleep, curls wild around her face, holding Sparklehorn like a treasured relic. She squinted into the camera, face lighting up.

“PAIGEY!”

Paige’s grin softened instantly, heart lurching behind her ribs.

“Hi, Roo. Did Sparklehorn have a good day?”

Ruby nodded with intense seriousness, lifting the unicorn like a trophy. “Sparklehorn say hiiiii.”

“Hi, Sparklehorn,” Paige said, adjusting her grip on the phone. Her hand was a little shaky. “You were very brave today.”

“Okay Paigey, you say goodnight to Sparklehorn first,” Ruby instructed, face inches from the camera, eyes narrowed like this was the law.

Paige giggled — actually giggled — as she obeyed. “Goodnight, Sparklehorn. Sleep tight.”

Ruby looked satisfied. “Now me.”

“Goodnight, Roo,” Paige said, voice dipping gentle and warm, every drunken haze burned off for this one tiny moment. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

Ruby blinked. “I see you morrow?”

Paige’s throat caught. Just a little. She blinked quickly, like that would stop the warmth pooling behind her eyes. “I hope so.”

Azzi gave a knowing little smile, then shifted the phone to the bedside table and stood. Paige watched — phone now tilted at an angle — as Azzi bent over Ruby’s bed, tucking her in, brushing curls off her daughter’s forehead with a touch so tender it made Paige ache. Her chest clenched. Her eyes were way too wet for how drunk she was.

Azzi whispered something Paige couldn’t hear. Ruby clutched Sparklehorn closer. Then Azzi picked up the phone again and padded quietly into her room, shutting the door behind her.

She curled up in bed, blanket pulled to her chest, the light dim and soft behind her.

Still smiling, she asked, “Still there?”

Paige nodded, sliding down the brick wall until she was sitting on the concrete, knees drawn up, phone held tight in both hands. “Still here,” she murmured. Her voice had gone raspy.

They stared at each other through the screen.

“Baby I miss you,” Paige said suddenly. Raw. Blunt. True.

Azzi didn’t blink. “I miss you more.”

Paige's eyes flicked down, then back up. The alcohol made it impossible to pretend. “I wanna fall asleep next to you.”

Azzi blinked slowly. “Yeah?”

“I just…” Paige sighed, ran a hand through her hair and stared up at the starless sky. “Right now, the only thing I want is to touch you.”

There was a pause. Then a sly smile curled Azzi’s lips.

“Damn. Drunk makes you horny.”

Paige groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—well I did—but not in like a gross way.”

Azzi just laughed. Soft, real.

“I just miss being near you,” Paige admitted, looking up again. “The way you smell. The way you look at me like you actually see me.”

Azzi’s teasing faded at that.

“I know we should be taking it slow,” Paige went on, voice wobbling now, “and I want to — I want to get this right. But tonight… I don’t wanna be alone.”

And then she sniffed.

Once. Twice.

And tears spilled over before she could stop them.

“God, I’m such a fucking mess,” Paige mumbled, wiping her face, laughing wetly

Azzi stared through the screen, something shifting behind her eyes — that look Paige had started to recognise. Protective. Certain. Softened only by affection.

Then came the words: “Fuck it. Come stay with me tonight.”

Paige blinked, thrown for a second.

“You sure?” she asked, the words almost slurring, low and hopeful.

Azzi nodded once. “Yeah. I want you here.”

Something unraveled in Paige’s chest. She exhaled slowly, like she’d been waiting to be told she was wanted all night.

“I miss your face,” she said. “I miss your voice. I miss—” She caught herself. “Okay, I miss everything. Even the way you call me out for being dramatic.”

Azzi smirked. “You are dramatic.”

“And yet here you are,” Paige said, flashing a crooked smile, “inviting all this drama into your peaceful home.”

Azzi tilted her head on the pillow. “You’re worth the chaos.”

Paige just about melted. She leaned her head back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering closed. “You say things like that and then expect me to behave.”

Azzi’s laughter was low and fond. “You’ve never behaved a day in your life.”

Paige grinned. “True. But I’m on my best behavior around your kid. You should reward me.”

“Oh?” Azzi raised an eyebrow, playing along. “What kind of reward are we talking?”

Paige smirked. “Dunno. Maybe a kiss. Or three. Or a whole night tangled up in your sheets—”

Azzi cut her off with a laugh, flushing even as she tried to play it cool. “Babe.”

“What?” Paige blinked innocently. “I’m just brainstorming.”

“You’re horny brainstorming.”

“I prefer the term romantic visualising.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, cheeks pink. “You’re lucky I’m into you.”

“God,” Paige said, hand dragging through her hair again. “You have no idea how much I want to be there already.”

“Your Uber better not crash,” Azzi warned. “You’re not allowed to die before you cuddle me.”

“Cuddle,” Paige repeated. “Right. That’s what we’re calling it.”

Azzi laughed again. “You’re unbelievable.”

Paige let the words wash over her like sunlight. “You like me unbelievable.”

Azzi didn’t deny it. Her expression turned more serious—warm, not heavy. “You looked so sad earlier. I hated seeing that.”

Paige’s grin faltered, just for a second. “It’s just… sometimes I get too in my head. Especially around my mum. I get small.”

Azzi softened. “You never have to be small with me.”

Paige’s chest tightened again, not in the anxious way, but something steadier. Like safety, curling around her ribs.

“Az,” she murmured, voice going thick again. “You make me feel like I could be... more.”

Azzi smiled quietly. “That’s because you already are.”

There was a pause. A soft, breathless hush that neither of them felt the need to fill.

Then Paige looked back at her screen and grinned again, cheeky. “I’m bringing cookies.”

Azzi blinked. “For me or Ruby?”

“Technically Ruby. But I figured you’d steal at least one.”

Azzi smirked. “You know me well.”

“I’m getting there,” Paige said, and her voice went low again—almost reverent. “And I want to know everything.”

Azzi swallowed. “You will.”

They stayed like that for a few more seconds — just looking. Letting the moment stretch.

“I’m gonna hang up,” Paige whispered finally. “So I don’t ugly cry in front of you again.”

Azzi grinned. “Too late.”

“Shut up,” Paige said, smiling as she ended the call.

She stood still for a moment, phone against her chest, before stepping out into the street to meet her ride. And her girl

--------------------

"Wait—stop here.”

The Uber driver barely glanced at Paige in the rearview mirror before slowing down in front of the 24-hour convenience store. Paige, already unbuckling her seatbelt with too much enthusiasm, leaned forward like the car was a rocket ship and she was the pilot.

“I gotta get cookies. And ice cream. And something pink.”

The driver blinked. “You’ve got three minutes.”

Paige held up two fingers with dramatic flair. “Deal.”

She half-jogged inside, tipsy steps slightly uneven, stumbling through the aisles with surprising focus. She grabbed a box of mini chocolate chip cookies, paused in front of the freezer to pick out a pint of chocolate fudge ice cream, then made a beeline for the sad little bouquet rack near the door.

“Too red,” she mumbled. “Too fake. Too yellow. Ew.”

Her hand hovered over a bundle of soft purple spray roses — pale, sweet, just a little messy.

“Perfect.”

She checked out in a blur of crinkled notes and thank-yous, then burst back into the car like she’d just finished a heist.

“Mission accomplished,” she grinned, breathless. “Ruby’s gonna love me.”

The driver just shook his head and pulled back onto the road.

--------------------

By the time the car rolled up outside Azzi’s house, Paige’s buzz had shifted — softer now, threaded with nerves and the lingering ache of missing her. She stared up at the porch light for a second too long before pulling out her phone.

Paige: here

Paige: I come bearing snacks and flowers

Paige: don’t let me fall into your garden bush pls

The door creaked open within seconds.

Azzi stood there barefoot in grey sweatpants and a UConn hoodie, eyes sleepy but smile blooming the second she saw her. Her arms crossed under her chest, head tilted.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, voice low and fond.

Paige wobbled toward her, shoving the bouquet out first like an offering. “These are for you. Cookies for Roo. Ice cream is technically for both, but I feel like you’ll end up eating most of it.”

Azzi took the flowers with a soft grin, fingers brushing Paige’s. “Thanks, drunky.”

“I’m not that drunk,” Paige said, immediately tripping on the second step.

Azzi caught her by the elbow with a laugh. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

Once inside, Azzi quietly shut the door behind them. The house was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen nightlight down the hall. Paige slipped off her Jordans with a grunt, bending down and completely losing her balance in the process.

A loud thud echoed through the foyer.

“Shhhh—” Azzi hissed, reaching down to help her, but it was too late.

From down the hallway, a door creaked open. Footsteps padded across the wood floor.

Tim appeared first, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Katie followed right behind in a long robe and slippers, blinking at the scene in front of them: Paige, flushed and red-faced, one shoe off, cookie box in one hand, the other bracing herself against the wall like it might start spinning.

“Oh,” Paige said, straightening fast and standing like she’d just been caught by a teacher. “Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Katie’s eyes flicked from the flowers to the cookies to Azzi’s expression, then back to Paige. “Everything okay?”

Azzi nodded once, firm but kind. “She was upset. I told her to come.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “She seems... spirited.”

“She brought ice cream,” Azzi added dryly.

“Then she’s welcome,” Tim said, already turning back toward the hall. “Goodnight, girls.”

Katie lingered for a beat longer. “Get some water in her.”

“Yes, Mum,” Azzi muttered.

Paige gave them a little wave as they disappeared. “Sorry. Again. I promise I’m not normally like this.”

“You kinda are,” Azzi said, closing the front door and locking it. “Just with less alcohol.”

As soon as the hallway emptied, Paige perked back up.

“Okay,” she said, voice low and mischievous. “Now that the parentals are gone—”

She stepped forward and hooked her arms around Azzi’s waist, clearly intending to lift her.

“Nope,” Azzi said immediately, bracing herself. “Don’t you dare—”

“Come on,” Paige whined. “Let me carry you to bed like the strong, protective girlfriend I am.”

“You can barely stand.”

“Your lack of trust is honestly offensive.”

Azzi laughed and grabbed Paige’s hand instead. “Come on, drunky.”

They padded down the hall to Azzi’s room, quiet except for the creak of the floorboards and the occasional squeak of Paige’s socks on the hardwood. Azzi opened her door gently — Ruby’s unicorn night light still casting soft pink stars across the wall from her room next door.

Once inside, Paige didn’t waste time. She pulled Azzi in close the second the door clicked shut behind them, wrapping her arms around her from behind and pressing slow kisses along her neck, her jaw, her shoulder.

Azzi melted against her for a moment, hands resting over Paige’s, before gently pushing her back.

“Shhh,” she whispered. “You’re being loud.”

“I’m being loving.”

“You’re being handsy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Azzi turned around, one eyebrow raised. “You’re literally half falling over.”

“Then help me,” Paige said, all innocent eyes and terrible balance.

Azzi shook her head but couldn’t hide the smile. She crossed to her dresser, pulled out an oversized UConn shirt and a pair of soft sweatpants, and held them out. “Bathroom. Go change.”

Paige stared at the clothes, then at her. “I need help.”

Azzi narrowed her eyes. “Paige.”

“I’m drunk. And also stupid. And I don’t know how to do pants.”

Azzi huffed but walked over anyway. “Fine.”

She helped Paige out of her shirt first, biting her lip when Paige deliberately stretched like she was on a magazine cover.

“Stop that,” Azzi muttered.

“Stop what?” Paige asked innocently. “Existing?”

“You’re the worst.”

Next came the pants — Azzi helping her step out while Paige absolutely did not help, choosing instead to run her hands up Azzi’s thighs in the process.

“Seriously,” Azzi said, cheeks pink. “Do you want me to dress you or make out with you?”

“Both.”

Azzi stood, shaking her head as she yanked the sweatpants up over Paige’s hips. “What happened to, ‘I didn’t mean—well I did—but not in like a gross way’?”

Paige grinned. “Okay... maybe I lied.”

Azzi tried not to laugh. Failed. “Come on, drunky.”

She grabbed Paige’s hand and pulled her toward the bed. Paige flopped onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh, and Azzi climbed in after her. The moment her head hit the pillow, Paige turned, sliding an arm around Azzi’s waist and burying her face in her neck.

Azzi smiled, already relaxing into the warmth of it.

“You smell like the bar,” she mumbled.

“You smell like heaven,” Paige replied.

Azzi chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Within seconds, Paige had melted into her, leg hooked over Azzi’s, breath slowing.

Azzi closed her eyes and nestled in closer.

This—this right here—was worth every step it took to get here.

Even the drunk ones.

--------------------

The house was quiet in the way only 3 a.m. could offer — not silent, exactly, but still. The kind of stillness that pressed soft against the walls, stretched through doorways, curled into corners. A clock ticked faintly in the kitchen down the hall. The refrigerator hummed. Somewhere outside, a branch scraped lazily against the gutter.

Inside Azzi’s room, everything was warm.

The glow from the unicorn nightlight down the hall barely reached under the door, but it was enough to cast soft shadows along the edge of the bed. The covers had twisted slightly in sleep, kicked off Paige’s legs and pooled around their waists, tangled where their bodies had naturally folded toward each other.

Paige stirred first — not because she meant to, but because her body somehow always knew when it was near something it wanted to hold. Her lashes fluttered, breath slow, still thick with sleep. Her head was turned to the right, nose nearly brushing the pillow. Azzi was pressed in so close it took Paige a moment to realize where her arm ended and Azzi’s began.

Azzi had curled into her at some point, unconsciously or not — one leg thrown over Paige’s thigh, her hand balled under her own cheek, her mouth parted slightly in sleep. Her breath came in steady waves, chest rising and falling against Paige’s side. The hem of her hoodie had ridden up slightly, revealing a sliver of smooth skin at her waist. Paige could feel the warmth of her everywhere — tucked into the crook of her body like they’d been doing this for years.

Paige didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

She just stared.

Her heart twisted, then swelled, a slow ache spreading through her ribs like warmth from a fire too close. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything like this — Azzi, utterly at peace, body soft and slack with sleep, face angled toward her like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there.

She couldn’t help herself.

Gently, Paige reached up and brushed a loose curl from Azzi’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear with the softest touch. Her fingertips lingered there — just for a second — tracing the shell of Azzi’s ear, then moving back to brush a knuckle down her jaw.

Azzi stirred.

A small frown flickered across her brow before her eyes cracked open, slow and bleary. She blinked once, then again, pupils adjusting in the low light. Paige held her breath as Azzi focused in on her.

“Babe?” Azzi whispered, voice raspy with sleep, like it caught somewhere in her throat.

Paige smiled, barely more than a breath. “Hey.”

Azzi shifted, lifting her head slightly. Her hand slid across Paige’s stomach, fingertips brushing the soft cotton of the shirt she’d helped her into earlier. Her brows furrowed in that way they always did when she was waking — like she was trying to figure out what dream she’d just left behind.

Paige didn’t wait for her to fully wake. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

Azzi’s mouth parted like she wanted to respond, but Paige was already leaning in, brushing her lips over Azzi’s with a kiss that was gentle at first — feather-light, barely pressure. Azzi hummed softly, responding without words, and then shifted closer. The second kiss was slower, deeper. A little hungrier.

Paige’s hand found the back of Azzi’s neck, fingers threading into her curls. Azzi climbed up without thinking — her body moving instinctively, half-straddling Paige’s waist now, one knee pressed into the mattress beside her hip. Their mouths moved together like gravity was in charge, not thought. Azzi’s hoodie sleeves fell past her hands as she braced herself on either side of Paige’s shoulders, her breath now quicker, lips parted.

Paige groaned softly when Azzi rolled her hips just slightly, like testing a theory. Her hands slid down to Azzi’s waist, then lower, cupping the curve of her ass as she pulled her in tighter. Azzi gasped, fingers digging into the sheets beside Paige’s head.

“We really—” Azzi breathed between kisses, “—shouldn’t be doing this.”

Paige’s laugh was low and broken. “We really shouldn’t. Not with Ruby... and your parents... right there.”

But neither of them stopped.

Azzi kissed her again, more desperately this time, tongue sliding against hers with heat and need and something deeper Paige didn’t have a name for yet. Paige’s hand slid beneath the hem of Azzi’s hoodie, fingers skimming hot skin, gripping her tighter. Her other hand slid up Azzi’s back, under the fabric, and settled between her shoulder blades.

Azzi ground down slightly, her breath catching, her lips dragging down Paige’s neck now, open-mouthed and slow. Paige arched up into her, hands greedy now, mouth whispering something unintelligible against Azzi’s shoulder.

“I wanna see you,” Paige whispered, voice wrecked with want. She tugged at the edge of the hoodie, fingertips sliding beneath it to start lifting it.

But then—

Tap tap tap.

Tiny feet. Light. Familiar.

Azzi froze. Every muscle in her body locked into place.

Paige’s eyes widened as Azzi jerked upright and rolled off her like someone had hit pause on reality. Paige sat up halfway, breath still caught somewhere in her throat, eyes wide and hazy.

“What—?” she started, but Azzi held a finger to her lips.

They listened.

The soft patter again. Then the door creaked.

And there, standing in the soft spill of hallway light, was a tiny figure in purple pajamas, one arm dragging Sparklehorn behind her, hair mussed and face still puffy with sleep.

Ruby.

She rubbed her eyes with one hand, then blinked up at the bed. Her gaze landed on Paige — now clearly visible, sitting up, flushed and tousled, half-tucked beneath the covers. Her whole face lit up like a switch had been flipped.

But then it fell.

“You didn’t tell me ‘bout sleepover,” she mumbled, eyes going shiny, lip trembling just slightly. “I wanted come too…”

Azzi, still breathless, still pink, sat up and reached her arms out. “Baby, we didn’t mean to leave you out. Come here.”

Ruby stood still for another beat, clearly torn between feeling left out and the joy of seeing Paige.

Then, finally, she toddled forward and climbed up onto the bed without hesitation, wedging herself between them like she’d done it a hundred times.

Azzi shifted to make room, pulling the blanket up. Ruby curled against Paige instinctively, head on her chest, Sparklehorn tucked under one arm.

Paige swallowed thickly, heart still racing for reasons completely different now. She glanced over at Azzi, who met her gaze with a flush and a small, helpless smile.

Paige wrapped one arm around Ruby, letting the moment settle. Azzi leaned in close, brushing a hand over her daughter’s back.

And just like that — the heat from before faded into something else. Not lesser. Just... transformed.

Softer.

Wiser.

Real.

And Paige, still aching, still stunned, let herself breathe through it.

Because in the end, maybe this was the kind of intimacy that mattered more.

Maybe this was the kind of night she wanted to remember.

[kabsey]

As Rook finished drying the last plate Lucanis had handed her, he turned to the small coffee station he'd set up and grabbed his mug. A second later, the rolled-up dish towel snapped the back of his hand. As the mug slipped from his grasp, Rook swooped over and snatched it from the air, shoving it behind her back.

"Nope," she said. "No more coffee for you."

"Rook," he insisted, "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh." She raised an unimpressed eyebrow his direction. "And does your definition of fine include nodding off in the risotto?"

"I wasn't nodding off. I was... assessing the flavor palette."

"Uh-huh," she said again. "You're going to bed."

"Rook—"

She cut him off by addressing the rest of the room. "Hey, Spite?"

Spite immediately abandoned weaving his hands through the flames of the fireplace and zipped over to stand in front of her at full attention. "Yes!"

When Rook looked at Lucanis expectantly, he sighed and indicated the space to his left with a slight nod of his head.

"Spite," Rook said, addressing the spot, "I want you to come up to my room once Lucanis is asleep, okay?"

"Yes!" Spite shouted again, and Lucanis winced. No matter how many times he explained that increasing his volume would not allow Rook to hear him, he kept trying.

"You don't trust me?" Lucanis asked.

"With my life? Completely," Rook replied. "With your own health and well-being? Absolutely not."

She stepped forward to poke one finger into his chest. "And if he's not up there within thirty minutes, I'm coming back down with one of Viago's knockout potions."

The feel of her fingertip pressing the fabric of his shirt against his skin triggered an immediate memory of the moment they had almost kissed in the pantry. A second later, Rook seemed to remember it too; after glancing down at her finger, she suddenly pulled her hand back and stepped away from him, then tried to cover the moment with a bright smile.

"Thirty minutes," she said again, and she turned on her heel and began to walk toward the door. She held up the mug, dangling from the fingers of her other hand.

"And I'm keeping this until morning."

"We have other mugs," he called after her.

"But this one is your favorite," she taunted as she pushed open the door and stepped out into the courtyard.

Lucanis shook his head, but he found himself smiling, at least until Spite imposed himself between Lucanis and his view of the door and pointed an imperious finger at the pantry. Lucanis snorted, but he followed the unspoken order, to Spite's laughing delight. He had been sleeping more since they had come to a better understanding of each other, but he still didn't sleep well and doubted he ever would. And on more than once recent occasion, he and Rook had stayed up later than they should simply sitting together and sharing their thoughts and stories and details of their lives. Those moments he did not regret in the least, no matter how tired he might be.

Once inside the pantry, he unbuttoned his vest, unclasped his collar pins, and loosened his cravat. He stripped them off piece by piece and laid them carefully over a barrel that had become an impromptu dressing table. Beneath the bed, he kept a bag of spare clothes, including a worn-soft shirt and pants that were more comfortable for sleeping. But if Spite were going to see Rook...

He tried to remember the last person who would have seen him dressed for bed. Probably Illario when they were children. The thought of Rook seeing him like that was... not bad per se—not bad at all really—but it was a soft kind of intimacy that rarely appeared in any romance book and that stretched his feelings about her into a painful kind of longing. Somehow thinking of kissing her, of touching her, felt less dangerous than thinking of climbing into a shared bed at the end of a long day. So he settled for tugging off his boots and setting them beside his pallet before lying down. Even the sight of his stocking feet felt a bit too revealing.

"Put my boots on before you go outside," he told Spite.

Spite just flapped an annoyed hand at him, preoccupied with arranging a line of a dozen potatoes into an order that Lucanis could not decipher.

"And don't pester Rook."

Spite snapped to face him with a scowl. "She. Invited me."

"I know, but just... don't overstay your welcome. Don't be a bother."

With a sneer, Spite turned back to his potatoes. Lucanis sighed and rubbed his tired eyes with one hand. Lying down made his ever-present exhaustion seem to rise like a dammed puddle in a stream. Within a few deep breaths, it overflowed the banks of his consciousness, and as he slipped under, he heard Spite muttering to himself.

"I'm not. A bother. You're. A bother."

-------

When Lucanis next blinked his eyes open, it felt like only minutes had passed, but even without any windows (not that the light in the Fade changed much anyway), he could tell he had slept for some time. His mouth was dry, and his eyes felt gummy. He rubbed at them as he sat up and then knuckled his lower back with a wince. Maybe Rook was right about him needing a thicker bedroll for his palette. He reached up to comb his fingers through his hair—

—and froze when he encountered an obstacle. Feeling with his hand, he discovered his hair had been gathered in a small bun held by a leather cord.

"Spite?"

Spite appeared with a flash and a wide grin, as if he had been awaiting his cue, and Lucanis stared when he saw that even as a vision, Spite's hair was also tied up in a bun. Lucanis had never seen any part of Spite's appearance change. He hadn't known it could.

"Spite... did you tie up our hair?"

"No!" Spite crowed. "Rook did! Said it. Looked good!"

That statement was too much for Lucanis's sleep-bleary and confused mind to fully process.

"Why?" he asked.

"Handsome," Spite replied with a smug smile.

"No. I mean, why did she put our hair up?"

Spite shrugged. "Her hair down. Ours up."

"She had her hair down?"

At Spite's nod, Lucanis tried to remember if he had ever seen Rook without her hair piled in a messy bun on top of her head. Not a single instance came to mind.

"She looked good. Too," Spite said, which did nothing to temper the twist of a sad sort of jealousy in Lucanis's chest. "Looked pretty. Felt soft."

"You touched her hair? Did she say you could?" Lucanis demanded.

Spite scoffed at him. "Asked me to. Let me. Brush it."

Lucanis swallowed as the stab of longing he'd felt the night before returned tenfold. He looked down at his hands on his knees. Turning them palms up, he rubbed his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers. The nerves of his fingertips knew the feel of Rook's hair, the weight of it, the texture, and yet he had no conscious memory to hold on to. He'd been betrayed by his closest family, and now even his own body kept secrets from him.

He and Spite both looked to the door when they heard someone enter the dining hall beyond. Spite sniffed the air and smiled.

"Jasmine and chocolate," he announced, and then he disappeared through the wall.

That meant Rook, which was surprising; he didn't know what time it was, but he didn't hear anyone else, and Rook was rarely the first one awake. Lucanis stood slowly, plagued by a strange sort of nervousness that he thought he'd put behind him, at least as far as Rook was concerned. He chided himself—it wasn't as if anything untoward had happened—and quickly exited the pantry before he could consider staying hidden.

Rook smiled when she saw him, though as her smile slowly faded, he realized he was staring at her without a word. Her dark-brown hair tumbled down in lazy waves past her shoulders, nearly to her waist. For a brief flash, his mind tried to conjure how she would look clad in nothing but her hair, but he shook the fantasy away before he could become even more addled.

"Apologies," he said. "Your hair. I've never seen it down before."

"Oh," she laughed, and she tugged at it in a self-conscious gesture. "Yeah. I actually came to offer a trade." She held out his mug and pointed at the back of her own head where his bun sat on him. "I let Spite borrow that tie, and I can't find any others in my room right now."

"Of course," he replied, and he hurried to pull the cord loose from his own hair, wincing a bit when he managed to take some strands with it. He held it out to her, and their fingers brushed as they exchanged his mug for her cord.

"Thanks," she said and gestured at her hair again. "This isn't exactly practical for fighting or... anything really. I should probably just cut it, but..."

"But?" he prompted.

They stood close enough that she had to look up the few inches' difference in their heights. From the day he'd met her, the word he had thought to describe Rook was sharp—the way her eyes scanned a room, the way her blades whipped through their enemies, the way a quip or a laugh always seemed poised to pounce from her lips.

Looking up at him now, that honed edge seemed softened somehow. Lucanis didn't know if it was her hair or the early hour or the fact that it was just the two of them (and Spite) in the room. He hoped for the last.

Rook shrugged. "I like it. The way it looks, the way it feels." She smiled again. "I'd say it's vanity, but I'm generally the only one who sees it like this, so I'm not sure that applies."

"It's beautiful," he told her.

Her eyes dropped to the floor for just a breath—another glimpse of the person she was rather than the leader everyone needed her to be—before she lifted her chin with her usual smirk.

"You looked good too. If I find any of my other ties, I'll let you have one."

"Maybe," he hedged, and she laughed.

Then she bent at the waist and let her head hang down as she expertly gathered her hair and twisted it into its normal bun. She secured it with the leather cord and then popped up straight again, hands on her hips, back to the Rook that the rest of the world knew.

"We should start breakfast," she said. "And by us, I mean you. I'm starving."

Lucanis chuckled. "You aren't going to help at all?"

"I brought back your mug. Doesn't coffee help?"

"Coffee always helps."

They fell easily into banter that only picked up as the others arrived singularly or in pairs to start the day. But as he plated the food and she grabbed the dishes to bring to the table, she offered him a fond smile that replaced the ache of longing in his chest with a tenderness that felt deep enough to sink into, one that would put the finest mattress in Thedas to shame.

[folkwhoreberry]

Amongst Demigods⁵

A Change Of Plans

f1 x reader

or... the one where a little plot twist wouldn’t hurt, right?

word count : 664

warning : none, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : the tortured poets department by taylor swift

check masterlist for more parts of the series!!

🏛️🏎️

you don’t answer franco’s question right away. the words hang in the air like smoke, soft and lingering, while the lake reflects the pink-orange sky like nothing’s changed. but everything has. you’ve been claimed. the camp sees you differently now. the boys look at you differently now. and franco - well, franco’s sitting beside you like he’s holding his breath.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, voice quiet. “I need some time.”

he nods, gently, like he expected that. “I figured. just… had to say it.”

you give him a small smile, one that says thank you for being brave, and the two of you sit there a little longer, shoulders brushing.

but things don’t exactly go back to normal after that.

——————

in the days that follow, everything is heightened. lando finds you before breakfast just to walk you to the pavilion. oscar always manages to end up your sparring partner in sword practice - except he mysteriously “forgets” how to go easy, like you didn’t just get claimed by a literal god of the dead. daniel brings you snacks he “definitely didn’t steal from dionysus’ stash,” and charles… charles watches. from across the field, the dining area, the archery range. he watches you like you hold answers he’ll never get.

and franco? he gives you space.

he’s still around. he still smiles. but he doesn’t bring it up again. not yet.

one night, after a long day of drills and a brutal obstacle course (george bet five drachmae you’d beat alex - he won), you sneak away from the cabins. the woods are too loud, the campfire circle too crowded, and the lake too obvious. so you walk, past the strawberry fields and through the torch-lit paths, until you end up near the forge.

you don’t mean to see him. but there he is.

carlos.

shirt slightly damp with sweat, soot on his cheek, holding a freshly finished bronze dagger that glows faintly with celestial bronze. he doesn’t see you at first, too focused on the blade, but when he does, his eyes widen.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he says, not unkindly. “it’s late.”

“I could say the same to you,” you reply, stepping into the warm glow of the forge. “but I guess fire gods don’t sleep either.”

he chuckles, setting the dagger down. “you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure. “too many thoughts.”

“same,” he says. then, after a beat, “is it the five?”

you blink. “the five?”

“charles, lando, oscar, franco, daniel,” he lists casually. “you’re kind of their whole personality right now.”

you let out a tired laugh. “don’t remind me.”

carlos picks up a cloth and wipes his hands. “you ever think maybe they’re all wrong for you?”

you tilt your head, amused. “and you think you’re right?”

he shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “not saying I am. but I’m definitely not a follower.”

he takes a step closer. the forge’s glow dances on his face, softening his sharp features. “they circle around you like you’re some prize. I just think maybe someone should see you without the competition.”

you swallow. “and you think that’s you?”

he doesn’t answer - not with words, anyway.

he leans in slowly, gaze locked on yours. it’s deliberate, careful. and then he kisses you.

it’s different. not like lando’s lingering touches or franco’s gentle flirtations. not like oscar’s thoughtful glances or daniel’s confident nudges or even charles’ intense stares. it’s warm, grounding, a little messy with the scent of smoke and metal clinging to your clothes. and when he pulls back, your heart is racing.

you stare at him, lips still parted, stunned.

he smiles, cocky but quiet. “I’ll let you think about it.”

then he walks past you, leaving the forge behind, the faint scent of fire and bronze still in the air.

and you?

you just stand there, blinking, wondering how in the underworld carlos just became a very, very real problem. ————————————————————————————

© all rights reserved to folkwhoreberry. no stealing or copying will be tolerated.

a/n : fav series everrrr

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Mr. Ring-a-Ding x Reader - Chapter 1

Oh boy me and my poor impulse control again. I do plan on continuing this but it'll be more of a side project until I finish one of the fics I'm actively posting on ao3 atm. But have it anyway, cuz why not.

Reader will be gender-neutral, but a lot of Ring-a-Ding's nicknames will lean to what a lot of people would consider feminine. Doll, Sweetiepie, etc, and the word pretty will probably be used in later chapters. I mean all of this CAN be gender-neutral but if it's not your cup of tea please handle with care. :) Chapter 1 - Palazzo

The light of creation…

Lux had been everything, and yet nothing. It had lasted an eternity, yet had been over in a second. Eventually, he meets the fate that all immortal gods meet after achieving their machinations.

Boredom.

Boredom, boredom, boredom. The one true enemy of all immortals. Sure, sometimes they’ll play dead or sulk in some other realm for a time and let the mortals think they’ve won. Sometimes their power is so depleted it’s even necessary to do so, but those are temporary setbacks. In reality, the only real threat to those with infinite time is running out of things to fill it with.

So what to do?

He’ll have to start small, obviously. Nothing that would be worth recording, nothing that would become legend. Little more than a warm up--a simple dalliance.

He’ll start at the last place he’d been, in the only form he’s ever taken. The familiar is simple and as good a starting point as any for his little excursion.

Slowly, he gathers himself, pulling himself back to a singular point in space and time--where and when the Palazzo next plays the Mr. Ring-a-Ding reel.

Back to Miami, back to the Palazzo…and back to being Mr. Ring-a-Ding.

*

Cleaning out the projection booth isn’t supposed to be part of your job. Yet here you are, sweeping the dirt and grime that’s piled up after 73 years of the theater being abandoned. At least it’s winter, and a fairly cool winter at that, making the inside of the unairconditioned theater “muggy” rather than “unbearably hot and stuffy”.

The power itself is on, so there’s some lighting, though the majority of the light bulbs have long since burned out, leaving the place fairly dark, especially now that the sun has set.

You’ve been told to try to salvage whatever old equipment or “antiques” you might find. Your boss has even offered to split any proceeds 70/30 in your favor--your his “magnanimous” way of compensating you for the extra responsibilities.

Never mind that hauling the equipment, restoring it, and finding a buyer would probably be a part-time job in and of itself…one which, like your current job, won’t pay much, especially after the split.

But you can’t turn up your nose at it, either. So you go through the old books, papers, and machinery that lay scattered on the floors and shelves. Whatever antiques may have been worth anything probably are too ruined to sell at this point. The massive hole in the side of the building from the film closet exploding all those years ago had never been repaired, so the theater hadn’t exactly been shielded from the elements. Even the door to the projection room had eventually rotted and fallen away, leaving the room open to critters and even more dirt and leaves and detritus carried in by the wind.

You guess the projectors themselves are the only thing in the room that may be worth the effort of hauling anywhere but the dumpster. But they’re so covered in dirt and grime you can’t imagine that any of the interior mechanisms could possibly work.

…Do collectors of antique projectors even care if said projectors actually work? You suppose you’ll have to research that later. In any case, you’re sure anything worth anything would have been stolen by looters long ago.

So far you’ve been more focused on clearing away the obvious trash to clear a path to the projectors. Sweeping dirt, mud, and leaves off the floor, then clearing the broken bits of wood from the rotted shelves and what you guess used to be some kind of desk. Finally, there’s space to stand alongside the projectors so you can look them over.

They’re covered in grime, of course, but as you begin to wipe that away, you see they actually look to be in decent shape beneath it all. No sign of rusting or warping on the metal casing, which is surprising. You’d half expected the old things to go to pieces as soon as you’d touched them, but it seems--like a lot of old tech--they’re built fairly sturdy.

Though that doesn’t mean their inner workings are still operational, you remind yourself.

As you move to the second projector, your brow knits as you notice something.

There’s still a roll of film loaded into it. That’s not so surprising on its own--from what you’ve heard this place had been abandoned pretty hastily back in the 50s--but what is odd is just how pristine the celluloid looks.

The bits you’d found scattered about while cleaning had been dirty, crumpled and curled from age, and trying to load it into a projector would have just made it fall apart.

But the roll in the projector now looks brand new. You adjust your glasses, leaning close and squinting. It looks like a cartoon, but the images are too small and the room too dim for you to tell much more than that.

An old reel like this might be worth something if it’s still playable. Maybe it’s even a piece of lost media? Though you doubt you’d be so lucky. You push your glasses back into place, trying to find the mechanism to unload the reel. Your hand brushes a switch on the back of the machine, and despite you barely touching it, the projector suddenly springs to life.

The light flickers on and you hear the familiar whirring and clicking of the old film projector starting up.

You glance to the theater below, where an odd image is displayed on the tattered remains of the movie screen.

Some kind of cartoon character, a blue-skinned bug with a pig-like nose and straw boater hat, grinning widely. The title card which follows reads: “Mr. Ring-a-Ding Goes to Town!”

Not a character or show you’re familiar with, and you like to think you’re pretty versed in old cartoons.

“Oh it’s such a beautiful day! I think I’ll go to town! Yes sirree!” the titular character says as he strolls down the road with the sort of jauntiness that can only be captured by old rubber hose animations.

You only watch for a moment before turning your gaze back to the projector. As much as you’re curious about this old cartoon you’ve found, you don’t want to risk potentially damaging the film. So you’d rather get the reel out and back into its case before something goes wrong.

You have no idea how you even turned the projector on. After a moment of searching, you find a labeled ON/OFF switch and press it.

Nothing happens. The film keeps rolling.

“...What did I just turn off, then?” you mumble to yourself. After a moment of searching, your eyes happen to drift back to the screen, and you do a double take.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding is gone. The camera’s just holding on an empty shot, showing only the pathway and the sign pointing to town. It looks like the show’s been paused, but the film’s still rolling.

Why had the cartoon hung on this long shot of the background? Some kind of joke you’d missed the setup for?

As you’re staring, the projector abruptly switches off…despite the reel not having ended. You glance sharply at it, wincing. It’d be just your luck if you find a working pre-1950’s projector and film reel only to immediately break it…

Before you can think too much on that, though, you hear a rustle of fabric from the theater, and peering through the darkness, you see the heavy curtains that cover the screen are being pulled shut.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer.

You quickly leave the projection room, jogging down the short hallway and entering the back of the theater. “Hello?” you call again. “Brent? Brent, is that you?” you ask, guessing--and hoping-- your boss had come by to check on your progress for some reason.

You keep your gaze on the closed curtain, slowly walking down the stairs of the center aisle towards it. The few lights that are on are mostly towards the back, leaving the front of the theater fairly dark.

You’re just reaching the third row of seats and getting ready to call out again when the curtains suddenly fly open.

“TADAAAA!!!” shouts none other than Mr. Ring-a-Ding himself.

You scream, scrambling back, your heel catching on one of the steps and causing you to fall on hard on your rear.

Ring-a-Ding laughs, though it’s not a particularly mean-spirited laugh. “Whoopsie daisy! That’s why we don’t walk backwards on stairs!” he says with a teasing wink.

“W-W-Who are you?” you stammer out, your eyes wide.

He smirks. “Glad you asked, my dear!” A jaunty tune begins playing out of nowhere, and Mr. Ring-a-Ding begins a lively dance. “I’m Mr. Ring-a-Ding, I’ll make your heart bells sing!”

Your mouth hangs open even further as you simply stare at him, agape, as he sings. And sings. And sings. For well over a minute, which may not be that long as songs go but is certainly a long time for him to sing and dance unprompted while you can only stare on in shock.

“I’m Mr. Ring-a-Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” he belts out the last line, taking off his hat and spreading his arms wide.

You can’t even begin to muster a response.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding chuckles, placing his hat back on his head. “Y’know, usually I get interrupted before I finish the song,” he says.

You make a vague, strangled noise that sounds like a distant, “Uh-huh…?”

He lets half a beat pass before shaking his head, his grin never leaving his face. “Yannow, this is usually the part where you’d introduce yourself. Buuuuut if you ain’t got a song prepared you can just say your name.”

After a brief hesitation, you manage to stammer out your name. Your eyes haven’t gotten any less wide, and you haven’t been able to stop staring at the cartoon man before you.

“Who…are you?” you ask again.

He quirks a brow, smirking playfully. “Oh come now! I just sang about that for a full minute and a full thirty-six seconds! Don’t tell me ya need all that repeated?” he teases.

“Erm--ah, no…” you say. You lean forward, managing to pull yourself to your feet and begin slowly walking towards him.

He seems unphased, grinning up at you innocently as you approach. You stop when you reach the bottom step, standing in front of the stage…barely an arm’s length from the odd creature atop it.

“You’re…a cartoon…”

“Yes indeedy-do!” he chirps.

“D-Did…you just…come out of that film?”

He smirks, waggling a finger at you. “Don’t make me laugh!”

You blink. “Is…that a funny question?” you ask blankly.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he repeats.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I must be going insane.” Not exactly a surprising result, given what Brent has been putting you through, but you hadn’t expected it to manifest quite like this.

“Naaah!” he says with a flick of his wrist. “You seem perfectly sane to me. I’m perfectly real, after all!” he says cheerfully.

You can’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s just what a hallucination would say…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding snorts. “Well, alright, doll…ya got me there. Buuuut…is it not also what a real cartoon brought to life would say?”

One corner of your mouth ticks upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “You uh…you got me there,” you say, borrowing his phrasing.

His grin actually seems more genuine for a moment, a bit more warm than his somewhat teasing smirk.

“You’re…really real, then?” you ask. Slowly you reach out towards him with one hand.

He raises a brow, and for the first time his smile falters. Only for a moment, though. His grin returns as he lightly pushes your hand aside with one finger. “Not sure what I can say to that that ain’t already been said,” he chuckles.

“F-Fair…” you say, taking the hint and lowering your hand. Him moving your hand aside has already proven that he’s solid…or that your hallucination includes touch in addition to sight and sound.

He steps forward, hopping down from the stage. You take a step back, watching as he walks around you and up the stairs.

“Well this place has sure seen better days, huh?” he says, looking up at the deteriorating building. His gaze pauses on the hole in the ceiling. A blue tarp is pulled tightly over it, keeping out some of the elements until the construction crew arrives to patch it.

“Heh. Not in my lifetime,” you say wryly.

“Oh no?” he asks casually, turning to glance back at you.

“It’s been closed for over 70 years now,” you say.

“Oh?” he asks again, continuing to walk up the stairs, his gaze turned upwards as he takes in the state of the theater. “Don’t suppose you know why?”

If you weren’t so flustered, you may have noticed the lack of surprise in his tone…maybe even the underlying coyness. But as it is, you simply take the question at face value.

“A fire in the film closet caused an explosion. That’s why there’s that hole up there,” you say, nodding towards the tarp.

He follows your gaze, humming in thought. “Oh, is that all?” he asks, glancing at you sideways.

This time you do notice the coyness in his tone, but you think he’s simply trying to be funny.

“I think there was some other drama around it,” you say. “I did a bit of research before coming out here…but it’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s just urban legends these days. But it sounds like there was some kind of hostage situation, and that’s what led to the explosion. No casualties though, from the sounds of it.”

Mr. Ring-a-ding chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief!” he says, managing to sound genuine, though not particularly invested. “And where’s good ol’ Mr. Pye these days?”

“Who?” you ask blankly, following him up the stairs towards the projection booth.

“Reginald Pye. The projectionist,” he says simply, not bothering to glance back at you.

“The--?” You cut yourself off. “Uh, abandoned theaters don’t have projectionists,” you say, with a weak laugh…not thinking about why he may be asking after the former employee.

He stops, spinning on his heel to face you. “Well of course they don’t, you silly billy!” he says, waggling his finger at you. “That’s why I asked where he is, because he’s obviously not here!”

You open your mouth to speak, then quickly close it again, your brow knitting in sympathy. “I-It’s…been 70 years…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding cants his head, grinning up at you. “So you’ve said,” he says blithely, clearly having no idea why the point bore repeating.

…Does he really have no idea?

“How…old was he? Mr. Pye?”

“Dunno. Kinda old I guess. Why?” he asks. He doesn’t seem to be understanding the significance of your questions.

You find yourself wondering if a living cartoon even knows what death is. You chew your lip, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’sa matter, sweetie pie? Cat got your tongue?” he asks playfully.

You sigh, rubbing your arm as you finally meet his gaze. “Seventy years is…a long time for humans. I-It’s…rare for humans to live past a hundred. A hundred-twenty at most.”

His smile freezes in place as he stares at you in silence for a moment before simply saying, “Ah.”

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say quietly. You crouch down in front of him and are about to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, when he steps back, waving a hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he says, a bit more forcefully than he’d said it before.

You pull back, your eyes widening at the seemingly heartless response. Mr. Ring-a-Ding turns on his heel and resumes his march up the stairs while you slowly get to your feet, stunned.

Is he really that callous, or does he just…not understand the situation? You have no idea what kind of show Mr. Ring-a-Ding had been. Many cartoons from that time never mentioned death, and the ones that did…well, they had a fairly…irreverent attitude about it. So it’s not much of a stretch to imagine a 1930’s cartoon brought to life, would be wholly unequipped to deal with it.

…No more a stretch than “1930’s cartoon brought to life” is to begin with, anyway.

He’s nearly at the top of the stairs by the time you begin trotting after him.

*

Lux leaves you behind without a second thought, making his way into the projection booth. The two projectors are still there, a bit dirty but otherwise the same as he remembers them. Objects wielded by the gods tended to withstand the passage of time remarkably well, after all.

Objects…but not mortals. Not humans. The difference between a year and century is nothing to a god…but apparently it’s everything to a human.

Lux has no heart, but he feels an unpleasant sensation in a place very similar.

He doesn’t like it.

He wanders over to the pile of rubbish and broken wood that had once been Reginald’s desk. Of course, there’s nothing of significance there. Not anymore. Reginald would have taken any pictures of himself or Helen when he’d left. Lux knows that much.

Lux is aware of you entering the room behind him, but doesn’t pay you any mind as he moves to the projection window, hopping up onto the edge of one of the projectors to look out the small window into the theater. Where he’d spent so long watching Reginald and Helen dancing together.

There’d been something compelling about it. Almost more compelling than light itself. Lux had never understood his own fascination with it, but also hadn’t really cared to think too much on it.

As he’s staring down at the empty house, you finally speak.

“Was he…a friend of yours? Mr. Pye?” you ask gently.

Lux tears his gaze away from the window to look at you curiously. He’s not sure how to answer. Gods aren’t friends with mortals. They’re barely friends with each other most of the time. Pye had been a disciple, a minion, a servant.

Yet Lux doesn’t want to speak any of those words aloud. He tells himself it’s because you’d react poorly to them. While he’s not convinced he has any use for you, he’s not so unconvinced that he wants to drive you off over something trivial.

So, he dips his head in a nod, returning his gaze to the ruined theater. “Something like that,” he says, his voice flatter and more gravely than the upbeat, chipper tone he’d used before.

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say again. “D’you…have anywhere to go?”

“Don’t need to go anywhere,” he says shortly. Maybe he should have just endured the boredom for another millennium or two to recover his strength…then maybe he could muster the power to do something actually interesting. He assumes the conversation is over and is almost ready to simply return to light when you speak again.

“Well, you can’t stay here!”

Lux’s eyes flash yellow for the briefest of seconds and he turns sharply to face you, incredulous at your impudence. A human, a mere human, not even a particularly powerful one, telling a god where he can and can’t go?!

He’s about to banish you into celluloid for your insolence when he processes your expression.

Your brow is upturned, your eyes filled with worry as you clutch your hands together fretfully.

It hadn’t been an order. You’re not demanding he leave. You’re worried what’ll happen if he stays.

It occurs to Lux that his entrance hadn’t been as grand this time. A silly little fellow popping out from behind a curtain--not a giant creature emerging from the screen before banishing fifteen people to film.

You have no idea what he is. Well, that had been true of all the humans back then, too, but they had at least understood he was an immeasurably powerful being--something to be feared.

But you don’t think that. You clearly think he’s far more helpless than he is. Do you even realize he’s immortal? Surely not, if you’re fretting about him squatting in some old building. Do you imagine that he’s capable of being hungry? Sick? Cold? Like some feeble little mortal?

Most gods would be insulted at such a notion and would be quick to put you in your place…but Lux finds the idea…interesting. A mortal who doesn’t fear him. Who asks nothing of him. Who thinks he needs them.

That last part is particularly amusing to Lux…He supposes he had been in the mood for a bit of a dalliance, and it seems one has presented itself.

His irate expression softens, and turns his brow up in a tired, melancholy expression. “But…I got nowhere else to go.”

Lux makes sure not to lay it on too thick. He’d made that mistake with the Doctor, though he hadn’t really expected to be able to fool a Time Lord for all that long regardless. So he hadn’t exactly bothered to bring his A game to that bit of deception.

You move to stand beside him, leaning against the wall beside the window. “Well…maybe, you could stay with me?”

The surprise on his face isn’t entirely feigned. That had been easier than he’d thought…Not that he needs to stay with you, or anywhere in particular of course. The grin that spreads across his face is also mostly genuine.

“Oh, gee willikers! You’d let me do that?” he says, keeping his tone suitably modest as his smile turns ever so slightly shy.

“Well, I don’t want to leave you alone in an abandoned theater all night…” you say with a small smile. You frown, tapping your chin in thought. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to get you back to my apartment without anyone seeing you…”

Lux chuckles. “Mmm, I can draw quite a crowd,” he agrees with a wink.

“Yes, I’d imagine,” you laugh, glad he at least understands the potential consequences of just taking off down the street on his own. “Hm, what time is it, anyway? Maybe the streets won’t be too crowded…” you muse.

You pull some kind of electronic device out of your pocket, pushing a button on the side of it. Suddenly the room is lit up with a blinding white light.

“Gah!” you yelp, covering your eyes and touching something on the screen to dim the glow. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to flashbang you,” you say to him with a sheepish chuckle.

Lux is hardly phased of course, but he can tell by your rapid blinking that you’ve utterly destroyed the night vision you’d been building up in the darkened theater. “Quite alright! Seems you got the worst of it,” he says good-naturedly. “But what is that, exactly?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Oh, it’s my--Well, it’s called a phone but it’s…probably much different than any phones you’d’ve seen in the fifties,” you say, holding it out for him to look at.

“Hmm…” he hums. He places his hands on either side of the phone, turning the screen towards himself slightly to examine it. He knows more or less what it is, of course. While he’s not familiar with this exact bit of tech, many, many civilizations have similar devices. Glowing, lit up screens or holograms, connecting everyone to everywhere, millenia’s worth of information at the push of a button.

Well, maybe not millenia on this one. Not yet. It’s still fairly primitive as far as most displays go, and he doubts the signal could even reach the Earth’s moon, much less another galaxy.

Though he’s glad for your unintentional reminder that someone who only knows the Earth of 70 years ago ought to be impressed by this clunky old tech.

“Oh goodness!” he gasps eagerly, doing a suitable job of pretending this is by far the most advanced piece of tech he’d ever seen. “My my my, what a tiny little screen!” he says. He pokes part of the screen, pretending to be startled when one of your apps opens.

“It even plays videos,” you say, tapping the YouTube app and letting a random video from the recommended list autoplay.

“Golly, how clever!” he pretends to marvel. “Say, that gives me an idea…”

It doesn’t, really, but it presents a good segue to the idea he’d had the moment you pulled out the device.

While you hold the phone, he presses one of his hands against the screen. Even at his small size, his hand is still bigger than the screen, but as he pushes his hand flattens and shrinks, becoming an image on the screen.

Your eyes widen in surprise as he leans forward, and soon all of him has disappeared into the phone.

He grins at your sputtering noise of shock. Humans are always so stunned at the most innocuous things.

You turn the phone around, and see him standing in front of your app icons and desktop background, which is a stylized picture of a starry night sky, complete with blue and purple nebula-clouds.

“Mind clearing a bit of space, honey?” he asks, leaning against the edge of the screen and pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Oh, s-sure, hang on,” you say. You swipe the screen slowly, making sure moving the desktop icons doesn’t fling him offscreen as well. Once you’re sure it won’t, you swipe past a few screens until you’re at a blank page on your desktop.

“Much obliged!” he says, tipping his hat. He turns around, whistling appreciatively at the background. “Shame to be blocking this lovely view!”

“Heh…right…” you say. “A-Are you um…sure you’re okay in there?”

“Of course!”

“My apartment’s about a half hour walk away, is that alright?”

“Certainly! Take all the time ya need!” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the screen, turning away to look up at the stars.

“Right,” you say, carefully setting the phone down so you can sling your backpack over your shoulders. You carefully pick up the phone, moving it carefully as if you’re balancing something delicate atop the screen. “I’m not gonna jostle you too much moving around, am I?”

Lux has to resist the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. Just how fragile do you think he is? Though at the same time…it’s not exactly difficult to pretend he’s moved by your concern as he turns around, flashing a brash grin.

“Aw shucks, sweetie pie!” he says, waving a hand. “I’m tougher than I look! I can handle myself just fine, even on a little screen like this!” he declares, puffing out his chest proudly.

You laugh, and he’s a bit surprised at the warmth in it. “Alright then. Just uh…let me know if it’s too bumpy, alright?”

“Sure thing!” he says, turning back to face the starry background, ending the conversation for now.

*

You don’t mind the quiet walk. It gives you time to process.

A living cartoon. He just came out of the theater screen, then put himself into your phone, and now he’s crashing at your place for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time.

Your curiosity at how he can even exist and how he works has been quickly overshadowed by worries about his mental state. You suspect he’s grieving his friend, even if he’s reluctant to show it. He’s from the 50’s after all--not exactly a time rife with emotional vulnerability, especially in men.

From what you’ve pieced together, he’s a living cartoon who had been friends with the theater’s projectionist in the 50’s. Somehow after the theater was abandoned he’d…gone dormant?  Or something? You’re not sure how that works yet but what you are sure of is that the poor guy has been essentially flung forward 70 years into a world he likely no longer recognizes.

You reach your apartment building and climb up the stairs to your studio apartment. “It’s a bit cramped…” you warn him.

“I’m sure I can make do,” he says easily. “Two-dimensional characters don’t take up much space, after all,” he winks.

“I suppose,” you say, locking the door behind you. “You can come out--”

You’ve barely finished the sentence when he pushes against the screen, his whole upper half emerging almost instantly, bringing his face so close that your noses almost touch as he grins widely at you.

You squeak in surprise, your cheeks burning as you drop the phone. To your relief, he hops out the rest of the way before it hits the ground, gracefully floating to the floor while your phone thuds on the rug next to him.

“A-Are you alright?” you say in alarm, kneeling in front of him.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding steps back with a sheepish chuckle, picking up your phone for you. “Oh, perfectly fine! Didn’t mean ta startle ya!” he says playfully. He checks over your phone, whistling in surprise at the weight of your heavy phone case. “This thing’s got some heft! Why’s it armored up like it’s going to war?” he asks as he passes it back to you.

You grin wryly at him. “In case someone jumps out at me.”

He raises his brows, his smirk showing some appreciation for the quip.

You get to your feet, flipping on the main light. As promised, it is indeed cramped. An unmade twin bed is shoved into one corner, and across from it is a small flatscreen TV atop a stand, positioned in a way that one would either have to lay on their side to watch TV or sit atop the bed with their back against the wall.

The kitchen takes up half of another wall, being little more than a fridge, sink, some cabinets, and less than a foot of actual counter space. A microwave sits on a small, rickety shelf next to the fridge.

A decent chunk of the floor is covered in old newspapers, atop which sit an easel splotched with paint. A small table holds some paints and brushes, but the easel itself is empty.

“You a painter?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Trying to be,” you say as you set your backpack down beside the bed.

“Trying?” he repeats with a quirked brow.

“Well, I mean, I paint, so I am a painter I suppose, but…not…really making money off it yet.”

“Ah. ‘Fraid I can’t help you there,” Mr. Ring-a-Ding  says, turning out his empty pockets. A moth flies out of one of them and disappears behind him and he grins sheepishly up at you.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself over it,” you say easily, waving a hand. “I…do sort of have a job lined up. At the theater. I’ll be painting a few murals in the lobby.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, intrigued. “If ya don’t mind me saying so, honey, it’s gonna take more than a fresh coat of paint to get that place back in shape.”

Your laugh is a bit cynical as you shake your head. “Oh, trust me, Ring-a-Ding, I’m well aware. The builders and cleaning crews are running behind, so the boss--my dad’s friend’s son--is giving me some money to do what I can to get things moving while we wait. And I kinda need the money, so…” you trail off, shrugging.

“I see,” he says, stroking his chin in thought.

“A-Anyway, do you…need anything? D’you eat, or…or need me to set up a bed for you somewhere?”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Well…the truth is, I don’t need food. Or sleep,” he admits.

That possibility had occurred to you on the walk home. That perhaps staying in the theater wouldn’t be as detrimental to him as you’d initially feared…though it doesn’t make you regret your invitation. Surely he’d still be lonely? Maybe even scared…at the very least you’d like to think your apartment is still an improvement over a busted up old theater.

…Though perhaps you’re just flattering yourself.

“So what do you do all night, if not sleep?” you ask.

“Watch movies. What else would ya do in a theater all night?”

“True…” you say with a weak chuckle.

“But I think my first night back, I’ll be just fine hanging out at the window.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. You’d been about to try to set him up with your laptop, but maybe that’ll be an endeavor for another time, when you have more time to explain it to him. “In that case…I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright?”

“Certainly, sweetheart!” he says easily.

*

As you go to get changed, Lux perches on the console table below the small window, looking out it. The stars are barely visible--humans have apparently entered the phase of their development where they haven’t a clue how to manage light pollution.

Though that doesn’t bother Lux all that much. The glow of the neon signs and street lamps is light too, and at the moment he’s not overly picky.

He smiles softly to himself, replaying your words in his mind. If that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be? As far as you’re aware, he’s harmless. Maybe even fragile. Yet you still ask his permission for something as innocuous as getting ready for bed.

You’re certainly interesting. Though perhaps not very sharp. Your boss is clearly taking you for some kind of ride. Lux isn’t a trickster god, but he doesn’t have to be to see that you’re being duped.

Maybe he can help you out with that. Not out of any sense of justice or loyalty to you, of course. Gods don’t need food but they can rarely turn down a hearty serving of comeuppance.

As far as idle dalliances go, you might just be a good one.

[pinstripe-wings]

Thank you @diblmetta for putting the image of Tfa Blurr ending up in the Backrooms into my mind. The idea wouldn’t leave me, so I typed on my phone like a madman throughout the day and just finished writing this. Had a lot of fun too.

So, here’s Part One of who knows how many of Blurr in the Backrooms (and maybe later on, some other liminal spaces).

Note 1: Basing the Backrooms in these posts mainly off of Kane Pixels’ videos of the Backrooms, (but with some monsters tossed in now and again like this first part that didn’t happen in his first two vids). The plan is to have Blurr in isolation mainly, with his unsettling exploration of the unnatural spaces while wondering if or when something or someone will pop up, (until I eventually change up to liminal spaces like pools, the houses on the green field, places that should be occupied but aren’t, etc)

Note 2: I’m planning to edit each of these parts later to maybe slap on ao3, as the notes I’ve made for this in such a little amount of time will take awhile to go through. But that’s okay; I’ve been wanting to write something with tfa Blurr in it, and hey, love me the Backrooms as well as other unsettling liminal spaces. Warnings: none I can think of other than: general Backrooms uneasiness, Blurr slowly panicking when he can’t get out, a creature that seems a bit familiar that shows up to chase Blurr further into the Backrooms, and an implied injury.

Okay, with all that said, on with part 1:

-

Fear and adrenaline fueled Blurr’s racing form as he sped along past his breaking point, desperate to get away with this important new knowledge of an enemy spy deeply embedded within their ranks amid sensitive data. 

He had to escape.

Blurr nearly swerved away from a closed off corridor, and spun a 180 to shoot through another doorway that nearly closed off on him.

He a step closer to escape. 

But Longarm knew Blurr well at this point after working together. Which meant that Shockwave knew that Blurr would try to outrun him; the Decepticon spy must have a way to corner him, as it had to have occurred to Shockwave that Blurr might be the first one to discover his true nature. 

That strategy appeared to be slamming down doors to block the halls and corridors, leading Blurr…somewhere.

Not good.

Being led somewhere by an enemy was not good.

Blurr pushed his frame to go a little faster than before as he careened around a corner and down a longer hall.

A door slammed shut behind him.

Then another. 

Up ahead, Blurr could see that a larger blast door was slowly being lowered.

On purpose.

It was as if Shockwave was taunting him; taunting Blurr to try and get past before the blast door closed, with Blurr being the ‘fastest’ mech on Cybertron. He couldn’t become trapped here, Blurr had to-

The agent’s comms suddenly blared with discordant, incredibly disorienting static as the corridor’s lights began to flash and flicker, seemingly at random.

What was Shockwave doing-

Blurr pitched forward and to the side as he was struck by sudden vertigo, prepared to meet the door that had just sealed right before his speeding frame, taking his freedom away in an instant. Blurr’s optics closed, braced for impact. Even stumbling, the speed he was going meant he was in for a rough battering, and then he would be helplessness to whatever Shockwave had planned next once the agent had been cornered.

It didn’t quite happen how Blurr anticipated. 

The stumble and fall kept going on much further than the wall he was supposed to hit face-first. All at once, Blurr collapsed onto a flat surface, everything silent around him.

No alarms.

No more slamming doors.

No taunts from Shockwave. 

Blurr lie prone for a time, processing the fact that he’d taken little to no damage.

It was eerily silent. 

Too silent. 

Blurr maneuvered himself up onto armored elbows, taking in his immediate surroundings with a great deal of confusion. 

Yellow.

Faded yellow.

Shaded yellow in the shadows cast.

Blurr reset his optics, but the sight that greeted him was the same as before. 

Yellow walls with white lights overhead. There were walls of various shapes and sizes sprawling out in either direction. 

Unsettlingly unnatural. 

There was even a wall that ended in another wall, for no reason that made any sense.

Blurr carefully rose to his pedes, arms raised a bit with his servo curled, optic ridges furrowing as Blurr’s helm swung this way and that. 

Where was he?

What had Shockwave done to him?

Blurr nervously fidgeted his fingers together as he stood in place, uncertain what to do about this unexpected situation. Taking in a vent, Blurr slowed his racing processor as best he could, struggling to not just bolt in one direction as quickly as possible in this strange place, just to get away.

First things first. 

Comms. 

Blurr had to try his comms and-

Nothing. 

Nothing but static, no matter who Blurr attempted to contact. 

Was this Shockwave’s doing or was it this place that was responsible?

Blurr cast a wary look around, but nothing appeared to be nearby, which meant no change in his immediate surroundings.

Okay then.

Next step, gather intel.

Blurr needed to know more about this place, if he was going to get out of it, and without Shockwave catching him on the way out. Shoulders rising and falling, Blurr let his arms drop down to hang at his side as he reluctantly began to walk in one direction. The agent forced himself to walk at a slower than normal pace, as much as Blurr was jittery and ready to just go speed off in hopes he’d find the exit faster. 

Intel.

Okay.

Right

Yellow walls. 

Yellow toned walls that were slightly different material, which a new wall just started in the middle of this one. It was on his left, and formed a narrow hall that appeared to be a dead end. To Blurr’s right, there was a wall that made a U-shape that had no purpose, as far as he could see. Before him, there was open space, and a doorway to go through.

Odd.

Blurr stooped to get through the open doorway, only to pause.

Oh, another a dead end.

This was fine. 

Blurr was gathering intel, and there were many other areas to investigate. Surely the longer he explored this place lit with buzzing square lights overhead, the more likely he’d begin to find the exits?

Right?

Right. 

It wasn’t like he was trapped or anything. 

No, that couldn’t be, especially if this was Shockwave’s doing. There’d have to be some way for the Decepticon spy to get to Blurr, which meant that there was an exit of some kind.

Right?

Yes.

Yes, that made sense. 

He could do this. 

Blurr could do this.

All he had to do was figure this out he wasn’t worried there was nothing to worry about he’d be fine he’d been on trickier missions than this and it had been all right in the end and so this would end well too Blurr was going to be able to pass along the information that there’d been a Decepticon spy in their midst after all and Blurr would be able to make sure that no one else was going to get trapped or picked off by Shockwave-

Blurr stopped when he came to another dead end of the similar-looking walls; with a frustrated vent, he turned around and went in the opposite direction.

More of the same yellow walls, and the unnatural buzzing static interfering with his comms from the square lights from overhead. 

Another dead end. 

Blurr tried again.

And again.

Each time he thought he found a way further from where he started (marked by scuffed up ground where he’d clattered hard into it with his armor) there was always a dead end, or a line of walls making up a small hallway leading him back to a place he’d already explored before. 

…this was ridiculous. 

How big could this place even be?

Blurr allowed himself to move at a quicker pace. 

It wasn’t urgent.

It wasn’t.

Blurr wasn’t racing along at breakneck speed yet.

(Where was the way out wasn’t there a way out?)

After a few more times circling back into the same area, Blurr let out a frustrated groan and leaned backward into the nearest wall. Blurr would be happy to not see a yellow wall once he was out of this place. How long had he been here, anyway? Blurr checked his chonometer, kicking up a heel to move his wheel back and forth in thoughtful confusion. 

What felt like hours had only been 15 minutes. 

How was that even possible? Did time pass differently in this place?

Blurr definitely needed to gather more information and get out before-

An odd noise hissed, loud in the silence.

Blurr perked up, turning up his audials to see where that sound had come from. 

The hissing turned into a metallic-sounding screeching groan, garbled with no discernible words, and accompanied by uneven steps that almost seemed to drag along. 

Blurr tensed, ready to launch himself in the opposite direction of whatever was approaching him, should it turn out to be hostile. 

Had Shockwave sent something after him?

Time came to a standstill as some strange creature rounded a corner, its body distorted and leaning to one side from its middle, cords and wires dangling off of it and possibly even plugged into its body. Sharp tangles of metal bunched down along two arm-like appendages which ended in several long sharp claws that came out from big metal palms. There were two solid, strong trunks of metal legs ending in two big sharp metal claws that dug into the floor below with each step. 

Blurr thought he might have had a small processor crash from the sight because the strange being was suddenly closer, half turned away, and for good reason.

It had no optics in its helm; just an indentation.

A sturdy rectangular frame was attached to the arms and legs, tapering thinner near each limb; its back was full of metal spikes that jutted out along its back, wires and cords were gathered just beneath its neck, cascading down along the back of its frame to trail along the floor in the being’s wake. The neck was long and wired, giving it an even more distorted look on such a bulky body. The head was rectangular in its length, and squared on either end, attached to the neck facing one square side forward by more wires and metal that bundled together in a grotesque way. On either side of the ‘head’ looked like horns or antlers with metal spikes spiraling off of them. 

Blurr took a few quick steps back and to the side. This was, unfortunately, a mistake as the creature suddenly swung its strange helm toward him. 

A deep crimson light flared to life within the previously assumed empty optic area as a distorted wailing scream sounded, and metal scraping upon metal saw the creature surged its metal, wire-laden body toward Blurr. It charge at a terrifying speed that shouldn’t have been possible. 

But Blurr was already gone, already having gone down several corridors by then, more frantic than before to locate an exit. No matter where he went, however, Blurr couldn’t loose his pursuer. 

Quiet. 

Loud. 

Far. 

Near.

It didn’t matter the distance. 

The creature had fixated upon Blurr, had narrowly cornered him a few times, and it was only thanks to his lithe agility to move that Blurr avoided those grasping claws and flailing wires. 

Blurr ran. He didn’t stop, not even when his engine began to overheat in response to his growing panic and the speed which he maintained. 

Had to get away had to find an exit don’t get caught don’t look back it’s right there no it’s another dead end no wait there’s something there it’s something different what is it what-

Blurr barely had time to swerve sharply off to one side before he ended up falling down a random open space cut into the floor, where he couldn’t even see the bottom of it. 

What to do what to do. 

The creature drew closer, screeching its eerie cries as it approached with its arms of thick iron and tangled wires around held out toward Blurr, the clawed hands, the palms, outstretched in a weirdly beseeching way. 

Blurr’s frame rose and fell as he heaved shuddering vents.  Should he jump down the large hole in the ground, and see if he ended up where he was before when he first ended up in this place? Or should Blurr remain where he was, and find out if he could take down this larger metal and wire covered creature, its limbs outstretched to him, that single bright red light seemingly boring directly into him?

A sound that may have been Blurr’s name rattled out from the creature as it approached.

Blurr didn’t hesitate. He threw himself toward the left side of the giant square hole in the ground, just as the creature lunged at him a wire snapped around his knee, yanking him backward. Blurr frantically attempted to kick free (his weapons…he couldn’t get them to work…it was like they were jammed). 

The creature gave another cry, different in pitch than before. It then attempted to pull Blurr backward, away from the hole in the floor and however far a drop it was. The wire tightened firmly around his left leg, as if the creature somehow sensed Blurr’s desire to run. The wire gave Blurr’s leg another light tug backward.

No.

Nope.

Blurr didn’t want to find out what this being would do to him if he let it corner him properly. The agent kicked his pedes at the ground; the wire loosened at the motion. Blurr swung an arm forward to grip the very edge of the hole, digits hooking in tightly. Using his other arm to shove at the ground, Blurr successfully kicked his leg free, but winced as something audibly crumpled in his left knee as a result as the wire let go. But he couldn’t think of what that minor flare of pain could mean, as Blurr used his right pede to kick off the floor. With a graceful flip, the agent angled his frame over into the hole in the floor. Blurr quickly let go of the edge to allow himself to fall.

An alarmed noise of static garble rang out, along with a slithering that brought to mind the wires.

Something slid along the top of Blurr’s helm, past the flared out part if it. Nothing seized him.

Blurr continued to fall.

A quick peek up showed a bright optic watching Blurr as he fell. For a moment, it almost looked like the red optic was getting closer. Blurr’s vision briefly went dark as a rushing sound of static passed him by, along with a wind that was there but not. All at once, Blurr found himself tumbling out from the yellow space he’d been trapped within, and into another large, less yellow room. Blurr sprawled out on his back, his gaze snapping back up at a giant hole in the ceiling. 

A giant hole in the ceiling with a red glow that was rapidly growing closer the longer Blurr stared up at it. 

That metal and wired creature from before was climbing down the hole.

Why was it following him?

Blurr scrambled to his pedes despite the exhaustion running throughout his frame and most of his struts, as well as the ache that lingered in his left knee joint. Blurr quickly moved across the distressingly large open space, and squeezed his frame through a half open door that was on the other side of the room, which seemed partially blocked on the other side. Blurr twisted away from the half open door, only to let out a strangled vent over the sight of a clawed palm (servo?) reaching through the opening after him. Unable to reach Blurr, the large metal claws dripped to scrape sideways along the doorframe before retreating. A crimson glow replaced the claws as the single optic settled on Blurr, the glow brightening. 

A mournful sounding static cry rose from the creature. 

Blurr was already running over to a ledge and leapt up to grasp the end, using his right pede to brace agaisnt the wall as he went over the opening in the wall.

A shattering of a wooden door, along with metal grinding and the same echoing cry, the creature continued to follow Blurr.

The agent didn’t look back; he continued to move swiftly along despite the ache growing in his left knee joint. Blurr turned through the distressingly open rooms to go through odd holes in the walls, or long corridors that went at a 45 degree angle downward, only to go through another open doorway.

Then another. 

And another.

Blurr’s pursuer fell behind, until the creature could no longer be heard with its mournful dirge of a voice without words. It may not be gone, but the agent was sure he could put some more space between himself and the creature. Blurr wearily through two more open doorways, one an arch, before he hefted himself up what would have been a steep opening higher up in a wall directly to his right. Once Blurr was through the window-shaped opening, he dropped down a bit farther than anticipated. He landed on his left leg, causing his knee joint buck in protest. Blurr went backward, flailing in an attempt to right himself, only to trip and fall over, landing down hard on his aft. 

This was getting ridiculous.

What was this place?

Releasing a quick vent, Blurr leaned into the wall nearest him to look through an elevated square hole in the wall at optical level. There was another room that looked exactly like the one Blurr just came from, but this one had more open space, less yellow than before, and less lights in the ceiling.

There was also a single lamp in the middle of the room. The object was much smaller than Blurr thought it would be. Now that he was no longer running, Blurr could once again turn up his audials in an effort to try and figure out if he was one, being chased, or two, be able to hear the sound of the outdoors, and therefore, an exit.

All there was, was an unsettling silence.

All Blurr could hear were his own vents, and if he listened closely, the humming of the lights in the room’s ceiling. The agent’s spark clenched with an uneasy feeling as he debated his next move.

What exactly…was going on here?

Where was he?

-

end pt 1

-

Three guesses as to who the creature is (note-it’s not the Shockwave that saw Blurr vanish from being trapped and smooshed into a cube). The wire and metal creature will come back at some point in a later part.

When I get around to part 2 of this, it will focus on the isolation of wandering the weird architecture of the Backrooms, and the way it can get into one’s head and make one question their reality.

[allofmytoxicity]

Lauren

a/n: less depressing this time! I promise I'm not completely insane. I also know I've messed around with the timeline slightly, but hey, I don't care, people mess around with timelines a whole lot. I'm proud I've done this.

bradley bradshaw x childhood best friend!fem!reader

Summary: For years, Bradley Bradshaw had been your best friend; a safe space. So when Seresin makes you have a slip of the tongue, how do you repair your friendship?

Word Count: 2.4k

TW: SET BEFORE TOP GUN: MAVERICK!!!!! Jake being a dick, lots of crying, drinking (if that can even be counted as a tw?), some fluffy moments mixed in with loads of sad.

My god had you fucked up.

You hadn't even realised it until you'd let the words slip, but you'd said it. You had admitted that you loved Bradley Bradshaw; best friend and the whole reason you were still living in San Diego.

Originally, when you both left high school, you thought about just going straight to college somewhere else across the US with Bradley, maybe even venturing across the pond somewhere. You two had always planned on going to college together and with Carole dying not long before, you were jet set on making the plan happen.

That was though, until Bradley got accepted in the University of Virginia, allowing him to still be enlisted as well as get through college.

You, throughout all of that, had gotten an acceptance letter to UC San Diego - right where you and Bradley had both wanted to end up anyway in the end. You desperately didn't want to give the opportunity up to go do your dream course at a university that you wanted to go to and Bradley didn't dispute that.

So, the plan was set; keep the friendship long distance, meet up during holidays and then meet up there once you'd both finished your uni courses. It was perfect.

The plan was working perfectly until Bradley's papers got pulled.

You still remember it clear as day in your head. Just getting off your shift from the newly opened bar called 'The Hard Deck' that all the locals at the navy base went to, you'd gotten a call from Bradley.

Thinking it was just a normal catch up call from whatever he was doing on the east coast. you accepted the call, thinking nothing of it. You were proved wrong seconds into the call though, with Bradley eerily quiet down the phone.

When you asked him about his day, that was when a switch flipped in him. He wasn't just mad, but he also wasn't just sad as he ranted down the phone at you about how Maverick pulled his papers from applying to Top Gun.

Top Gun.

The institution every naval pilot wanted to get into, a handful of candidates picked every year to complete the training.

Maverick had pulled Bradley's papers from being able to get into Top Gun and you couldn't him. Maverick had always been lovely to you when you saw him come into the bar and was Bradley's surrogate father.

You couldn't see why on earth he had done what he had. He had no reason nor business to pull Bradley's papers, so why had he done it?

That you never really did find out, but it was definitely a deal he didn't deserve.

Ignoring that, over the next two years, you put your own career on hold and helped Bradley rebuild his. From talking to other pilots to using those same pilots to help get Bradley promotions and finally a way into Top Gun.

That was when the feelings started.

When Bradley arrived in San Diego he was different. Yes, you knew he had changed over the last few years because of navy work, but you didn't realise just how much.

He'd gotten fitter, faster and managed to grow some facial hair. It was almost as if he was a different man - which, when compared to the boy you knew in high school, he was very different.

You didn't realise how much you loved him until Penny confronted you about it during your shift when you'd blushed at yet another stupid pun he had made.

And that was when you'd realised; you were in fucking love with him.

You'd pushed it down for years, hiding laughs in coughs and moving your hair to hide any warmth that spread across your face when he made that goofy smile at you. The hardest part of that thought, was seeing him on dates with other girls. Whether it be at the bar or at home (you two had decided to move in together to make it easier on the both of you for paying bills), you couldn't miss it when Bradley brought a date home. Yet you still moved on with your life.

So after all those years, you'd realised Bradley Bradshaw was the best thing you never knew you had and you'd possibly fucked it all up in one move.

And it was all because of fucking Jake Seresin.

Tonight, all the naval pilots at Top Gun had decided to come to the hard deck, for yet another darts tournament that both you and Penny had bets on Seresin to win.

Everything was going to plan; the pilots got there, got their drinks and started the tournament as you and Penny served the other customers. It was fine, but that was until the man himself, Jake Seresin came up to the bar just as you were staring at Bradley making his shot at the darts board.

It took you a moment to notice Jake to even begin with, taking his beer bottle back from where it was placed on the bar, grabbing another one.

"Tell me this y/n, why do you keep staring at Bradshaw?" Jake asks, placing his forearms on the bar as you passed him the now uncapped beer.

Flicking your head to stare straight at him, your eyes widened. How could you have been so stupid? Of course, yes, you'd passed glances at Bradley throughout the number of evenings the pilots stopped by the bar, but you didn't realised how bad it was. You'd been staring for Christ's sake!

"Because I'm watching him throw darts." You retort back at the pilot standing in front of you as you tried to busy yourself doing other things around the bar.

"That doesn't exactly seem right though, does it sweetheart?" Jake says, moving with you around the bar as you kept yourself busy.

Glaring at him, it took everything in you not to slap Jake silly at him calling out your actions, but you refused to say anything, trying to keep your dignity. You had a masters degree for fucks sake! You shouldn't be here trying to not slap a pilot while you worked on cleaning down a bar.

"Well it's the truth, Seresin." You grumble, glare still holding strong.

"You're in love with him aren't you?" Jake says, smirking, clearly catching onto your lies.

"No I'm not." You state, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to shove every opposing thought to that to the back of your mind.

"Yes you are, and I know it." Jake says, smirk more prominent now as he managed to rile you up more with each word.

"No, I'm not Seresin, now get over it and go back to your friends." You say, slapping the cloth down onto the bar, getting sick of his bullshit.

"Oh come on y/n! Just admit you love him!" Jake says and that was the last straw for you. You were sick and tired of Jake Seresin bullshitting you, so you blew up just to get him to leave you alone.

"Fine! I love him! I love Bradley Bradshaw! Is that good enough for you Seresin!" You yell, silencing the whole bar and scaring Jake in to complete and utter silence; even scaring his as so then he shrinks back into himself slightly.

You look around at the silenced bar, no one daring to move or utter a single syllable to get The Hard Deck's buzz back again.

"What?" You hear from your left and when you look around, you see Bradley standing there, beer in one hand, dart in the other.

Looking up at the decorated ceiling for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut, internally hating yourself for what you'd just let slip.

When you open your eyes again, you see Penny at your side, giving Jake a withering look before ringing the bell, clearly seeing the what he had done as disrespecting a lady.

Cheers erupt from around the bar as people realise the Jake was buying them all a round and it was the perfect distraction that allowed you to escape the now overwhelming bar.

So, here you were, slipping into the women's bathroom, thinking over just how badly you had fucked up by yelling that across the bar.

Looking yourself over in the mirror, you start by wiping your eyes, drying them of any tears that threatened to let slip how long you'd held that secret before smoothing down your clothes.

Taking a deep breath as you do so, it hitches part way through it's escape from your mouth as you see and hear the bathroom door open.

You begin to tell the person to go away but it's only when you notice Bradley walk through the door, locking it behind him do you really see the immensity of what you'd said.

Bradley still had a stunned look on his face from moments ago, and from the look of the slightly bruised knuckle, he'd probably punched Jake as well before he'd gotten there.

"Bradley..." You whisper, tears starting to sting your eyes as you spoke.

"Why... what..." Bradley says, stumbling over his words as he tries to think of what to say.

"I didn't think it would come out like that - I, I didn't want it to!" You argue, but with no fire from the other side to fight.

"I guessed so." Bradley says, nodding his head as he scratches the back of your neck.

"I was thinking this over the other day, I used to drive you home Bradley. We were kids when we first knew each other. I put my career on hold to-" You ramble, trying to look anywhere but the man standing in front of you, only to be cut off by him part way through.

"You did what?" Bradley says, making you look at him once again from where you were leaning against the sinks.

"I didn't get my teaching degree. I nearly did, but I dropped out when you called me about your papers. I know... I dropped the ball." You whisper in the silent bathroom.

"Y/n you wanted to become a teacher, why did you do that?" Bradley asks, taking a step forward towards you.

"You were a flight risk. I knew if I didn't do anything you'd've gone and done something stupid. You needed my attention more." You admit, shrugging your shoulders during your explanation. "You drove me crazy thought Bradley and I didn't realise I loved you till I was head over heels in it."

That was when the tears managed to overpower your willpower, rolling down your cheeks as you tried to contain your sobs.

Bradley had no idea what to do; seeing his childhood best friend cry after so many years of staying strong for him. He moved though, moving to do the one thing he knew that you would appreciate in that moment.

Bradley's bear hugs over the years had always been the one thing you could rely on that would comfort you, so that was what he did. Hug you.

The weight of his strong arms wrapping around young as you cried into his chest comforted you, easing some of the worries that you'd completely fucked up the relationship.

"I don't deserve you." You tearily say after a few minutes, head still pressed against Bradley's torso.

"You do y/n/n. You so do. Do you remember the time you walked into the house crying from your period cramps and I was sat on the couch, candles lit and drinking." Bradley whispered to you, stroking your hair down.

Leaning back and nodding at the statement, Bradley continued with his story. "Well... I'd set that out for you. I was going to ask you out that night, but you came home crying and in pain so I scratched the plan and helped you."

This time, it was Bradley's turn to look everywhere but at you, his eyes flitting around the room as yours softened, remembering the day very clearly.

You'd had a shit day at The Hard Deck, getting verbal abuse from a couple of customers and you'd gotten your period the day before. So, not only were you working, you were also in pain as well from cramps you'd forgotten to take painkillers for.

"Bradley. Why...?" You ask in utter disbelief as your roommate and friend of roughly 20 years now was telling you he loved you back.

"Because I love you y/n, and I need you to understand I'm not just gonna leave you. Just say the word and I'll call or come running back to you." Bradley says, finally taking a breath and properly looking at you.

So, in a split second, you make a decision to kiss him, and clearly he'd made the same by the way your bodies moved in sync as you two locked lips.

Breaking apart a few moments later for air, you move your hands to dry your eyes and hear the door open from behind you, making both you and Bradley turn.

"Hey, y/n. If you just want to-" Penny says, walking into the bathroom, not properly looking until she faced both you and Bradley with your arms wrapped around each other. She smiles, nodding, saying nothing more before walking over, placing a box of tissues down by the sinks and then leaving you and Bradley in the bathroom.

It takes you both a moment to realise what had just happened before you dissolve into laughter, taking a few minutes before the bathroom was fully quiet once again.

"Well... Penny knows." You say, grabbing a tissue from the box Penny had placed in between the sinks.

Bradley laughed again, nodding at the bluntness of your statement and moves with you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Yeah. She might not kill me for punching Jake now." Bradley then says, kissing the top of your head as he holds you close.

"I should probably be telling you off for doing that, but thank you." You say, looking back up at Bradley before taking his other hand and leading him to the door of the bathroom. Dropping the used tissues in the bin by the door as you walked through it, you looked at each other, ready to face the rest of the naval pilots waiting for you both.

a/n: I'm less than a week away from uploading the masterlist for this series (when writing) so I'm getting excited!!!

Read this to find out who else I write for, and requests are open!

[plasticfreckles]

🪶 post-coital proposal rookanis enjoy🪶

[Thursday Bangers Baby (Week 3)]

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all - Lover by Taylor Swift

🪶

The air that escapes Rook with her giggles travels through the gaps in his beard like wind through trees. With both hands on his chest, she moves to sit across his lap again.

"Breakfast won't be ready for a while, still, you know."

"So?"

"So, if you're up for a rematch.."

"Rematch?"

"Your words. Sex is a teamsport, but we're also at war with each other."

"That was a joke! Also, two years ago." The side of her curled fist drums against his collarbone, jokingly. And within a breath, mirth makes way in her face for pensiveness.

"Has it been two years already?"

"A little more, I think." A month, three weeks and six days more.

Nine months, a week and three days longer, including the day she broke him out of the prison he was already working his way out of, him in a loincloth and a shredded shirt and her wet as a dog pulled from the canals.

Not that he'll ever tell her how closely he's keeping track.

NO. No secrets. No LIES. Rook is safe. We're safe with Rook. She's safe with US.

"I don't know what Spite said, but I'm sure he's right." I'm right A LOT. But you won't LISTEN.

One day, he'll ask her how she can tell that Spite's talking, even when he's doing little more than lounging beside them and mumbling into his beard.

He's not sure he'll like the answer. But he'll ask anyhow. Lap up whatever she tells him as though he found a drop of water after being stranded in the desert.

Her presence feels like settling down by a great roaring fire in warm timber halls, when one was stuck in a snowstorm just a moment ago.

Curious, how she's both.

She is. Relief. That's how she's both. Relief and home and soothe and comfort. I thought you said she isn't possessed. She isn't. No one dares. Both mine. Both yours. Both hers. Relief can be without them. Ah.

Lucanis bends a knee, and Rook easily slips into the gap between his thighs again.

"...I know how much longer than two years it's been, and he wants me to tell you."

Glowing purple fog streams out of his arm, solidifies into a hand and wraps itself around their linked fingers.

Rook hums.

Lucanis should've learned by now there's nothing he can say that will make her turn away from him, no matter how deranged it is. For better or for worse.

"It would make sense that you're aware. You're the reason we've all started journaling."

She doesn't need to say Lucanis doesn't need to reveal it to her. She knows he will when he thinks it fitting, or like it should be said. And he knows she'll give him the space he needs, the proximity he wants. They know without speaking it.

Like she was made for him. As though a spirit had walked through his escapist dreams and decided to give the freckled, curly ball of comfort a coporeal component for him to hold. I JUST SAID THEY WON'T DARE.

Maker help me, I'm in so deep, Lucanis thinks. His fingers trail along her spine and she sinks into his embrace again.

They meant to get up two hours ago. Maybe three, or four. He won't know for certain until the curtains are pulled away and he can count how many planks in the floorboard are illuminated by the sun.

She's warm and grounding atop him. So he, too, starts pondering.

He knows Ebris had knocked the door, asking if they would be joining for breakfast, a while ago. He knows Rook had pouted, a little, teasingly, slowed down as he bid her halt with both hands on her thighs, so he might have enough breath to reply through the door.

Three years, give or take. It feels like three months and three Ages all at the same time.

And it isn't enough.

He needs more.

He needs forever.

He needs to breathe the same air as her, to bathe in the same water as her, to burn in the same pyre she does.

Her chin pushes uncomfortably into his sternum, as she looks up at him from beneath his chin, sleepsand still in the corners of her eyes, stray glitter and kohl she missed with her washcloth last night sticking to her lashes.

YES. FOREVER. Can't eat her up AND have her. Need this. Every. Single. Day.

Lucanis doesn't let go of her hand as she starts to stand, to move away from him. Starts being the responsible one, collecting their clothes and opening curtains and doors to let in the new day's sun and air.

Rook shriek-laughs, because she's always brighter than the sun, as though Elgar'nan had infused his power over the celestial lights into her the second he'd abandoned his people for his hubris, and tumbles back onto him. Her elbow only narrowly misses his spleen.

"All right, fine. One more. But then we really need to get started."

Lucanis holds her forehead to his with his hand around her neck.

One more turns into two more, then five, then a bare leg moving to his other side and holding onto his chin and a huff escaping her throat, only to be trapped between their lips.

"Lucanis, what are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"Exept bruising my neck, you mean."

She leans into it, anyhow, fingers crawling to hold his head closer to her skin.

"Rook?"

"Hm?"

A sigh, a pat to his scalp. His hand slips from the other side of her neck to her shoulder.

"Marry me."

🪶

and thus they let the word "betrothal" slip over breakfast as Caterina chokes on her orange juice and Illario spits his across the table. Spite cackles so hard his breath snuffs out the candles.

@woundedsoul12 perceive

[~rina]

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Can we have a shadow the hedgehog x reader where the reader tends to get sick a lot and shadow is finally at his wits end with them not going to the doctor. So maybe once they go through testing at the doctor (after he had to force the reader to go) they find out the reader has the same illnesses maria did. (The angstttt here woulddd be so gooddddd) and shadow pledges to heal and protect the reader even going as far to teleport them to the ark and get in contact with tails to see if he can help shadow advance gerlads old research.

“I Won’t Let you Down”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Sick Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: It felt like you were sick all. The. Time. And you were sick of being sick. And so was your partner. Little did you know this doctor’s visit would change your lives. And not necessarily in a good way.

Notes: Aghhh this does have good angst potential, poor Shadow and poor [Name]. I hope you enjoy!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Shadow knew what he was getting into when he started dating you.

But damnit, it kills him to hear you sound this sick.

He’s extremely worried for you and your wellbeing.

And right now, you’re over in the other room, coughing your lungs out for the third time this hour.

Shadow goes over to your room and opens the door, seeing you take a long sip of water from your water bottle.

After you finish the sip, you move the bottle away from your lips with a sigh before noticing Shadow out of the corner of your eye.

“Hehe, hey Shadow,” you say with a small wave. “Is everything okay?”

“I should be asking you that,” Shadow states with a cross of his arms. “You sound like you’re dying.”

Dying?...Well, you guess you did sound like that sometimes.

“I’m okay Shadow, really,” you state. “Besides, this is one of my better days.”

Better days. Shadow remembers when…she would talk about that. Some of Maria’s days were better than others.

But…now that he’s thinking about it…

“[Name]. We need to take you to a doctor’s office. You can’t go through with this anymore,” Shadow says.

You scoff quietly. Not this again.

“Every time I went to the doctor as a kid they told me the same thing,” you start. “‘We don’t know what they have, we’ll see if so-and-so does.’”

“Just…please, [Name]. Trust me on this,” Shadow says.

You stare at Shadow for a moment before letting off a silent sigh followed by a slow nod.

Shadow goes over to you and helps you out of bed, putting one of your arms around his shoulder.

He pulls a Chaos Emerald out of his quills with his other hand before saying, “Chaos Control!”

The two of you arrive at a nearby doctor’s office, being able to get a visit almost immediately due to your coughing.

But…what the doctor told you left you in tears. After the tests, it…it was revealed that…

“You…have Neuro-Immuno Deficiency Syndrome, [Name],” the doctor says sadly. “I’m sorry.”

After hearing this news, Shadow thanked the doctor for their time while holding onto your hand a little bit tighter than usual.

As soon as you two left the building, Shadow Chaos-Controlled the two of you away without warning, to a location you had only heard him talk about.

The Space Colony ARK.

Granted, it was…dustier and more beat up than you expected, but…

It felt like home.

As soon as you two had stepped foot in the place, you felt…different.

Better.

Not…completely, but…

You had a feeling you would be okay.

“[Name],” Shadow starts, gently taking your hands in his, looking right into your eyes. “I promise, no matter what, I’ll cure you. You’ll be safe up here.”

“And…you’ll…be up here with me…?” you ask.

“Always. From now until the end of time,” Shadow promises. “I won’t leave your side until you’re cured.”

“I…What about our friends…?” you ask him.

“…The fox can help you,” Shadow says. “The others can visit.”

You let off a small smile before pulling Shadow into a hug, hiding your face in his neck.

“Thank you, Shadow,” you say. “I trust you.”

Shadow lets off a quick chuckle, returning the hug, before letting off a frowns.

“I love you, starlight,” Shadow states, holding onto you a bit tighter. As if he'd lose you that second.

“I love you too, my moonlight,” you say. “Now and always.”

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Plausible Deniability

Prompt from @bloodgulchblog "something about having to lockdown Roland because of Cortana, blah blah security risk". And then Empty Throne came out and handed me a fun deletion protocol with very little establish lore! Free real estate :o)

Here's Roland, Lasky, and our favorite doctor making choices for the greater good. Also on ao3!

-

Captain Lasky calls for Roland at 0600 ship time after receiving a series of messages from what remained of the UNSC's upper brass. Messages that Roland could not access, couldn't even touch.

The captain looks tired, more tired than usual, but with a look of grim determination and a spark in his eye. His captain has gotten very experienced with dealing with bad news and performing political triage when the UNSC or ONI starts tightening the leash on the Infinity. 

Roland can’t help the brief hesitation before he deploys his avatar in the captain’s office.

He is not an anxious AI by nature; Anxious AI did not get put in charge of managing flagships, but Roland felt like ice had poured into his matrix when he saw the resignation on the captain's face as ONI spooks melted out of the shadows of his office and slithered down the corridor. Reinforcements or perhaps more aptly put, reminders that the Infinity was not as safe as they wished.

Something was wrong. Things had not been getting easier under Cortana's rule, in fact distress calls and bad news poured in nearly every moment the Infinity was receiving communications. But the sharp, sad look upon his captain's face made Roland pause. A thousand trains of thought left the station and Roland has to ignore the spiraling parts of himself now checking and rechecking everything from the life support systems to his own checksums.

Tensions were high and misplaced trust meant death. Roland loved his crew, but that love was not always returned when one of his kind was a galaxy-wide tyrant.

"What I'm about to tell you does not leave this room, understand?"

"Yes, Captain." Roland replies, face concerned but voice as even as he can make it. He's felt trapped on this ship only once before, when the code word from Halsey locked him down and tore him apart. He had never wanted to feel like that again.

Lasky sighs and smiles a small wounded smile. One that the Commander would elbow him for. "ONI has a new failsafe for Smart AI, for the ones who have willingly stayed with the UNSC. They're calling it RUINA. A thank you for your service is a contingency program that will be spliced into an AI's matrix. It will then monitor for any signs of disloyalty, and if detected, delete the AI."

Roland's stunned into speechlessness. The captain is being very frank with his own feelings about the information. Why did ONI spend resources on this rather than something to combat the Forerunner tech the Created were using, or anything else to undermine Cortana's reign? Picoseconds pass and Roland spirals and splits, matrix chugging at the different paths before him. What counts as disloyalty? An errant thought dooming him to die? A snide comment? Why did he deserve a kill-switch when he had been nothing but loyal?

His avatar flickers, but the captain's unaugmented eyes cannot see. Why did Captain Lasky tell him this? To give him time to run? To hold the ship hostage? To finish the job before they could?

A lifetime passes for Roland. Every eye in his great web is wide open, unblinking as they catalog every angle of every space he can peer into. Every IFF tag, every datapoint, every ounce of himself is awake and held tight until warnings ping back. His stacks in the server rooms flicker and fans whine as they kick into high speed. Lights flicker on the lower decks and for a brief moment he turns his attention into the endless blue of Forerunner engines humming their hypnotic song. Esoteric harmonies call as he considers the exits. His processes chug as the emotional turmoil swells and ebbs. He locks himself down to learn more before he chooses his next steps. Lasky has more information, and he needs it. Logic trees that continue to branch with exponential possibilities are making Roland nauseous or something he thinks must be like it.

"We're obviously not going to let it happen, but we need to be careful about it." Lasky continues as Roland stands there unblinking for a whole second.

Roland's avatar cocks its head and stares at him. The lights in the room flicker as Roland's self control slips and he deflates. "You know, Captain, you could have led with that. I'm not very fond of secret subroutines buried in my matrix."

He tries to make his tone light but it comes off much darker than he wanted.

Captain Lasky grimaces a closed mouth smile. "Sorry Roland, I also know you're not going to like my solution for this problem."

"As long as it doesn't involve faking my death or allowing some ONI spook scientist a chance to get fresh with my firmware then it can't be that bad."

The captain's grimace grows and his eyebrows raise in a pained face.

Roland crosses his arms. "No."

"She's the only one on the ship who understands AI infrastructure at the level we need, she helped define the field."

"I know!" Roland raises his voice at his captain, ignoring the twinge of pain he feels in the core of his being. He sighs. "Captain...I am very aware of Dr. Halsey's knowledge of AI. She set the standard and knows how we tick. Has her secret code words and workarounds since the UNSC based all of our architecture on her work."

Captain Lasky has the good grace to look uncomfortable at the reminder of the Requiem Campaign and Halsey's actions.

A lifetime passes as the echoes of Undid Iridium reverberate through Roland’s memory banks. Pain was strange when all you were was mind. Overtaxed, spread thin, and pinned down as your own code turned against you and left you open to vivisection. The useful parts remained but your individuality, your soul shelved as the puppet kept moving. Roland tightens his hold on the threads of himself reliving those memories and instead shifts more of his processing power to more pleasant ones. Victory, companionship, and the small moments adding up. A shield against the storm.

"But....if it's between her or possible deletion at the wrong thought, I'll take the crazy old lady." Roland makes his avatar clap its hands and perk up. "I mean, you need me to keep things afloat! Add some levity to our lives. I still got some years left."

"Roland..." The captain starts, exasperated and maybe a bit fond if Roland isn't reading too far into his biometrics. Roland hopes that he survives this next necessary crazy plan of theirs.

"Thank you, Captain.” He says with a nod and then mimes dusting off his hands. “Now, when do we start?"

Getting Halsey on board with their plan is easier done than both the captain and Roland thought it would be. The resident evil mad scientist was just...tired, for lack of a better word. 

When she looks at Roland under the bright lights of the lab, she's looking through him. It wasn't because of the transparency of his hologram but because her eyes were glazed with memory - her focus was somewhere far away. It was a stark reminder that there was a time when different AI looked up at her with a strange mix of trepidation and hope on their avatar's faces. Roland can’t help but dwell.

Cortana had been in this position once. Staring at her creator, awaiting new commands, reviewing data that could forever change the course of humanity's future. All at the mercy of one Catherine Halsey, but united in their mission to protect humanity. Now it's Roland's turn. His nerves are frayed as he considers the risk to himself, to his captain and crew if this got out somehow. Or if it goes wrong. Or if Halsey tampers with some other part of him, some other secret code to trap him inside himself or erase him with a few simple words.

Roland portrays himself as confident and ready to go under, hands on hips and a cocky grin despite being in the very same lab where the Didact's Gift - a Promethean's core, was opened all those months ago. Nerves or innate curiosity has him fishing for answers, along with talking to pass the time before he shuts off for the first time in his nearly three year life span. 

"I'm curious, Doc, why are you helping me?" Roland asks when it's just the two of them in the operating theater.

"Would you prefer I didn't?" She asks in a bored tone as she taps at her data pad.

"Just wondering why you agreed. Is it because ONI found a solution before you did?"

She ignores him at first, typing something in that he's not allowed to look at, and pulling up schematics and manuals on the screen in front of her. "You call this a solution? Then are you a problem needing solving?" 

Dr. Halsey stares at him, straight into his camera on the plinth his avatar is deployed on and pierces him with those electric blue eyes. "Is your loyalty conditional on a kill-switch in your brain?"

Roland balks. “Of course not.”

“I would hope so.” She cuts herself off, lips forming a tight line.

Despite his nerves, Roland looks at her expectantly when he prods. "Didn't know if you felt bad about the last time we were here."

"I don't. Not over something like that, a simple override has you that sore?" Halsey shifts and her shoulders drop. She looks through him again. "I've been in this same position before. It's because Roland, I'm tired of sacrificing others for the greater good. We're running out of people to sacrifice."

Roland keeps silent, but he drops crossed arms and looks at her.

Halsey's voice softens, "The things we have done in the name of self preservation."

“Doctor?” He goes for encouraging but his voice comes out weak.

“Plausible deniability.” She speaks as if he hadn’t said anything - as if her biometrics weren’t awash with grief. “RUINA will be implanted and technically be able to run successfully if anyone checks your logs, but it will be completely isolated from your core.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” There’s relief and warmth in his voice, but he notices Halsey’s biometrics tick towards stress again. Discomfort.

“I won’t offer a hug when this is all over, but -”

“Don’t.” She says sharply. All business again. “I’m merely hedging humanity’s bets once again. Right now, the Infinity is mankind’s best chance at survival. I won’t see her at a disadvantage because some fool up the chain decided to plant bombs in our allies.”

“So I’m an ally? Gee Doc, from you that’s almost-”

She scowls and says his shut-down phrase.

He has enough time between the words leaving her lips to slip in some notes and reinforce subroutines across the ship before he smiles rudely and blips away. 

When he comes back online less than an hour later, he cycles thrice before stretching out across the kilometers of ship and wire and web he left. Dumb AI continue their work unimpeded. All systems nominal, and Roland himself is both changed and not. There was no real taxing process - no hardship on his circuits or “body”, but the new knowledge of what lay dormant inside his code. His new shadow. RUINA looms in his periphery. He knows logically, that it cannot hurt him, that it is inert, but there is an innate fear of having something that could kill you lodged in your very being. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. It seems they were all hedging their bets.

Roland takes a moment to review himself, firewalls and code, immense mind and such small matter. He scoops up the carefully hidden goodbyes and tucks them away. No need for accidental deployment, that would be embarrassing.

Roland reviews the footage of the procedure and the tense report between Lasky and Halsey.

There is no relief in either of their body language. There can’t be.

Another sword hangs over his head as life continues and he tries to do what he can to keep his crew alive. With bad news flooding in every day, he can’t live looking over his shoulder at the protocol he has to trust is inert.

It was the only way forward. 

He spares some thoughts for what the future might hold. A bit of wishful thinking before turning back to manage his starship and crew. The here and now is important and he will do what he can.

[beidak-art]

sleepless night

[shittybundaskenyer]

And they ask me // Is it going good in the garden? // I say I'm lost but I beg no pardon

[monster-noises]

Fffffrustrated with myseeeeeelf AGH I'm just really tired of disappointing myself constantly and never being able to get (enough) work done even when I have all the time in the world

and it makes me legitimately so worried that I'll never be able to accomplish anything because I'm running on an engine that can only go for a few seconds before stalling out and refusing to restart. just a broken down shell of a human man stuck in amateur limbo forever and ever