#could probably tweak it a bit more still but this looks good enough in my books ^^

[vividviolence]

slarpy gee fanart since I beat it recently... the character design in this game goes hard as hell !!!

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself—quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you���re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

[lionwin]

jealous. : yu jimin.

; “ it’s my right to be hellish, i still get jealous. ”

genre — fluff warnings : no warnings. reader gets jealous easily. jimin green flag. half smau. reader is apart of aespa. video’s subs are fake. content under cut.

i dont like the way he’s looking at you

karina was talking to jeno, about what? you didn’t know, you didn’t notice. what you did notice was how close jeno was to the girl—your girl.

you cleared your throat softly as you walked behind karina and wrapped your arms around her small waist, pulling her closer to you and away from him. “jimin… can we get coffee? i heard this new cafe opened near— oh, hi jeno.”

you sounded a bit more passive-aggressive than you had intended. jeno greeted you too before glancing at jimin and then at you, deciding it was probably best to leave you two alone. “i’ve got somewhere to be, talk to you later karina.”

your girlfriend nodded, giving him a small ‘bye’ before turning to look at you. “what was that for?”

“what was what for?” you answered coyly.

I'm starting to think you want him too

Am I crazy? Have I lost ya?

“yn.” she said firmly, making you let out a small whine, your grip on karina loosening as she looked at you. “sorry, i didn’t like how he was looking at you—”

“how was he looking at me?” karina interrupted, her voice dropping an octave as she brought you to a more secluded area.

“… like he wants you,” you murmured, making karina tsk. “baby… he’s just a friend—an acquaintance even. and even if, in some crazy world, he did like me—it wouldn’t matter.”

you grumbled as karina gently cupped your face, her thumb caressing your cheek. “y’know why?”

“why?” you asked softly.

“’cause i love you.”

Even though I know you love me

Can't help it

you blushed at her words, turning away as you coughed out a small ‘whatever,’ trying to sound casual, though the soft blush on your cheeks gave you away.

“don’t ‘whatever’ me,” your girlfriend said, rolling her eyes with a smile as she pressed a small kiss to your cheek.

—

“of course i saw, idiot,” you murmured to yourself.

I turn my cheer music up

And I'm puffing my chest

I'm getting red in the face

You can call me obsessed

It's not your fault that they hover

I mean no disrespect

waking up to your girlfriend’s messages made you feel shitty, really shitty. it wasn’t her fault the paparazzi were there, nor was it her fault that heeseung was also there. you knew that—but you still got jealous.

It's my right to be hellish

I still get jealous

—

“yn,” giselle called from across the room. you were with karina (as usual), your arms wrapped around her waist as you rested your head on her shoulder. “hm?” you hummed in response.

“take a picture of me,” the japanese said with playful impatience. your group had decided to go out together, since promotions for your new mini-album were finally over.

you brought your polaroid camera, thinking it complemented your outfit, and it wouldn’t hurt to take a few pictures.

you pretended to think about aeri’s request for a few seconds before saying with a small smile, “nah, i’m good.”

the oldest scoffed. “wha– what do you mean you’re good?”

“i’m good as in, no thanks. plus, i ran out of film.”

your girlfriend looked at you, her perfect lips forming a pout. “you ran out?” her tone was soft, almost whiny as she glanced at your camera, then back at you. you chuckled at her expression, placing a quick peck on her cheek before shaking your head.

“no, no, i still have film… i just don’t wanna use it on aeri,” you teased. “she’s used up enough.” karina sighed in relief before asking in a small voice, “in that case, could you take some photos of me?”

she didn’t even have to finish her sentence before you were already tweaking the settings of your camera. you knew how she liked her pictures, the vibe she went for, how the sunlight hit her skin, the angles she liked…

karina let out that gentle giggle you were obsessed with, making your knees weak. she stepped back, showing off the beautiful scenery—a gorgeous field filled with unique flowers, though none as unique as her.

you took a couple photos, smiling as she comtinued on with her childish antics, getting distracted when she was supposed to be posing—though you guess it added to the charm, her charm.

once done, she skipped back over to you as you shook the picture to help develop it faster. “can i see?” she asked like an eager child. just as you were about to show her, aeri spoke, your ears perking slightly at her voice.

“hey! you said you were out of film!” she said in a slight whine, making your two youngest members turn to look at you, curious as to what was happening.

you shrugged. the polaroid finally developed, revealing your girlfriend’s beauty. karina smiled as she reached for the picture, studying it for a few seconds before giving you a quick peck on the lips. “… i love it.”

ningning, now bouncing on her toes, wanted to see it too. “oh, that’s so cute! unnie, you look so pretty,” the youngest complimented, and minjeong agreed. aeri glanced at the photo and begrudgingly nodded. “you actually do look cute, that’s rare,” she teased.

“shut up,” jimin murmured, playfully pushing her.

“no really, unnie. you look pretty,” winter added.

'Cause you're too fuckin' beautiful

And everybody wants a taste

you gently tugged on karina’s free hand, making her look at you. she giggled before pulling you closer, her fingers intertwining with yours. “yeah, well, that’s probably because my super cool and cute girlfriend took my pictures.”

the others chuckled as you nuzzled into jimin’s shoulder. “yeah, yeah, we get it—you two are in love,” minjeong said playfully as jimin waved her hand dismissively.

That's why (That's why)

I still get jealous

—

you were lying in bed, curled up against karina, but something didn’t feel right. jimin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. you were quiet—too quiet. “… baby?”

you let out a soft hum in response.

“you okay?” she asked, rubbing small circles on your back.

“… yeah,” you murmured, but your tone betrayed you.

“you sure?” she repeated

you stayed silent for a few more seconds before nuzzling further into her. “… was on twitter, and i saw people talking about how you and jeno look good together.”

jimin could practically hear you pouting as she pulled back slightly to look at you. her expression softened when she saw your face—your face she loved so much.

“don’t mind them, baby. they don’t know what they’re talking about,” she reassured, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “… don’t be jealous. you’re the only one i want,” she added before placing a quick kiss on your cheek, then your lips.

it was nice—you could admit that. though, you knew that no matter what, you’d still get jealous.

[glitteringdust]

The first time Davrin realized he was in love was in the heat of battle— covered head to toe in muck and gore as wave after wave of darkspawn poured through the flooded parts of Lavendel. He swings his sword and downs the hurlock throwing spears, turning on his heel just in time to see Rook surrounded by a seething mob.

He stands knee-deep in stagnant water, lightning trailing from his fingertips, dancing up and along his arms as he coats his entire form in glimmering purple sparks. Bending his knees into a crouch, he waits for the exact moment to unleash the storm.

It's brief, the hint of delight that crosses Rook's expression. He had been waiting to try this move out, practiced it at least a dozen times at this point but without the payoff. He'd always let the magic die out.

The darkspawn slashes forward, claws connecting at the same time he jumps up. The lightning forks itself outward, pouncing eagerly upon the dampened darkspawn. Rook fade-steps out of the fray, watching the calamity of his work fry every last darkspawn into ash.

Davrin can't help the words that leave his mouth, "Damn, Rook."

He's panting, but grins all the same, "A bit more lively on the follow through than I expected. My fingers are stinging."

All Davrin can see is explosive strength in a tightly packed form, a force of nature. It was… entirely the wrong time to be thinking of Rook's beauty, but the fact that the elf could take down just about anything in his way was more than attractive.

They push deeper into the overrun fort, the last of the horde contained to the boarded up entryway. This time, Rook replaces lightning with fire, the puddles of blight glistening as the flames ignite the entire area into an inferno. The darkspawn all but melt, and any stragglers are easily put down by Harding's arrows.

The whirlwind of flames releases Rook, "Fire is… that needs a bit of work." He coughs little puffs of smoke, "Mission successful, though."

He never thought Rook could look any hotter than he did already, until he'd seen him coated in flames one moment and completely fine the next.

"That was beyond impressive Rook." He says the words intentionally, hoping the other would blush in response.

He doesn't disappoint, running a hand through his hair as he looks away, cheeks flushed, "Still needs tweaking, but you can watch me any time you'd like."

"Any time I'd like, huh?"

"I'm told I put on quite the show."

"I bet you do—"

Harding clears her throat, "If you guys are done flirting now, we should probably go let Evka and Antoine know the good news."

"What? We weren’t… that’s not…" Rook begins to protest, Davrin doing the same. Harding looks unconvinced, but shrugs her shoulders as she starts to head back, the two wardens following behind.

—

He didn't think about the consequences of doing too much too fast, and it wasn't until he was back at the Lighthouse that he knew what those consequences were.

Every muscle fiber stings, pins and needles in his fingers slowly traveling up his arms. Other parts of him feel as though flames still licked at tender flesh, searing hot and almost numb in some spots.

Almost, but not quite, the pain reminds him.

The bath house is full of steam, but Rook can barely relax enough to remove his clothes. He should just give up, crawl back to bed and hope the worst of it fades by morning.

"Looks like we had the same idea." Davrin says from behind him.

"After Lavendel, you kind of have to," He carefully looks over his shoulder, but ends up wincing anyway.

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Eyes like an eagle, Davrin never seemed to miss anything he did, "I'm fine. Just… sore."

"Kal, come on. You're a terrible liar."

His name coming from Davrin’s mouth always sent his heart fluttering. It was good, when he said it. It felt right.

"Sometimes, trying new magic comes back to bite you in the ass. I can barely move my arms."

"I see. I guess that explains why you were about to take a bath fully dressed."

"You're funny."

"You know, I think I might have just the thing to help."

"Yeah? Let's hear it."

"Well," Davrin moves closer until he's just behind him, voice like velvet in his ear, "First, we need to get rid of these clothes."

The smooth rustle of fabric behind him, Davrin's shirt tossed to the floor. Rook clumsily fingers the hem of his tunic, attempting to follow suit but Davrin is quicker. Gentle, careful movements as his shirt joins the other.

Hands on his waistband tug downwards, and although he's gotten undressed in front of Davrin more than a few times, he's nervous. This time was different.

This was an intimacy not born of lust, but of intention. This was devotion. Raw and vulnerable.

Davrin takes Rook's hand and steps down into the pool, gesturing for him to sit on the side, "We'll work your way in."

He hisses in pain as he sits on the edge, feet resting on the step and completely submerged in the warm water. Davrin takes one foot in his hand and squeezes, starting near his toes, then along the arch, back to the heel. He massages right where they hurt most, and Rook can't help but groan with pleasure.

When both feet have been tended to, Davrin works his way up Rook's legs. He sucks in a sharp breath when his calf seizes up, but Davrin is there kneading out the knot immediately, murmuring softly to him as he soothes the pain.

Soon, he's being pulled further into the steaming water, humming his approval as both heat and hands reach his thighs. He exhales through his nose, having to consciously calm his thoughts and keep his body from reacting like it usually did when Davrin was naked and this close to him.

"You doing okay, Kal?"

"Mmmm, more than okay."

Davrin sinks himself lower, water just below his pecs as he settles on the last step. Rook sits himself between his legs, and Davrin begins massaging all around his shoulders, then down his back, along his arms. He takes great care to go slowly, leaving no part of him aching. His thumbs run circles along tensed muscles, working them loose inch by inch. The pins and needles retreat from the combination of Davrin's strong hands, and the steady warmth of the bath. He melts into the water around him, closing his eyes briefly as he lets himself fade into nothing.

Nothing but him and Davrin, bodies close.

Davrin, who saw right through the walls he hid behind and saw him for who he was, not what he could be. Who cared deeply for the things he loved, and wanted nothing more but to mean something to this world.

Well, he certainly means the world to me.

"Kal? How do you feel?" The other's breath on his ear sends a shiver down his spine.

He feels completely unwound, the worst of the symptoms fading into the water. He leans back against Davrin's chest, "You have your own set of magic hands. I feel like a new man."

Davrin rests his chin on Rook's shoulder, "As breathtaking as you are when in your element, Kal, I don't enjoy seeing you in pain. So I’ve got you, anytime you need me."

Rook finds the hand resting on his thigh, entwining his fingers with Davrin's, "You know I've got you, too, right? The feeling is mutual."

They stay sitting like that for a while, Davrin's arm around his waist and Rook's hand in his. Neither one wanting to pull away from the other, even if the water was growing cool.

"Stay with me tonight, Kal. We'll both sleep better if you do."

"Trying to get me into bed, are you?" Rook teases.

"Oh, I don't really have to try. I know you'll come."

He shakes his head, stifling a laugh, "And you say my puns are bad."

Later, with Davrin sleeping soundly beneath him, it hits him with total and complete clarity.

He's falling in love.

[midmourn]

play the part

PAIRING Lee Donghyuck/Haechan/GN!Reader/Na Jaemin

SUMMARY Haechan’s your boyfriend, but Jaemin’s your best friend. How could he ever compete?

GENRE Angst

CONTENTS Brief mentions of (almost) vomiting, I think the phrase is called emotional cheating, alcohol use, surprise sad ending

WORDS 1,428

LISTENING TO that way by tate mcrae, traitor by olivia rodrigo, high infidelity by taylor swift

NOTE im not writing a part two so please don’t ask, thank you <3 i found this in my google docs so i tweaked it just a tiny bit and i couldn’t find it on my old blog so idk if i ever posted it or not

When Mark finds Haechan, the younger boy is still nursing the drink that he had received from Jaehyun when they first stepped inside the party. “Woah,” he tries to joke, already knowing how his best friend was feeling, “Still drinking that drink? You’d usually be in your fifth one by now. Finally decided to take AA seriously?”

Haechan doesn’t laugh, and Mark’s smile fades, sighing as his shoulders slump. Mark downs the rest of his own drink before setting it aside, not wanting it anymore. Haechan doesn’t look up when Mark sits beside him on the railing of the balcony, “You know, it’s probably not safe for us to be this close to the edge while drinking,” Mark gestures to the ground beneath them.

“I feel like death would be better than life right now,” Haechan murmurs, and even those the words could be taken as a joke, both of them know it’s not. And Mark has a pretty good idea on why that is. Mark follows to where Haechan’s gaze is, finding a group of people sitting around the pool in Jaehyun’s backyard, but Haechan’s eyes were only on two people— a familiar head full of of black and a familiar face.

Jaemin’s arm was thrown around your shoulders, the back of his head facing Mark and Haechan but your face was clear for Haechan to see. The grin on your face was so bright that even Mark’s eyes hurt. He wasn’t close enough to be able to see, but if he was, he was sure that he would’ve been able to see the stars decorating your eyes. Mark remembers when you and Haechan first met, the younger would not shut up about you. Mark knows things about you that he shouldn’t, and that’s because of him.

“They’re just friends,” Mark says, swallowing the lump in his throat for he can’t swallow the empathy swelling up inside of him— knowing exactly how his best friend feels. “You’re their boyfriend.”

“I have the title,” Haechan sighs, tilting his head up to drag his eyes away from the two of you. His glistening eyes stare up at the dark sky, clouds decorating the sky and moving to cover the moon. “But he has their heart.”

“If they had feelings for him, they would break up with you, Hyuck,” Mark tries to reassure him, but even Mark doesn’t believe his own words. He wishes he could help more.

“Not if they knew I’d be heartbroken by it,” Haechan swallows the rest of his drink down, welcoming the burning taste. It couldn’t beat the burning in his heart, though.

“Either way, you’re heartbroken,” Mark argues, shaking his head as he turns to face Haechan. “But if you were over, at least you’d be free to move on.”

Haechan doesn’t respond for a moment, only rolling his shoulders as he looks back down at the group of people again. He licks his lips before saying, “I have the title. That’s enough, right?” When Mark doesn’t respond, he exhales through his nose sharply, “I’m their boyfriend. I love them. That should be enough.”

There’s a painful silence before Mark speaks with an underlying tone of hurt, “Sometimes, it isn’t enough.” He’s starting to wish he had another drink. “Hyuck, you’re going to have to do it if they won’t.”

“Guess I’ll just have to play the part, then,” Haechan says suddenly, pushing himself off the railing and onto the balcony floor.

“What part?” Mark asks, eyebrows furrowing as he turns to him.

“Acting like I’m really stupid,” Haechan smiles, but it’s an empty smile. Mark’s not familiar with it— and he hates it. “And that I have no idea that they’re falling in love with their best friend.”

“How was your day?” Haechan asks, his phone laying on his bed with the speaker on. He’s drying his hair with the t-shirt he had on before he took a shower, staring into his mirror in front of his bed. “Have fun?”

“All I did was sleep and play Among Us with Jisung so,” you giggle and his heart swells at the sound, a smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, I did have fun.”

“So you’ll play Among Us with Jisung but not me?” He snarks, throwing his shirt into his dirty clothes hamper but you know he’s joking— he’s always joking like that. “Maybe you should date him instead.”

You giggle again, “Jisung is too young—”

“It’s barely two years,” he sits down on his bed, grabbing his phone to go through his photo gallery, almost every single one being of you. “I’ll even tell him for you, that way if you get rejected—” A small smile is on his lips as he stares down at a picture of you and him, visiting your shared lock at the Love Lock of Namsan Tower.

“Hey!”

“— You don’t have to witness it and ugly cry.”

“In this hypothetical situation, even if he said he liked me back, you’d still tell me he rejected me, wouldn’t you?”

Haechan laughs from surprise, sometimes forgetting just how much you know him, “And you’re right, for once. I’d then tell him the text was for someone else to humble him.”

Your laughter is loud and unapologetic, just how he likes it. “Oh, you are so—” You cut yourself off and it’s silent from your side before you start giggling, “Stop it.” His eyebrows furrow, head tilting as he pauses in his scrolling. What had he done? “No! Don’t be like that and don’t you dare—” You start giggling loudly again, shrieking for whoever to stop what they were doing. If you weren’t laughing, he’d have been concerned.

Haechan says your name once but when it’s not heard over your laughter, he frowns and goes back to the call, seeing that he’s not on mute. He says your name again and when no reply, he goes to say your name once more but a familiar voice stops him. His body freezes as his blood goes cold, staring down at his floor when he recognizes the voice.

No one has a voice like Na Jaemin does. And even if there was, he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

It’s when even after you stop laughing, and you talk to Jaemin like Haechan still isn’t on the phone with you, is when his heart finally drops like an anchor to the bottom of his stomach. You forgot.

They forgot, they forgot, they forgot, his mind chants back at him.

Haechan doesn’t register when your voice first cuts off, only looking down when he realizes and seeing that the call ended. He doesn’t remember if he ended it or if you remembered and did it yourself. Either way, his heart still hurts. Tears stream down his face as sobs rip out of his chest, with loud, violent sounds. His chest hurts, too. His chest is tightening, and coughs start to cough, each cough getting more violent than the next. He doesn’t know if it’s because of the harsh crying or—

He turns to find a water bottle for him to drink but his vision is blurry from crying and the coughing won’t stop, no matter how much he tries to breathe and calm himself down. The crying doesn’t stop, either. He has a feeling he’s about to throw up and pushes himself off his bed, stumbling to his bathroom with his hands on the walls and door frame so he won’t fall.

It doesn’t work, and he falls on his knees anyway. In only a matter of a few minutes, he’s soaked to the bone and his shirt is wet— his previously dry hair is clinging to his forehead and neck. Bile— he thinks— crawls up his throat and he throws himself to where he knows the toilet is, clinging onto the bathroom sink as it comes up and into the toilet.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he finally comes around, dried tear streaks on his cheeks and his vision is no longer blurry. His breathing is still heavy, but it’s slow and ragged. He’s not coughing or crying anymore. He can’t help but look in the toilet, not even knowing if he really threw up or if it was just his imagination. His breath catches in his throat, the sight of a familiar singular flower floating in the otherwise empty toilet. A light pink Orchid, your favorite flowers. He knows because he gave them to you on your first date.

Haechan isn’t stupid— and the flower only confirms his thoughts.

[gothushi]

father’s day luvin’

pairing: rob x reader

note: happy father’s day every1 and especially rob <3 quickly proof read so sry for mistakes

word count: 2.8k

Music plays from your phone, sat on the floor in front of the coffee table. Your coloring book is sprawled out, crayons scattered around, coloring in a picture.

The purr of an engine goes unnoticed by you, Rob’s appearance only being recognized when his keys jangle in the front door, making you jump.

He comes inside, carrying a bag from the gas station and one from the hardware store, dropping his keys onto the counter. His blues narrow as he spots you, book closed and watching him intently with a smile.

“What’s my princess up to?”

You offer a big grin, watching as he comes over. “Nothin’. Did you find the part you needed?”

Rob drops the bags onto the couch as he squats down beside you, a big, warm hand finding the line of your back.

“I did, finally.” He sighs, nodding. The damn thing has been a pain in the ass, taking a few days to figure out the problem and then another two to track down the part he needed.

You have your book closed, arm laid over it, keeping your attention on him because you’re not a good liar.

“You gonna work on it some more?”

Rob cocks a brow, eyeing you curiously at your sneaky ways. His free hand reaches, cradling your cheek affectionately. “You hiding somethin’ from me?”

“No.” You answer too quickly, moving your arm away as to not be suspicious.

He huffs, amused. “Yeah, sure you aren’t.” His hand on your back rubs in slow circles, lightly scratching. “What are you coloring?”

“A secret.” You smile big, stretching your legs out under the coffee table.

A smirk spreads over his lips, humming like it’s a big discovery. “Oh, a secret, huh? You know you can’t hide anything from me.” His hand dips around, poking at your side.

You yelp and twitch away, slapping at his arm. “Yeah huh. You’re not allowed to see it yet.”

“Mm. Sneaky little brat. You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“Whaaat? I can have secrets.” You pout, complaining with big eyes.

His hand now plays with the hem of your shirt, smiling softly. “Mhmm. I never said you couldn’t, sweetpea, I just said I’ll find out eventually.”

His hand creeps up your side, pulling fresh giggles from you as you push at him playfully to protect yourself from the tickling. “Leave! Go do y’r stuffs.”

Rob relents, but not without another quick poke to hear you squeak. “Bossy little thing.” He pushes up to his feet again, grunting. “Alright, alright, I’ll go fix the damn lawnmower.”

You tilt your head to follow him as he rises, fiddling with one of your crayons, the orange one. “Are you still gonna make burgers tonight?”

He nods, stretching his back before his hand finds your head, patting gently. “Yep. About an hour, probably.” He really wants to stay inside and cuddle, pet over you and relax, but he’s been tweaking a bit about the grass.

“You stay out of trouble while I’m outside, alright?” He teases, grabbing the hardware store bag off the couch. His other hand gestures to the other one, “There’s some snacks in there for you, baby.”

“Thank you!” You watch him walk all the way to the sliding doors, and once he’s out, you get back to work.

Twenty minutes later, the picture is done.

You take it into the kitchen, carefully using the scissors to slice at the paper, just enough to cleanly tear it out.

Rushing upstairs, you slip into the guest bedroom where you have your stash.

Fate is against you and your bad lying, because just as you’re coming out of the bedroom, you almost run right into Rob in the hallway, yelping.

Rob was coming upstairs to check on you, finding it a bit suspicious when he came in to use the bathroom and didn’t see you anywhere.

He raises a brow, stood right in front of you. “What were you doing in the guest room?”

You finish pulling the door closed behind you, giving him a sheepish grin. “I was looking for batteries.”

Batteries? Really? That’s the first thing you could come up with?!

He smirks, crowding you against the wall until your back bumps into the doorframe. “Batteries?”

He smells of motor oil and grass, hands a bit dirty. “Uh huh, I don’t think we have any.”

The smirk forms into a grin, keeping you trapped. A big hand is placed onto the wall beside you. “Mm. You’re a bad liar, y’know that?”

“Am not!” You defend, “Well- I’m not lying. I was lookin’ for some for the light thing you got me.” The lie turns into something more truthful, considering you have a little light up sign he got you recently. It does require batteries!

His brows raise, humming, “Is that so, huh? And you were looking for them in the guest room?”

“Yeah! I couldn’t find any in the kitchen. I never know where you might put stuff.” You cross your arms defiantly, staring up at him.

You can’t be suspicious now, you’ve done so good so far.

“You’re a stubborn little thing.” He leans down, inches from your face. It’s obvious you’re hiding something. “I know you’re lying.”

You change the subject, huffing through your nose. “Did you fix the lawnmower already?”

Rob knows exactly what you’re doing, but he’ll entertain it for now. He laughs, shaking his head, “No. I just had to use the bathroom.”

You hum a little, nodding. “Oh- I might come outside for a bit then.”

“That so? Gonna come keep y’r old man company?”

I giggle, hands flattening on his tummy as I nod. “Mhm. Maybe I’ll get in the pool.”

“You gonna have fun in the pool while I sweat my ass off?”

Another giggle at his playful attitude. “I can be incentive for you to finish.”

“Ohhh, okay, I see.” He agrees, nodding dramatically. “You do make a pretty good incentive.” A hand dips down to pat your hip, gesturing with his head. “Go get y’r swimsuit on then.”

After a while of being outside, you come in to shower and change as he gets to work on dinner. That gives you a chance to work some more.

Hair wet and in fresh pajamas, you sit at your vanity in the bedroom, considering your space in the guest room almost got found out.

A card lays before you, leaned over as you write.

Rob is focused on the grill, idly humming to himself. He peeks into the doors periodically, wondering if you’re coming back down or what’s taking so long.

Eventually, curiosity gets the better of him when the burgers are all done, switching the grill off and coming inside. Making his way upstairs, he knocks at the closed bedroom door.

“You decent, baby?”

You startle, opening your vanity drawer to put the card and pen inside, opting to grab your lotion inside. “Yeah!”

The door is pushed open before he comes in, gaze drifting over you as he walks over. “You sure took your time, sweetheart.”

“Sorry..” You grow sheepish, smiling at him as you pump some lotion onto your fingers. “Is the stuff done?”

He watches like a hunter staring down prey, his normal gaze, a hand falling to your shoulder affectionately. “Everything’s good to go.”

You massage the sweet smelling lotion into your leg, tilting up to look at him with a smile. “Okay, I’ll be down in a minute.”

His hand gently squeezes, calloused fingertips massaging into your shoulder in a slow rub. It slips up into your damp hair, gently scritching.

“You took a long shower.” It’s an observation, playful.

You’re too comforted to even respond, humming contentedly as your lotioning slows.

“Mh. That’s the spot, huh?” He grins big, watching as you purr like a happy kitty.

You lazily rub the excess lotion onto your thighs, nodding slowly. Once done, you shift in your chair so you can hug him, arms around his waist and face nuzzling against his belt.

His large hand cups the back of your head, cooing a soft noise, “Pretty girl. C’mon, let’s go eat.”

There was no more sneaking around until now.

It’s early in the morning, rousing at the chime of your quiet alarm. You slip from bed, gathering the card from your vanity and tiptoeing out of the bedroom.

It’s Father’s Day today, so obviously, you had to do stuff for Rob. Right?

By the time Rob rouses in bed, he can smell the strong scent of breakfast, the sun shining in through the pulled apart curtains.

He blinks slow, groaning as his eyes come into focus. Glancing over, he sees your empty side of the bed, pushing to sit up.

He’s always groggy, like a grumpy bear being awoken from its nap, grumbling as he rubs over his face. When his feet meet the carpet, he stretches his back, turning this way and that where he sits as he calls out.

“Baby? You makin’ breakfast?”

You meticulously left the bedroom door open, just so you could hear him when he inevitably calls out to you like he *always does when you’re not in bed.

You appear a moment later in the doorway, already dressed, a bit dolled up in fact, looking a bit sheepish.

“Morning..”

Groggy eyes find you, raking over your figure and taking in the cute outfit you’ve got on. Standing slow, he twists his arm around to loosen his shoulder, shuffling over. “Morning, baby. You’re all dressed up. Where you goin’?”

Glossy lips get pressed together for a moment, anxious. You’re nervous he’ll think it’s silly or something, but it’s way too late now to back out.

You reach for his hands, giving him the opportunity to notice the slightly glassy look in your eyes, framed by mascara as your fingers intertwine. “No where.. I made breakfast.”

“Yeah?” His gaze softens, still tired but noting your demeanor. “You look nervous, what’s goin’ on?”

“Um-” You stammer, before deciding against the rambling you were planning on. “Just- you have to close your eyes.” You walk backwards a few feet, towards the hallway with him.

Rob’s brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and concern. It isn’t like you to be so secretive, you’re just no good at it. He lets you guide him though, letting out a laugh as he shuts his eyes.

“Alright, I’m keepin’ ‘em closed. Lead the way, baby.”

Leading him down the stairs is a slow task, making sure he doesn’t peek or trip. Considering you only let him go a few feet off the stairs, he thinks you stop at the kitchen.

“Okay.. y’can open.” Your voice cuts through, hands letting go of his.

As he blinks, eyes adjusting to the bright room, sun shining in, the surprise is revealed. On the counter is a gift bag, a finished coloring page, and an envelope that says ‘daddy’ on it.

Breakfast is also done, some pancakes, eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon ready to be served, along with his mug filled with coffee.

He stares for a moment, taking in everything as he looks to you, “Baby.. what’s all this?”

“Um-..” You fidget with your hands, nervous, staring at him like a scolded dog. “It’s-.. It’s Father’s Day..”

His heart flutters, a little jump in his chest as it clicks in his brain. Stepping closer, he covers your hands in his, thumbs rubbing over your knuckles, attempting to soothe your obvious nerves. “Y/N… you didn’t have to go and do all this..” He speaks quietly, a little smile on his lips.

Your eyes are hazy, furrowed. “Is it-..” You glance at the stuff, cheeks warm, then back to him, “Do you not like it?”

“No, no honey, I love it. It’s perfect.” He coos, a soft reassurance as he tugs you to his chest in a big hug. “You’re so sweet,” the words are murmured against your scalp, followed by a kiss.

Your arms loop around him, squeezing onto his bare torso, cheek smushing on his chest. Relief floods through you, all the silly worry gone as you just relax, fuzzing over.

You were worried because.. well, he’s not a real dad. But he’s your Daddy, your safe space. “Do you.. wanna open it now..?”

“Yeah, which one first?” He rubs over your back before pulling away some, looking at the items.

“Uh-..” You still feel the teeniest bit sheepish about the card, so you point slightly, “the bag.”

A playful pat is landed on your butt before he slides the bag over, grumbling to himself about seeing what we have here.

Beneath the pale yellow tissue paper is some fabric, and when he pulls them out, it’s a few shirts. It may seem basic, but he’s been wanting these, just has taken way too long to get them on his own.

They’re thin, breathable long sleeves, meant for outdoor wear to protect you from the sun while still keeping cool. You bought three, a faded blue, olive green, and grey.

His eyes light up, a big grin spreading on his face as he holds one up, the green. “Baby.. these are perfect.”

You bounce on your feet a little, scooting closer to his side. “Do you like ‘em..? The- the green one matches y’r one shirt so I thought you’d like the color..”

You really shouldn’t be so nervous, Rob is so easy to shop for. Basic.. *man gifts, y’know?

“I love them sweetheart, good eye.”

Your own face relaxes into a smile. Beside the card is the finished coloring page you were hiding yesterday when he got home.

It’s from one of your newer books he bought you, a jungle themed one of course. There’s a lot of flowers and leaves, and a big tiger with her baby. You did it very carefully, sure to stay inside the lines and make it look as neat and smooth as possible.

His face softens, admiring the page with an affectionate tone. “Beautiful job, honey, isn’t her baby cute?”

You lean into him slightly, “I know ‘s a mama but-.. ‘s kinda like us.”

Oh, you’re so cute

“Yeah? I like that.” He brushes a kiss to your temple, grinning ear to ear. “Which one of us is the big one?”

You giggle outright, pushing playfully on him, “Shaddup..”

A raspy laugh mixes with yours, pulling you closer as he reaches for the card. “I think we know who the big one here is.”

He admires the scribbled ‘daddy’ on the front of the blue envelope before tearing it open to reveal the card. It’s a basic one, some flowers and detailed trim printed on the edges, generic words about being a caring, protective, loving dad. It’s inside that matters the most.

On the blank side is a small paragraph, written in pen in your handwriting.

dear rob

i know it’s not much, but i wanted to do something to make sure you know i’m grateful for you and everything you do. I know you’re not an actual dad, but you take care of me, coddle me, protect me, you’re my daddy. and maybe sometimes you act like a real dad too.

you’ve seen me at my most vulnerable, at my lowest, and are still here. You’ve given me a safe space to be myself and heal, eased my greatest insecurities with just a few words, and i dunno how you do it. does it come naturally with the whole dealing with wild animals thing?

i’m sorry it isn’t a lot, it’s really hard to sneak around you. i love you, happy father’s day to the best daddy i could ever ask for

His blues soften as he reads, his heart aching with a deep affection. He even re-reads a few parts calloused fingers gently holding the card. A quiet, almost shaky breath leaves him, “Sweetheart..” Setting it aside onto the counter, his arm curls around you, pulling you back in for another hug, needing to feel you close. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. My sweet, precious girl.. you didn’t have to do any of this, I don’t deserve-”

“Mmmh, shut up. Yeah you do.” You hug on him, whining to interrupt.

A rough laugh escapes, vibrating his chest as he buries his face against your hair, getting a good whiff of your perfume. “You’re too good to me.”

“Mmmmh.” You hum in playful contemplation. “I’ll cook alll the food today ‘nd ‘m gonna watch whatever you wanna watch an’ we can go swimminngg and I’ll rub your back later..” You drone on, listing off things to do for today.

His heart just melts, thinking he’s the luckiest guy in the world, your endless sweetness irresistibly endearing. He brings his hands up to cradle your face, blushed cheeks, planting a firm kiss onto your forehead. “Let’s start with breakfast, huh? I don’t want all your hard work to get cold.”

“I’m definitely not refusing that back rub, though.”

[gunnrblze]

what do you think the ghosts would be like as fathers?

Ooh the Ghosties as fathers, this is a good one. Prepare for me to get maybe a little too in depth below the cut, cus this got too gahdamn long lol

Hesh- peak dad/husband material. giggling kicking his feet ‘n crying when he finds out he’s gonna be a father lol. he’d be as involved as possible and I see this being something he’s the most proud of in his life. i think a bit of cycle breaking would be going on with him as far as the way he and Logan were raised (looking at you Elias, yea🤨), he’d do things a little different but in a good way. would still model his parenting style quite a bit after Elias’ though in many ways. def a worrier too, and may be a little overbearing sometimes bc of it

Logan- similar to Hesh, he’d be an enthusiastic dad I think. would brag about his kids consistently, regardless of what they do/become. type to be like “my kid made macaroni art at school the other day, it’s the best thing I’ve ever seen” lmao. i see him also being veryyy supportive in general, like do/be whatever you want, as long as you’re a good person. would also parent similar to how he and Hesh were raised, but i almost see him being more lenient in some ways. def the kind to let his kids learn from their mistakes and learn good, though.

Elias- ofc we saw a lot of how he was as a father in the game (lots of debatable choices being made💀), but i think he honest to god, like most parents, did the best he could. doesn’t necessarily excuse certain things, and i think Hesh specifically prob has a lot of baggage from that, but he was also a good dad in many ways methinks. generally solid father material alongside the easily criticizable behavior LMAO

Merrick- first, he def gives me girl dad energy lol. but regardless, i see him being very very loving to his kid(s) actually, like “this is my heart and soul, everything is for them, I live breath and die for them” type shit. I can see him being a bit strict at times, mostly due to his protective nature. under the personality we see from him in the game, I think his kids/kids in general would probably bring out a goofier side of him too, the dad jokes would be unlocked immediately lol

Keegan- I see him being like a mix of Hesh ‘n Merrick tbh. Very very proud to be a father, like “I’d put it on my resume if I could”, and would love unconditionally. i think he’d be the type to maybe be a bit overbearing/intense at times like Hesh, mostly due to how much he cares about his kids wellbeing/success in life. also very supportive, and i could see him struggling a bit with how to juggle his fatherhood vs his career (like a lot of military parents tbh). he’d be the kinda dad that his kid(s) really respect i think

Kick- i honestly can’t see him being a father too much, i think he’d probably be the one here to not have kids. however if he were a father, he’d take it very seriously. i think he’d be the loving and goofy kind, his personality would really shine as a dad methinks. in his kids early years, I think he’d be tweaking out a lot like “what if I’m not good enough, what if something happens to them”, but as they get older i see his attitude almost changing like “oh yea, they love to swan dive off the back of the couch, we just let them” lol.

Rorke-pre fed here cause let’s be honest…🫥. i see him being a great dad, probably struggles with balancing that vs his career like Keegan might. he’d also be a bragger when he could like Logan, but in a more “yea my kid is on the honor roll…literally got all A’s, wtf can your kid do?🙄”proud type way lmfao. i see him being very dynamic as a father, a bit strict but a bit lax. sometimes he’s more present, sometimes he’s not. I think he’d value teaching and guiding his kid(s) like Elias. also a “you’ll learn your lesson” type of guy. you fuck up and complain and he’s like “hmm, tough shit, better luck next time” after he imparts his fatherly wisdom about it lol

[notbillyshears]

Sodapop Curtis General Headcanons

Well y'all, here he is. Our pretty little boy. I love Soda so much though, I linger a bit on the sad stuff though :( I'll be covering Two-Bit next!

Freetime Headcanons

Warnings: Spoilers and Some angst

There was one book that he managed to read and actually enjoy, and that was The Phantom Tollbooth. He read it in middle school and his parents were very proud of him for finishing it AND not forcing him to read it. (He was probably forced by a teacher)

He pulls out snacks and drinks from EVERYWHERE. Like he has legit just been talking to Pony on the couch and pull a Pepsi-Cola from between the cushions.

I mentioned in my freetime post that he is really good at doing hair. So sometimes he helps out Two-Bit and his mom by doing Dolly’s (Two-Bit’s sister) hair. She always likes when he does it because if her brother does it she usually ends up with 2 crooked ponytails.

When they grow up, he and Steve plan to own a car shop together. Soda would also like to start a horse-riding club for rodeos and everything. As I mentioned in my Steve headcanons, Johnny and Steve did a design for fun of the future car shop but Soda and Steve do end up using it (with a couple tweaks). 

Is Soda innocent and sweet at all times? NO. He is not shy when it comes to flirting with people. But one time Steve had to take over because an older woman was making some really weird comments to him. 

He was the first one to make friends with Dally in the gang. Him and Steve were hanging out and they managed to get Two-Bit to come with them because Mrs. Curtis didn’t like the idea of them walking around alone. So they walked over to the diner to see if they could get a free drink or something and Soda looked over and saw him. This scruffy looking 13 year old, crouched at the end of the bar thing. Soda is the most golden retriever person ever so he immediately went to try and talk to him. Dally tried to push him away but soon enough he was dragged into their little group.

He can get very self-conscious since he is supposed to be the “pretty” brother and will occasionally be found by Steve, just looking in the mirror. He doesn’t really have dysmorphia of any kind and is actually quite confident but he still has those moments.

Soda was not shy at all when it came to pulling his teeth as a kid. It’s just a bit loose? He yanks it out because it's annoying. One time the dentist told him to expect a specific tooth to be loose and he just pulled it out right then and there. (ONE OF MY FRIENDS ACTUALLY DID THIS)

He is one of the most talented of the gang with gymnastics. His favorite trick to show off with is front-flipping into a handstand and spinning on one hand. Can this actually be done? Idk. Would it look sick? Oh yeah it would.

He has the most amazing and cute laugh ever. He looks majestic, sounds beautiful, just top-tier enjoyable laugh. He throws his head back a bit and has the most adorable crooked grin.

Now for a bit of angst >:) After Sandy he was a lot more sensitive when it came to flirting or mentions of romance. He really thought Sandy was the one. Soda does not get angry easily but after Sandy, that was the first time Steve saw him snap at a stranger. Some girls really wouldn’t leave him be and he went off on them.

After his main breakdown when Darry and Pony came after him, he was happy they came. Happy they helped him back up and heard him out. But a small part of him wish Pony wasn’t so dang fast and Darry wasn’t so dang strong. He wanted to just keep running. Run until he found Sandy. Run until he made it so far from Tulsa that no one knew what a greaser was. He knew a hug and some tears weren’t going to stop the fights between Pony and Darry.

He gets colds really easily but he can’t get cough syrup down his throat for his life. It doesn’t help that Darry has this really nasty stuff that tastes like honey and rotten eggs and is like 20 years old.

He has freckles. That’s all. They’re beautiful.

He is one of the few to actually take Two-Bit’s love of Mickey/Disney seriously. Two-Bit has even dragged him to a couple movies. His favorite one was Mary Poppins. He has attempted to dance like Bert does.

He is the most physically affectionate out of everyone in all of Oklahoma. The more friendly he is with you, the more he’s affectionate. When he and Steve are sitting together he just drapes himself across Steve while talking. When he listens to Pony he’s usually holding Pony or hugging him. If he’s dating someone, he’s kissing their face and holding their hand all the time. He’s just more comforted by it. Mr. Curtis was the same way. Just a little less.

A couple months before he dropped out some Socs stopped him in the hallways. They were trying to steal the pocket money he had. He tried his best to hold them off him but one of them started getting physical. Until one mentioned his big older brother and that they should be careful. But the main soc told him that Soda was too dumb to ever think about telling him, or anyone for that matter. Not a thing going on in that pretty little head of his. Eventually they did end up leaving him alone. But those words stuck with Soda. Dumb. That was the word that came up in his mind first when thinking about himself. He wasn’t much more, was he?

As mentioned in my Johnny headcanons, he was one of Johnny’s first friends. He was one of the few to hear all about Johnny’s thoughts. He just had that way of making people talk to him. He heard all about how worthless Johnny thought he was. How little confidence he had. He tried his best in encouragement but he knew Johnny wasn’t going to listen. Which made it all the worse once Johnny died. He toughed it out when around the gang but one day after his work, he walked to the graves. He kneeled in front of Johnny’s. And sobbed. The boy who died feeling worthless, in agonizing pain. His friend. One of his first. And now he was 6 feet under. Nothing would bring him back. And next to him? The other friend he brought into the gang. He never really understood Dally all that well, but that was one of his friends. Now both would never meet him again. No more giving Johnny a sandwich at the DX cause he had nothing better to do. No more dragging Dally away from Buck’s to go to rodeos with him and Steve. No more gang hangouts with them all together playing games.

When Pony came home and then Johnny and Dally died, Soda felt horrible for his little brother. He had to watch him become much more closed off and defensive. He could barely get Pony to open up to him. He was terrified Pony would never have a good friend again. Eventually Pony got a couple of friends (As mentioned in my Pony headcanons, he and Esther became better friends) and Soda felt a little more at peace.

With the whole Vietnam war thing… I do think he would end up going, BUT end up surviving. We can’t have Pony lose everything ok! He was put on the less violent jobs and not thrown head-first into battle. Let’s just say he was allowed to go home after 2 years at most. That is all I will cover on that subject.

He’s a pretty good singer and he and Darry jam out to Elvis all the time. He really does sing his heart out. If Blue Suede Shoes comes on you know he has a comb in hand and tries to dance like Elvis. He also loves “Please, Mr. Postman” and if he’s feeling dramatic “It’s My Party”.

He doesn’t really listen to his own emotions much or tell anyone about them. He feels he’s supposed to be the listener. Everyone’s going through so much more than him! So he needs to be there for them, not himself! The only person he’s been vulnerable around is Sandy. Steve as well. Which meant it hurt so much more when Sandy left him.

The Curtis Brothers have an elderly neighbor named Nellie, she's 92. Soda brings cake to her once a week and just sits and chats with her. She brings them berry jam.

[hockeymenarehot]

Hiiiii your fics that I have read so far are literally AMAZING. Ngl your my new fav author on here my goodness those stories were making my stomach turn.

Could you please do a Tom Kaulitz 2007 smut, him and reader have to share a room unwillingly. The reader starts playing with his hair and he is low-key into it 😋 You take it from there queen because you are so creative it’s crazy.

THANK YOU SO MUCH 😘😘

"One Bed". Feat. Tom Kaulitz

YES! of course i can do this! i'm glad you enjoy my writing! i also kind of tweaked this a bit to go with another request for an enemies to lovers vibe w/ tom...honestly i love the one bed trope!! (sorry, this is coming out later than intended!!)

summary: not too long ago, you caught your (ex) boyfriend Tom at the bar with another woman. you were pretty pissed, and you still are. but you two agreed to travel together to see a mutual friend as long as you stay separated. however, you did not anticipate the room shortage...

warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, hotel sex, p in v, unprotected, slight edging, overstimulation, use of toys, degradation (slut, whore, etc.), praise, kinda mean Tom, he's sweet sometimes though?, cervix fucking, spanking, squirting, pretty much brat taming, creampie, you think he cheated but he didn't

"What the hell do you mean there's not enough rooms?! I paid for two!" your patience was wearing thin with the poor desk attendant who claimed there was a "room shortage for the holidays". Bullshit. "Ma'am, I've already explained this to you. We overbook expecting some cancelations. It's better for business this way." The woman at the desk was making sure to keep her distance from you. Your stance looked like you were about to leap over the desk and pounce on her at any second now. "Good for business-!?" You were cut short by none other than Tom Kaulitz, your cheating ex-boyfriend, lightly grasping your arm, afraid that if he put too much pressure you might seriously swing at him. You gave him the nastiest glare, he swore it pierced his soul. "Hey, there's no use in yelling at this poor lady. Let's just go to our room. It'll only be a night. I can sleep on the floor." He spoke in a gentle tone, this managed to ease your nerves a bit. You removed your sprawled hands from the desk, giving the desk attendant one final glare. You were also not too thrilled that he took her side. You grabbed your key and made your way to the elevator, Tom trailing behind.

You and Tom hadn't spoken a word since getting to your room. It truly was a small, one bed hotel room. Right when you set your bag down on the (quite hard) couch, you flopped down onto it with a exaggerated groan. "Okay I think you need to calm down. I get it, you would rather not be doing this. But can't you take a day to-" You quickly cut him off, still angry with him. You were angry he had the nerve to tell you of all to "calm down". This made your anger bubble back up. "Calm down? Calm down?! How am I supposed to calm down when you're here? How am I supposes to calm down after what you did to me!? I don't want to fucking hear it from you. Go back downstairs and sleep with the little hotel girl from earlier since you like to take her side so much. Not that you ever took my side." Okay, admittedly you were being pretty petty, but you didn't care. Not when the events that transpired were so recent. About 1 month ago you caught Tom at a bar giggling with another girl because apparently he hadn't realized that's the bar you were having your girls night at. You screamed at him, threw a drink at his face, and hadn't spoken to him since. Tom stared at you for a second, he was trying to let you be angry at him. Because truthfully, he shouldn't have been so sneaky when he honestly wasn't doing anything wrong. He was at that bar to catch up with his brothers wife, but mentioning that fact would probably make you begin to spiral even more. He really didn't want another drink in his face. So, for now he decided to let you scream and yell at him all you wanted, even if the words you spoke couldn't be farther from the truth.

It had been about 5 minutes of you yelling, and you were now laying on the bed quite literally sobbing your little heart out. You couldn't take it, all of your pent up emotions were bursting out and making an ugly mess of you. You thought about how this was probably the reason why he decided to cheat on you. Tom just sat on the edge of the bed, lightly stroking your thigh. You apparently hadn't noticed, but your body was subconsciously leaning into his touch. Once your rapid breathing had slowed and your tears dried up leaving dried makeup streaks on your face, he finally spoke. "I didn't cheat on you." You almost laughed, "What?" He drew in a large breath before he continued, still treading lightly. "You never gave me a chance to talk. But trust me, I don't blame you. Please hear me out on this." Once he had gotten your silent sign of approval, he slowly continued, "That woman? That was my Bills wife. She was just in the area, and I wanted the chance to catch up with her. Ask her how things were going. All I talked about was you, every single question she had, the answer was always you. She even recorded a video on my phone for you of her saying hi. Please, believe me. I know I shouldn't have been so secretive, I know that's my fault. But just please. Here's the video." Tom pulled out his phone to show you the video of who you now noticed was Bill's wife in that same exact bar saying hi to you, and explaining how she hoped all was well with you.

Right after the video ended, your heart dropped so low as you looked up at him it almost fell out of your ass. I mean, you had met Bill's wife before, but you hadn't gotten a good glimpse of her at the bar. Only of the back of her head. You knew she was a nice woman, and you were starting to realize that you probably should've let Tom explain himself instead of throwing a drink in his face. But when he pulled the "Baby, it's not what it looks like" line, you almost lunged at him.

This whole thing just added more on top of the emotions you were already feeling, and you began to cry again. "Tom," you shook out as you pulled him into an embrace, finally being able to feel him again "I'm sorry." You swear you had never held onto anything so tight in your life, and he was seriously about to crush you as well. But it didn't really matter. All that mattered was, yeah, you both fucked up but at least you still had each other. That night was a long night of exchanging explanations, and setting up boundaries as to how to deal with situations like this again. As well as how to work on managing your emotions...

It was getting pretty late, and you had just came out of the shower to find Tom laying down on the small couch. "Are you serious? You don't have to do that... Come sleep with me." Tom turned over to look at you, a bit surprised you could forgive so quickly. That had never been apart of your personality. But he was exempt from this, he assumed. "You sure? If you don't-" You stopped him, "I'm sure." and gave him a sweet smile. The both of you crawled into bed, and got into the position you normally get into. He placed the side of his face on your breasts and you used one of your hands to play with his hair, feeling him relax into you. He whispered out a small "I love you" that you almost didn't catch. To let him know you heard him, you craned your neck down and pulled him into a sweet kiss. Well, the kiss started sweet.

Tom had been left to just his hand, lotion, and some shitty magazines for way too long now. He missed you. A lot. What was supposed to be a simple sweet kiss now had your back to him and him aggressively thrusting his cock into you. You let out a string of moans, trying to stabilize yourself by putting your hands on his thighs. His chest was flush with your back, and his thrusts were relentless. "Tom!" He knew you loved this angle, it allowed you to feel every inch of him buried deep inside you. "Yeah? That feel good, y/n?" One of his hands came down to rub at your clit. "Think I've given you enough time to throw your little tantrum, gotta put whores like you back in their place." His minstrations had you a moaning mess, and you could already feel your orgasm flatly approaching. "Ah-! P-please!" Your pussy clenched tightly around him, a sign he knew you were about to cum. Right when your soft walls began to flutter he completely stopped all motion. "W-what?" You were confused, and you whined at the loss of stimulation. "You forget? Brats like you have to ask nicely to cum. Then I'll consider." He landed a harsh slap on both cheeks of your ass, causing you to his. "Im sorry! Please! Please make me cum!" He rubbed over both red marks, attempting to slightly soothe them before beginning his pace again. This time, he was impatient. He flipped you over onto your back, sprawling you out onto the bed before he pushed in and out of you at a fast pace. You could feel every vein on his cock at this angle, and his tip was practically brushing up against your cervix. The painful pleasure was almost too much, and you just barely remembered to ask to cum. "P-please, can I cum? Please, please please..." You were just babbling nonsense at this point, which made him laugh at the leverage he had over you. He leaned down, nipping the shell of your ear before he said "Cum for me, baby" and that was all the clearance you needed before you gushed all over his cock with a high pitched moan. All of your limbs twitched as he helped you ride out your high, your mind melting back down to earth. Your brain was still fuzzy, and you didn't catch how Tom leaned over to open the beside drawer, pulling out a small bullet vibrator. Once he waved it over top of you, your eyes widened. You obviously could think enough to understand what you were about to be subjected to, but not enough to question why it was in that drawer.

"Please" You mewled put, not sure if you were begging for him to use it on you or begging him not to. Either way, he turned it on, using it on the lowest setting as he rubbed it over your nipples. "Mh!" You let out a satisfied grunt at the stimulation being pressed to your nipples. Tom always worshipped every part of your body, and tonight he had neglected your nipples. The attention they were now receiving left you wanting more. You relaxed, parting your legs and letting the spread across the roughness of the hotel sheets. Tom trailed the small vibrator down the valley of your stomach, towards your already swollen clit. "Yeah, take it like the good slut you are. Just my cumdump, aren't you?" You nodded your head in agreement, making the best "Mhm" sound you could with how fried your brain was. You both knew this wasn't true. If you both were being completely honest, he was at your mercy. Tom pressed the vibrator up against your clit, and immediately started thrusting back into you. "Ah! Wait! T-Tom! Too much!" He laughed at you almost mockingly "You can do it. My sweet baby can do it." The way his tone could change at the drop of a hat only turned you on even more, and his sugar coated words coaxed you on to obeying him. "Ok... ok, just for -fuck- you." "Yeah, thats what I fucking thought." It didn't take too much longer for you to reach your high, and by the way you were squeezing him he knew, too. Tom decided you'd been through enough tonight and let you off easy this time. "My baby gonna cum on my cock? Come on, make a mess on me. Cum with me." Those words immediately flipped the switch inside of you, letting your pussy twitch around him and gush everywhere, making a mess all over his abdomen. Tom thrusted into you as deep as he could possibly go before cumming inside you. "Yeah, gonna take all the cum I give you." And you did, you took every last drop, squeezing him to milk him for everything he was worth.

The night ended with an exchange of soft kisses, giggles, whispers of sweet nothings, and a hot bath to ease your poor muscles. You might need a wheelchair for tomorrow.

Before you two left, Tom left a note on the bed thanking the hotel room attendant for bluffing for him, and left her some extra cash. He also apologized for the mess.

a/n: this was supposed to be released last night but I had other things going on! so sorry! but I hope you enjoyed! requests are still open, and if you've already sent one just know it's sitting in my drafts. remember to take care of yourself!

[peachhcs]

I feel like James would confide with Gabe and Ryan about Hannah and the draft. I think that he would want someone who he’s not related to, and that’s older than him, to talk to. It makes it better because they’re both in relationships and they’ve been through the draft process.

oh he totally would bc they’re all so close and gabe and ryan look after james and teddy like they are their younger brothers or something

au masterlist

the conte locker room was low and slow for a thursday afternoon before practice. the tough loss yesterday sent a lot of the boys into silence as they either sat with their own thoughts knowing there was a hard practice ahead or just found their own corner to occupy their minds.

gabe and ryan were talking quietly in their own corner when james came into the room. his gaze swept over the quiet room and stopped when he met the older boys’ glance.

“hey haggy,” gabe smiled and waved the younger brunette over.

“hey gp, hey lean,” james sat down with them while pushing his headphones down so he could hear them.

“how you doing? feeling okay?” gabe asked in regards to the game last night and the huge upset when providence beat them.

“i’m okay. the loss hurts, but not much we can do about it now i guess,” james shrugged.

“you win some you lose some. it definitely hurts, but we just bounce back stronger in a week,” ryan said while gabe nodded in agreement.

a soft, comfortable silence hung in the air between the three while the older boys continued taping up their sticks. james’ mind wandered a bit thinking about all the other things that had been lingering besides the game last night. he thought of hannah probably preparing for her meet in a few hours and how focused she always got hours before meets that she hardly ever answered her text messages.

james had gotten a few this morning, but after, her responses got pretty sparse. he was used to this because she always stopped answering the closer the meet got, but sometimes he did wish she was just a little more present—or at least let someone else in when she got super into her head. the boy tried to not take it too personally because hannah did it with everyone, but even when he was there in person watching, she hardly gave him a second glance.

it wasn’t to say james wasn’t the same before games. he always got pretty dialed in, but not enough that he just completely disregarded everyone around him.

there was still some tweaks to their dynamic they were trying to figure out.

“got something on your mind, haggy?” ryan noticed the lost look on the freshman’s face. james’ eyes snapped to his, a flush coating his cheeks.

“oh, no. not really. just..a mix of everything,” the boy mumbled and brushed the two off.

“i dunno if it’s weird, but we’re always willing to listen if you need someone. we don’t bite,” ryan chuckled a bit making the younger boy smile.

“i dunno if it’s really one thing, you know? just a lot of stuff. hannah. hockey. college. the draft. it’s all just running through my mind at once,” james explained kind of poorly but there wasn’t really one right way to explain what was going on up there.

“how is duker? we don’t hear much from her these days unless samy brings her up,” gabe wondered.

“she’s good. she’s focused on gymnastics. got a big meet today against michigan state,” james nodded.

“i can’t believe you guys are dating. i never would’ve seen it coming,” gabe laughed and the younger brunette flushed.

“yeah, how’d you even pull that anyway? duker never got involved in serious relationships like ever when we were younger,” ryan raised his eyebrow.

james shrugged, “honestly, i don’t even know how i did. i did chase her for like two years.”

“hey, props to you though. you knew what you wanted and kept after it,” the older brunette patted james’ arm.

“i guess we’re still trying to figure out that boyfriend-girlfriend dynamic.”

“things not going well?” gabe prodded just a little bit based on the expression he saw on his friend’s face.

“no, no, they are. it’s been great. i guess like..i dunno you guys probably know this because you grew up with her and were closer with her, but she’s very independent. like hates when people do things for her or leaning on other people for support. i guess it’s something i’m trying to figure out with her,” james opened up a bit and the two boys slowly nodded.

“ah, yeah. hannah is pretty independent. she always hated asking for help—i mean samy and hannah were the exact same in that aspect growing up. i guess like..it’s just something you have to keep talking about and making sure she knows you’re always there for her,” gabe said.

“is there anything specific?” ryan added.

“well i guess like today, she has the meet. whenever she has meets she like totally ignores everyone and gets into her own world and head. like..we haven’t talked since this morning. i dunno, it’s not a huge deal, but she always pushes everyone away for some reason and i haven’t figured out how to crack that yet,” james explained and glanced at his phone like a message would appear but none did.

“yeah, that is kind of hard. i think you just gotta keep being there for her you know and she’ll finally realize there is someone who cares. she’ll come around eventually. you can always talk to samy too since she knows her the best out of any of us,” ryan said and the younger hockey player nodded.

“yeah, you’re right. thanks. i appreciate the advice. it feels like everything’s been like a lot lately with hockey and life,” james admitted to which the older boys frowned a bit.

“hey, it definitely gets tough, but just try and keep your head up. you’re on a lot of people’s watch lists,” gabe encouraged which made james flush.

“i’ve heard.”

“you’re gonna be a big deal, haggy. first overall would be pretty insane, but you deserve it. you’ve been working really hard,” ryan added which didn’t help the younger boy’s bright cheeks.

“how’d you guys handle all of it? the pressure and stuff?”

“i mean there isn’t really a right way to handle it, but just making sure you don’t let those news outlets get into your head too much. what they know is irrelevant for the most part. only you know you,” gabe said and ryan nodded.

“it’s a lot, but also really rewarding so just make sure you have your people to lean on if it does get to be too much. we were definitely overwhelmed but excited all at the same time,” the older brunette smiled.

“it’s gonna work out, haggy, don’t worry. you can always poke will about stuff too. or even mack. mack would definitely know how you’re feeling,” gabe patted his friend’s shoulder.

“thanks, guys. i appreciate it,” james nodded. he was glad he had teammates like them who were always willing to offer advice or help out. it was really easy to see why the fans really liked them too.

after practice, james watched hannah’s meet highlights where she had finally texted him. he was quick to praise how well she did while they talked on the phone while also trying to ease the girl’s mind as she picked apart all of her mistakes to him.

“han, you did amazing. you scored a near perfect 10,” james said softly.

“i know, i know. i guess..i’m just in my head. i’m sorry. how was your practice?” the girl shook her head.

“don’t apologize for being in your head. i get it. it was fine though. coach was rough on us, but we expected it,” the boy shrugged.

“sorry, j. you guys are gonna get ‘em next time, i know it,” hannah grinned widely and james smiled as well seeing her bright smile through the screen.

“maybe this warrants a visit soon? i think you’re my good luck charm,” he flirted a bit which made the duke sister blush.

“how charming. maybe i can pull something off,” the two exchanged warm, loving grins.

not hearing from her for hours leading up to her meet was always worth it in the end when james got to talk to her afterwards and see that smile he loved so much, especially when it was directed at him.

[quibbs126]

So I finally got around to and finished drawing this, this is @redwryvernwrites’s character, Kilotronyx Fornax, from their fic Shattered Alloys (go read it, it's good stuff), but if she was in my Transformers X AU

I drew a bit of her before and I already mentioned this in an ask to Red, but some context if needed. So I've been reading this fic since around when the first couple chapters came out, I think maybe since the first, and Kilotronyx here is a pretty important character, especially later in the fic, and I think she's pretty neat. And some days ago, I was thinking about what if she was in my own AU, Transformers X, and then I got the idea to maybe actually draw her in the AU style

I asked if I could do this, and they said I could, but I sat on doing it for a few days due to unmotivation for drawing and then getting caught up in playing Battle Network again, among other reasons

But I finally got back to it yesterday, and now she is completed, and I can show you all

I'm just gonna start with a few design things before I get into how she could hypothetically work in this universe

First off, I both feel like I stuck too much to her original design, and that I didn't stick to it as much as I should have. I don't really know how to properly word what I mean by that, just that I have mixed feelings about my final results. But at the same time, I do like it. I don't know, it's complicated

Other than that, I feel like my proportions are still a bit wonky, even with some tweaks I tried to do after finishing the sketch, but eh, my proportions are usually off anyways. This is what happens when you draw only waist up as much as I do

The Requiem Blaster was supposed to be bigger on her originally, like it looked like it didn't belong, but it ended up not looking too different from the rest of her design. Or maybe it does, I don't know. I was struggling with how to design it at first, but I ended up settling on basing it off of Zero's buster he has in his original Mega Man X design

There were other Mega Man inspirations I used, particularly from Battle Network since I had gotten myself about 50 new references one day, but I can't remember who specifically at the moment (most of the designing was yesterday)

At the end I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep both of her insignias, but like, I wasn't sure which one to keep, since one was bigger and fit in more with my insignias (although I don't actually know what this symbol would hypothetically mean in my AU, I just kept it in because it's part of her design), but the other was more symmetrical on her design and fit nicely with that neck piece, and I just decided to keep both

I also briefly considered giving her an eyepatch since I want to give a character that, but then I just didn't get around to that, so I guess she doesn't have one then

Also I'm unsure if her normal hand looks good, it feels off to me

Anyways, enough of me rambling about my art and my complicated feelings on it, let's talk about Kilotronyx in the X AU, or at least what I've been able to figure out of it

Also just a note (that I probably should've mentioned up top but I'm bad at organizing), but this whole thing is just a "what-if" scenario of what if Kilotronyx was in the X AU. I'm not actually adding her into the story or claiming her as my own, it's just a little experiment

Anyways, on to backstory time

So Kilotronyx started out life a long time ago, during Megatronus' era, forced to live as a gladiator due to her strong frame. While I'm still not so sure on the details, imagine that the government is essentially doing Functionism, they're Functionalists. When she was around a teenager (mentally at least), she ended up meeting Megatronus, a fellow gladiator who saw the younger bot and decided to take her under his wing, the two forming a very strong mentor-student relationship. And later when Megatronus' revolutionary campaign against their oppressive government started to pick up and go full-swing, she was there as one of his most loyal supporters, even saving his life on a few occasions. She knew that his ideals had a very high chance of getting him and probably all their comrades killed, and there was always the possibility that they'll never escape their lives in the arena no matter what he does, but she truly believed in his ideals and his words and who he was, and it gave her that shred of hope that they'd one day be free, and for that she'd help him no matter if it led to her demise

Also a note, she definitely knew about Megatronus' secret relationship with Terminus. She was chill about it and supportive, but told Tronus he really needed to cut back on the love poems because sweet Primus she found them ungodly corny

However, when Megatronus suddenly disappeared and "died" (I'm changing his backstory now so that he was transferred into a different body, so his original could be used as solid "proof" that he was dead), it brought her and all his followers to a halt, as Megatronus was the one their cause all rallied behind. However, she was one of the main bots to then reignite and embolden the cause in honor of his death, turning him into a martyr more than the example he was intended to be, and Kilotronyx became one of the key members in finally overthrowing the corrupt government and finally bringing the freedom to Cybertron that Megatronus had dreamed of

Then about a century or two later, Liege Maximo threatened Cybertron with his own plans (that I haven't really figured out yet), and she again rose to stop this threat to her home

It was around this point that the Requiem Blaster was forged and given to her, as a way to fight Liege's forces. It had been a design originally intended for Megatronus back in the day, but with his death it never got very far. But now with this new threat, Kilotronyx had the blaster forged and fitted for herself, due to her having a similar frame to the original intended, and it was a very powerful tool during this conflict. It may not have been what ultimately brought down Liege Maximo or The Fallen, but it fended off his forces and saved many. It and her were key players in this war

Speaking of The Fallen, they encountered each other a few times and have fought, but Kilotronyx was entirely unaware of his true identity as her former mentor. He recognized her, but was physically unable to tell her who he was and by the time of the Liege Maximo conflict, his processor was already half melted. And to this day, I don't think she ever found out the truth of her mentor's demise

But after Liege Maximo's defeat, things were generally tame for Kilotronyx, nothing of that caliber really came again. She met someone, had their sparkling Scion, eventually adopted a lost sparkling named Soundwave, and watched them both grow up

As of currently, she lives out in essentially the countryside, either with or close to Scion. On one hand, it's because she likes the peace and quiet compared to the never-ending politics of the city, but on the other hand, it's because of the Requiem Blaster. It's still an incredibly powerful weapon, and there have been "requests" to take it into government custody for future incidents and to study it, likely to try and make more. She has denied any and all requests, as well as kept the only blueprints for the weapon in her own custody, as while she knows the current government is nowhere near as bad as the one she was born under, she's never had the greatest trust in politicians, particularly when those who lived under the Functionist regime started trickling out for new blood. And she knows handing a potential weapon of mass destruction to them will only cause death and destruction. If there comes a time when she needs to give the secrets of the weapon up, she will, but only when she deems it so, and she'd rather come out of retirement to fight if necessary than do so

There might also be issues with Scion, but given I'm not too sure on everything surrounding Scion's deal in the fic yet, I won't say much on him

But other than that, her life turned out to be general peace, living in the country and frequently tuning in to Soundwave's radio channel

At least, until the Destron Virus broke out, and Soundwave went missing, his channel silent. Until he came back a Decepticon

And that's about it for her backstory. I wanted to keep her tied to Megatronus, since they had a significant connection in the original fic, and this also means that she lived long before the current story, so her adventures don't affect it too much. Well sort of, she lived during a pivotal point in history, but still

Also a note, while I designed her closer to her fic counterpart, she's probably a lot older if we want to go with her current day self. While I'm not fully fleshed out on how Cybertronians age, since it's a lot faster than how they usually are in canon (I just want to cut back on the ridiculous time spans somewhat), I do know that she's older than Alpha Trion, who is also old in my AU. He was a child during Megatronus' time, while Kilotronyx was a teenager/young adult, so you know, she's pretty old

And by proxy, Scion is a lot older too, probably being middle-aged or so. And I made Soundwave the younger sibling here because while I don't know how old he is, I don't imagine him to be middle-aged or older, so younger brother he is

And I think that's about all I have here. I found this pretty fun, particularly the backstory bit because I love lore, even if my perfectionism leaves me a bit dissatisfied on the design front

But yeah, go check out Shattered Alloys, it's a good fic with much lore (you will frequently see me in the asks on the author's tumblr account), and also you know, engaging story and characters, thank you to @redwryvernwrites for letting me do this, and uh yeah

[morvantmortuary]

no mistakes, know the stakes --

(Hector Morvant-Casares x non-binary plus size Reader, 18+)

summary: You're just trying to enjoy a chill afternoon when your smitten kind-of-stalker, Hector, once again shows up to annoy you. Things get intense from there.

warnings: finger-fucking (enby receiving), semi-public sex, brief fluids ingestion, intimate photos taken without prior consent, Hex is being a total stalker and a bit of a creep, but reader just makes fun of him. implied ghost hand involved in the sex (it makes sense in context).

reader notes: reader is plus size, queer, and non-binary. pet names Hex uses are femme-ish but I tried to stay fairly neutral. skin and hair mentions are also left as neutral as possible, suggestions to tweak that appreciated (as are any corrections to Hex's Spanish, I'm still working on that). no use of y/n, as always.

general: writing about HVAC-Hector on my fanfic blog has had me going through my Hector's stuff, especially wanting to give the older a revamp to match up more with how I hear him now than when I was still trying to figure him out. this was originally posted in 2021 as a request by my buddy Sam @pondering-and-wondering (hi! <3), and since it was Hex's first solo run, I wanted to give it an update, an edit, and some love.

thanks for humoring me <3

It was October, sure, but this was Louisiana — it was still warm enough for you to walk around outside in your favorite sleeveless top and some cute shorts today, as you wandered through the weekend open air market in the historic part of town. You weren’t looking for anything in particular, really… between the decent-for-once weather and just being antsy to get out of your house, it seemed like as good an excuse as any to feel the sun on your skin. You were taking your time at every stall, meandering between the rows to see everything from local honey to hand-crocheted blankets. Just the kind of cute, homey things you’d expect to see in a place as small as this one.

You’d probably been there about an hour or so, chatting with some of the friendlier old ladies who’d parked lawn chairs outside the small salon on the corner to watch the goings on, then sampling from the couple food trucks that had driven out here from one of the closer cities as it got closer to noon, before you realized that even as you moved alone through this crowd of people, you weren’t exactly… alone.

The first time you heard the camera shutter, you’d written it off as something else - someone taking a photo of one of the vendors for the little local paper, or maybe someone with their phone’s sound still on (for some godforsaken reason).

It was when it happened the second time, when you’d moved stalls entirely, that you realized the sound was moving with you. It was close enough that if they weren’t taking photos of you, they were taking photos of something very near you. But following you for this long, and just happening to take photos of things that were always just in your periphery?

Unlikely.

Experimentally, you moved away from the stalls entirely, walking towards the mostly empty plastic tables and metal chairs the organizers had set out at the end of the main thoroughfare for visitors to linger, maybe chow down on something from the aforementioned food trucks. There was no one there, currently, but it was still plenty public - which would be helpful, if it was who you thought it was.

You loitered there, taking your phone out of your bag and pretending to scroll through it idly while you tested your theory. It took just long enough that you wondered if maybe you had been being paranoid - not that you could really blame yourself - and maybe it really was just some intern or volunteer taking photos for some neighborhood newsletter or some such.

But then you heard the click a third time, and you rolled your eyes. “Hi, Hector.”

You turned in the direction of a fourth shutter sound, looking around just in time to catch him still watching you through the lens of his camera. He wasn’t far away - if anything, just far enough that he looked like he was taking photos of a willing subject. Which was what he was counting on people thinking, of course.

When he at last let the camera down, revealing those stunningly dark eyes of his, the fluttering feeling in your chest reminded you that you weren’t exactly an unwilling subject, either.

“Qué tal, querida” Hector smiled, something that always reminded you somehow of a fox - subtle, and clever, like he was laughing at a joke he hadn’t let you in on yet. He walked over slowly, flipping through the photos he’d just taken with an almost bored expression. “You look pretty today.” He met your eyes when he was standing only a couple feet away from you, just barely enough distance to be respectful. He himself was just in his typical jeans and a faded dark t-shirt, his customary black hoodie tied at his waist in this warm Fall weather. “But don’t you always.” It wasn’t a question. Not from him.

You felt a smile threaten at the corner of your mouth, but you did your best to bite it back. Hector was handsome - he knew that, with those gorgeous eyes of his and those cheekbones. But he was so fucking cocky with you, it drove you a little bit insane. From the moment you’d first stumbled across him downtown one afternoon, staring into the empty windows of some abandoned storefront, he’d turned his brooding gaze to you and acted like the two of you hooking up was inevitable. Not like he was rude  or boorish about it… no, he was always unfailingly sweet to you, in his own way. It was just that he acted like he knew something you didn’t, or had some certainty in his back pocket. Which wasn’t to say you hadn’t thought about hooking up, either - christ, look at him - but there was a deeper part of you that felt the need to challenge that assumption first. You needed to prove to him that you weren’t something to be taken for granted, and couldn’t be won over just by him always being around. 

And god, was he always around - you swore you couldn’t go anywhere lately without him turning up to chat with you at least once, just like this.

“You really have nothing better to do than follow me everywhere, huh?” You raised an eyebrow, teasing him while still keeping your face casual.

Hector shrugged, aloof as always. “There’s only so much here worth photographing,” he said. “Not my fault you’re the best view.” He gave you what was very definitely a once over before meeting your eyes, as if returning your challenge.

“How kind of you to grace the rest of us with your presence.” You tilted your head to the side, taking him in yourself. “Must be hard to be a photographer when you get most of your shots by sneaking up on people.”

Hector’s smile returned, like he definitely knew something you didn’t. “If I asked you to model for me, you’d just say no.” He tilted his head in return, mocking your gesture with a faux pout. “And I don’t think I could handle you turning me down, beautiful.”

You felt your face heat just slightly, but did your best to keep your expression in check. Shit, that was smooth. “It’s a poor artist that can’t take rejection, you know.”

Hector took another step closer to you, and you had to resist the urge to step back, determined not to let on exactly how your knees felt like jelly right now. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I get rejected all the time,” he said, something… darker to his smile now. “It’s just a fact of life when you do what I do. But,” his tone grew softer as you two were basically face to face. “It just hurts so much more when it comes from your muse, y’know?”

You studied him for a long moment, your brain scrambling in the wake of that, holy shit. His smile widened, like he knew you couldn’t parry that with just a quip, and you decided to take a different tactic entirely. 

You shifted your bag strap on your shoulder, tilting your chin up at him defiantly. “You don’t know for sure what I’d say if you asked.”

Hector blinked, and you inwardly crowed at the flicker in his confident facade. “No?”

“You can’t.” You shrugged like this was obvious. “Because you’ve never bothered, have you? You just… assume.” You finally let yourself smirk. “And I thought you were all about exploring beyond the surface, with your work.” You wet your lower lip, definitely playing with him a little bit now. “Oh well.” 

You moved to brush past him, catching just a trace of the heady scent he wore - something that always reminded you of something cold, almost spectral.

The sensation was so distracting that, for a moment, you missed when he carefully took you by the wrist — only noticing it when he gently tugged you back to him, pulling you so you were once again face to face and even closer than before.

He didn’t say anything right away, and you didn’t try to move, transfixed by the definite tension you could feel pass between the pair of you. You had to fight the urge to brush some of the longer strands of his dark hair away from his eyes as he looked down at your wrist caged delicately in his fingers, studying it like it was something rare and beautiful. At last, his eyes met yours again, looking up at you through lashes that were so gorgeous it honestly wasn’t fair. 

“…Would you say yes?” Even in the midst of the bright day around you, something about the way his tone hushed felt like you’d suddenly stepped into shadow. His eyes searched your face, and your originally flippant answer suddenly died on your tongue in the wake of his odd intensity.

“…Ask me for real - like you’re not taking anything for granted,” you said, inwardly quite proud of yourself for managing not to stutter as you met his eyes. “And I’ll genuinely think about it.” 

You couldn’t quite read his expression as you carefully pulled your wrist from his grip, but didn’t stop your hand from brushing his as you walked off. “I’ll see you around, Hector.”

You didn’t hear him protest as you walked away, and for a while, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, wondering if you’d left him speechless for once. That would be a first - especially because it felt like he made you feel tongue-tied so often. You relished the idea of those endlessly dark eyes going slightly wide, maybe that permanent smirk of his displaced into something a little less self-assured. In fact, it gave you such a strong feeling of satisfaction that you let yourself turn, looking over your shoulder to see if he was still staring at you — and stumbling slightly when you realized he wasn’t there. 

You looked back down the row of stalls as best you could, wondering where he could’ve gotten to so quickly… before rolling your eyes again, and just continuing on your way.

“Whatever,” you muttered to yourself, You adjusted your bag strap on your shoulder as you took a back street towards the block where you’d parked your car. Time would tell if he would try again - you imagined he would, given how persistent he’d been since he met you. He didn’t seem like the type to give up easily. Although now that you’d given him a taste of his own ‘coy and mysterious’ act, you wondered if he’d think about changing his tactics —

You didn’t notice him until he was practically right on top of you, emerging from an alley on your right to pull you into its shade with him. You let out a small noise of surprise as he pushed you back against a wall, but gently enough that you didn’t scrape yourself on the bricks or bump your head.

Before you even had time to process that, his mouth was barely a centimeter from yours.

You didn’t protest - you had wondered if this would happen, to be honest. You’d just imagined it under different circumstances. You met his gaze as he watched you closely, seeing if you would pull away or object. Instead, you found yourself glancing quickly from his nebulous eyes to his mouth and back again, unable to help a smug smile of your own. “So that worked, huh?”

Hector took your face in his hands, his thumbs delicately tracing your cheeks… before he kissed you with such ferocity, you would have gasped if you had any breath left. Between the rasp of his beard on your skin and his tongue in your mouth, you quickly found yourself feeling overwhelmed by him, like he’d been waiting to do this for ages and was taking it all out on you now. Not that you disliked it, though..

And you definitely didn’t dislike it when he shoved his knee between your thighs, pushing you back into the wall and suddenly moving his hands to your hips with a surprising amount of force.

You shivered, laughing  as you nipped playfully at his lip - only to have it turn into a soft moan as he exerted just the barest amount of pressure between your legs to fully pin you against the wall. His mouth fell to the column of your neck, pressing soft kisses down the side as one hand moved to carefully, slowly undo your shorts.

“Yes or no, amor?” He tilted his head to look at you, that know-something smirk back in place. His voice was dark in a way you hadn’t heard before, that made your toes curl inside your shoes.

“Yes,” you whispered, your hands moving to grasp his biceps under the thin t-shirt he was wearing. 

He laughed under his breath. Carefully, lasciviously, he passed his tongue over two of his fingers while keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

You had to bite down hard on your lip as his slid them past the waistband of your shorts and your underwear. When his fingertips circling your clit . They did this long enough for your breath to start catching in your chest before dipping lower experimentally, teasing at your entrance before sliding inside you enough to make you clench around him.

“Me fascinas, tesoro.” He grinned, his face only a fraction away from yours as he began to fuck you slowly. “You’re so pretty, you know that? You’ve been so resistant with me up until now.” A twist of his fingers made you whine softly, your head falling back against the wall. “But you’re sweet when you let yourself open up like this.” 

His grin turned somewhat darker as his thumb found your clit, and you whined. He pressed his cheek against yours to whisper in your ear. “I had no idea my muse was such a little whore, though. But I love it. It’s so… unexpected.” He leaned down, licking a hot stripe up the side of your neck. “I wonder what else you’ll surprise me with when you’re mine.”

This little declaration went straight to the white hot center of you, and you felt yourself clenching hard around his fingers, your nails digging into his skin just the same.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he whispered, pressing his nose to your cheek. “Are you gonna let me see how perfect you look when you do, up close?”

That last addition registered somewhere in the part of your brain that wasn’t in the midst of hazy bliss - what did he mean ‘up close’? When had he seen you otherwise? But another stroke of the rough pad of his thumb obliterated that thought entirely, and you nodded, trying your best to muffle the moan that threatened to leave you.

“C’mon, beautiful ,” Hector whispered, and you felt a hand - a surprisingly cold one, through the fabric of your shorts - grip your other hip hard, where previously his hand that had been there had been warm. “Show me that gorgeous face of yours, yeah?”

His fingers twisted against a spot that made everything inside you feel like it was aflame, and your mouth fell open as your head fell further back, not caring anymore if your strangled cry attracted any unwanted attention.

In the midst of coming undone, through your fluttering eyelashes as you shook against Hector’s thigh, you made out something that wasn’t his face. It took you a minute to realize he was taking photos of you through your orgasm on his phone, watching you with an intensity that would’ve set your cheeks on fire if the phone hadn’t already. You felt yourself tightening around his fingers even more than before, realizing that as embarrassed as you were - you liked this.

“Preciosa,” Hector said under his breath, looking between the shots on his phone and back to you with an appreciative, almost hungry gaze. “I knew you’d be exquisite.” He slid his phone back in his pocket, leaning forward to kiss you deeply as he pulled his fingers from inside you. “And I knew I’d get you eventually,” he added with a smug whisper, pulling back so you could see as he licked your slick from his fingers.

Part of you was slightly confused in your post-high haze - if he’d been fucking you one hand, and the other had been holding his phone… you frowned for just a moment, going to look down at your hip where a cold hand had held you in place, but Hector took your chin in his hand and kissed you hard again, this time so you could taste yourself on his tongue.

When at last he pulled away (after refastening your shorts, to his credit), he stuffed his hands in his pockets, watching you keenly as you tried to straighten yourself out. “Next time we’ll do things properly, I promise: dinner, dancing, whatever my muse wants,” he said quietly. When you met his eyes again, feeling slightly shy now despite this encounter, he winked at you. “I just had to see what you’d actually say, first.”

Your mouth fell open slightly, your brain again trying to find something to fire back with, but Hector just laughed. 

“See you later, corazón.” And without another word, he turned, heading back down the alley where he’d come from - probably to grab his camera, which you’d noticed was mysteriously missing. As he walked, you saw him pull his phone out of his pocket again, and you could swear you saw him swiping through his photos with what looked like a smirk.

You lingered against the wall for a bit, waiting for your knees to re-solidify and your cheeks to stop burning before you were confident enough to walk the rest of the way to the car. You didn’t see anybody as you went, but something about that little encounter had left you feeling… different. In fact, instead of hoping nobody could see it on you, with every step you found yourself hoping that somebody would - that you’d run into someone, randomly, and they’d be struck immediately by your brazenness. You felt powerful, truly gorgeous even. You couldn’t stop smirking to yourself as you half-walked, half strutted the rest of the way there.

When you found your car in its lonely spot, you also found something waiting for you beneath your windshield wiper - a polaroid, of all things, of some beautiful white roses. You gazed at them, both delighted and transfixed, before turning it over, looking for anything you’d recognize to tell you who it was from.

On the back in looping, messy handwriting was a note:

Dinner Friday, at 7? I know a place. Text me.

- H

At the bottom was written his number, and you blinked, looking around. There’s no way he could’ve gotten over here fast enough to leave this. Not without you seeing him. If anything, you realized, he would’ve had to leave this earlier. Maybe even before he came and found you to begin with.

You felt your cheeks blaze with heat again, and even before you got all the way into your car, you were pulling out your phone.

[Fine. But you’re buying after that.]>

You smiled to yourself as you started your car and drove off. Okay. So maybe saying yes hadn’t been the worst thing in the world.

man, remember when I used to be able to write fics of a reasonable length?

anyway! if you've read this far, I hope you get to have a fun weekend outing yourself ;)

[armoricaroyalty]

how i (try to) make my text readable

so as a lifelong glasses wearer north of 25, i cannot see shit! I love the look of text on screenshots, but also i have spent a nonzero amount of time squinting at pale text on a busy background and thought "i cannot fucking read that."

there are lots of ways to do this. my method is not perfect. I am constantly tweaking things to try and make the text more readable. if you have suggestions about making the text more readable, please share!

Step One: Open the screenshot in your photo editor

I start with a screenshot and a script. I use Gimp, a free and open-source photo editor, and I pretty much only use it to put captions on my screenshots, so please do not ask me how to actually edit pictures, I do not know. also, please do not ask me how to do this in any photo editor, i prefer to use this one because it is free, ad-free one that I can own legally and download safely.

open-source software RULES, btw.

Step One: Add a text layer with your dialogue

I use the text tool to add the dialogue to the image, copying and pasting from my script. This is not legible. My eyes hurt. I cannot read that, so I can't tell if I've made any typos.

Step Two: Add a black background to the text.

In, Gimp: Right click text layer > "Alpha to Selection." In the top menu, Selection > Grow > 3 pixels. Top menu: Layer > New Layer. (I name the new layer "Text BG ##") Use the bucket tool to fill the selection on the new later.

There's probably a shortcut to doing this in other photo editors (hell, might be a shortcut in Gimp.)

Step Three: Blur the background

In Gimp: Top Menu > Effect > Blur > Gaussian Blur. This may be a step backward in terms of readability, but I like how it looks. Let's try a few other things to help the reader, shall we?

Step Four: Drop Shadow

In Gimp: Top Menu > Light & Shadow > Drop Shadow. Makes the text stand out a bit more. Still not particularly readable, especially the blue on blue on the left side of the image.

Step Five: Gradient layer

Create a new layer underneath the Text BG, and then add a transparent gradient over the entire image.

This is step is slightly more involved, so I'll just link you to a guide instead of explaining myself: "How to create a gradient transparency in GIMP."

Step Six: Further Tweaks

I still wasn't satisfied with the readability of the text. I duplicated the gradient layer to create a darker background underneath the text. I also repeated the drop shadow step on the Text BG layer. You could also make the text larger or bolder, change font colors, grow the selection by 4 or 5 pixels instead of 3, or skip the blurring step. I change my method frequently to try to get the best look for each individual image, and I don't always do a perfect job.

This is an area where I constantly innovate. I want people to be able to actually read my text, so I try not to let myself be satisfied with "good enough." When I take screenshots, I try to do it with an eye for compositions that give me a nice, blank space on the bottom for text, ex.

[mishy-mashy]

Just wanna say this: the High-End Hood should've been Shinomori's corpse.

Yes, it's confirmed Hood is some random fighter from the underground, but it just makes more sense if it were Shinomori at the base?? At the least, I think it'd be verrry fascinating

Although it might be a bit cliche, like if Kudo were Bakugo's ancestor, but it'd be a nice piece of trivia. It wouldn't have to be said outright. Like AFO losing Yoichi's hand cuz of All Might.

Endeavor just fights and kills Shinomori, a cute hermit that gave the rest of his life because of OFA, and Bruce's trust in him over said Factor. Even using his turn to build up strength, Shinomori was looking forward to the future too

A parallel of wanting to be the strongest is drawn between Shinomori and Endeavor. Even after death, the duty of OFA haunts even a corpse.

For why it makes sense if Hood were Shinomori;

Shinomori and Hood wear the same kind of pants (Hood's is ripped, but he's a Nomu and corpse, so it makes sense). It even ends just below the knee. A colored version because I don't want to open the anime;

Shinomori's desire to avoid the strongest (AFO) could've been tweaked by Garaki to look for the strongest instead

Hood looking for the strongest person (hero) could even be Shinomori's desire to give OFA to someone strong enough to protect and grow the Factor. As a hero, someone trustworthy

My [OFA Users are High-Ends theory post] for why Shinomori would be a good base for a High-End

AFO didn't know his face, so the High-End could've been named Hood to keep up themes. That AFO didn't know his face, and even now, he has a "hood"; Hood's face isn't visible beyond glowing features at first

Endeavor burned Hood and said to rest. This could've been Shinomori getting his cremation, and that Shinomori could relax (about OFA)

Endeavor said Hood is possibly Endeavor from the past or the future. In the past, Shinomori wanted to grow his strength for the Factor, so technically, Shinomori wanted to be the strongest. The strongest he could be, at least

The fact we know Shinomori underwent an autopsy, and that Garaki works in morgues to harvest corpses

The knowledge that multiple Quirks kills the normal (not-AFO) person is found in Shinomori. Finding this out, this could've been the reason Garaki and AFO specifically use corpses for Nomus. That way, there's no life force to drain, and technically no drawbacks to the wielder

Garaki was alive during Shinomori's time. Considering these panels,

This happens chronologically. AFO knew Bruce only had leftover embers (he could tell the same with All Might), which is why he looks so dismissive of his corpse. He's just wondering where Yoichi could be now.

AFO met Garaki after he killed Bruce. With all his followers and the way AFO is sitting, he's likely in search of Yoichi in Shinomori. But he never sees or meets the wielder. Thus the way he has his head down, as if upset and ignoring the insignificant crowds

That's why, when he finds Banjo, he's smiling. Yoichi is right in front of him again, after 18+ years of nothing.

Garaki was probably alive for all the OFA users. He's already looking middle-aged when he first meets AFO, and his Ability is just longer life. So he looks younger than he actually is anyway.

Since AFO faced all the previous OFA Users (sans Shinomori), AFO had access to their bodies when they died. Meanwhile, Shinomori ends up in the morgue anyway, likely by Banjo.

AFO shredded Yoichi's body apart, so there's no corpse left. He killed Kudo, Bruce, Banjo, En, and Nana; but not Shinomori, who died of old age, or All Might or Midoriya, because they're still alive.

He has access to the corpses of the previous holders he killed himself, and left relatively intact. And Banjo may as well have given him Shinomori's corpse to figure out what killed a relatively-young, healthy man.

With access to those corpses, AFO and Garaki could've preserved the corpses of OFA Users to make High-Ends

(Maybe see this post where I elaborate why OFA users make great bases for High-Ends)

[radioisntdead]

Good evening folks! Thank you tuning in!

I'm supposed to be finishing up a request right now but It's six am, I was missing my dog and this popped in my brain, Alastor who hates dogs and a reader who has one

and I can NOT write anything else until I get this out of my brain, I may be projecting a little bit here.

Alastor x reader with a dog headcanons + a drabble thing? in the middle [Romantic]

Warnings!

Brief mention of your dog passing on [it's implied from old age]

all dogs go to heaven but yours wanted to stay with you even if you ended up down below, Alastor being mean to dogs, also once again Alastor may be OOC or leaning into fanon, Apologies for any grammar mistakes!

Okay so it's pretty well known that Alastor doesn't like dogs because they were involved during his death [I think, I can't remember if that's canon or fanon but we're keeping it for this]

I don't think he's scared of them, he just thinks they're one of the worst things created, especially the hellborn ones, not hellhounds [to be fair he probably hates them too]

You know the dogs that fizzarolli has in Helluva boss? The tweaked out lookin' ones? Yeah Alastor hates em' if he saw one on the street he either moves away from em', moves them aside with his staff while giving the owners the stink eye, he doesn't go out of his way to do anything to them usually.

Point is dude doesn't like dogs and if he can help it doesn't interact with them, and I see him more as a cat person CURSED CAT ALASTOR

Unfortunately for him he somehow gained romantic intent for someone who ADORES their funky lil' dog.

You have no idea why your dog was in hell with you, they weren't a bad dog, they were a good one! The very best on fact!

Sure they had tried to murder your best friend by trying to suffocate em' in their sleep, several times, but they were a dog, a sweetheart and they knocked off the murderous intent if you gave em' a snack plus if anyone knew anything was that all pets, Dog, cat, raccoon, hamster they all went to heaven! So you had no idea why your lil' buddy was in eternal damnation with you!

You died so close together, it was maybe a month or so from their passing to yours, you couldn't wait to see your lil' elderly buddy again but you didn't think it'd be so soon! You still had a life to live and you knew that they'd want you to live on!

You woke up in hell alot nicer then other folks, with your dog sitting on your chest licking you awake,

A golden ring around their furry neck, they looked a little different then they did when they were alive with you, but you knew that this was your dog, there was just that feeling when you looked in their eyes.

Maybe everything wouldn't be too bad with them here, You could get through with them by your side after all.

It was hard the first few years but you managed, getting used to the chaos around, finding a decent job and having to carry around a weapon just in case some psycho decided they wanted to kill you that day, and respawning was a whole hassle and you had your lil' buddy waiting for you at home!

You got a Job at a local diner near your apartment complex, your manager sucked, as did some of your coworkers but the pay was decent and you got along well enough with the coworkers that didn't suck plus you got to take home meals and share with your lil' buddy, They didn't particularly like the hell dog food so it was a fair way to feed em' without breaking the bank

You had met Alastor there somehow, it was fuzzy in your memory, you think he came in for coffee or maybe it was to make a deal with some poor unfortunate soul, all you remember is that you had managed to catch the Radio's demon eye,

Looking back you were pretty sure he was trying to get your soul only for the two of you to end up courting.

You had neglected to tell him about your lil buddy until he came to your apartment for the first time, after maybe the fourth date for coffee,

it wasn't quite his style but it was nice, and he particularly liked the vintage radio that stood on your kitchen counter, he was having a pleasant time chatting with you before you went into the kitchen to make the two of you some coffee and some snacks, as you went into the kitchen he looked around your living room his smile straining slightly as he found a dog staring at him with the rage of twenty-five grown men, Alastor simply turned to the kitchen where you were making a charcuterie board for the two of you

"My dear, I fear you have a rat problem,"

Alastor said gesturing at your lil' buddy who continued staring at him, the murderous intent of 'who is this man and why is it in my home?' was clear

You looked up from your charcuterie board confused until you see your lil' buddy death glaring Alastor

"Pardon? What do you- Oh! Yeah that's my lil' buddy, I'm sure I mentioned them once or twice, don't mind em' they're mostly harmless."

"Ah."

And from there came a rivalry, Alastor came to your apartment? That lovely lil' pooch of yours would sit between you on the couch, Alastor would move them away with his staff thingy,

He wanted to dance with you with soft jazz playing in the background? Your lil' buddy lacking fear was running between your legs trying to grab your attention, only for it to backfire when you tripped and Alastor catched you effectively taking your attention

He straight up mocks your dog, your lil' buddy is too short to get on the couch? Bully time, doesn't matter how big your dog is they're getting called a rat, rodent or a mutt by Alastor, if your lil' buddy earned their wings they're getting called a winged rat,

I imagine he's probably more tolerant towards smaller breeds like Corgi's or Pomeranians for example and less inclined towards dogs typically breed for hunting.

He asked once if your willing to re-home the lil' buddy, and you probably almost stabbed him because the audacity of this man?

Definitely was a rough patch in the relationship.

He gets a lil' nervous now when your holding very very sharp knives outside of the kitchen and upset

Your lil' buddy definitely tries to bite off Alastor's ankles.

Later on in the relationship let's say when you and Alastor wed, your dog is your best man, maid of honor, flower girl, ring bearer whatever it's one of those and Alastor has to put up with it,

Rosie likes to tease about how Alastor gave your lil' buddy the stink eye as they waddled behind you as you walked around during your wedding activities,

Alastor specifically had Husk hold them during your dance, and the majority of your wedding after,

Husk thankfully was spared from the rage of your lil' buddy by giving them some of whatever dinner was served.

Now let's move on to house life once y'all are moved in and everything.

Alastor does NOT want them on the bed, he'd rather they be in a whole different room but if you truly desire it aka if it's the hill your willing to die on

He'll invest in a dog bed, or crate, and you can put it in the corner, FAR from the bed you share,

If Alastor falls asleep with you and your lil' buddy is in the room,

They are out for BLOOD, Alastor's in particular if he doesn't wake up immediately he will wake up with a dog on his face,

He can't do anything to harm the dog with you nearby but he can kick them out of the room, or pop's em' into doggy prison he locks them out of your shared room

He does somewhat agree to a truce with your lil' buddy after a few years

Alastor would take the lil' buddy on walks and make sure they stay safe and not attacked by any sinner with a death wish, after all you would probably go on a revenge filled bender and while he'd adore to see it because you know he's a murderous radio demon who likes despair,

he'd rather you not be upset over losing your beloved pet even if he thinks they're a disgrace.

Maybe if he's in a good mood he'll toss a piece of venison to your lil' buddy, and your lil' buddy would not try to smother Alastor in his sleep, or trip the two of you dancing as often as they did before.

Now when Alastor just dipped for 7 years your lil' buddy missed him,

For about three days at most

Your lil' buddy was happy to have ALL of your attention again and they got to sleep in the human bed! And had full reign of the house.

They held very little loyalty to Alastor.

And for good reason!

They were very displeased when the two of you moved to the Hazbin hotel and they spotted Alastor just smiling there, like he didn't just leave for seven years, the audacity!

Let's hope you have a quick reaction time because your gonna have to stop your lil' buddy from chompin' off Alastor's ankles, because how dare he vanished for seven years? Who does he think he is?!

You and Angel dust probably bond over Fat nuggets and your lil' buddy, a very small Pet parent club was formed, Charlie's in it.

Vaggie was probably a lil' concerned about the fact that your dog has a whole adjusted halo as a collar but that's the least concerning thing in the hotel.

If your lil' buddy is big enough Niffty rides em' like a horse,

She has to be watched when she does so.

If you like to dress up your lil' buddy dress em' up as Alastor and he is either flattered by it or your pet is getting a outfit change immediately,

you and Angel have your lil' buddy and Fat nuggets dress up in different outfits sometimes matching if they get along well!

Imagine if we bring cursed cat Alastor into it, I can see it doing two ways

Either Cursed cat Alastor is 100% worse, like Alastor doesn't like your dog but he's not actively trying to eliminate them like Cursed cat Alastor is, radio noises and growls can be heard if you don't separate them, like they are both getting injured, both have murderous intent and just feral time, it is NOT fun.

OR

They team up, Alastor is just trying to eat his deer carcass? Not anymore they are double teaming to steal his breakfast, cursed cat Alastor just appears and starts vibrating while your lil' buddy is trying to drag the carcass off the table,

It never works and often ends with the both of them getting picked up by the scruff's of their necks and getting unleashed outside to wreck havoc on the others unless you find them first.

Thank you for tuning in and reading folks! Reader's lil' buddy is heavily inspired by my own dearly departed dog

hence the murderous intent your lil' buddy has and the tried to kill your best friend bit at the beginning

Also a little tidbit I was thinking was that your lil' buddy was your guardian angel for the time until you passed and then they just followed you down, their lil' doggy halo slipping from their head to around their neck like a really flexible collar, and the earned their wings comment, Alrighty goodnight folks!

[hyba]

I tried AI for the first time...

Hm.

I tried AI today for the first time, and gave it a prompt to outline an article, and then to draft the article. I've never generated any writing with AI before, other than a few bits of AI art back when it was a sparkly new thing, and even then it felt... odd. I've had very definite thoughts about it, and since someone wanted me to use it for a job-related task, I decided to try it out and see what everyone was so addicted to.

First thoughts:

It's surprisingly good at understanding complex prompts. I actually didn't expect it to pick up on a few things I put in the prompt, but it managed to touch upon every single point. I thought I might confuse it, but apparently not.

It provides a clear and concise draft, which I also didn't expect. It reads smoothly, and there's a logic to the way the information is presented.

I'm not really liking the final results, though, because they still feel a bit bare, and that's probably a good thing because at least it means that it could still benefit from the human touch.

It's painfully reminiscent of every single article I come across online these days, making me wonder just how many bloggers, magazines, and websites are using AI to generate their content.

Not only does it feel a bit bare-bones, it's also very surface-level in the content provided. I wonder if that's just the limitations of my prompt in the works, of if it's a legitimate concern with content generated by AI. Both would explain the dismal quality of some of the traffic-sucking AI-generated content out there in the web: people not knowing how to prompt the AI software well enough, and people just taking whatever it spouts out and copy-pasting it without any additional effort added.

The single most worrying thing for me, though, is that it used 3 sources. One of them was a book on Amazon; I still don't know if the AI had access to that whole book or if it just grabbed something from the summary. Another one was legit, as far as I could tell, and the author was an expert in his field. Unfortunately, his expertise wasn't in the subject area I was looking for. And the last one was interesting, because the author wasn't an expert, but the article anyway was more of an opinion piece. I don't know how I feel about this selection of sources; I don't think any teacher would have passed me if I wrote a paper using only these three sources in high school, let alone college.

All of that being said, I understand now the addiction of it. How quickly it wrote a whole article for me, and not a bad one, either - with a little more tweaking and a little more depth and analysis here and there, and some new sources, the article could be very good. I suppose that's essentially a rewrite... So you get a backbone/skeleton, generated in a matter of seconds, and I think the ideal approach is then to fix it up and add a lot more content, since it doesn't look like it really goes in much depth? I wonder if this is what the workflow looks like for someone who uses AI for their copywriting. Or if they just copy paste and call it a job well done. (That can't possibly work though, right? Like, people can tell, I think?)

I know my standpoint on this, but outside right/wrong, I'm afraid this isn't going to go away anytime soon, with capabilities like this. Which means... Well, I'm a little worried and a little unsure what this means. Already I'm seeing job posts for jobs that never included the term AI before, now placing it as a requirement. I think we're definitely entering a time where it won't be about whether or not you like or support it; it'll be something imposed upon you by your employers, so that you can churn out more, and be more productive, and positively impact their bottom line.

So, those were my immediate thoughts after using AI to generate a whole article.

...And then I asked it to write a story.

Specifically, I asked it to write Apartment as a short story.

Check it out.