#hopefully this is something you guys will like

[mercvry-glow]

Stop making this hurt

parings. jack abbot x doctor!reader

summary. jack knew he didn’t want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

warnings. pitt fest incident, guns/shootings, hospital setting, blood and gore, reader gets hurt, death (not reader), medical inaccuracies and not show accurate but i tried my best, jack and robby are stressed af, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. finally my first pitt fest fic, hopefully this is angsty enough for ya'll and pleases all of my anons who asked for this! I love all of you, thank you for almost 300 followers and as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3600+

You knew it was a long shot trying to convince Jack to come with you to Pitt-Fest.

Crowds were never his thing, not even before his time as an Army medic. Too loud, too many moving parts, too unpredictable. Add a decade of trauma medicine on top of that, and the thought of shoulder-to-shoulder festival traffic was enough to make him visibly tense. You didn’t blame him — not even a little.

And as much as you loved your husband, you weren’t going to fight him on this one.

“Go have fun,” he’d told you that morning, standing in the doorway in his usual worn t-shirt and sweats, a coffee mug in one hand and the other wrapped around your waist. “Text me when you get there. And text me again when you leave. And maybe don’t lose your phone this time?”

You’d rolled your eyes, kissed him once, then twice — and promised to behave.

Truly, it was better for him to spend his one of his days off actually resting, not galavanting around the venue with you and your friends, half-drunk on overpriced cider and yelling about pierogi trucks.

So you let yourself enjoy it. The chaos, the music, the warm breeze coming off the river. You danced with your friends in the middle of the concert to some college band playing covers too fast. You tasted six different kinds of barbecue and took a picture with a guy dressed like a giant bottle of Heinz ketchup. And every couple hours, your phone buzzed with a little check-in from Jack — usually short, always a little dry since he wasn’t a big texter.

JACKY [1:14 PM] You hydrated today or just vibes?

JACKY [3:06 PM] Hope the pierogi truck is worth the foot traffic.

JACKY [4:11 PM] Home if you need me. 

You were smiling at that last one about to respond around 5pm, standing in line for boozy lemon slushies with Emma and a few others, when it happened.

At first, it was just a sound — one that didn’t register immediately. A sharp crack in the distance. Then another. Then screaming.

The crowd surged before your brain caught up. Someone dropped their drink. Someone else shoved you sideways. Your phone slipped out of your hand and hit the pavement.

“Is that—” Emma started to say, eyes wide.

You grabbed her wrist and pulled. “Run.”

You didn’t know where the shots had come from. You didn’t stop to look. You just moved — through the panicked chaos, toward the edge of the crowd, ducking behind a food truck with a group of strangers just as another round cracked the air like lightning.

Your chest was tight. Ears ringing. People were yelling. Crying. Calling for help. And your phone—your phone was still on the street.

Jack.

You couldn’t call him.

But he’d know. You didn’t know how, you just knew.

And however a mile away, as police scanners lit up and trauma alerts pinged on hospital radios, Jack was already on his feet — keys in hand, work boots half tied—and heart racing faster than he’d felt since he returned to US soil.

He didn’t wait for a callback. Didn’t care that he wasn’t on the schedule. He grabbed his badge and his trauma bag and was in the truck before the next dispatcher finished her second sentence.

Because something had happened at Pitt-Fest.

And you were there.

It really sounded like a firecracker at first — maybe someone messing around near the alley that ran behind the Pitt-Fest booths. But then came the second, then the third. Screaming followed.

You turned your head just in time to see another wave of people running. And then—

“EMMA!!”

She was beside you one second, and the next, she was down.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t think. You just dropped to your knees, catching her head before it hit the pavement, your mind going a mile a minute.

“Hey, hey—Em—look at me,” you said, your voice louder than you realized. “Where were you hit?”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her hands were pressed to her stomach, blood already soaking through her shirt and fingers.

“Fuck,” you hissed. “Okay. Okay, pressure. Emmy, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

You barely noticed the searing pain until your legs buckled and you were on your side. A sharp, ripping sensation tore through your ribs like glass.

Shot. 

You had been shot too.

Someone was shouting. A vendor nearby had flipped a table and was screaming for people to duck. A stranger—a kid, maybe barely twenty not much younger than you—ran toward you both through the chaos, eyes wide.

“Are you hurt? I have a truck—”

“Help us—please!” you said, trying to sit up, trying not to black out. “I’m a doctor—ER. Trauma. She needs a hospital now.”

He nodded, panicked, glancing at the blood now pooling on the concrete. “We’re like five blocks from PTMC—I’ll drive!”

You helped haul Emma up with shaking arms, biting back a cry when your chest screamed in protest. She groaned as you dragged her toward the curb, her weight nearly toppling you.

The kid had his pickup pulled up half on the sidewalk within seconds.

“Put her in the bed!” you ordered. “It’ll be faster to lift her in!”

Someone else joined—another panicked bystande —helping you hoist Emma into the truck bed as gently and as quickly as possible. You climbed in after her, teeth gritted, your once cute outfit sticky with blood.

“Go!” you screamed as the tailgate slammed shut behind you.

The engine roared and the truck peeled off, tires screeching. You barely held on, your legs braced against the wheel well, one arm clamped across Emma’s wound, the other pressing against your own side to slow the bleeding.

“You’re okay,” you told her, voice tight, even though you weren’t sure who you were trying to convince. “Emma, you’re gonna make it. You’re not fucking dying at Pitt-Fest! I won’t let you.”

Her eyes fluttered, and you cursed under your breath, checking her pulse. 

Thready. Too fast.

You knew you had minutes. Maybe less.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew Jack was at the Pitt. On shift or not, he was always there when it mattered.

He had no idea you were on your way. Or that you were bleeding out in the back of a stranger’s truck, racing through downtown Pittsburgh.

But if you made it… if you could just hold on a little longer��

You’d see him again.

The truck rattled like it was going to fall apart with every pothole it hit on Carson Street. The shocks weren’t built for this kind of weight or speed, and the stranger behind the wheel didn’t care. He’d barely said a word since he’d skidded to a stop at the edge of the chaos. Now, you could barely hold your head up.

Emma was curled in on herself across from you, clutching the side of the truck bed like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to earth. Her glitter jacket was soaked through—Msot of it hers, some of it not—and her ponytail had come loose, curls hanging limp against her face.

You turned your head toward her, everything in you aching.

“Em,” you rasped.

She didn’t answer.

“Emma, look at me.”

She did, finally. Her lip was split, her eyes glassy. She was holding her side with one hand, the other shaking where it pressed against her stomach. Blood oozed through her fingers.

“Hurts,” she whispered.

“I know.” You reached out, hand slick and trembling. You were starting to feel lightheaded, the pain in your side sharp and spreading, warm and wet and endless. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. We’re almost there.”

She nodded—but then her gaze dropped to your side, and her eyes widened. “Babe… you're—”

“Don’t look at me.” Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Just breathe, Em. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You weren’t sure if that was true. The blood loss was getting worse. Your top was drenched. The bullet had torn low, near your hip, and every bump in the road sent fresh agony lancing through your whole body. You tried to apply pressure but your arm wouldn’t stop shaking.

The guy driving honked again, swerving around a city bus. Ahead, PTMC’s trauma bay came into view, the red trauma flags flapping against the gray building. Almost there. Almost safe.

Then Emma made a sound that shattered you.

It was small. Wet. A choking breath followed by nothing.

You lurched forward, dragging yourself toward her with everything you had left. 

“Emma—Emmy. Stay awake. Look at me.”

Her head lolled. Her eyes were still open, just barely. “I’m really cold,” she whispered.

“No, baby. No, you’re not.” You gathered her into your lap, tried to shield her with what strength you had left. “We’re here. You’re okay.”

The truck hit the curb at full speed, rocking the bed. The brakes screamed as it slid sideways, stopping half a second before it would’ve crashed into the wall of the trauma bay. And then hands—at least half a dozen of them—were yanking open the tailgate.

Chaos.

“Two critical GSWs in the back—Jesus, they’re both going out!”

“She’s losing consciousness!”

“Someone help me get her—”

“She’s coding!”

You heard all of it like you were underwater. You were vaguely aware of someone pulling Emma from your limp arms. Someone else catching you as your head dropped back, limp, blood seeping down your spine.

A nurse’s voice rang out as she tried to open your airway.

“Who is she—anyone got a name?!”

No one answered.

Inside the trauma bay, Jack was elbow-deep in yet another chest wound, barking orders, adrenaline humming through his veins. He didn’t hear the commotion at the ambulance bay over the noise of suction and a flatline monitor. Didn’t look up when the bay doors slammed open again.

Didn’t know.

Didn’t know that somewhere down the hall, two trauma rooms were opening side by side—one for your best friend who wouldn’t make it, and one for you, his wife, who just might.

Not yet.

But he would.

He always did.

Now rushing inside to the hub, “Her BP’s eighty systolic and dropping—she’s hemorrhaging fast.”

“Pulse is thready. Pupils sluggish.”

“Get Dr. Robby in here, now!”

The trauma bay was already spinning into motion when Michael stepped through the sliding doors, hand dragging down over his messy brown hair. He was halfway into his  new trauma gown as he crossed the room.

“What’ve we got?”

“GSW to the lower abdomen. Entry left, possible exit—can’t tell through the bleeding. She was brought in non-EMS, unknown downtime.”

Robinavitch’s eyes tracked the chaos instantly, sharp and assessing. He reached the foot of the bed and froze just long enough to squint at your face beneath the mask of blood, dirt, and bruises. Something flickered across his expression.

“…Is that—?”

“Yeah,” one of the nurses whispered. “That’s our second Abbot.”

He didn’t react. Not outwardly. Just snapped his gloves tighter and stepped in, voice calm but commanding.

“Alright. Let’s move. I need two large-bore IVs, type and cross, four units O-neg hanging yesterday, and someone page trauma surgery—now.”

A nurse slid a face shield over his head as he pulled the curtain closed behind him.

“Pressure dressing’s soaked through.”

“She’s crashing, Dr. Robby.”

Michael leaned in over your body, catching the faintest movement of your chest. He knew your voice, your laugh, the way you snapped off one-liners at Jack and him in the hall. And right now, none of that mattered. You were just another patient bleeding out on his table. And he was going to keep you alive.

“Hang another liter. Let’s get a FAST scan going—we need to find that bleed.”

A tech slid gel across your abdomen. The screen flared to life, the grainy black-and-white image revealing what they were dreading.

“She’s bleeding into her abdomen,” someone said.

“No kidding,” Robby muttered. Then louder: “Alright. We don’t have time. Prep her straight for the OR. I want her there five minutes ago.”

He pressed down on the wound with both hands, hard. Princess to his left winced.

“She should seee Jack,” she whispered.

“No,” he said firmly. “Jack needs her to still be breathing when he finds out.”

He looked down at you, your face pale and growing colder beneath his fingers.

“You hang on,” he said under his breath. “You do not die on me. He will never recover.”

You didn’t respond. Your eyes fluttered once, lips barely parted. A sound escaped, too soft to decipher as Mikey leaned closer. 

Not as a doctor now, but as a close friend. 

“What was that?”

Your mouth twitched. “Tell�� Jack…”

But then your body jolted under his hands—heart monitor screaming into v-fib.

“Code!” someone shouted.

“Start compressions!” Robinavitch was already moving, calling for paddles. “One of you get Abbot!”

“But he’s still in Pink—”

“I don’t care if he’s in surgery or nott,” he snapped. “Tell him it’s his wife. Tell him she’s coding.”

Across the hospital floor, Jack looked up—something in his chest going cold before he even knew why.

The Pink Zone was chaos, and Red was a shit show. 

Jack had blood smeared to his elbows and the kind of tension in his jaw that only came from running full tilt on no sleep. His short, curls—streaked at the temples with silver—were plastered to his forehead with sweat. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and quick, were laser-focused on the wound in front of him.

“Clamp—now,” he barked, voice low and lethal.

The security guard on the table had been fine for the minute, eventually turning critical. Shrapnel to the chest. He’d already coded once in triage. Jack had cracked him open right there on the gurney, and there was no room in his world for anything else.

Until—

“Dr. Abbot!”

He didn’t look up. “Hold pressure!.”

“Jack!”

That voice. Too familiar.

He finally looked.

One of the new night shift  interns stood just inside the trauma bay doors, Jacob’s own scrubs stained and his expression wrecked. And he never looked wrecked.

Jack straightened, adrenaline still coursing, brow furrowed. “What?”

Jacob’s mouth opened—but nothing came out at first. He took a breath. Another. Then:

“She’s here. Your wife.”

The words didn’t land right at first. Jack blinked, frowning, like he hadn’t heard correctly.

“She what?”

“Gunshot wound to the abdomen. Came in the fourth or fifth wave from Pitt-Fest,” the young man said, voice tight. “They stabilized her. She was hypotensive on arrival. Tachy. Someone named Emma was with her—they were in the back of a civilian truck.”

The name Emma barely registered.

Jack’s pulse went sideways.

“She coded once—Robby sent her to the OR.”

“No,” Jack said, too fast, shaking his head. “No, she wasn’t even—she said she’d text me when—she wasn’t—”

The air felt thick. Too heavy. Too loud. His fingers curled into fists, shaking beneath his gloves.

“Dr. Abbot,” Someone said, stepping closer. “She’s still alive. They got her back. But you can’t leave right now. We need you here.”

Jack didn’t move.

“She asked for you,” Jacobs added quietly.

That broke something open.

Jack’s hazel eyes—usually unreadable—flashed wide. For half a second, pure panic. He turned, looking toward the hall that led to the elevators, toward OR.

But he couldn’t go. He knew it. The man on the table in front of him was dying.

And his wife… his wife was being cut open upstairs.

He squeezed his eyes shut once, breathing like it physically hurt. When he opened them, they were steely again. Grounded by sheer force of will.

“Tell Robinavitch to get me when she’s out,” Jack said. His voice was barely steady. “And tell him if she crashes again—he calls me. Immediately.”

“I will,” Jacob promised.

Jack didn’t answer. He just turned back to his patient like his spine was made of iron. Like his heart wasn’t bleeding under his ribs.

But his hands trembled—just once—before they found the scalpel again.

And he didn’t say another word about it, because what was there to say you could be gone before he even got to see you. 

Eventually the world returned in fragments.

A slow, stuttering beep. The soft rustle of hospital sheets. The sterile hum of fluorescent lighting. Everything hurt—but not sharply. Not like it had. Now it was dull and heavy, like your body was made of stone, barely yours.

You blinked against the overhead light. It took effort. Your limbs felt like they were filled with sand.

A shape moved beside you.

Jack.

He was hunched forward in the chair, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped tight. His short, silvery curls were flattened on one side, sticking up in the back like he hadn’t moved in hours. His hazel eyes were fixed on the floor, red-rimmed, dark and distant.

Your heart monitor ticked just a little faster. He looked up immediately.

“Hey,” he breathed, already at your side.

You tried to smile, but your lips barely moved. “Hi.”

Jack let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob and reached for your hand. His touch was careful, reverent. “You scared the absolute hell out of me.”

“Me too,” you rasped.

He gave you a sip of water, helping steady the cup as you drank. When you pulled back, your throat still felt raw—but the words came anyway.

“Emma?”

Jack’s face changed.

The crack in his expression wasn’t obvious, but you’d seen it before—on the battlefiel, in different red zone code blues, in the quiet moments after a loss. He didn’t answer right away.

You already knew.

“…She didn’t make it,” he said softly. “They couldn’t even try. She was gone in the truck.”

Your breath hitched.

“She was getting married,” you whispered, tears already brimming. “She was twenty-eight, Jack...”

“I know.”

“She was going to try out for th-that promotion. She just bought her wedding dress last week—she wanted to show you, and—and she was finally gonna ask David to move in with—”

Jack didn’t try to stop your rambling grief. He just leaned in closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“I know,” he said again, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.”

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. “She died in my arms...”

His hand tightened around yours.

“I didn’t know it was you,” he murmured, guilt and grief bleeding into his voice. “I was a couple zones over. We were shoulder to shoulder with victims. I didn’t know until after they took you up to surge.”

You blinked fast. “Were you there when I came in?”

“Robby got you stable. Barely. Everyone just said it was bad. Said  one of ours went down.” His voice caught. 

“Jack.”

“I couldn’t go up,” he whispered. “They were still bringing bodies in. And you were already in surgery. I had to keep working.”

Your vision blurred again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you’re the one that got shot.” His hazel eyes were fierce now, even through the exhaustion. “You did everything you could. You kept Emma safe as long as you could. And you lived. That’s all that matters right now.”

You didn’t feel like it should be enough. Not with her gone, and the fate of the rest of your friends unknown. But the way Jack looked at you���like the entire world had stopped spinning until your heart started beating again—it made the pain settle differently.

He reached up and brushed your hair back, his touch gentle. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”

Since the first shots rang out at Pitt-Fest, you let yourself feel the weight of everything that had happened. 

Your fingers twitched under his, slow and aching, but deliberate. Jack noticed immediately, shifting to cradle your hand in both of his, as if he could anchor you there by touch alone.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “Thank you for staying with me…”

Jack’s eyes closed, lashes trembling. His head bowed as his grip on your hand tightened, pulling it gently to his chest.

“I’d stay a thousand times,” he murmured. “I’d go through hell a thousand times if it meant getting you back.”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest—because you believed him. There was no part of Jack Abbot that ever did anything halfway, least of all when it came to you.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “In that truck. I-I knew Emma  was gone and—I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything hurt. I didn’t know if you’d even know…”

Jack leaned forward again, resting his forehead against your hands, breathing you in like he was trying to convince himself you were real. “I know now,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ve got you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek, the way his body trembled just slightly with the force of holding himself together.

“I kept thinking—‘he’s gonna be mad,’” you whispered. “Because I went without you. Because I didn’t duck fast enough. Because I let one of the girls get hit.”

“Stop,” he said, voice firm but thick with emotion. “You don’t need to carry that. Not even for a second.”

You nodded faintly, tears sliding into your hair. “She died, Jack. Emma died. And I couldn’t save her.”

He stayed quiet for a beat, then moved to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, like he could pour every unspoken word straight into your skin.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’ll carry that with you. Every single day.” The monitors continued their slow, steady rhythm. Jack stayed at your bedside like he’d never leave it again.

Outside, the world kept spinning—grief, news headlines, recovery, chaos—but inside that quiet room, wrapped in his presence, you finally let yourself rest. Because you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

And you knew, in the deepest part of yourself, that Jack would keep holding on enough for the both of you—because that’s the type of man he was. 

mercury-glow 2025

[puck-luck]

jack hughes comes back from a long roadie and his gf (of only like a few months) is all over him, wearing his jersey on top of some lingerie, and just saying the dirtiest most filthy shit because she missed him so much and needs him immediately, and he is like in a state of shock (the good kind) bc he’s never really seen her like this before and it turns into like the hottest sex they’ve ever had ☝🏻

(this is my last one!! sorry, i am not a dawson mercer girly so i don’t really have any ideas for him, hopefully some other nons can pick up the DM slack for me 🫶🏻)

in memoriam of one of the original asks cappy sent me in a spree last april🥹 see, guys, i get to everything eventually...

warnings: unprotected p in v, **mentions of jack's shoulder injury**, mentions of handjobs, mentions of blowjobs, mentions of thigh riding, mentions of overstimulation, fingering, switch!jack and switch!reader (they do both! in this one, jack is... leaning more dom, but he's not like a DOM!dom), praise, mentions of pain play, squirting, that's all i remember. doing this from memory is hard!

pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader

wc: 3,995

The finishing touch for Jack’s big welcome home party– just you, since Luke and the rest of the team are on the road at the moment– is the vase of flowers in your hand. You can’t decide where exactly to put it.

You put the vase together on Jack’s kitchen counter. You cut the stems into his pull-out trashcan near the dishwasher and filled the vase with lukewarm water from his sink. You sprinkled some of that nutrient packet into the water, the packet that came with the flowers, even though you’re not sure if you used the right amount or if that’s what you were supposed to do anyway. You’re not a florist. You just wanted to do something nice for your boyfriend.

Your heart damn near stopped after he crashed into the boards in that game against Vegas. To see Jack’s opponent– and friend, since you’d met the other Jack at 4 Nations when they were on Team USA together– crouched over him and checking on him, making sure he was okay… it made you feel sick to your stomach. Obviously, he wasn’t okay.

And then he went to get surgery almost immediately. He went to Colorado, got patched up, and went back to Michigan for a couple of weeks to get his initial rehab and recovery out of the way with his old Team USA trainers and his parents closeby. 

You’d felt so useless when it happened. You and Jack only started dating a couple of months ago, right around the new year, and you had no idea how to help him with this injury. You have no idea what he needs now that he’s coming back.

So, you’re trying to make the apartment pretty for him.

You’ve strung up a banner in the living room, above the door of the balcony, which says “Welcome Home, Jack!” in big bubble letters. You painted it yourself last weekend, when he’d texted that he’d be coming home soon, and you’d artfully hidden your mistakes by turning the banner over and starting again. You hope that Jack doesn’t observe the back when he takes it down. You never claimed to be an artist, but it’s still embarrassing to be so bad at spacing out letters when you used a ruler and everything.

There are balloons in the corner and tied to Jack’s seat at the table. You’re wearing a party hat and you bought him a paper crown to wear when he arrives. 

The only question that remains is where to put these damn flowers. 

You want him to see them when he walks in, so you can’t put them on the kitchen counter, or the dining room table, or in his bedroom. You could put them on the table they have next to the door, where the guys put their keys and throw their coats, but Jack would knock them over with said coat or he’d throw his keys into them by accident and lose them forever among the petals. They’ll have to go on the coffee table near the couch, but even that seems imperfect.

When Jack tells you that he just made it to his building, not knowing that you’re upstairs waiting for him, you decide that the coffee table will have to do.

There’s one last thing to do before he walks in the door. Like you said, you and Jack have only been dating for a couple of months. You’d finally worked up the courage to wear his number to the two home games before his injury. At the first, you’d worn a little beaded bracelet with the number ‘86’ squeezed between a bunch of red, white, and black beads. At the second, you’d worn a jean jacket with an ‘8’ and a ‘6’ ironed onto the breast-pocket of the jacket, done by one of your more fabrically talented friends at your request. Jack had quirked a smile at both, but planted a kiss on your cheek after the jean jacket and murmured something about how you’d have to wear his jersey and cheer him on while he’s on the road. 

That was the plan, until he’d gotten injured. You hope that it doesn’t add insult to injury– no pun intended– to wear it now. After all, you’re still Jack’s biggest cheerleader. Now, you’re just… cheering him through his recovery instead. 

You tug off Jack’s big sweatshirt, which you totally hadn’t stolen when you’d been missing him after he’d left for Colorado, and toss it into the corner of his closet. He’s got a few random jerseys in here, which shouldn’t surprise you, even though you thought that the jerseys stayed at the rink. Aren’t they part of the equipment? Or does every player get to have a couple of jerseys to do with what they wish?

You choose his classic red, pulling it over your head. The sleeves reach your fingertips and the length falls past your hips. It’s a big garment. That makes sense, you guess, since they have to wear pads and stuff underneath it. It covers the pretty panties you’d chosen to wear for Jack in case he felt up for sex– when is he not, to be fair– and the matching bra that pushes your tits up and shows them off. You’ve also splurged on a pair of sheer, black stockings that only come up to your mid-thigh. There’s lace trim that accentuates the hem of the stockings and you tug it up to make sure they don’t slide down. You want them to be securely in place when Jack finds you in the apartment. 

You look at yourself in the mirror. The stockings are coquette in a vixen-like, sirenous way. There’s a sliver of your skin visible between the lace of the stockings and the hem of Jack’s jersey. You look dwarved in it and you know that Jack will like that. He’s got a thing for throwing you around and showing off how strong his training makes him. Unfortunately, he’s got that pesky shoulder injury, so he won’t be doing much of that anymore– not for a while. Your hair is messy from brushing it out of your face as you decorated the apartment, then eventually tying it up as best you could. Some strands escaped and the elastic you used is old and loose, but your hair looks effortlessly good. This is a hairstyle that you’ll never be able to recreate because it’s so messy and haphazard. You’re about to whip your phone out to take a picture when you hear the front door swing open and a suitcase roll into the atrium ahead of Jack. 

You hear his confused “What the–” and the two tentative steps he takes into the apartment before you grab the paper crown from atop your bag, exit the bedroom, and reveal yourself.

“Welcome home!” you exclaim, skipping forward towards Jack. 

His eyes light up when he sees you, which takes away from the sting of sympathy that nips at your heart when you see his slinged arm. He opens his other arm and wraps it around your waist once you’re close enough, pulling you into his body and pressing a kiss to your hair. “Baby,” Jack says, grin dancing across his face. “Did you do all this?”

You pull back and place the flimsy crown on his head. It falls crooked almost immediately, so you have to fix it again. You’re surprised Jack’s hair wasn’t already hidden beneath a hat of some kind after such a long day of travel. “Mhm,” you confirm. “Wanted to do something nice so you didn’t come home to an empty apartment.”

Jack leans forward and pecks your lips, his available hand splayed over the small of your back. He presses your torsos together. “You’re so thoughtful. I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” you chirp back. It’s still early in the relationship. You’re allowed to do the “I missed you more, I missed you most” bit without feeling like it’s too middle-school. 

Jack finds it silly, but in a fond way, so he rarely ever completes the superlative. He just cuts his eyes at you, then rolls them in faux-exasperation. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Whatever you say.” He loosens his grip around your waist. “Let me get a good look at you. Are you wearing my jersey?”

You step back and pop your hip, posing for Jack. “What do you think?”

“I think you wear it better than I do,” Jack replies. His mouth is crooked as he smirks at you. “The socks are a nice touch. You couldn’t find any tube ones to match mine? The ones that go over my leg pads?”

He’s just teasing, but you frown. That would’ve been fun. You could’ve basically worn his uniform, but a sexier version. “Boo,” you lament with a pout.

Jack tips his head back and laughs. “I’m messing with you, pretty girl. I love it. You know I’m going to have to take it off of you, right? It’s been too long since I’ve gotten my hands on you.”

“Don’t you mean ‘hand,’ singular?” you tease, narrowing your eyes at Jack. “You can’t use both your hands. You have to wear that sling.”

“I can take the sling off for twenty minutes,” Jack replies. When you make a face at him, he raises an eyebrow. He bargains, “I’ll put it back on right after.”

You sidle up close to him, tracing the velcro straps and the long belt that wraps around his neck. “What if I want you to keep it on?” you ask.

Jack smirks at you, eyes glimmering with playfulness. “Then I’d ask if you like seeing me in pain, sweetheart.”

“Seeing you in pain?” you repeat, making your eyes wide and innocent. You ignore the way your heartbeat speeds up as an image of Jack, squirming and whining and overstimulated but bucking his hips into your tight fist, pops into your brain. “I would never enjoy that.”

“Hm.” Jack looks over your face thoughtfully. He wraps his arm around your body again, placing his hand on your asscheek and squeezing before he prompts you. “Jump, baby.”

You wrap your arms around his neck for leverage. “You think you can carry me with one arm?”

“I know I can,” Jack insists, lifting you off the ground with his forearm pressed to the back of your thighs, then holds your behind again once you twine your legs around his waist. “I lift.”

His defensive tone has you laughing and kissing him, distracting him, as he walks down the hallway towards the bedroom. He kisses you back just as passionately, tracing his tongue against yours and nibbling on your lips when you pull back just enough. He pushes the door open with your back, then abruptly tosses you onto the bed.

You shriek and giggle when you fall through the air and land with a bounce, scoffing at Jack with an open mouth. “Oh my God!”

Jack laughs and sticks his tongue out at you, tugging at the straps of his sling until it’s loose enough to slip from his body. He carefully flexes his arm and gets the blood pumping through it again, tugging off his shirt and fumbling with his zipper. 

You lean back on your elbows and spread your legs, knees hooked over the edge of the bed. Jack’s jersey has ridden up, revealing the crotch of your panties but nothing more. 

Jack eyes you with his teeth digging into his bottom lip, shoving his pants and boxers down, leaving him bare before you. 

Your eyes almost immediately grow hooded, fixed on his cock. Jack makes it jump in place, grinning at you when your gaze comes up to his face. You smile back and spread your knees an extra inch, nodding at Jack. 

He takes his cock and fists the base, walking between your legs as he strokes himself slowly. He then drops to his knees and kisses the inside of your thigh, his free palm coming to your stocking-clad shins and tracing up the fabric until he reaches the lace around your thigh. Jack digs his fingers into the lace and begins to drag it down your legs. He kisses each inch of new skin that is revealed, gently removing the stocking before kissing back up your leg and repeating the process on the other side.

Your core has started aching with want, slick probably seeping through your panties. If Jack can tell, he ignores it. 

His movements are slow and measured, reverent. He treats you gently and takes his time with you, like you’re the one who’s injured and in pain. 

You whimper for Jack as his lips pass your knee on the way back up.

His eyes lift and regard you. His lips pause for just a second before he continues his path. His hands slide up your sides, under the jersey, and he pushes it up. His mouth creeps over your stomach and his head hides itself under the dangling fabric of the jersey. Jack is now crouching rather than kneeling, and you scoot back on the bed so he has a more comfortable position. He places a knee on the edge of the bed and inches up your body, still kissing, and finally removes the jersey.

“Can’t wait for you to wear that while I’m actually playing,” Jack tells you quietly before he tosses it away. His fingers tease your entrance, tracing it through your panties. “It’ll inspire me. Remind me of this night.”

“I will,” you promise breathlessly, your hands tracing up Jack’s biceps and digging into his hair, which has only gotten longer since he left. 

“You’d promise anything,” Jack chuckles. He slides his thumb over your clothed clit. “As long as I keep touching you.”

You detest that, but he’s probably right. In order to avoid admitting that, you pull his head forward until his lips mold against yours and his fingers pull your panties to the side. 

Jack’s muscles bend and flex as he pumps his fingers into your heat, starting with two because he just can’t wait to sink his cock into the wet space between your legs. 

You’re immediately reacting to the way his blunt fingertips curl into your walls and press into the gummy flesh, seeking out your sweet spot.

He has to draw back from you, resting his forehead against yours and gnawing on his bottom lip while he watches your face. 

You roll your hips and gasp wantonly when his middle finger prods the spot inside of you. Your eyelashes flutter and you shake, pupils fixing on Jack’s. 

His eyes glow with pride and his smile grows, breathing hard as he bullies his fingers against the spot, his other hand coming up from your waist to your chest and drawing one of your breasts from your bra. He gropes it, thumbs the peak, and pinches your nipple. He dips his head and seals his mouth over it, suckily audibly and flicking his tongue against the skin.

A plea spills from your lips, practically a squeal, and Jack giggles against your skin. He flattens his tongue against your nipple and looks up at you through his eyelashes, scissoring his fingers inside of you until your vision is tinged with black spots. “Take your tits out,” Jack commands softly. “Let me see them.”

You reach a hand behind your body awkwardly and unclasp your bra. 

Jack pulls it off and tosses it behind him. He fucks a third finger into your cunt, stretching you so that you can fit around his width comfortably, and sucks a bruise on your tits, the edge of his mouth overlapping with your areola. 

Your stomach jumps and twists, clenching and crumbling apart when Jack actually licks a stripe up your neck and takes your earlobe between his lips. Your breath stutters and your body writhes, fucking down on Jack’s fingers as you ride out the wave of your first orgasm.

“Good girl,” Jack coos in your ear. “So responsive for me, so ready to take my cock. You didn’t put fresh sheets on the bed, did you? I’d hate for this little wet spot to ruin all your hard work.”

Dazed from your climax, you shake your head.

Jack’s smile reveals his teeth. He kisses your lips, then whispers conspiratorially, “Let’s make it bigger.”

You moan at his tone. Jack’s hands slide down your legs, wrapping them around his waist, and then he flips your bodies so you’re on top. You make a noise of discontent against his mouth, wanting him to fuck you, but Jack shushes you. 

“Give my shoulder a rest, sweetheart,” he says. “I need you to take care of me for a couple of weeks before I’m doing better.”

It’s not possible to argue with that, especially once Jack’s engorged cock slides between your folds and the head bumps your clit. You make a soft ‘oh,’ which Jack drinks up. His tongue pets against yours and you suck on it when it fills your mouth. You feel Jack’s hand sneak between your bodies and circle his base, aligning his tip with your entrance so that you can sink down, still basking in the relaxation of your previous orgasm.

You hum, neck rolling back. You move your hips in a circle, then you change direction, then you start to rock back and forth. 

“That’s it,” Jack praises. His fingers dig into your waist. “My pretty girl.”

“I love how you feel,” you sigh, placing your hands on Jack’s abdomen for leverage. Your mouth is an inch from his, the breath that leaves your lungs mixing with his. Your eyes are closed, forehead resting against his, and Jack’s hands slide to your behind. He pulls you forward, aiding your movement. “Fuck, Jack, it’s nothing like I imagined while you were gone.”

“What did you think of while I was away?” Jack asks, only a hint of desperation in his voice. 

“I was thinking about things we can do that won’t hurt you,” you say. “Until you’re able to use your shoulder again. Then it’ll be like rehab.”

Jack snuffles out a little laugh, the shaky air displacing the hair that is falling from your updo. “Smart. Make me do something I like.”

“I fucked myself with my fingers, bent over my sink,” you tell him abruptly, the memory sparking in your mind when your clit brushes against Jack’s skin. “Imagining you were there, watching me in the mirror.”

“Oh,” Jack says dumbly, his voice thick.

“I thought about how you’d only be able to touch me with one hand and how you wouldn’t be able to decide what to do with me,” you continue. “I thought you’d– oh– hold onto me until I was bruised, just to try and keep me in place.”

“You want me to…” Jack trails off.

His tip brushes your cervix, sending a jolt through you, and you start to fuck yourself on his cock. Jack’s fingertips reflexively dig into your flesh, lifting you with the help of your momentum and slamming you back down on his member.

“Fuck,” Jack adds.

“I imagined you spanking me if I looked away from you,” you admit, your voice breaking off into a desperate ‘yes’ as his hips twitch and fuck up into you.

Jack plants his feet on the mattress and bucks up, matching your bounces in pace and intensity. 

“Thought you’d leave a mark there, too,” you finish. “And come inside me and leave me there, dripping all over the tile.”

Jack makes a choked noise, gasping. “Tell me another,” he requests. “Fuck, baby, we can do whatever you want. What else did you think about?”

“I thought about, shit, I thought about helping you masturbate,” you say. The image of Jack, panting and flushed and squirming as you overstimulate him, pops into your mind again. You whimper and clench down on him, feeling your orgasm build. Your lips come into contact with Jack’s and he kisses you desperately, breaking away only to encourage you to continue. “I thought I’d make you come and then I’d clean you up with my mouth.” You take a deep breath. “And then I’d make you come again on my tongue.”

Jack whimpers brokenly into your mouth. His fingernails dig into the skin of your behind, his hips pistoning into your body even faster. The bedframe is creaking beneath your bodies, shaking with your movements, but Jack just continues. He’s giving you everything he has and it makes your blood thrum through your veins, senses heightened and climax so close.

“I’d– I’d,” you cut yourself off with a silent moan, voice failing you. 

“What?” Jack gasps. His cheeks are pink and his forehead is beading with sweat. “What, baby, fuck, I’m so close, tell me what you’d do.”

“After I make you come in my mouth,” you rush out, trying not to bite your tongue as you speak. “I’d sit on your thighs and grind against them until I come and I’d keep my hand on your cock the whole time, even if you feel like it’s too much, because I know you’ll get hard again, J. Making me come without even touching me would drive you crazy and I’d have to serve you again to satisfy you, can’t leave my boy hanging–” 

You and Jack shudder at the same time. You can feel him losing his rhythm. You open your eyes and are met with the same glassy blue eyes that you’d imagined as you’d coaxed a third round of cum from his tip. Jack’s eyelashes are long and dark and capture your attention before his mouth clumsily collapses against yours, teeth colliding in an ugly, not-sexy way. 

Jack’s moan feels like a glass of cold water trickling down your throat, and the warm spurts of cum filling your insides juxtaposes it in a way that has your mind spinning. 

You’re unraveling atop Jack so intensely that you don’t even realize that your orgasm is washing over his abdomen and hips and joining the wet spot on the bed that Jack had wanted to grow. He succeeds, practically without even trying. All you can feel is the shaking of your thighs and the thumping of your heart in your chest, plus the desperate clutch of Jack’s hands on your skin. 

“Baby, oh my God,” Jack whines. His hips continue to work into you, his nails creating half-moons on your behind. “Keep– oh my God,” he repeats. 

You grind against him, trying to chase the high that is starting to slip from you, but as Jack’s cock softens, the feeling fades away. You let out a soft moan, somewhere between contentment and disappointment that you can’t keep coming forever and ever, and sink into Jack’s touch.

His arms come around your waist and he presses his face into your clavicle. “You’re so fucking sexy,” Jack pretends to complain. “Dirty talking like that, it’s not fair how hot you are.”

“Just being honest,” you quip back. “You asked.”

Jack groans. “I know.” He buries his face between your boobs, muffling his voice. “And we’re going to have to do all of those, I can’t believe there’s a bright side to this fucking injury.”

You smooth his hair back and laugh lightly. “Poor boy, I’m sorry you got hurt. I really wanted to see you in the playoffs this season.”

Jack reveals one stink eye at you, glinting with playfulness like before. “You just wanted the WAG jacket.”

You laugh louder. “I am not that shallow!”

“Are too,” Jack goads into the swell of your breasts.

“Now you’re just being mean,” you whine, pushing at Jack’s good shoulder.

He bites your boob, then peppers your sternum with kisses. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?”

He rests his chin between your breasts and grins up at you. “I had some ideas of my own while I was gone.”

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.4k

warning: language, mention of injury

heres chap 2 guysss !!! im tryna follow the ideas u guys gave me, so im not 100% sure if its exactly what yall had in mind, but im gonna slowly build it up from here 🤞🏽 hopefully there’s no mistakes and it all makes sense cause i wrote the last bit of this chapter and read through this half asleep 😭 anywaysss hope u guys enjoy 🫶🏽

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

It was still early, but the campus was already alive. The buzz of conversation, the shuffle of students walking to class, and the occasional skateboard rolling past made it feel like the world had hit play again. Paige stood by one of the low stone benches just outside the library, sunlight hitting her face while a gentle breeze played with the hem of her hoodie.

She was early, way too early, but she’d never admit she was nervous. Her phone was in her hand, thumbs scrolling through Instagram, even though she hadn’t really seen a single post. She kept checking her reflection in the dark screen anytime it dimmed. Hair was decent. Fit looked casual but intentional. Nothing screamed I’m trying, even though she absolutely was.

Calm down, she told herself for the twentieth time. It’s just tutoring. You need help. That’s all it is.

A group of students passed by laughing, and Paige looked up, spotting Caroline a few feet away walking with her coffee, headed her direction. She was with Aubrey, Ice, and KK all of them talking shit about something and laughing loudly. Paige already regretted her decision to come to this part of campus.

Caroline smirked the second she saw Paige. “So,” she said, greeting her with a little side hug. “You texted Azzi?”

Paige gave her a side-eye. “How do you already know that?”

“She told me last night,” Caroline said innocently, sipping her coffee.

Aubrey lit up. “Wait, wait, you messaged her? Already? Damn, that didn’t take long.”

KK raised her eyebrows. “What’s going on? Who’s Azzi?”

Caroline turned to her with a smile. “Azzi’s my best friend. She’s super smart. Paige needed help with some classes, so I suggested Azzi could tutor her.”

“And I said I was fine,” Paige muttered.

“And then you texted her anyway,” Aubrey said, grinning. “Knew you would. Couldn’t go under 24 hours without seeing her again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Paige said under her breath, adjusting her bag strap to have something to do with her hands.

Ice laughed. “Hold on, is this the same Azzi girl that Aubrey said had you all flustered yesterday?”

Aubrey nodded proudly. “Yup. Paige met her once and forgot how to talk.”

“I didn’t forget how to—geez, will you all chill?”

KK leaned in toward Ice. “Now I really wanna see what this girl looks like.”

“You might get your chance,” Caroline said casually, checking her watch. “She’s got class with me in a few minutes. She’s probably walking up now.”

And almost on cue, a voice called out from behind them.

“Hey, Caroline!”

The group turned and spotted Azzi walking up to the group of girls, backpack slung over one shoulder, her braids swaying slightly as she walked. The sunlight caught on her hoops, and Paige went completely still.

Azzi looked laid-back and composed, like she hadn’t just unknowingly walked into a firing squad of nosy basketball girls. She gave Caroline a warm smile before her eyes moved naturally to Paige and paused. Her smile lingered, just a bit softer now.

“Hey, Paige,” she added.

Paige nodded quickly. “Hey.”

They made eye contact, and it was enough to set off another wave of chaos in Paige’s chest. She was hoping no one would notice, but of course, the girls clocked it instantly.

Ice nudged KK and whispered, “Yeah, I get it now.”

KK nodded slowly. “Mhm. She’s got that calm, pretty energy. No wonder Paige’s out here acting like a freshman with a crush.”

“Shut up,” Paige hissed through gritted teeth, though her ears were turning red.

Azzi looked toward the two new faces in the group, a little curious but she does recognise them. Caroline jumped in. “Azzi, this is KK and Ice our teammates. KK, Ice, this is Azzi.”

Azzi offered a polite smile. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You too,” KK said, still smirking. “Heard a lot about you.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t start.”

Aubrey was barely holding it together. “We didn’t even say anything yet,” she said, laughing. “But sure, Paige. We’ll be on our best behavior.”

“Liar,” Paige muttered.

Azzi glanced at her, still smiling, and Paige felt the air shift again so subtle, but it was there. That unspoken thing sitting between them that no one was addressing. Paige quickly looked away before her teammates could start up again.

“Welp, I’ll catch up with you guys later,” Caroline said to the group. “Azzi and I have class.”

“Later,” Aubrey called as Caroline and Azzi started walking away. Aubrey turned towards Paige with a smirk so evil Paige felt it in her bones.

Paige groaned. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

“Oh, I’m saying everything,” Aubrey said gleefully. “The way you just shut down when she looked at you? Paige Bueckers, the ultimate rizzler herself, turned into a puppy.”

Ice laughed. “And she didn’t even do anything. She just said hi”

“Fuck off,” Paige muttered, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad. Not really. Because yeah, Azzi hadn’t done anything. And yet here Paige was, heart racing from a single look.

—-----------------------

Azzi settled into her usual seat beside Caroline in the lecture hall, her notebook already open, though the pen in her hand wasn’t moving. The lecture hadn’t even properly started yet, but even if it had, she knew she wouldn’t be paying attention right away.

Her thoughts kept wandering.

Specifically, to the text she’d gotten the night before. From Paige.

She hadn’t expected to actually hear from her, not after how Paige had brushed off the idea of tutoring like it was unnecessary, even laughable.

Azzi had stared at the message for a solid minute before replying.

Even now, she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about it.

“Earth to Az” Caroline murmured, nudging her gently with her elbow. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. Thinking about someone?”

Azzi blinked and turned toward her, caught but trying to play it cool. “No. I mean—sort of. Just… thinking.”

Caroline’s smirk said she wasn’t buying it. “Thinking about how Paige Bueckers finally caved and texted you for tutoring?”

Azzi let out a soft sigh and shook her head. “I told you last night. I was just surprised she actually did it. She looked so confident yesterday like she was going to fake it till finals.”

“Well, she is confident,” Caroline said, half-amused, half-approving. “But academics? Paige only pretends she doesn’t care. Inside, she’s stressing big time when she’s behind. Girl’s too proud to admit it most of the time.”

Azzi tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess I didn’t expect her to be the kind to reach out. Especially to someone she barely knows.”

“She knows who you are,” Caroline said, shooting her a look. “You’re the quiet one who actually takes notes and doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. That probably intrigued her.”

Azzi gave her a look. “I don’t worship anyone. I just… don’t care about basketball or any other sports.”

“Exactly,” Caroline grinned, tapping her nails against the desk. “That makes you different. Refreshing, even.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, unsure how to take that. “I don’t know. I just didn’t think I’d actually be tutoring her. It feels weird.”

Caroline turned more fully toward her, her expression softening. “Weird because you don’t know her, or weird because she was lowkey flustered around you?”

“I don’t think it was anything like that,” Azzi said slowly, trying to sound firmer than she felt. “She was probably just nervous about needing help. That’s all.”

Caroline tilted her head, eyebrows raised. “Sure. That’s all.”

Azzi sighed. “I don’t even know her. Like, I’ve heard of her, obviously, but we’ve never talked until yesterday. And it was barely even a conversation.”

“You don’t need to know her to notice when someone’s acting different around you,” Caroline said, her tone a little more knowing now. “I’ve seen Paige with a lot of people. She’s got this… guard. But with you? She was definitely off her game.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she was starting to feel the flutter of nerves deep in her chest. “You’re reading into this too much. I’m just going to help her study, that’s it.”

Caroline shrugged. “Alright, fine. Just tutoring. But don’t act surprised if she tries to flirt in her weird, awkward way.”

Azzi snorted, brushing her hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even know me.”

“That’s what makes it fun,” Caroline teased with a wink.

Azzi leaned back, glancing up at the slowly-filling lecture hall. “I’m not trying to get involved in anything messy. I’ll help her study. That’s it. No weirdness, no distractions.”

Caroline raised both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I’m not saying you like her. I’m just saying… keep your eyes open. Paige Bueckers may be all cool and untouchable to the rest of the world, but around you? Something’s shifting.”

Azzi didn’t respond right away, letting the words hang between them as the professor started setting up slides at the front of the room.

She wasn’t crushing on Paige. She didn’t even really know her.

But there was something about the way Paige had looked at her outside, something a little tentative, a little unsteady, that stuck in her head longer than she wanted to admit.

Azzi shook herself out of it and looked down at her notebook again, forcing her mind to focus on the lecture.

Just tutoring. That was all this was.

Right?

—-----------------------

It was 10 minutes to 3, and Paige was sitting stiffly on one of the benches just outside the library steps, her jacket zipped all the way up despite the mild afternoon warmth. She kept pulling at the zipper down halfway, back up, then down again like it was a dial for her anxiety. Her foot bounced restlessly, her fingers twitching every few seconds to check her phone, even though it hadn’t buzzed.

Aubrey was fully stretched out beside her, taking up way more space than necessary like this was a casual trip to the beach instead of her best friend’s slow descent into chaos. One arm was draped over the back of the bench, the other cradling a half-empty iced coffee that had long since lost its chill. She watched Paige out of the corner of her eye with a grin that kept creeping up every time Paige adjusted something for the hundredth time.

“You know,” Aubrey drawled, lifting her cup to her lips, “if I had a dollar for every time you checked your reflection in your phone screen, I’d be rich enough to drop out and live off vibes alone.”

Paige didn’t even look at her. “I was fixing my hair.”

“That the same ‘fix’ you did 3 minutes ago? Or the one right after you dabbed your hoodie with water to flatten that invisible wrinkle?”

Paige groaned and let her head fall back against the bench. “Why are you even here?”

“Entertainment. I live for this.” Aubrey shifted slightly, crossing one leg over the other. “Besides, watching you spiral over a girl you met yesterday is 10 times more fun than whatever I was gonna do with my afternoon.”

Paige turned her head slowly to give her the most deadpan look imaginable.

Aubrey beamed back. “Seriously though, you’re killing me. You’ve checked your lip balm, like, four times. What’s the difference between ‘subtle shimmer’ and ‘barely there glow’? They’re the same.”

“They are not the same,” Paige snapped, immediately regretting how fast she said it.

Aubrey’s laugh rang out loud enough to make a student walking by turn their head. “You hear yourself right now?”

Paige pulled the hood over her head and groaned into it. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate that I’m right.”

There was a moment of silence as Paige exhaled slowly, pulling the hood back off and sitting upright again. Her knee was bouncing now, the nerves nowhere near subtle.

“I just… I don’t know,” she mumbled, eyes flicking toward the library entrance. “She’s really…”

Aubrey perked up. “She’s really what?”

Paige shook her head quickly. “Forget it.”

“Nooo, no, no. Don’t back out now. Say it. I need this.”

Paige sighed and looked out across the quad like the grass was gonna give her strength. Her voice dropped just above a whisper. “She’s really pretty.”

Aubrey clutched her chest like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear it. “There it is!”

Paige frowned, eyes still ahead. “And seems smart. Like, scary smart. But not in a loud way. In a ‘makes you feel dumb without even trying’ kind of way.”

Aubrey raised her brows, clearly loving this. “Damn. You’re gone.”

“Shut up,” Paige muttered, folding her arms.

“I’m just observing. You’ve had a crush for a solid twenty-four hours and you’re acting like it’s prom night.”

“She’s tutoring me. That’s it.”

“Mhmmmm. You mean she’s ‘tutoring you’ and you’re ‘definitely not falling apart at the seams’ while trying to remember what two plus two is when she looks at you?”

Paige glared. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re in denial.”

“I’m gonna throw your coffee across the quad.”

“I’ll buy another one. Worth it.”

Paige groaned again, running her hand through her hair. “God, what am I even doing? I’m acting like a middle schooler.”

“You’re acting like a college student with a gay panic problem,” Aubrey said with a shrug. “It’s fine. It’s cute. Just maybe stop adjusting your jacket every time someone walks by or they’re gonna think you’re shoplifting nerves.”

Paige looked down at herself and huffed, trying to smooth it down one more time before stopping mid-motion, catching herself. “Damn it.”

“See?” Aubrey grinned, nudging her. “You’re spiraling. It’s kinda adorable.”

Right then, Paige’s phone buzzed. She yanked it out like it was on fire.

2:57pm

Her breath hitched. She shot a glance at the entrance.

A flash of dark curls pulled into a ponytail appeared just inside the glass doors of the library.

“Oh shit,” Paige whispered, standing up too fast. She quickly brushed invisible dust off her sweatpants, glanced down at her sneakers, frowned at a smudge, then looked back up.

Aubrey watched with a lazy smirk. “You good?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Paige muttered. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s about to fail basic math but win the gold in gay panic.”

“Okay, seriously. Stop talking.”

“I’m done,” Aubrey said, hands up in mock surrender. “Go learn some equations and maybe flirt like a human person while you’re at it.”

Paige took a deep breath, wiped her hands on her pants, then started walking toward the library steps.

Aubrey called out one last time, “And maybe try not to stare at her!”

Paige didn’t even turn around. She just lifted her hand behind her and gave Aubrey the finger as she reached the door.

Her heart was pounding. Her palms were a little clammy. But she was walking.

Paige let out one last breath.

The second Paige stepped through the library doors, it felt like her shoes were too loud. Like every step echoed through the entire building even though the carpet was doing its best to muffle them. She tugged her hoodie sleeve down over her palm, eyes sweeping over the rows of tables until she found her.

Azzi was near the far corner, by the window. The sunlight filtered through the glass, catching the edge of her curls and lighting up the gold tones like some kinda magic effect from a movie. She had a pencil in hand, lightly tapping the eraser against the page, her other hand flipping through a worn notebook covered in neat little tabs. She looked focused. Comfortable.

Paige was very much neither of those things.

She hovered for a second, literally just stood there, trying to remember how walking worked before finally forcing her legs to move. Her palms were sweaty again. Her backpack felt too heavy. She hoped her hair wasn’t doing anything weird.

Azzi looked up right as Paige reached the table. “Hey,” she said, a casual, soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Paige’s brain glitched for a second. “Hey,” she said, and it came out a little too fast.

Azzi closed the notebook and motioned to the chair across from her. “You’re on time.”

“I’m always on time,” Paige said, slipping into the seat like her limbs were made of static. She regretted the joke immediately. “I mean, usually. Sometimes. Not like always always, but—”

Azzi raised a brow, amused. “You’re good. I’m just saying I expected a minute or two buffer.”

Paige laughed nervously and tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie again. “Yeah, no. I was already out here. Early. Just, you know… prepping.”

Azzi gave her a look like she was trying not to smile. “Prepping to be tutored?”

“Exactly.”

Azzi chuckled under her breath and opened a different notebook, one already half-filled with notes. “Ok. So I looked over the syllabus and the last few slides from class. Want to start with the stuff from earlier in the week?”

“Please,” Paige said, dragging out the word like it physically pained her. “That whole section might as well have been written in some foreign language.”

“Alright,” Azzi said, flipping to the page. “We’re still on systems of equations and matrix transformations. Did you get the basics?”

Paige hesitated. “Define basics.”

Azzi didn’t even blink. “Like… what a matrix is?”

“…Is that the Keanu Reeves one or the number box one?”

Azzi snorted, shaking her head. “Okay, let’s start with the number box one.”

She turned the notebook around and slid it across the table so Paige could see. Her handwriting was crazy clean. Paige immediately noticed how she circled everything in soft, pastel highlighters—blue for definitions, pink for formulas, green for notes. It was weirdly calming to look at.

“So this,” Azzi said, tapping the first example, “is a 2x2 matrix. Two rows, two columns. Easy enough?”

Paige leaned in a little, squinting at the page like it might bite her. “Yeah. I think I remember this part.”

Azzi looked up. “You’re allowed to say you don’t. No judgment.”

“I mean, I kind of remember it. It’s more like it shows up and I recognize the face, but I don’t remember the name.”

Azzi laughed again, light and genuine. “Alright, we’ll reintroduce you.”

She walked Paige through the basics, what each position meant, how they worked when you multiplied them, the reason why flipping them could screw everything up. Paige nodded, trying to focus on the numbers, the shapes, anything that wasn’t Azzi’s voice being low and patient or the way her curls bounced when she looked down to write something.

At some point, Azzi switched to a blank page and turned the notebook so Paige could try a problem herself. She watched closely as Paige worked through it slowly, brow furrowed, tongue slightly poking out the corner of her mouth.

“You’re overthinking it,” Azzi said, voice soft. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Paige huffed and leaned back, pencil pressed between her palms. “One step at a time is how I ended up failing that quiz.”

“True,” Azzi said, grinning. “But now you’ve got me. Upgrades.”

That earned a real smile out of Paige. “Yeah. This is definitely better.”

Azzi looked at her for a second, then tapped the page. “You’re actually not far off. You just missed one sign. Wanna try again?”

Paige nodded, gaze flicking back down to the numbers.

She could do this.

Well… she could try.

And maybe, just maybe if she didn’t totally embarrass herself, there’d be more study sessions like this. Not that she was hoping for anything.

—-----------------------

The soft hum of the library was like a low lullaby, comforting in its quiet, yet full of the sort of focused energy only a place of learning could have. Books, notebooks, and pens were strewn across the table between them, yet all Paige could focus on was Azzi.

Azzi was reading the textbook aloud softly, walking her through another set of equations. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was an underlying intensity in the way she spoke, like she genuinely wanted Paige to understand. Every now and then, Azzi would pause and ask if Paige was following, looking at her over the top of her glasses, and Paige would just nod though most of the time, her attention wasn’t entirely on the lesson.

She caught herself again, staring. Azzi’s hair was pulled back into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face, and those glasses—those damn glasses. Paige had to fight the urge to look away every time Azzi adjusted them, because the way they sat on her face, giving her an effortlessly smart, put-together look, made Paige’s stomach flutter in a way she hadn’t quite figured out.

Azzi wasn’t even trying to impress anyone. She was just sitting there, leaning over the textbook, completely engrossed in helping Paige. Her calm demeanor was almost too much for Paige to handle sometimes like the sort of quiet confidence that was magnetic.

She caught herself again, looking at Azzi’s profile as she read. The way her lips moved as she pronounced the words, her fingers subtly tapping on the page as she went through the steps in the problem.

“Paige?” Azzi asked, her voice snapping Paige out of her daze. “You still with me?”

Paige blinked and tried to clear the fog in her head. “Yeah, sorry,” she said, focusing on the math in front of her. She quickly scribbled a few numbers down, even though she was far more focused on the way Azzi was looking at her now, brows furrowed in concern.

“I said we can move on to the next problem if you’re ready,” Azzi added, voice softer now.

“Yeah, I think I got this one,” Paige lied, her words more rushed than she intended. She was trying her best to concentrate, but the math seemed to fade into the background as she found herself distracted by the soft rhythm of Azzi’s voice and the quiet rustling of pages. The way Azzi’s fingers traced the lines of the book as she found the right spot. The way her eyes would flicker from the textbook to Paige every few seconds to check in on her, making sure she was following along. It was like everything Azzi did was just too perfect, too natural, and it made Paige feel something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Do you want me to slow down? I know this part can be tricky,” Azzi offered, her eyes searching Paige’s face for any sign of confusion.

But the truth was, Paige wasn’t confused about the math at all, she was distracted by Azzi’s presence, her calmness, the way her voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She gave a small shake of her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, though her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Azzi nodded, returning her attention to the problem at hand. She explained the next step slowly and clearly, but Paige’s mind wasn’t really processing it. Instead, she was watching the way Azzi’s lips moved as she spoke, the way her fingers tapped the paper, the way her glasses slightly slid down her nose as she read the equations. Paige couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool Azzi seemed. She looked so unbothered, so calm in her own skin, and it was something Paige both envied and admired.

The longer they sat there, the more the air between them seemed to thicken with unspoken things. Paige could almost feel the weight of the silence, but not in an uncomfortable way, in a way that made her want to lean forward, ask Azzi about her life, about everything that made her the person she was. And yet, every time she tried to get her words together, her thoughts scattered like smoke in the wind.

“Paige, are you sure you’re following?” Azzi asked again, this time with a small frown forming between her brows. She wasn’t accusing or frustrated; just genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige quickly said, shaking her head as if to clear the distraction. She forced herself to focus, finally pulling her eyes from Azzi’s face and onto the equation in front of her. “I think I get it now. Thanks for being patient.”

Azzi smiled softly. “No problem. You’re doing great, really. You just need to take a breath every now and then. You’re trying too hard.”

Paige bit her lip, trying to suppress the chuckle that almost slipped out. “Trying too hard?” she repeated, her voice teasing. “I’m not trying hard enough for this?”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, her eyes softening as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, maybe you should try a little harder. You’re already getting the hang of it.”

Paige felt a little flame of pride in her chest at Azzi’s praise, but at the same time, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being drawn to the way Azzi sat there, calm and composed, like she had everything under control. And Paige was… well, a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite figured out yet.

She forced herself to focus back on the book, willing her mind to follow the equations instead of her thoughts, but it was getting harder with each passing second. She glanced back at Azzi, who was quietly writing out steps on the page. Azzi’s head was tilted slightly, a sign of concentration. And it hit Paige then how deeply she was starting to care for this girl. How much more than just math sessions she was starting to crave.

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Paige said finally, trying to focus back in, her voice steadying now.

Azzi looked up and nodded, smiling again. “Good. See? You’re getting it.” She paused, and for a moment, Paige thought she saw a flicker of something in Azzi’s eyes—something warm and unspoken. But then it was gone, hidden behind the coolness of her usual composure.

Paige nodded, forcing her eyes to stay on the page, though her thoughts felt like they were running a mile a minute.

“Alright, let’s take a short break before we do the next one,” Azzi suggested. “You’ve been at this for a while now.”

Paige didn’t protest. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and let herself relax for a moment, her gaze slipping to Azzi again, just long enough to catch her watching her with that same quiet focus. That same soft intensity that made Paige’s heart flutter in a way she wasn’t used to.

Paige didn’t mean to do it—didn’t mean to let the curiosity slip out, but the words came before she could stop them.

“So, uh, what made you agree to tutor me?” Paige asked, her voice softer than usual, as if she was treading into unfamiliar territory. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but something about Azzi seemed different. Quiet. Like there was so much more beneath the surface.

Azzi paused, her hand hovering over her bag, and then looked up at Paige. For a brief moment, there was that same familiar flicker of something behind her calm demeanor, but Azzi quickly masked it with her usual composed smile.

“I dunno,” Azzi said after a beat, voice casual, “You seemed like you needed help. And I guess I’m a sucker for helping people out, especially if they’re willing to put in the work. You seem like you actually care about getting it right.”

Paige nodded, appreciating the honesty in Azzi’s voice. “I do. I just… get distracted sometimes.” She chuckled softly, but the sound felt more nervous than anything.

Azzi smiled again, a little warmer this time. “Yeah, I noticed.” She shrugged slightly, picking up her notebook and tucking it into her bag. “I like helping people. I used to tutor a lot when I was in high school. It just feels good, you know?”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “What else? You seem like you’ve got other stuff going on. What do you do for fun when you’re not helping people like me?”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, clearly considering whether to answer. Paige almost regretted asking, but then Azzi sighed, almost reluctantly.

“Well, it’s a bit of a random fact, but I used to play basketball. Like, competitively.” Azzi glanced up at Paige, her eyes not quite meeting hers. She continued quietly, “I stopped playing a few years ago. Tore my ACL in a game, but that’s not the reason I quit. I just… lost the love for it, I guess.”

Paige blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that. Azzi, with her calm confidence, so different from the athletes Paige was used to, didn't seem like the type who would’ve played a sport like basketball. “You played? For how long?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers tapping against the desk idly. “Since I was a kid. But by the time I hit high school, I wasn’t really feeling it anymore. It wasn’t about the injury. I could’ve come back after the rehab. But after a while, I just realized it wasn’t my thing anymore.” She paused for a moment, eyes flickering to Paige, then away again. “I guess I was just… over it.”

Paige couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged at her lips. She knew how much basketball meant to her. The idea of walking away from it, losing that love—she couldn’t imagine it. “So, what did you end up doing after that?”

Azzi gave a small smile, almost wistful. “I got more into school. Focused on things I could control, you know? It’s where I found my rhythm again.”

It was almost like she was shutting that chapter down, not wanting to revisit it. But Paige didn’t press further. It was clear that basketball, once a major part of Azzi’s life, had faded into something she didn’t want to talk about too much.

“Sounds like you figured things out,” Paige said softly, leaning back in her chair, watching Azzi carefully. “I respect that.”

Azzi finally met Paige’s gaze, her expression softening a little. “Yeah, well… I guess everyone finds their own way eventually.” She gave a slight shrug, as if brushing the conversation aside, before turning her focus back to the textbook in front of them. “We should get back to it. I think we’re almost done with this chapter.”

Paige hesitated for a moment, a thousand questions swirling in her head, but she could tell Azzi wasn’t quite ready to share more. And for now, Paige was okay with that. She’d already learned something important—that Azzi was much more than the quiet, composed classmate/tutor sitting across from her. There was depth to her, layers that Paige would have to be patient to peel back.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Paige finally said, refocusing on the math in front of her. “Let’s finish this up.”

As Azzi started explaining the next set of equations, Paige felt a little more settled. They were getting somewhere, and for the first time, Paige wasn’t just focused on the math in front of her. She was focused on Azzi, her presence, the way she spoke, the little things she hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just about the lesson anymore. It was about being with Azzi, understanding her in ways that went far beyond equations and textbooks.

—-----------------------

They finished the last practice question with a shared sigh of relief. Azzi leaned over, checking Paige’s final answer with a quick glance, then nodded in approval.

“Yep. You got it.”

Paige blinked down at the scribbled page. “Wait… I did?”

Azzi chuckled, a genuine laugh that made Paige’s chest feel weirdly warm. “You’re improving. You just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

“Easier said than done,” Paige muttered, setting her pencil down and rubbing at her temple. “But I’ll take the dub.”

Azzi started to neatly organize  everything back into her bag. “I think that’s enough math for one day.”

“Agreed,” Paige said, stretching again. “My brain’s officially fried.”

Just as she grabbed her water bottle and leaned back in her chair, a voice cut through the quiet hum of the library.

“Yo, Azzi.”

Paige looked up and instantly regretted it.

Strutting toward them like he owned the place was Jace McCallister—tight end on the UConn football team, cocky smirk permanently etched on his face, confidence dripping off him like cologne. Paige knew him. Everyone did. He was loud, flashy, and flirted like it was a full-time job. The kind of guy who wore his jersey to class and thought everyone should thank him for showing up.

Azzi glanced up, face unreadable. “Hey.”

Jace leaned casually against the edge of their table, not even glancing at Paige. “Just wondering when our next session is? You free this week?”

Paige’s brows knit. Our session?

Azzi nodded politely, unfazed. “Yeah, I think tomorrow. Same time?”

“Perfect.” He flashed her a grin. “Can’t say no to learning from the smartest girl on campus.”

Azzi’s lips pulled into a tight, polite smile. “Well thank you.”

Jace chuckled and finally glanced at Paige, as if just noticing her. “Oh. Hey, Bueckers.”

“McCallister,” Paige replied, voice flat.

He raised a brow. “Didn’t know you needed a tutor too.”

“She doesn’t,” Azzi cut in smoothly before Paige could answer, her tone calm but firm. “We’re just going over some extra stuff.”

Paige didn’t say anything. She just watched the exchange, something unsettled building in her chest. She knew Jace. Knew his reputation. And the way he was looking at Azzi now, like she was the next thing to win over, made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t care. It was just tutoring.

But still.

Jace winked, then tapped the table. “Catch you later, Azzi.” He turned and walked off, not a single ounce of subtlety in his swagger.

Paige stared after him, jaw tight.

“Ugh,” she muttered under her breath.

Azzi looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Paige said quickly, shaking her head. “Just… don’t like that guy.”

Azzi tilted her head, curious. “Why not?”

“He’s a walking ego,” Paige said, grabbing her stuff. “And he’s a player. Like, in every sense of the word. He’s not exactly subtle about who he hits on.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. Just zipped her bag and stood up. “He’s harmless.”

“Sure,” Paige muttered, a little sharper than she meant to. “Just be careful, okay?”

Azzi blinked, surprised at the tone. Paige ran a hand through her hair, sighing.

“Sorry. That came out weird. Just forget it.”

Azzi gave her a long look, something unreadable in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Okay.”

They walked in silence toward the library exit, Paige internally screaming at herself. ‘It’s not that deep. She’s not yours. You’re literally just studying.’ But no matter how many times she told herself that, her clenched jaw said otherwise.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, a small group of girls standing near the library steps caught sight of them—specifically Paige.

“Oh my god, that’s Paige Bueckers,” one of them whispered, eyes wide.

Before she could even react, one of them stepped forward, all smiles and nervous energy. “Hi! Sorry, we don’t wanna bother you, but could we maybe get a picture? We’re huge fans.”

Paige blinked, caught off guard but immediately smiled.

“Of course,” she said, already stepping toward them, voice warm and friendly. “What’s your name?”

One of them nearly melted. “I’m Sam. This is Ava and Kayla.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Paige said, handing her phone to one of them after snapping a few selfies together. “You guys coming to the game on friday?”

“Yeah! We can’t wait! Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Paige said sincerely. “I’ll try to put on a show for y’all.”

They grinned, waved, and scurried off giggling, still whispering to each other as they walked away.

Azzi stood a few feet back, arms loosely crossed. Watching.

Paige turned toward her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Azzi shook her head slowly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I just… didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t expect what?”

Azzi’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “You being… like that. With people.”

Paige tilted her head. “Like what?”

Azzi gave her a soft shrug. “I guess I thought you’d be more… I dunno. Big-time athlete energy. Standoffish. You’re not.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, amused. “So you thought I’d be a bitch?”

Azzi smiled. “I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it, though.”

Azzi’s smile widened just slightly. “Maybe. A little.”

Paige laughed. “Damn. That’s cold.”

Azzi’s gaze lingered on her, more thoughtful now. “You surprise me. In a good way.”

And Paige couldn’t help the flutter in her chest as they started walking again, side by side.

They walked in silence again for a bit, the quiet not uncomfortable—just filled with a weird hum Paige couldn’t place. It clung to her like static, buzzing beneath her skin every time she glanced over and saw Azzi walking next to her, face calm, unreadable as always.

When they reached the small fork in the path outside the library, Azzi finally slowed to a stop.

“This is me,” she said, shifting her bag on her shoulder.

Paige stopped too, a little slower. “Right. Yeah.”

Azzi looked up at her. “That wasn’t too painful, was it?”

Paige snorted. “I mean… there were a few moments where I considered setting my notebook on fire.”

Azzi smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“Thanks to you.”

There was a beat of quiet. Paige swallowed and scratched at the back of her neck. “So… when do you wanna do this again?”

Azzi tilted her head, thinking. “I’m free Thursday evening. If that works?”

Paige nodded too fast. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi gave her a small nod. “Okay. I’ll text you.”

“Cool,” Paige said, trying not to sound weird. “Coolcoolcool.”

Azzi’s brows lifted just slightly. Paige looked down at the ground, internally facepalming.

Azzi smiled again, more to herself this time. “You’re kind of strange.”

Paige looked up. “Rude.”

Azzi started walking backwards slowly, smirking. “But I mean that in a good way.”

Paige watched her go, lips twitching. “Sure you do.”

Azzi turned around and gave a small wave over her shoulder. “Later, Paige.”

Paige stood there for a second too long after she was gone, staring at nothing in particular. Then she finally exhaled, rubbed her hands over her face, and mumbled under her breath.

“Fuck.”

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

[i-messed-up-big-time]

Someone Precious I

Caleb x Non MC Reader

a/n: guys pls dkm ive never been to a party so when you read that pls give me the benefit of the doubt 😭, also i don't really want to go into too much detail about any of the explicit scenes that are implied, but there may be a possibility of one more detailed in the other parts! i'm finally free from uni guys so i have more time to do some writing! i finally got around to finishing this (i started right before my finals) hopefully you guys like this first part!

Divider creds @/cafekitsune

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, reader is female and is AFAB, mentions of pregnancy, implied intimate relations (not going into detail), pet names used, mentions of drinking/getting drunk (pls drink responsibly), reader throws up, idk what other tags to add!

word count: 2.4k

masterlist

series masterlist

taglist: @aneertawrites @eurydiceknowshesloved @angelichiaro @nommingonfood @ynovaes @animegamerfox

You had known them for years, albeit you joined the infamous duo a little later than when they had met each other, but you all were as thick as theives.

Countless days and nights spent together. More often than not if one of you guys were somewhere, the other two were not far behind.

At first you didn't notice that the way you felt about Caleb was something more than just a friend, how could you? You were just a naive child at the time.

That all changed when Caleb went to high school. You started noticing certain things about him, the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled, how good he looked when he was playing basketball.

You soon were able to put a name to those thoughts and feelings, love. It was like you were exposed to whole new world, everything he did caught your attention and pulled you deeper into that black hole called love.

If only you knew how much pain and turmoil this man would bring to your life.

●・○・●・○・●・

It was near the end of your final year in university when it all happened.

You being the ever delusional girl you were always thought that the fleeting touches and eye contact between you and Caleb were something special, something unique to just the two of you.

How could you ever know that he only ever had one person in his sights, one that wasn't you.

You and MC were getting ready to go to a party, it was meant to be the last one of the year and before graduation.

MC had to beg you to come with her this one last time.

"C'mon it'll be so much fun! It'll be our last party before we graduate! Please?"

You couldn't really say no to her when she pulled out the puppy dog eyes.

Outwardly, it looked like you were reluctant, but on the inside you were kind of happy to go. Part of it was because you heard from the grapevine that Caleb might be there since some of his friends were going.

Which leads you to your current dilemma, what outfit to wear. You opted to wear a dark blue dress that reached up to your mid thigh. It was a new dress that had been sitting in the back of your closet for some time, now it finally had the chance to see the light of day.

"Hurry up or we're gonna be late!"

You heard MC yell for you.

"I'm coming!"

You responded, hopping around on one foot trying to strap your shoe onto your foot.

Once you successfully had it strapped to your foot, you quickly made your way out the door with MC.

●・○・●・○・●・

The party was in full swing by the time you guys made it there.

You made a beeline for the drinks, wanting to get some water in your system before anything else.

You spotted MC dancing with this one guy she's been talking to recently. He was a sweet guy who was in the same program as her, infamous for being asleep more often than awake. Seeing him at a party was kind of a surprise, but he probably came here because MC said she would be there.

'Looks like I'm gonna be alone tonight.'

You let out a heavy sigh with that thought. Yeah you heard some rumours that Caleb was gonna be there, but you had yet to spot him.

As if the gods above heard your thoughts, he entered your line of vision.

It's like every time you see him he just looks better than before. He was with his friend Gideon as they chatted up the guys who were hosting this party.

It wasn't long before he made spotted you. He made his way over to you with a bright smile.

"Shouldn't you be out there on the dance floor instead of brooding next to the drinks table?"

He reaches out to ruffle your hair, which not only makes you pout but also blush at the contact.

"Hey stop messing up my hair!"

You exclaim as you pull out your phone to start fixing it, Caleb can only laugh as he reaches out again but this time to help you.

You're so glad the lights in here are dim, cause your face was as red as a tomato.

"There, better?"

You gave yourself a once over in the camera and nodded in agreement, the words not coming out.

You turned to Caleb to ask him if he wanted to dance but the words died in your throat before you could even try.

There he stood with his gaze zeroed in on something, you followed it and noticed he had his sights set on MC and Xavier. If it was anyone else they wouldn't have noticed the way his brows furrowed, but because it was you, you noticed.

You always did, you just chose to ignore it because you knew that MC didn't feel anything for him aside from a love that you feel for family.

Unbeknownst to you, she was well aware of the crush you had on Caleb, silently supporting you from the sidelines. She knew you didn't want to make things awkward by admitting it out loud, but sometimes she wishes you would tell her so she could openly support you.

●・○・●・○・●・

A couple of hours had passed and you were buzzed.

You and MC were on the dance floor having some fun, that's when you felt those hands on your hips. Turning around you saw it was Caleb, your heart was running a mile minute.

You looked over your shoulder to look for MC but she was nowhere in sight, you took this as your sign to enjoy the moment.

Your poor naive heart thought this was the moment that maybe Caleb actually would look at just you.

Little did you know that this moment would lead to a series of events that would forever change your life.

●・○・●・○・●・

Your body felt sore, and suspiciously cold. Opening your eyes you were greeted with the familiar sheets of your bed, the only thing was that you were in it bare.

Sitting up you felt the ache increase tenfold, both in your head and in your back.

You sifted through your memories to try and understand what happened when it came crashing into you all at once.

'I slept with Caleb.'

You pushed yourself of the bed only to fall to your knees, you felt weak and it was definitely due to your activities from last night.

You were all giddy inside thinking maybe you might be able to take a step in a different direction with Caleb.

That's when you noticed it, the bright sticky note on your bedside table,

I'm sorry, it was a mistake.

It was like fate was laughing in your face, your world came crashing down on you.

You weren't stupid, you know what he meant. You had just a little bit of hope, but even that proved futile.

"Am I not good enough?"

You let the tears slip, steady and silent streams. But you didn't let yourself cry for too long, you needed to get up and move on.

Easier said than done.

You pushed yourself to go clean up and change your sheets, wanting nothing more than to occupy your mind with other things, and to an extent it worked.

Until you were back in bed, that's when you started crying again. Only this time, you were sobbing loudly and it was loud enough to alert your roommate of your distress.

MC came barging in, quickly reaching your side to comfort you.

A very small part of you was jealous of her, and you hated that. She was your best friend, someone who always was there for you and wanted the best for you.

Knowing that she had the one thing you so desperately wanted hurt, but not enough to let it come between your friendship. You valued her presence too much in your life, you just hoped she would still feel the same about you with what you were about to tell her.

●・○・●・○・●・

MC had joined you under the covers after you finished laying your heart bare in front of her, she never once cut you off, said anything or made any reaction aside from a look of understanding and hurt.

She was in no way hurt by your words but rather hurt at the situation, she had totally believed that Caleb was into you, dare she say obsessed with you. She saw the looks and the lingering touches that were exchanged between you two.

She thought it would all work out with time, who knew Caleb would screw it all up. Not just that, but you were under the impression that he was in love with her.

She didn't want to downplay your feelings and thoughts, as a woman she understood. She could only be there for you and show you just how wrong you were, she was determined.

You had fallen asleep a little while ago. You were utterly heartbroken and had been non stop crying as you talked, MC's heart went out to you.

You were her sister, her twin, blood relations or not, she valued you more than anything in the world. She never felt like she was only child, you and Caleb were the siblings she always wanted, she'd be damned if she let Caleb ruin that for you guys.

Little did both of them know, they wouldn't hear from Caleb for almost a year and a half.

●・○・●・○・●・

A month later

It was graduation day.

You and MC have been closer than ever since that day. Caleb had went MIA, not replying to either of you or returning your calls.

You would be lying if you said you still weren't upset about that day and the lack of communication.

'I thought we were thick as thieves but clearly not.'

You were finally graduating, the day you worked so hard for that you made it as Valedictorian of your year.

You were just putting on the final touches of your look when MC came barrelling into your room with her hands behind her back.

She gave you a sly smile before revealing what she had behind her back, a small gift bag.

You laughed as you went to your closet and pulled out a gift bag as well.

You guys were on the same wavelength it seemed.

MC was in shock, you had gotten her that necklace that she had been eyeing a few months back, she even noticed the engraving on it.

My forever sister in every universe

If it wasn't for MC being fully ready to go she would have burst into tears right then and there. She pulled you in for a hug and whispered words of thank you.

She put it on right away, it was the perfect gift for a day like today.

MC handed you the bag she brought. It was also a necklace with an engraving on it. You guys definitely were twin flames, her gift having a similar engraving as yours.

Across galaxies, you're still my sister

Putting on the necklace you pulled MC in for another hug, your heart felt full despite the absence of one particular person, but in that moment nothing mattered but the bond between you and MC.

●・○・●・○・●・

It was nerve wracking giving a speech in front of all those people, but at the same time you had this adrenaline rush pumping through your veins.

The graduation ceremony ended with hats in the air and confetti everywhere.

This marked the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one.

Only, it would be a chapter filled with experiences you never would have imagined.

●・○・●・○・●・

A week later

You woke up feeling uncomfortable, your throat burned and your stomach felt uneasy. Not even a second after opening your eyes you felt last night's dinner making an appearance the same way it went in.

You bolted to the bathroom and emptied the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

You probably sounded like you were dying because MC soon came bursting into your room.

She held your hair back and rubbed soothing circles on your back as you heaved, tears clouding your vision.

If there was one kind of pain you hated the most it was the pain that came with throwing up. It was agonizing, and your throat burned.

Once you were done, you moved to rinse your mouth while MC left to go get you a drink with electrolytes.

"Are you okay? I know I'm not the best at cooking but I didn't think dinner would be that bad."

MC joked as she handed you a bottle of coconut water. You let out a small chuckle before taking a sip.

"It's weird, I don't think it was your cooking. I've been feeling super nauseous lately and I can't even stand the smell of some foods."

You tell her, she smacks your arm jokingly for not denying her cooking skills, or the lack of them.

"Wait, what if you're pregnant?"

MC said, you laughed her off.

"No way, I haven't even slept..."

The words died in your throat, flashbacks from that night came crashing into your headspace. You never forgot that night, but you definitely did not remember whether you guys had used protection or not.

MC offered to stop by the pharmacy to grab you a couple of pregnancy test, saying it didn't hurt to at least try.

While you waited for her you looked through your calendar, trying to remember when you had your last period.

'Shit. I'm late.'

You paced around the room nervously fidgeting with your fingers, your thoughts were a mess.

MC came back in record breaking time with a couple of bags, one filled with different brands of tests and the other had some of your favourite snacks.

●・○・●・○・●・

You followed the directions and sat on the edge of the tub with MC, waiting for the results.

You were bouncing your knee, the nervousness kicking in ten fold. MC placed a hand on your leg in an effort to reassure you, her eyes saying that she would support you no matter what.

MC checked the results first, you didn't think you could handle looking at it.

She turned around and showed you one of the tests, and that's when you saw it.

Two red lines.

You were pregnant.

[keijisdolll]

#K. AKAASHI |

NSFW ( ＾◡＾)っ✂╰⋃╯

blurred lines . . . ❤︎

(i wrote this rly late at night so it kinda switches between second and third person + its my first time... dont mind pls ⛄︎)

to say you and keiji were just friends was a little... vague to say the least.

not even a little, absolute bullshit.

you two go way back; always at one another's homes every saturday or friday night, playing games with kotaro or just binging movies together- all that cute stuff. obviously, you two love each other, dare i say are in love with each other, but it's just never been a point of discussion. despite all the stolen glances, his obsession with kissing the top of your head or holding your hips, you guys have just … never talked about it.

it's not that you didn't want to talk about it, you wanted more than anything to do unspeakable things to that man for years now...who wouldn't?

but of course, all you could do every passing day was pray that something could magically change and you'd have his affection and sweet words to yourself every day. he probably has his reasons too for not just folding and confessing already. hopefully if he even reciprocates.

but when he asked you to be his roommate and share a dorm with him two years ago at the beginning of university, how could you tell someone so pretty no?

that pretty much never helped the increasing tension between you both - sexually, or romantically.... but hey, the no confessions game was still going strong.

even now, when keiji just returned back to your shared dorm from one of his later classes, he found you laid out on the plushness of the couch, your cutely decorated laptop resting on your bare thighs as you were wearing a cute pair of pajama shorts. a few short sentences on the illuminated screen of your laptop which screams to him that you were probably just assigned a research paper.

"new paper assigned n/n?" he hummed softly as he rested his bag on the floor near the door and taking off his shoes.

"mm yeah... only thing is that it's due in 2 days.." she huffed softly with a little pout, a face he knew meant she was stressed.

"yeah? how much words is it?" he hummed softly, sitting next to her laid body on the couch.

y/n turned her laptop to an angle keiji can see it, an email from her professor which explained her prompt and the word count.

damn.

"only two days? that has to be a mistake." he raised his brows, adjusting his glasses.

"its not..." she sighed softly. "i asked him about it in class. he was dead serious keiji...my grade is so done. i don't even know what to write about. all i got done was the context." y/n turned to him, a pout on her lips.

he sighed, "calm down, okay? stressing out this much isn't gonna help you n/n." his hand went to her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the apple of her cheek. damn him and his charm.

"come here, i'll help you." he murmured, his arms gently taking her arms to help her sit up and come up onto his lap.

and around 3 hours later, despite the evident exhaustion in both of you from this damn essay, you were a little more than half way through the word count.

"god...you're the best keiji..." she sighed softly, leaning her head back on his shoulder.

he chuckled, a familiar one that never really failed to make you feel butterflies in your stomach. "can't have my favorite girl stressing now can i?" he ruffled her hair gently.

holy fuck.

why he made her sit in his lap was beyond her. all she knew was that his little name that he just called her made her clench around absolutely nothing, and she was so sick of this back and forth of trying to act like he didn't have an effect on her.

so she purposely squirmed on his lap while pretending to read an article, her ass moving teasingly but in a subtle way. she knew her subtle grinding didn't by any means go unnoticed by him, not how his slender fingers dug a little harder into her hips, and definitely not how his breathing grew more ragged.

"hey... n/n... you're squirming a little...please... it's distracting me..." he spoke with a strained voice, trying not to breathe noticeably.

"hm..?" she looked back at him, who knew how worked up subtle grinding can get him, his cheeks were insanely flushed, his fingers uncontrollably going on her bare thighs.

"come... get off n/n-" he panicked a little, his arms pulling up her torso to pick her up and trying to place her back onto the couch, but she went right back down, on his fucking bulge.

"oh fuck.." he choked out quietly his head going back against the arm rest.

"you're that hard from me barely even grinding?" she started. no turning back now for her. and to her surprise, all those years of chasing and wondering if he wanted her back... she felt so relieved from his next words.

"i can't fucking help it with you.." he swore helplessly. his needy hands guiding her hips to rub herself against his obvious bulge. "all this time and you don't think that i've been wanting to kiss you senseless since highschool..?"

and from that, her lips were on his, sharing wet and sloppy kisses that were making him leak pre cum into his sweatpants. grinding on his lap so nicely that she had him cursing into their sloppy kiss.

they eventually pulled away, a thin string of saliva between their mouths as her arms came up around his neck to steady herself as she ground on his bulge. gosh, his fucking print was so visible to her too from his sweatpants.

"fuck...i love you keiji.."

and within less than two minutes, your cute pajama shorts laid on the floor of your bedroom along with his sweatpants.

his hand held a handful of your hair while his other rested on the plush curve of your ass. his hips were thrusting so good into your drenched cunt, the room practically filled with the sound of your plush ass slapping against his hips and your muffled moans as he just sweet talked you.

damm him.

"god... you dont know how long i wanted to fuck you.." he panted into your ear, his skin slick with sweat

"keiji..." she cried helplessly beneath him.

"mhm baby... i got you...taking my cock so well." he murmured, his large hand squeezing her ass softly.

"you're so fucking pretty n/n, you know that?" he mumbled, placing sweet kisses and sucking hickeys onto her neck, his thrusts getting harder.

she couldn't even form a coherent sentence anymore. it's not like he was being crazy rough, but his cock was fucking long. and at a moderate, more fast pace like what he was doing, she felt as if she was seeing stars.

"ah...mmph..." she moaned sweetly into the pillow, knowing he was about to cum from how sloppy his thrusts were getting.

"mmh... there you go... oh fuck baby.." he panted, pulling out. his hand that was holding your hair let go, pumping slowly as thick and hot cum landed on your plush ass.

she panted softly into the pillows, her hips lowering from where he held them up as she rolled onto her back, his cum on her skin getting onto the sheets.

he panted soflty, pulling her into his arms and pressing a gentle loving kiss on her shoulder, while mumbling a soft, "i've always loved you baby."

its my first time writing so pls leave tips jjfnjjngjngjngjtn

[sirfrogsworth]

I had a doctor's appointment today. I'm retesting my testosterone to see if I have made any progress in raising my levels to a normal range. I'll find out in a few days. I may still have to do the shots, but hopefully that will be much easier once I wean off my medication—however long that takes.

I no longer have crazy hot flashes. So I am pleased about that. And my libido seems to be making a comeback. Which is kind of annoying considering how tired I am as I recover. But it is a good sign this is working.

After my appointment I decided to go to Sam's. Groceries are so damn expensive right now and my stupid diet is largely consisting of eggs. So I thought I could save some money on delivery fees and get some bulk pricing.

My two main concerns were eggs and cheese. As they are the most expensive items at the regular grocery store.

I get to the cheese aisle and it is empty.

And when I say empty, I don't mean my brand of cheese was out of stock.

I mean the *entire* refrigerated section was EMPTY.

I asked an employee where the cheese was and he replied, "Oh, we had to throw it all away."

Wut?

I guess there was some kind of power outage recently and they couldn't risk selling any of the food in the refrigerated sections.

Fuuuuuuuck.

There is no way I'm going to have the energy to go back any time soon. At least I got eggs. 90 freaking eggs. Saved about $15 just in eggs. So that is something.

My favorite thing at Sam's is the sushi. I've tried a couple of sushi restaurants now and I actually prefer the Sam's sushi. I've told this story before, but there is an old Japanese man that makes the sushi. And I tried to tell him thank you for making the sushi. I went on and on about how much I loved it. And he just nodded and smiled at me. It wasn't until I was done speaking and walking away that I realized he had no clue what I was saying.

But there is now a second Japanese sushi guy!

He is much younger and he said, "Hello, how are you?" as I approached. He had a thick accent but his English sounded pretty good. So I tried again to relay how much I enjoyed the sushi and how it was my favorite thing. He nodded and smiled for a while and I was like, "Oh no, not again. He just learned how to say one phrase!"

But when I finished he said, "Thank you very much! That is so kind."

Shwew.

Mission accomplished.

I kinda wonder if that was the old guy's son or something.

NO FUCKING CHEEEEEESE ARE YOU KIDDING ME GODDAMMIT.

[gremnda]

My realm sona!!! I did a bit of brainstorming last night and I've got some more doodles sketched out, i'll post them all soon :]]

Literally the last time i got so excited about making a sona was back in dsmp days with the subtwt academies, when i made my parentstwt academy sona jhjkhjdf

Hopefully semi-coherent lore ramble under the cut

Okay so guys. Hear me out.

I rewatched Good Omens a few days ago and you Know i'm mixing my hyperfixations together LMFAO

tr!Grem, goes by he/him, probably has been alive for 2000 years, a newer demon, his job in Hell is to handle documents of every new damned person. So imagine Furfur from season 2 but it's my little demon guy instead. Absolutely hates his job, wants to escape and somehow ends up in the Realm (he switches himself with another new red faction player. probably kills & replaces them)

So now you have this demon guy who is not exactly telling people he's a demon but definitely not trying to hide it- at red faction, with a kill quota every week.

He very much has a salesman type of personality. He opens a flower shop as disguise, so when people question him about his murders he can look innocent and say he's just a flower boy. He's absolutely delighted about setting up traps, and doesn't care he has to kill people, ESP bc this realm is his ticket out of Hell.

Once he resets, Hell will catch up to him so he's running on desperation pretty much :] the ”yuor dead” graffiti and ”they never did learn to spell” is a reference to hell, they're very much looking for him but can't get a hold of him. (server whitelist of something idk)

Probably gets along really well with tr!Pili, Ros and Beky- just bc he thinks they're evil af and thinks it's super cool LMAO He's allies with tr!Bad but Bad might not like him very much after his 3rd fall trap in cathedral. 100% offered to kill tr!Pangi more than once for Pili during their many pangili divorce eras. Lets tr!Aimsey run tests on him for the funsies.

I'm thinking it'd be cool if he does get skulked later on but i haven't thought that far ahead tbh LMAO

Thank you for reading if you read this far!! Please can we get everyone to make Realm sonas so we can have our little characters hang out and vibe, it'd be so cool :3c

[goldenclover-16]

TPOT 17 SPOILERS

Ok so it's finally out and I need to word vomit about it cause this episode was PEAK

First off Pen being sad and watching Blocky's old show for comfort, at least TV is finally doing something. Pen is going through some shit losing both his best friends and seeing it expanded upon is great.

IM SORRY BASKETBALL IS JUST HERE?? SHES OKAY?? I had thought One kidnapped her too but I guess not, but none of the other eliminated contestants mention anything about One. Has Basketball NOT SAID ANYTHING TO THEM!!??!! She was one of the people to resist their the deal and knew something was up. Even is One jumbled her speech or something so nobody could understand wouldn't they at least mention something?? Either way nice to see these guys again, also theories on where the EXIT door leads, I personally agree with it being either the second hotel door or equation playground. No Gatey though so they've more then definitely been kidnapped.

Oh Bottle's hosting this episode? Cool I like her silly vibes god knows CloudYay need it right now they stresses about the elimination. But also it's kinda sad seeing other people keep hosting for Two I really enjoyed them.

Pencil's panic attack was cool to see, last she remembers it was vote to eliminate so frankly it was pretty reasonable. Donut having to calm her down and remind her it's vote to save.

Anyway eliminations and honestly I think this was best case scenario. As much as I like Pillow and YellowFace most of the team was going through more important arcs. The only person I feel could be switched in without too much changing is Winner. Also YellowFace being so panicked and not wanting to go, things were finally going really well for him with Taggy. Hopefully they will be able to keep the warehouse going without him.

This whole scene with Fanny and Tennis Ball was cool, seeing how One is actively attempting to stop word spreading. I've already seen other people decipher the board so I'm not going to put it here (I'm lazy ik and also don't care).

Damn, Two still got depression and looks like shit, they're just bed rotting. I can't personally comment on how accurate the portrayal is but from what I've heard it's pretty accurate. Give them their wife back PLEASE I NEED TO SO THEM HOST AGAIN.

THE FOURSE RETURNS HAHA IT'S SO ANGRY I LOVE HIM

The eating contest was some fun comic relief while everything else was happening, interesting teams to put on it as well. We got Black Hole sucking his up, Taggy selling theirs (nice to see the failed debuters out and about as well as the giant David) and Winner just... absorbing it? Liy being the only one who has to eat normally. Black Hole's little moral dilemma with the bugs was great, seeing him learn to balance the P.A.C.T with finishing challenges, he was trying so hard. Also Winner with the Loser O's, seeing that Loser maybe cared more about him then he thought, Also Loser not being famous anymore? Damn that episode really came back to haunt him.

I don't really have much to say about these guys, it was pretty tame compared with everything else going on. Nice to see Pen trying to branch out and connect with people.

Pencil and Book crash outs HOLY SHIT THIS WENT HARD! Pencil is traumatized from being in the E.X.I.T for years and wants things back to the way they were before with the alliance but has no idea how to convey her emotions properly which leads to her seeming obsessive and selfish. Her actions are sill bad but it's clear it's because she's hurt and traumatized and because of that is left emotionally unstable which leads to her accidently pushing away the people around her. Despite this I find Book pretty reasonable in her reaction if you look at it from her perspective, she had just managed to repair her relationship with Icy by giving her space and has practically forgotten about Freesmart till Pencil joined back. By this point Book has moved on and found new friends in Winner and Taggy but Pencil just comes in and expects Book to immediately want the alliance back. Book needed the same space Icy did for there to be a chance at healing their relationship but Pencil, unlike Book at that time, is highly unstable and unable to regulate her emotions so she suffocated Book which only leads to things getting worse. Pencil desperately needs some therapy.

In the end, Pen's talk with Pencil does give some hope at a redemption arc, it would be messy and painful but possible. Pen understands what it's like to lose all your close friends, and he could have become like Pencil except he still had people to catch him, namely Liy. Pencil had nobody going back into the game. Hopefully Pencil will listen to him and maybe Pen could continue helping Pencil become better.

Going back to some tamer stuff for a bit the haunted house group was interesting to watch. The writers finally gave TV something to do which is great but he's still one I wouldn't mind getting eliminated. The nature vs mechanical theme was interesting and just more showing of the slight negative bias towards mechanical minds from the contestants. Admittedly though Tree had a point for leaving TV to save both himself and Grassy but TV still had a right to be mad. Him controlling the spider mech was cool, Spid-TV lol. The fight scene was cool and just having Tennis Ball and the Fourse crash onto the mech was funny

Now onto the best part of the episode, Donut unironically just became on of my favourite characters now because of this episode. One's room is destroyed and she is clearly unstable, things are falling apart for her and Donut's ass is not helping that. He is suspicious from the start about the contract and is the first I believe to actually ask what's in it which One immediately deflects. As their interaction continues One becomes more and more agitated by Donut's refusal to sign, eventually having a full crash out while slamming him against a table and stealing his legs as well. Props to Donut here for sticking to his guns and not changing his mind despite having his last limbs actively ripped off which kinda reminded me of BFDIA Pin when her limbs were removed. Connection? Probably not but fun to note. Also notice how One has switched from manipulation and sweet talk to straight up threats and blackmail to get deals, most people left in the game to take for deals are smarter and questioning her which isn't great for One. Her facade is breaking apart as she has to put more and more effort into securing deals.

I also wanted to go into Donut getting his limbs back anyway at the end of the episode. I believe this could represent how One is actually quite powerless in a way. Sure she has her magic which we've seen to be very powerful but it can't control others. While we don't know right now why One needs to make deals with the contestants it's clear they're important to whatever plan she has. And to get those contracts the contestants have to actively sign them, she NEEDS the co-operation of the contestants and that's not something she can force through her magic, they always have the option to deny her no matter what she does. We see through this scene that the contestants don't need One to solve their problems and without her they will find a solution on their own. I like to think that if One hadn't interfered when she did for any of the deals they would likely solve their own problem soon after like shown here. And that's not even mentioning the POWER Donut has right now. While contestants like Fanny, Ice Cube, Gatey and Basketball know something is wrong, especially Fanny as we see her actively try to show Tennis Ball he research, they are all under contract. They have all accepted a deal. DONUT NEVER ACCEPTED THE DEAL AND NOW KNOWS WHATS GOING ON WITHOUT ONE BEING ABLE TO CALL IN A FAVOUR TO STOP HIM. He is now arguably the most powerful out of the resistance gang now due to this.

Now this last part is purely speculation so it could easily be proven false but I noticed how both Fanny and Ice Cube could make out their research while Tennis Ball couldn't. While this could just be One messing up his vision specifically what if knowledge about One determines if someone can see the board. Tennis Ball has never seen one like Fanny and Ice Cube and would, by this logic, not understand the writing. But Donut, who has seen one would be able to. I hope that makes sense.

In conclusion this episode was peak, thanks for listening to this long ass ramble

[ambiguous-avery]

HI HI BESTIE - I'VE GOT A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR YOU:

Picture this: Dean on his last hunt had to bite on a hammer's handle (huh, I wonder where that one came from?) and CRACK - of course, one of his teeth cracked in half. Now he's forced to go to a dental clinic. How do you think would he manage the appointment?

Probably the weirdest question I've ever asked so far but you do with it what you want, it's your problem now. 🤡 //runs like the wind

Hello, hello bestie!

Wow, what a question! And I mean that in a good way lol hopefully you’re talking about the handle of a regular ol’ hammer and not Mjolnir. At least a wooden handle of a hammer would be less damaging! What a niche question - I love it!

Bit of background for anyone who doesn’t know, but I work in the dental field, so this is right up my alley! I couldn’t decide how I wanted to respond to this, so have an extended drabble! Sorry, it turned into a really long piece.

Tooth Hurty

No Pairings | WC: 2520

Summary: Dean goes to the dentist

Tags/Warnings: Dental terms, detailed dental procedure, Dean’s got a fear of dentists, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Title comes from the punch line of “When’s the best time to go to the dentist?”

Dean had been through a lot. He knew pain. He had dealt with being stabbed and shot and thrown against various things in his life. He’d been through literal Hell before.

But this? This was something else.

This was deeper. More profound. An ache that throbbed everytime he moved his jaw. And he used his jaw for like... everything. Eating, talking, hell, even when he swallowed. Mouth pain was a totally different ball game than any other kind of pain.

“You should really get that checked out, Dean,” Sam said without bothering to look up from his book. Dean rolled his eyes at him over it. Some Advil and Tylenol would be fine, and everything would be better in a couple days.

It wasn’t.

By day three, Dean was ready to rip the tooth out himself. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t see much, even with a flashlight. He wasn’t a professional, but there was definitely something wrong in there. His gums were red and swollen, and when he pressed gently around his back molar, a shock of pain made him grip the bathroom sink with white knuckles.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, his eyes watering involuntarily.

He stumbled back into the motel room to find Sam staring at him with that patented little-brother concern that always made Dean feel like he was five again.

“Dude, seriously. It’s not going to get better on its own.”

“It’s just a toothache, Sammy. Not exactly apocalyptic.” Sam closed his laptop with a definitive click.

“No, but infections can spread. Remember that hunter in Nebraska? Bobby said he lost half his jaw because he was too stubborn to see a dentist.”

Dean winced, partly from the pain shooting through his jaw as he clenched it and partly from the unwelcome image Sam had just planted in his head.

“That was different,” Dean argued. “That guy got his teeth knocked out by a werewolf. Mine’s probably just a cavity or something.” Sam gave him a look, the one that said he wasn’t buying any of Dean’s crap.

“Then it should be a quick fix. I already found a dentist in town who can see you tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Dean’s voice definitely didn’t crack. No, siree, it didn’t. “Don’t they need like... weeks of notice?”

“I told them it was an emergency.” Sam’s expression softened. “Look, I know you hate dentists–”

“I don’t hate dentists,” Dean cut in far too quickly.

“Right... And I don’t hate clowns.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go. Get it fixed. Then we can focus on the case.” Dean muttered something under his breath that might have been an agreement or might have been a string of curses. With the way his tooth was throbbing, even he wasn’t totally sure.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every position seemed to make the pain worse. Around 2 AM, Dean gave up and shuffled to the bathroom, fumbling through his toiletry bag until he found the small flask he kept for emergencies. This definitely qualified. The whisky burned going down, but the warmth that spread through his chest was worth it. He took another swig, hoping that the alcohol would numb the pain enough to catch a few hours of sleep before his appointment.

When the morning came, Dean was a mess of nerves and lingering pain. He downed another shot of whiskey with his coffee while Sam pretended not to notice.

“It’s at 10:30,” Sam reminded him. Dean answered with a grunt, his fingers drumming against the Impala’s keys in his pocket.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Dean said as they pulled into the parking lot of “Smile Shack,” a name that made his stomach clench. “I’m not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam muttered. He followed Dean into the office.

The waiting room was too bright. Too cheerful. With posters of perfect smiles that seemed to mock him. Dean filled out the paperwork with shaky handwriting, grateful for the lingering burn of whiskey in his system to keep him from bolting. The assistant, a perky blond with a smile too wide for her face, called his name with far too much enthusiasm.

“Dean Winchester? We’re ready for you.”

Dean rose slowly, his legs surprisingly unsteady beneath him. He seriously considered making a run for it. He’d faced down demons with more courage than he had in the present moment, but the throbbing in his jaw reminded him why he was here. The dental assistant led him to a room with an ominous-looking chair in the center. Various metal instruments were arranged neatly on a tray beside it, each one more terrifying than the one before it.

“First time in a while?” she asked kindly, noticing his hesitation.

“Something like that,” Dean managed, his throat clicking dryly. The last dentist he’d seen was in a free clinic when he was fourteen after Dad had finally noticed his swollen face from a molar that had been bothering him for weeks. The memory wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Have a seat,” the assistant instructed, motioning to the chair. “Dr. Mitchell will be with you shortly.” Dean lowered himself into the chair, gripping the armrests tightly as it automatically reclined. The ceiling lights beamed down on him like he was in an interrogation room.

“Hello,” came a cheerful voice from the doorway. “I’m Dr. Mitchell. What brings you in today?” Dr. Mitchell was younger than Dean expected with kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Despite himself, Dean felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Back molar,” he said. “Right side. Been killing me for days.”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” She snapped on the nitrile gloves with practiced efficiency while the assistant took up a spot on Dean’s left. “Open wide for me.”

Dean complied, fighting every instinct to close his mouth as Dr. Mitchell leaned over him with a small mirror and what looked like a miniature pirate hook. His fingers dug deeper into the armrests. Dr. Mitchell made a low noise of understanding, gently probing around Dean’s aching tooth. Even her careful touch sent lightning bolts of pain through Dean’s jaw. “I see the problem. Looks like the molar has cracked. Did you bite down on something hard?”

Dean made a noncommittal sound, the best he could manage with the doctor’s instruments in his mouth.

“We’ll need to take an X-ray to see the full extent, but I suspect that the tooth needs to come out.” Dr. Mitchell removed her tools and straightened up. “Have you had any fever or swelling in your neck?”

“No,” Dean lied instinctively, ignoring the fact that his neck had felt stiff when he woke up. He’d faced worse. Much worse. Dr. Mitchell gave him a look that suggested she didn’t quite believe what Dean said but didn’t press the issue.

“The whiskey on your breath isn’t helping your case, Mr. Winchester.”

“Just a little liquid courage,” he tried to defend, though Dean felt heat rise to his face.

“I understand dental anxiety,” she said without judgement. “But alcohol thins your blood. Not ideal before oral surgery.”

“Surgery?” Dean repeated, the word sticking in his dry throat.

“Nothing invasive,” she assured him. “But the tooth needs to come out today. The infection is quite advanced.”

The assistant returned with the X-ray equipment, and Dean endured the uncomfortable process of having various plastic contraptions shoved into his mouth. Each click of the machine sounded like a death knell. When Dr. Mitchell returned with his X-rays displayed on a tablet, her expression confirmed Dean’s fears.

“As I expected, the crack extends into the root. We need to extract it today.” She pointed to the dark shadows around the tooth. “This area here shows infection. You’re lucky you came in when you did.” Dean didn’t feel lucky in the slightest. He felt like he might puke. “We can do this local anesthesia,” Dr. Mitchell continued, “but given your anxiety level, I can also offer nitrous oxide. Laughing gas.”

“I’m not anxious,” Dean protested automatically. Dr. Mitchell pointedly glanced at his white-knuckled grip on the armrests.

“Of course not. But the nitrous can make the experience more... pleasant.” Dean swallowed hard. The idea of being even slightly out of control made every hunter instinct in him scream in protest. But the persistent ache in his jaw was quickly overriding his caution.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Hit me with the gas.”

Dr. Mitchell nodded to her assistant who wheeled over a small tank with a mask attached.

“You’ll feel relaxed. Maybe a bit light-headed. But patients find things funnier than usual, but I assure you that it wears off quickly once we turn it off.” Dean nodded stiffly as the mask was placed over his nose. “Just breathe normally through your nose,” Dr. Mitchell instructed. “We’ll give it a few moments to kick in before we numb the area.”

The first few breaths felt no different than regular air. There was no strange smell, no sign that anything was any different. Dean focused on the ceiling, counting the seconds and waiting for this whole nightmare to be over. Then, gradually, something shifted. The edges of his vision softened. The ceiling stain started to look less like a problem and more like an abstract painting. Kind of fascinating, really.

“Feeling any different?” Dr. Mitchell’s voice seemed like she was both near and far at the same time.

“Maybe a little,” Dean admitted, surprised to find that his grip on the armrests had loosened. The pain was still there, but somehow it didn’t seem as important anymore.

“Good. I’m going to numb the area now. Just a small pinch.” Dean nodded, watching with detached interest as she prepared the syringe. Normally, the sight would’ve had his heart racing, but now, he found himself uncharacteristically curious about the whole process.

“You know,” he began, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, “I’ve been shot before. Stabbed, too. This shouldn’t be a big deal.” Dr. Mitchell paused, syringe halfway to Dean’s mouth.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Hunting accident. A few of ‘em, actually,” Dean mumbled, finding it increasingly difficult to care about maintaining his usual cover story. “This one time in Pennsylvania, got tossed through a window by a–” He caught himself just in time, “–bear.”

“I see...” Dr. Mitchell said carefully. “Well, this will be much less dramatic. Small pinch now.” Dean barely felt the needle. His mind was drifting pleasantly, untethered from his usual constant vigilance. He wondered if this was how normal people felt all the time. Not scanning for threats. Not carrying the weight of the world.

“You have nice eyes,” he said to the assistant who smiled politely at him. “Very symmetrical.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean,” he corrected, finding himself oddly chatty. “Mr. Winchester was my dad. He’d think this was hilarious. Me freaking out over a tooth.” He guffawed, and it felt good. Like releasing pressure from a valve.

“Well I’m glad you came in despite your nerves,” the assistant said.

“The area should be getting numb now. Can you feel this?” Dr. Mitchell asked as she tapped something against his gum. Dean felt pressure but nothing more.

“Nope. ‘S weird.” His tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

“Perfect. We’re going to get started then. You might feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt at all.” Dean nodded, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling tiles again. Had they always been so intricate? He could see patterns forming and dissolving as he stared.

Time seemed to stretch and compress in strange ways. Dean was vaguely away of Dr. Mitchell working in his mouth. Pressure. The occasional sound of something cracking. Hushed instructions to her assistant. But everything felt distant. Like it was happening to someone else rather than him.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Mitchell assured him. “Almost done.”

“My brother,” Dean found himself saying around the instruments in his mouth. “He’s the one who made me come. Always looking for me. Since we were young.”

“Mmhmm,” Dr. Mitchell responded, clearly more focused on her work than Dean’s rambling.

“Saved the world once,” Dean continued, unable to find the control to stop himself. “Well, more than once. People don’t even know. That’s the thing about... about hunting. Nobody knows when you save ‘em.”

“That’s... nice,” the assistant said uncertainly, exchanging a quick glance with Dr. Mitchell. “I’m sure everyone appreciates your... hunting.” Dean felt a strange tug in his mouth followed by a triumphant “There we go!” from Dr. Mitchell.

“Is that my tooth?” Dean asked, trying to see what she had.

“Yes, and it was definitely the culprit. We’ll irrigate the socket now and place some gauze.” She held up the extracted molar. “Would you like to keep it?” Dean stared at the bloody tooth, oddly fascinated by the shape of it.

“Yeah. Souvenir.”

The assistant placed the tooth in a small, plastic container while Dr. Mitchell went over post-extraction care. Dean nodded along, only catching every third word or so as the nitrous kept his mind pleasantly adrift.

“We’ll start tapering off the nitrous now and switch you to oxygen,” Dr. Mitchell said, adjusting something on the tank. “You’ll start to feel more alert soon.”

As promised, the foggy, pleasant sensation began to recede. And with it came the creeping awareness of what he had been saying. Had he really mentioned hunting? Saving the world? Dean grimaced internally. Hopefully they’d just chalk it up to the ramblings of a nervous man out of his mind.

“Feeling more like yourself?” Dr. Mitchell asked, removing the mask from his face.

“Yeah,” he said around the gauze in his mouth. The local anesthetic was still in effect, making half his face feel like it belonged to someone else.

“You did very well,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’m prescribing antibiotics to clear up that infection and some pain medication for the next few days. No drinking, smoking, or using straws for at least 72 hours. You don’t want a dry socket.”

Dean nodded, taking the papers she handed to him. The room seemed overly bright now that the nitrous had worn off. Reality was setting back in.

“Your brother is waiting for you in the reception area,” the assistant informed him, helping him stand. “I’ll walk you out.” Dean followed her on slightly shaky legs, his dignity barely intact. The extraction site was beginning to throb dully beneath the numbness, a warning of the pain to come. Dean paused as they passed a small counter littered with small toys and trinkets.

“Can I have one of these?” he asked. The assistant glanced from him to the counter top.

“Sure,” she said with a smile. He grinned as best as he could before snagging one of the neon green sticky hands, the plastic crinkling in his hand. As he stepped back out into the waiting room, Sam stood up, concern etched on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, eyeing the gauze peeking out from Dean’s mouth. Dean flashed him a thumbs up and held up the tooth-shaped container and sticky hand.

“Got some souvenirs. Wanna see?”

---

Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog

[gilmorenights]

Something To Believe In from Newsies is so New Memories/Varigo coded istg

“The world finds ways to sting you, and then one day decides to bring you something to believe in, for even a night” LITERALLY THEM??? I feel like l don’t even need to explain how this perfectly corresponds with how they’ve been hurt beyond words in the past and how they’re each other’s one good thing, the one thing in the world that makes them go “hey maybe life isn’t so shitty” even if it’s not meant to last forever, even if it’s supposed to come to an end when they get to the Eternal Library.

“One night may be forever, but that’s alright” Basically just going with what I said above about it being a temporary thing

“Just someone sweet passing by, an angel come to save me who didn't even know she gave me something to believe in, for even a day” It’s literally Hugo-coded you guys, trust. The lyrics show how he perceived Varian as just a random means to an end at the beginning of the journey but as they got to grow closer, Varian unknowingly gave Hugo a reason to believe that there is good in the world, that there are good people, and that people can change. Which are (in my opinion) some of the most important values Hugo learns that contribute to his character development.

And then obviously “I have something to believe in, now that I know you believed in me” sums everything up perfectly. Them believing in each other means everything. Varian placed his trust in Hugo, despite struggling with it immensely, which in turn flipped Hugo’s world upside down. Him placing that trust in Hugo- this delicate, vital thing that Varian has trouble with giving to anyone else- gave Hugo a reason to start to believe in good things. They became each other’s reason to trust again, to love again. And that’s because they were able to see each other’s flaws and love each other anyway. They quite literally gave each other something to believe in.

This was lowkey all over the place but I feel like I can’t properly put into words how much “you gave me something to believe in now that I know you believed in me” relates to them and how much this take means to me (I will die on this hill) which is probably why it’s not super articulate, but you guys get what I’m trying to say. Hopefully 😭

Long story short, it’s just so them

Anyway thanks for coming to my rant sesh 🫡

[my-darling-boy]

Hey bb, I am in need of costume help! I am searching for some long bloomers for a photoshoot. I'm gonna make my guy friend wear armor, bloomers and put on lipstick. It's gonna be great, I just don't know what the correct name of long bloomers would be? Or where to find them for men. He's a long boy (for context).

Hi! Sounds like a fun shoot! Undergarment terms are confusing but you’ve a few options to look up! (Note: I’m not sure if you’re looking for something medieval as per the armour or something around the time of bloomers so I’ll just yap and hopefully something helps)

“Bloomers” is a specifically Victorian-era coined word and garment but probably refers to the thing you have in mind, and probably the only thing Etsy or google will recognise to show you results. It’s complicated, but bloomers weren’t necessarily ladies “underpants” in the way we’d understand them. They were initially more akin to long, ballooned trousers and gathered at the ankle, meant to be visible below a dress or otherwise. As time went on, it started to refer to any ballooned trouser-like women’s garment that ended somewhere between the knee and ankle. Because of this, some drawers (rightmost photo) were referred to as bloomers no matter if plain or frilly/embroidered simply because they were puffy even if they weren’t worn exposed. The important difference is that Bloomers in the trouser sense were a fashion response in the fight for women’s rights, the term Bloomer came from their eventual association with the Victorian social advocate Amelia Bloomer.

They were different from pantaloons. Pantaloons were an early 19th c. men’s item, longer, and figure hugging ending at about the ankle and they replaced 18th c. breeches which fastened just below the knee (Left pic: breeches, right pic: pantaloons). Funnily enough, when searching images of “pantaloons” you’ll get a variety of women’s Victorian and Edwardian drawers, but pantaloons are the men’s garment, I’m not sure why it’s also used to refer to women’s underpants now.

Pantalettes were a type of women’s undergarment meant to be slightly seen and are generally slimmer and less balloony than bloomers (which didn’t technically exist yet) and were lightly frilled/embroidered and usually reached about the mid calf or ankle. Though their origins are quite old, they were most prevalent in the early-mid 19th century, stayed a bit longer for children’s fashion, then kinda fell out of fashion, not that any trouser-like underpants were popular and widely accepted with western women’s fashion to begin with. (Pantalettes below)

Then you have the word “drawers” which sort of refers to any period underpants in general. For women, drawers used to be just a fairly plain linen or cotton pair of short trousers starting somewhere in the 14th-15th c. but were also not widely adopted outside of specific regions, modesty occasions, or sport until the late 19th century, until they eventually became a staple for Edwardian women’s undergarments and became quite frilly in French designs. The term now loosely encompasses any women’s long underpants, so both bloomers and pantalettes and a variety of other underpants are all “drawers”. A lot of women’s drawers were also split-crotch, you didn’t tend to see them completely sewn closed as it made it easier to use the toilet.

I know I’ve referenced mainly women’s clothes here but there are some men’s clothing that has a slightly similar look to Victorian drawers. A basic pair of linen or cotton open leg drawers would suffice, you might look at 18th c. Western European underpants that looked very similar to drawstring linen breeches. If you want something more medieval to compliment the armour, I might also suggest Braies which were essentially just lower waisted breeches (Braies below)

Point is, because of the overlap and appearance, you’ll see bloomers that are technically pantalettes, pantalettes labelled as pantaloons, drawers that are bloomers, it’s all a bit confusing, but I hope that narrows down what you might be looking for.

As for where to find any of these for someone very tall, your best bet might be to get your hands on a pattern for Victorian drawers (I’ve seen some off Etsy or EBay) and see if it’s possible to attach the split legs if it has them and allow for some extra length in the legs for height as they may end more at the knees on a tall person rather than the mid calves. Or have a look about medieval reproduction sites for the Braies style. The good news is that because drawers are basically just plain pants made from white fabric, they’re quite a simple thing to cobble together and have it still be clear it’s old drawers.

Best of luck to your photoshoot!

[bunnynoirr]

Twilight x black reader

𝐍𖣠𝐓𝐄 ☦︎📓 ݈݇⎼: I’ve literally been working on this fic since 2020… deadass. Anywayss, this is set two years after breaking dawn part two. It’s about girl who’s about to find out that this isn’t the first time she’s walked this earth.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔⚠︎: mentions death, some spooky shit happens, Edward, Jacob, Bella…

Part 1: The water remembers

The dream came again.

It always started the same: water. Cold, black, ancient. She couldn’t see where it began or where it ended, but she knew it was a lake—deep, patient, alive.

Her bare feet hovered at the edge. The wind curled around her like fingers. Something pulled her forward, and even though every muscle screamed to stop, she stepped in.

The cold bit her bones. Her lungs burned. Hands—familiar and wrong—wrapped around her throat. She couldn’t see the face above her, only the betrayal in their grip.

She sank.

Her screams filled her skull but never made it past her lips. Her body thrashed; her soul did not. Her soul waited.

Then she’d wake up.

Y/N sat up with a gasp, sweat slicking her spine. The bedroom was still dark, but the blinds let in the faintest smear of gray morning. Her hand went to her throat out of instinct.

“Y/N!” her dad’s voice called from downstairs. “You’re gonna be late!”

She blinked the dream away, threw off the blankets, and planted her feet on the creaky wooden floor of their new house.

The place smelled like old pine, dust, and paint that hadn’t finished drying. It still felt borrowed.

In the bathroom, her reflection stared back at her like a stranger pretending to know her name. She brushed her teeth in silence. Washed her face like it might scrub the dream out of her skin. Tied her hoodie around her waist like armor.

She didn’t look in the mirror again.

Breakfast was waiting in that “we’re all pretending this is fine” kind of way. Evelyn tried to make conversation over coffee. Y/N just nodded and forced down a spoonful of cereal that turned soggy in seconds.

The rain started halfway to school.

Not heavy. Just… Forks rain. Misty. Relentless. The kind that soaked into your bones and whispered things you didn’t want to hear.

The school loomed ahead like it had grown out of the trees—brick buildings and fog-draped rooftops. Students moved in flocks like tired birds.

In the front office, the receptionist handed her a schedule and a map with a thin smile.

“Welcome to Forks High, sweetie. Building Three for first period.”

Y/N nodded, murmured a thank you, and stepped back into the hallway.

A hush followed her like she’d brought fog inside with her.

Her locker was rusted and slow to open. The number barely legible, the lock sticky from rain or disuse.

As she twisted the dial, two voices passed behind her.

“New girl,” one muttered, unimpressed.

“Yeah, but she’s cute,” another replied.

She didn’t turn. Just rolled her eyes and yanked the locker open.

The hallway buzzed with sleepy chaos. Girls laughing too loud. A guy balancing a coffee on a binder. Someone sketching weird circles in a notebook.

Then—her.

A girl with shoulder-length dark brown hair and eyes like frozen lakes leaned against the wall like she owned it. Arms crossed. Studying Y/N like she was being graded.

In the classroom, she dropped into the seat beside Y/N without hesitation.

“You’re new,” she said. Not a question.

Y/N glanced sideways. “That obvious?”

“Forks is small. We smell fresh meat.” No smile. No laugh. Just fact.

“I’m Sophia,” she added. “Don’t talk to Matt. He flirts like it’s a sport and thinks he’s funny.”

“Good to know.”

Sophia nodded once. “Hopefully, you’ll do just fine.”

Then she turned to her nails as class began.

The bell shrieked like a warning. Y/N slipped her hoodie up and followed the current of bodies.

She passed bulletin boards, limp plants, a trophy case full of dust and delusion.

Someone bumped her shoulder. Not hard—but not accidental.

“Watch it, new girl,” said a blond guy, smirking like he hadn’t just walked into her on purpose.

“Matt,” Sophia deadpanned from behind her. “Still failing basic interaction?”

He grinned wider. “You’re just jealous I have charisma.”

“Charisma isn’t a disease,” said another voice—flat, calm.

A guy with black hair and stormy grey eyes appeared beside him, scrolling through his phone. “Yours just mutated.”

Y/N raised a brow. “And you are?”

“Andrew,” he said, barely glancing up. “I follow him around so people assume I have depth.”

Sophia snorted.

Matt looked at Y/N again. “Nice voice. Want to skip class?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t hate myself enough for that. Yet.”

Andrew coughed into his sleeve to hide a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “She’s gonna fit in just fine.”

By lunch, Y/N felt like she’d walked through four shades of the same gray dream.

The cafeteria smelled like wet fries and teenage disappointment.

She was debating eating alone when a girl with hazel eyes and curly black hair appeared out of nowhere and linked their arms like it was fate.

“Hi. You’re cute. I’m Angel. You’re sitting with me now.”

Y/N followed.

They wove through the chaos to a table already half-occupied.

Sophia glared at her salad. Andrew fought a Capri Sun like it owed him money. Matt was losing a battle with a chip bag.

And then there was Mia—tall, loud, black hair like silk, and green eyes that could slice glass.

“I’m just saying,” Mia ranted mid-convo, “if they want us to learn, stop making the rooms feel like prison cells and maybe give us food that doesn’t taste like betrayal.”

“She’s been monologuing since second period,” Angel whispered. “We stopped trying to stop her.”

“I can hear you,” Mia said. “And I will burn this school down for better cheese sticks.”

Y/N sat down.

And even though her shoes were still wet and her hoodie smelled like rain—she smiled.

After school, the rain was quieter. More suggestion than threat.

Y/N walked home with her hood up, letting her steps carry her on autopilot.

She didn’t mean to pass the lake.

It was just there—off the road, through a break in the trees.

Still. Black. Patient.

She stopped.

The surface looked like glass. Like it was holding a secret too tight.

She stepped closer.

Her reflection blinked at her—only, she didn’t blink back.

The eyes were darker. Sadder. Older.

She stared.

And for one second, just one—she remembered drowning.

𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵

The forest was too still.

Birdsong had vanished. Even the trees held their breath.

Light drifted through the clouds and spilled across the Cullen cottage like it wasn’t sure it belonged.

Edward sat by the window, a book open in his lap but untouched.

Bella stepped in quietly, barefoot, her mug steaming.

“You’re pretending to read again,” she said.

He didn’t look at her. “Something’s different.”

She studied him. “What do you mean?”

He paused. “The air. It’s… familiar. But wrong.”

Bella raised a brow. “Maybe it’s just—”

“It’s old,” Edward said. “Like a name I forgot I knew.”

From the next room, Renesmee laughed. Jacob’s voice followed, low and warm.

Edward smiled.

But it didn’t reach his eyes.

𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵𓃵

Dinner at Y/N’s house was warm but hollow.

Evelyn refilled drinks. Jack scrolled. Thomas drew superheroes on the back of his math sheet.

“This isn’t even spicy,” Thomas said through a mouthful of noodles.

“Keep saying that,” Jack replied, “but you’ll be crying in twenty minutes.”

Evelyn smirked. “Then stop eating like a raccoon.”

Y/N smiled faintly.

Evelyn noticed.

“You okay, baby? You’ve barely touched your plate.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N murmured.

“You say that the way your grandmother used to,” Evelyn said quietly. “She only said that when she wasn’t.”

Y/N blinked. “What was she like?”

Evelyn hesitated. “Complicated. She believed in signs. Dreams. Curses.”

Thomas made a ghost noise.

Evelyn changed the subject.

Later, the dishes were done. Thomas was shouting at his cartoons. Jack was asleep on the couch beside him. Evelyn read a book, already in bed.

Y/N stood on the back porch, hoodie sleeves pulled down, staring at the trees.

The wind whispered like it was trying not to wake something.

Inside her, something turned.

Not pain. Not fear.

Just the soft ache of remembering something you never lived.

That night, she dreamed again.

Only this time—she wasn’t drowning.

She was watching someone else drown. A girl with hair like ink and eyes like her own. Mouth open in a silent scream. Reaching.

Their eyes locked.

Y/N couldn’t move.

Could only watch.

They were her eyes.

Then everything went black.

She woke gasping.

The moonlight cut across her bed in the shape of a cross.

Outside her window, the shadows reached out like they knew her by name.

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 3

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 5.2k

warning: language

firstly i js wanted to say that yall NEED to check out @pazzispizookies series !! its genuinely soooo so so good and deserves all the love 🫶🏽

heres chap 3 for yall !!! i tried to follow ur guys suggestions so i hope its alr 😭 idk if its good but um yur hopefully u guys like it 🤞🏽

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

“Yo, let’s go,” Aubrey called, tugging her hoodie on as she stepped into the hallway of their dorm. “Class isn’t gonna wait for your little daydream.”

Paige looked up from her phone, blinking like she’d been caught red-handed. “I’m coming,” she said, stuffing the phone in her pocket even though she hadn’t actually been doing anything on it. Just… staring at the home screen.

Aubrey eyed her suspiciously but said nothing.

The morning was crisp as they stepped outside, the sun still low enough to cast long shadows across campus. They walked side by side, feet crunching over gravel and dead leaves, the quiet broken only by the occasional chirp of birds or the distant hum of early lectures starting.

“So,” Aubrey said casually, kicking at a small rock on the path. “You gonna tell me how yesterday went?”

Paige frowned. “Yesterday?”

Aubrey gave her a look. “Don’t play dumb. Azzi. Tutoring. Ringing any bells?”

“Oh,” Paige said quickly. “That.”

“Yes, that. You had a whole session with your little brainiac crush and didn’t text me once after. I was starting to think you died mid-equation or something.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small grin that tugged at her lips. “It was fine.”

Aubrey laughed. “Fine? That’s the best you’ve got? C’mon, spill. You were losing your shit about it before you left. I need a play-by-play.”

Paige let out a breath, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “Okay. It actually wasn’t terrible. She’s really good at explaining stuff. Like, not just smart-smart, well she is, but actually patient. Broke things down in a way that made sense. We ran through some practice questions, and I didn’t feel like a complete idiot for once.”

Aubrey gave her a small nudge with her elbow. “Proud of you, mathlete.”

“I’m serious,” Paige said. “It was… kinda nice. I got one of the problems right without help, and she seemed genuinely impressed.”

Aubrey grinned. “You sound like you just got a gold star.”

Paige ignored the teasing. “She even said I was improving.”

“Well damn,” Aubrey said, mockingly putting a hand over her heart. “Growth.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, eyes on the path. “But yeah, it wasn’t awkward. Which I was worried about.”

“So you two talked?”

“A bit,” Paige admitted. “Nothing crazy. I asked her when she wanted to meet again for our next session and she said tomorrow works but I forgot when, so… um yeah that’s the plan.”

Aubrey smirked. “Look at you already booking the sequel.”

Paige groaned. “It’s tutoring, not a date.”

“Sure,” Aubrey said, clearly unconvinced.

Paige shook her head but didn’t argue. Not out loud, at least.

Aubrey gave her a side glance. “So… did you find out anything interesting about her? Or were y’all just buried in notebooks the whole time?”

Paige hesitated. “Actually… she told me she used to play basketball.”

That made Aubrey blink. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded. “Said she played in high school but stopped after losing love and motivation for the game. Didn’t go into too much detail, but she mentioned it when we took a little mental break. She gets what it’s like to balance stuff.”

“Damn. That’s kinda wild,” Aubrey said. “No wonder she seems like she’scool under pressure. Probably used to high-stakes shit.”

Paige smiled a little at that. “Yeah. It was unexpected, though. I don’t know why, but I didn’t picture her as the athlete type.”

“Well,” Aubrey said, throwing an arm loosely over Paige’s shoulder as they kept walking, “you also didn’t picture her being pretty until she was sitting three feet from you helping you solve for equations.”

Paige groaned again, louder this time. “Can we not do this right now?”

Aubrey just laughed. “Hey, I'm not even judging. I’m just saying, it’s cute. You like her brain and her face. Classic.”

“I barely know her,” Paige muttered.

“And yet you were smiling like an idiot just now thinking about her.”

Paige elbowed her. “Shut up.”

They kept walking, but Aubrey glanced over, her voice quieter. “You really do like her, huh?”

Paige didn’t answer right away. She just shrugged, eyes on the concrete.

“I dunno,” she finally said. “She’s cool. She’s smart. And she… I don’t know. She’s just different. In a good way. She’s not weird about me being on the team or whatever. Doesn’t treat me like I’m some—”

“Celebrity?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I had a moment with some fans yesterday and she just stood back and watched. Didn’t look annoyed or anything. Just… kinda curious.”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow. “Curious how?”

Paige’s cheeks flushed slightly. “She said I surprised her. Said I wasn’t like she expected.”

Aubrey looked smug now. “Oh? And how exactly did she expect you to be?”

“Apparently like a stuck-up diva,” Paige said dryly. “Big-time athlete energy.”

Aubrey burst out laughing. “Oh my. She thought you were gonna be one of those ‘don’t-look-me-in-the-eye’ types?”

Paige grinned reluctantly. “Something like that.”

“Well,” Aubrey said, nudging her. “At least she thinks you’re better than you look.”

“Oh well, thanks.”

“I’m just saying. Sounds like you’re making a decent impression.”

Paige exhaled slowly. “I don’t think she sees me like that, though.”

Aubrey was quiet for a moment. “How do you mean?”

“I dunno. She’s nice. And I think we’re getting along. But she’s… I don’t know. Neutral. In a good way. Like, focused. She’s not flirty or anything.”

“Well, you’ve known her what? 2 days?”

“Exactly,” Paige said. “It’s not like I’m trying to rush anything.”

Aubrey bumped her shoulder. “Still. Don’t count yourself out. You’re a catch.”

Paige gave her a look. “You’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t wrong.

They reached the building just as the first bell rang in the distance. Paige reached for the door, then paused.

“Thanks, though,” she said. “For listening.”

Aubrey smiled. “Anytime. You better keep me posted after your next session.”

Paige opened the door and held it for her. “No promises.”

“You mean yes, then.”

“Shut up.”

They both stepped inside, laughter echoing down the hallway.

—----------------------

“I’m still waiting,” Caroline said, sliding into her seat next to Azzi with the casual confidence of someone who knew she’d get answers eventually.

Azzi blinked, startled out of her thoughts as she adjusted her hoodie sleeve and sat up straighter. “For what?”

Caroline gave her a look. “Don’t play dumb. The session. You and Paige. Yesterday. How’d it go?”

Azzi hesitated, eyes flicking toward the front of the room where the professor was still getting the slides set up. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Caroline scoffed. “Cmon, you know I’m not accepting a dry little ‘fine’ when you were tutoring Paige Bueckers. The girl who usually ghosts help like it’s contagious? She showed up for tutoring. With you. Spill.”

Azzi smiled a little despite herself, glancing down at her open notebook, though she hadn’t written anything yet. “I mean, she showed up. On time. Sat across from me and listened.”

Caroline raised a brow. “And?”

“And she was… not what I expected.”

Caroline leaned in, grinning now. “How so?”

Azzi let out a small breath and tried to find the words. “She wasn’t super talkative. Kind of quiet, actually. But like, in a sweet way. She didn’t pretend to understand everything like I thought she would. She was just… really present. Asked questions, paid attention.”

“Hmm,” Caroline said, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah, that tracks.”

Azzi tilted her head. “How so?”

“That’s what I meant the other day,” Caroline said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Paige usually has this… front. All confident and cocky and loud. But around certain people, she’s different. Calmer. Like she’s letting her guard down a bit.”

Azzi blinked, thinking back. “She definitely wasn’t cocky. I mean, she joked a little at the start, but mostly she was just focused. Or, at least she tried to be.”

“Tried?” Caroline asked.

Azzi hesitated again. “There were a few moments where… I caught her staring.”

Caroline’s brows shot up. “Staring?”

“Not like—” Azzi shook her head quickly. “Not in a weird way. Just… I’d be explaining something, and I’d pause to check if she was following, and she’d already be looking at me. Kinda like she forgot she was supposed to be paying attention to the material.”

Caroline smirked. “Okayyyy.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe she was zoning out. People do that all the time.”

“Paige doesn’t zone out when someone’s talking to her face,” Caroline said. “Unless that person’s, you know… distracting.”

Azzi gave her a dry look. “You’re impossible.”

Caroline held up her hands. “I’m just saying. Besides, you don’t seem bothered.”

“I wasn’t,” Azzi said honestly, twirling her pen between her fingers. “It was just… surprising. She’s sweet. More than I expected.”

There was a brief pause before Caroline asked, “Did she seem nervous?”

Azzi thought about it. “A little. But I couldn’t tell if it was about the subject or just… the situation.”

Caroline grinned. “Probably both.”

Azzi smiled faintly, but her mind was already slipping back to that part when Jace had walked up near the end of their session.

“Oh,” she added suddenly. “And there was this moment Jace came by.”

Caroline groaned immediately. “Ugh. That idiot. Let me guess. Trying to ‘schedule’ another session?”

Azzi snorted. “Yeah. I tutor him too.”

Caroline rolled her eyes. “He’s the worst. If he’s not hitting on someone, he’s talking about himself.”

“Well…” Azzi shrugged. “He’s not that bad… Well, so far.”

Caroline looked at her like she was delusional. “Az, he once asked me if I thought he could ‘go pro in looks alone.’ That wasn’t a joke. Be for real.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Fair.”

“What happened when he came over?”

Azzi hesitated. “Paige got kind of… stiff? I don’t know. At first I thought she just didn’t like him, oh well I mean she doesn't but then when he asked about our next session, she got a little defensive.”

Caroline blinked. “Defensive how?”

“She was just short with him. Told me he’s a ‘walking ego’ and a ‘player’ and that I should be careful.”

Caroline sat back slowly, eyebrows high. “Oooooo. Ok, Miss Protective Energy.”

Azzi glanced down, thoughtful. “I don’t think she meant it to come off so strong. She apologized after, kind of awkwardly. Said it came out weird.”

“But you noticed it,” Caroline said, nudging her lightly.

“I did,” Azzi admitted. “It just caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting her to care that much.”

“She probably doesn’t even know why she cares that much yet,” Caroline murmured, like she was mostly talking to herself.

Azzi didn’t respond. She wasn’t about to overanalyze someone she’d only just started getting to know. She wasn’t crushing on Paige, and Paige hadn’t exactly been flirting—at least not directly. It was all so new and tentative. Still in that weird space between strangers and something else.

But she could admit this much to herself, Paige Bueckers was sweet. A little awkward. And maybe, just maybe, there was something about the way she looked at Azzi that didn’t feel entirely academic.

Azzi tapped her pen against her notebook and finally wrote a heading at the top of the page as the lecture began. It didn’t mean anything. Not yet.

It was just tutoring.

—----------------------

The library was warm and quiet, sunlight slicing through the tall windows and falling across the long tables. Azzi sat curled in a small booth tucked near the back, one leg folded underneath her and a textbook open in front of her, though she hadn’t read the same paragraph three times already.

Caroline plopped down across from her, chin in her hand, no book or laptop in sight.

“You don’t have to wait with me,” Azzi said, glancing up.

“Yeah, well, I’m not about to let you sit here alone while Jace ‘Mr. I Bench More Than I Read’ McCallister slides in with his axe smell and stupid smirk,” Caroline replied. “I’m providing moral support.”

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Caroline perked up and leaned forward, eyes narrowing toward the open space on the other side of the library. “Hey. Look who’s here.”

Azzi followed her gaze and immediately spotted Paige—sitting at a big round table with KK, Ice, and Aubrey, all of them surrounded by a few classmates. Paige was laughing about something, one leg stretched out, gesturing wildly with her hands while she told a story. Her voice carried that familiar rasp lifting over the quiet library hum.

“Is she always like that?” Azzi asked, watching as Paige bumped shoulders with Ice and tossed her head back laughing.

“That,” Caroline said, pointing with her eyes, “is what I meant. That’s Paige in her default mode. Loud, confident, knows she’s hot shit and plays into it.”

Azzi frowned slightly, watching her. “She wasn’t like that with me.”

“Exactly,” Caroline said, voice low but knowing. “Two days ago, when you met her? She could barely make eye contact. Yesterday from what you told me? Nervous. Kinda flustered. Sat still and actually listened. That version?” She nodded toward the table “That's classic Paige.”

Azzi blinked, studying the difference. “It’s like… two different people.”

“Not two different people,” Caroline corrected. “Just two sides of her. One’s the mask. The other comes out around people who get under her skin.”

Azzi hummed quietly and looked down at her book. She didn’t know what it meant, or if it even meant anything. But it was noticeable. Paige was easy and loud over there, commanding the space. With Azzi, she’d been soft. Still funny, but careful. A little unsure.

“You think she does that around anyone else?” Azzi asked quietly.

“Nope,” Caroline said instantly. “Not like that.”

Before Azzi could respond, a sudden weight dropped next to her in the booth, and an all-too-familiar voice chimed in, entirely too close to her ear.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting, star student.”

Azzi nearly jumped, turning to see Jace sliding in like he owned the damn seat, pressing up against her like there weren’t several feet of empty space. His stupid, cocky smile was already in place. Worse, his arm flopped casually around the back of the booth, his hand barely brushing her shoulder.

“Geez, Jace,” Azzi muttered, inching slightly away, but there was nowhere to go.

Caroline, across the booth, didn’t even try to hide her disgust.

“Could you not?” she said flatly, eyes locking onto Jace like she was ready to start swinging. “Get your nasty ass arm off her.”

Jace blinked, grinning, clearly thinking it was a joke.

Caroline didn’t smile. “I’m not fucking around, either. You smell like a Hollister clearance bin and desperation.”

Azzi smothered a laugh behind her hand as Jace chuckled awkwardly and finally removed his arm.

“Alright, damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t know I needed permission to sit.”

“You don’t,” Caroline said, standing. “You just need manners. Something you clearly skipped in whatever athlete orientation you fumbled through.”

She grabbed her water bottle and gave Azzi a look. “Text me when you’re done. Don’t let him breathe on you too long. Might lower your IQ.”

“Thanks for the support,” Azzi said with a small smile as Caroline walked off.

Jace looked after her and scoffed. “What’s her problem?”

Azzi turned back to her notebook and flipped to a fresh page. “You, mostly.”

He laughed again like he wasn’t offended, leaning back as he stretched his legs under the table. “You ready to work?”

Azzi didn’t respond, instead just clicked her pen and looked at him with a tired expression.

“Let’s just start with this bit.”

—----------------------

The session had been going for maybe 20 minutes, but it felt like an hour.

Azzi kept her eyes on her notebook, trying to focus on equations and numbers, but it was hard when Jace kept leaning in like she was whispering secrets instead of solving problems.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered, squinting at the paper in front of him. “You sure this is right? I swear you’re making this up.”

Azzi didn’t look up. “It’s literally the textbook example.”

Jace huffed. “Yeah, but you didn’t even check a calculator. You just… knew it.” He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice like it was some compliment. “Kinda hot how smart you are.”

Azzi’s grip on her pen tightened. She forced a polite smile. “It’s basic algebra.”

“Mmm,” he said, still too close. “You make it look good.”

She shifted, sliding her notebook slightly to the left to put more space between them. “Let’s move on to the next one.”

Meanwhile, across the library, Paige had just caught sight of them.

She froze mid-sentence, eyes narrowing slightly as she watched Jace lean closer again, like Azzi had said something hilarious. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped talking until Ice nudged her leg under the table.

“You good?” Ice asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, what?” Paige blinked, tearing her eyes away.

KK turned around and followed her gaze instantly. “Ugh,” she muttered. “Is that Jace over there?”

Aubrey leaned across the table. “Yeah. With Azzi.” Her voice dipped slightly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Paige said quickly. Too quickly.

KK snorted. “He’s so gross.”

“Right?” Ice added. “Why does he talk like he’s in a bad teen romcom?”

“I’m pretty sure he actually told someone last week that he’s ‘a beast at math’ and then failed a pop quiz,” Aubrey said, rolling her eyes.

Paige tried to look unbothered, but her jaw was tight.

“Seriously though,” Aubrey said, softer now. “You look like you’re gonna launch a textbook across the room.”

Paige forced a laugh. “I’m not jealous, ok? She’s just tutoring him.”

“No one said anything about being jealous,” Aubrey replied with a sly smile. “But now that you brought it up…”

“I said I’m not,” Paige muttered, shifting in her seat.

KK leaned in, grinning. “It’s giving jealousy in denial. Just saying.”

“Guys,” Paige groaned.

“She’s tutoring him and he’s being a creep,” Ice said plainly. “I’d be annoyed too.”

“I’m not annoyed,” Paige insisted, but her eyes drifted back to the table again just in time to see Jace make some exaggerated arm stretch that “accidentally” brushed Azzi’s shoulder again.

Paige’s nostrils flared. “I hate him.”

“Ah,” KK said with a grin. “There it is.”

Meanwhile, back at Azzi’s table, the vibe had not improved.

Jace leaned back, arms spread across the booth like he was chilling in a hot tub. “So like, what do you even do for fun when you’re not crunching numbers?”

Azzi didn’t look up. “Read. Study. Watch movies.”

“You should come to one of my parties sometime,” he said, flashing a grin. “Bet you’d loosen up after a drink or two.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “I don’t drink.”

Jace chuckled like she was joking. “Cmon, you’re not that much of a nerd, are you?”

Azzi’s mouth opened slightly, ready to respond, but she was interrupted by a familiar voice approaching from behind.

“Thank god I came back.”

Caroline dropped into the booth beside Jace, her face a picture of calm disdain. “My class got canceled. But it looks like I’m just in time to keep you from spontaneously combusting from secondhand stupidity.”

Jace blinked at her. “You’re back? Damn, I was just getting into a rhythm.”

Caroline smiled sweetly. “Yeah, and that rhythm’s offbeat and annoying.”

Azzi coughed to hide her laugh.

Jace looked between them, confused but still trying. “Alright, alright, let’s get back to it. What’s this one?” He tapped a question Azzi had written down. “Why the hell are there letters in this?”

“It’s variables,” Azzi said. “You’ve done this before.”

“Yeah, but it’s like—when do you even use this in real life?”

Caroline didn’t miss a beat. “Hopefully never. Especially if you’re behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.”

He shot her a look. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know,” she smiled. “And not failing algebra.”

Azzi couldn’t help it, she snorted, finally meeting Caroline’s eyes for a second, grateful.

Jace leaned over again, and Caroline immediately pointed a pen at him like a weapon. “Back up. She’s trying to teach you, not catch your whatever axe spray fumes.”

“Geez,” Jace muttered, finally leaning away, sulking a bit.

Paige, still watching from the other side of the library, cracked a small grin as she saw Caroline push Jace’s textbook closer to him and reposition the notebook so Azzi didn’t have to keep shifting away. She didn’t even care if it looked obvious anymore. She was watching with her chin on her hand, eyes fixed on the little booth in the back like it was playing out in slow motion.

“She’s fine,” Aubrey said gently. “She’s got backup now.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, sitting up again. “I know.”

But her knee was still bouncing under the table.

And even though she kept telling herself it was just tutoring… that didn’t stop the annoying little heat crawling up her spine whenever Jace smiled at Azzi like she was some prize to win.

—----------------------

The bounce in Paige’s knee hadn’t stopped. She tried to stay chill, to tune back into whatever Ice was rambling about across the table, but her attention was magnetized to the back of the library like it had its own damn gravity. And Jace’s face? It made her want to commit minor crimes.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered suddenly, pushing back from her seat.

Aubrey looked up. “Where you going?”

“Bathroom,” Paige said, already moving.

The hallway to the restrooms wasn’t far, unfortunately for her blood pressure tt curved past the quiet study booths in the back, which meant she had to walk right by Azzi, Caroline, and Captain Walking Red Flag. She kept her gaze forward the whole way in, ignoring the flare of irritation in her chest when Jace laughed too loudly at something Azzi clearly hadn’t found funny.

Inside the bathroom, Paige splashed cold water on her face. You’re chill. You’re fine. You’re not mad. You’re not jealous. She stared at herself in the mirror and muttered, “You’re just normal. Totally normal.”

By the time she stepped out, she had composed herself or so she thought.

Caroline spotted her first. “Hey, Bueckers.”

Azzi’s head popped up, her face lighting up just a little. “Hi.”

Paige smiled—real, maybe a little shy, but real. “Hey,” she said back, eyes flicking to Azzi, then Caroline… and very pointedly skipping over Jace entirely.

That silence didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well hello to you too, Bueckers,” Jace drawled, leaning on the edge of the booth like he thought he was in a GQ shoot. “Don’t strain yourself or anything.”

Without missing a beat, Caroline deadpanned, “Shut the fuck up, Jace.”

Azzi tried, but failed to hide her smile behind her water bottle.

Paige smirked. “Didn’t even see you there,” she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Guess you really are forgettable.”

Jace’s grin faltered. Caroline snorted.

Paige turned slightly toward Azzi, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Uh, are we still good for our session tomorrow?”

Azzi nodded, already pulling out her planner. “Yeah, definitely.”

“What time works for you? I’m not too sure if we worked on one yesterday.” Paige asked, and if her voice cracked the tiniest bit, she hoped no one noticed. “I’ve got practice in the afternoon, so I’ll be wiped by like, 3.”

Azzi smiled thoughtfully, pen tapping her page. “Want to do it early in the evening? Cause I know you have a game the following day. So like, 7?”

“Yeah,” Paige nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Azzi hesitated a second, then added, “If you’re okay with it… we could do it at my dorm this time? Cause you know… It'll be too late for the library.”

“Sure,” Paige said, a little too fast. Then she caught herself and coughed lightly. “I mean, yeah. That sounds chill.”

Jace perked up again. “Damn, why didn’t I get the dorm invite? Could’ve made it a fun time.”

Caroline and Paige without even glancing at each other both said at the exact same time

“Because no one wants to catch secondhand brain rot.”

There was a pause.

And then they both cracked.

Paige wheezed. Caroline slapped the table and leaned back laughing. They reached over and dapped each other up like it was the easiest alley-oop in the world.

Azzi looked between them, eyes wide with amusement, and then glanced at Caroline who was now giving her that look. The one she gave earlier, the one that screamed: See what I meant? She’s different around you.

Azzi raised an eyebrow slightly, and Paige, still chuckling, looked back and forth between them.

“What?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Nothing,” Caroline said, drawing out the word with a grin.

Azzi just shrugged innocently. “Nothing,” she echoed, but her lips twitched.

Paige squinted. “You guys are pre’ weird.”

Before either of them could respond, Jace scoffed from the corner. “Yo, Bueckers, you done with your stand-up set or…?”

Paige didn’t even blink.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you were still here. You blend in so well with all the other mistakes.”

Caroline howled.

Even Azzi had to press her lips together to keep from laughing out loud.

Jace blinked, clearly flustered now. “Damn, you got jokes, huh?”

Paige gave him a deadpan look. “Nah, I’ve got patience. And it’s running out.”

Caroline slammed her hand on the table, cackling now. “She’s killing you, bro. Stop talking before she ends your bloodline.”

“Yall wild,” Jace muttered, clearly retreating now.

Paige just smirked. “See you tomorrow, Azzi,” she said, her voice softening a little as she glanced at her.

Azzi nodded, still half-smiling. “See you.”

“Bye, Caroline,” Paige added, already walking away.

Caroline shot finger guns in response. “Keep roasting creeps, Bueckers.”

And as Paige made her way back around the corner, the bounce in her step had returned but this time, it wasn’t frustration keeping her moving.

It was satisfaction. And maybe just a tiny bit of butterflies.

As soon as Paige rounded the corner and slid back into her seat, Aubrey’s eyebrows shot up. She had her arms crossed, chin resting on her fist like she was watching a live episode of Library Drama: Bueckers Edition.

“So…” Aubrey dragged the word out, voice way too casual. “What the hell was that?”

Paige blinked, all fake innocence. “What was what?”

“That little stand-up routine you just dropped back there,” Aubrey said, eyes narrowing. “The way you and Caroline just mind-melded into synchronized murder mode? You were cackling, bro. Like, full-body shaking. I thought someone was dying.”

KK looked up from her phone across the table. “Wait, what happened?”

“Yeah,” Ice chimed in, scooting her chair in closer. “You disappeared and came back grinning like the Grinch. Spill it.”

Paige tried to play it cool, slouching in her chair. “Nothing. Jace was just being Jace.”

“Ohhhh,” Ice said knowingly, dragging out the word like she already knew where this was headed. “Was he tryna talking to her?”

Paige didn’t respond fast enough. That was all the confirmation they needed.

Aubrey leaned forward, grinning. “So he was flirting again?”

“More like… delusional,” Paige muttered, picking at a tear in the knee of her jeans. “Said some dumb shit. Caroline shut him down first. I just followed her lead.”

“Followed her lead, my ass,” KK snorted. “Caroline’s probably still wheezing. What’d you say?”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smirk. “I told him he blends in with other mistakes.”

“OH MY GOD YOU LEGEND BUECKERS,” Ice shouted, slapping the table so hard the girl at the next table flinched so hard. “You did not!”

“I did,” Paige said proudly. “And before that? Caroline and I said the exact same insult at the exact same time.”

KK whistled. “You tag-teamed his ass.”

“Azzi looked like she was trying not to laugh,” Aubrey added with a sly glance. “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

Paige’s expression tightened, but she played it off. “I mean, it was funny.”

Aubrey smirked. “It was you.”

Meanwhile, back at the booth in the far corner of the library, Jace was still planted at the edge of the table like he hadn’t just gotten cooked in front of half the library. But his smile was more forced now, his swagger cracked around the edges.

Caroline glanced at Azzi, who had gone quiet, eyes locked on her notes but clearly not seeing a damn thing.

“Can we go over that thing from earlier again?” Jace asked, sliding his chair an inch closer. “The part about… um, the coefficients?”

Azzi blinked and looked up. “We covered that ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t paying attention,” he said with a grin that he probably thought was charming.

Caroline groaned audibly. “You’re not supposed to admit that.”

Azzi forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Okay… so you take the coefficient—”

Jace wasn’t listening. He was watching her mouth, leaning in just a little too close.

Caroline noticed immediately. “You good, Az?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She tried to refocus, pointing at a formula. “So here, this number is distributed—”

“Damn, you must tutor a lot of people,” Jace interrupted, his voice lower now. “Bet you’ve got a line.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“Like, I get it,” he said, smirking. “Smart, cute, helpful. That’s a whole fantasy package.”

Azzi sat back slightly, her expression turning colder. “We’re studying. I’m tutoring you”

“I know,” Jace said, hands up like he was innocent. “I’m just saying, you’re probably breaking hearts all over campus.”

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, dude?”

“What?” he said, like he hadn’t just turned a tutoring session into a bad pickup attempt. “I’m just being friendly.”

Azzi looked down at her notebook, then slowly closed it.

Jace blinked. “Wait, are we done?”

“Yeah,” Azzi said, her voice sharp but polite. “We’ve covered what we needed to, and you’re clearly not here to learn.”

Caroline crossed her arms with a smirk. “Took the words right outta my mouth.”

Jace sat back, scoffing like he was the one being wronged. “Damn. You girls are cold.”

“No,” Azzi said, standing and sliding her bag onto her shoulder. “We’re just not here for you.”

Jace opened his mouth to say something else, but Caroline stood up too, cutting him off just by sheer vibe.

“You should probably go,” she said. “Before you embarrass yourself any harder.”

Jace muttered something under his breath, but grabbed his bag and stalked off, ego limping behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Azzi exhaled like she’d been holding it in.

“Fucking finally,” Caroline muttered. “I was 2 seconds away from pouring my water on him.”

Azzi laughed—tired, but real. “He just wouldn’t let up.”

“I know,” Caroline said, glancing toward the front of the table where Paige was at with Aubrey, KK and Ice. “And someone was definitely not chill about it.”

Azzi followed her gaze and frowned a little. “Paige?”

“Mhmmmm,” Caroline hummed. “You didn’t notice?”

Azzi looked away, lips pursed, thinking. “She was funny.”

“She’s always funny,” Caroline said. “But not always like that.”

Azzi didn’t say anything to that. She just zipped up her bag and shook her head, her expression unreadable.

Caroline didn’t push. But as they walked out of the library together, she tucked a knowing smirk into her back pocket for later.

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

[azonewithu]

Thats everyone beat senseless. Oooo are you have a baby? Big desl like thats sn accomplishment or something. Its not snykne csn fo thst look at this shitty world. Yesh its a dhittybworkd now dveryobe knows that youre just lucky. Becauss its the ebd not beginning. Theres sn end and behmginning to everything. Good ouck snyway hopefully it doesnt turn out to be a spoiledxass bitch like most rich peoples kids. Theyvsint in charge for that thats ehat that gets.im the boss of earth Taylor i qualify because im not a spoiled lil rich kids bitch. No a lol dpoiled is ok they csnt help it. Dtes a dpoiled fucon ding bst but she tries. Shes not innocuous with it. No thsts not you eithervuou made your own way maybe thatsxwhy youre a lil more down to earth. No offense but yiu know as well as anyone rlse me and my girks romsnce is the mist epuc one going on earth. No kne in russia knows love so its not from there thats fir sure. Ive killed do kany of them i have no orobkem shooyti g yhise people dead. A lot im a russian killer yhats almost my designation. I had to straighten yiur president yo reality sbout that. But i hsve ine ir teo rusdian friends none of them oass for romantuc. Im sad for them more than snything theyre nsturslly just born like thst i think. Its not snythi g rlse thetes always dometging uppbwith dome russian. Yheres a fre exceptions but ehen do many if yiu are evil no one notices the good snymore. I dont. Nir dldo discriminate ill kill them all. They ei t be snywhere but russia if they keep it up. Im biss of nato not dome idipt otesifent of sny nation. Thst guys terrified to his core hes obsessed over us it majes hom look bad. We are slready lartnof tge states. These glorified provinces are states to ne. I go yo the states its all the same different accents and laws slightly. Advantages to both sides. Its stupid to change street signs snd flags plus technically thetes a few things we font want to catch from you. Bit essentially economically these ate states. They evrn look that way in a map. Thet guy is just obsessed with signs. Plus these are spoiled ding bats snd we re not into mass murder as much. But we do that too. I want a gun i hope the change trudeaus bullshit law back. Well a legsl gun i guess technically i hsve 25 of yhose or so too. Some ate jyst murder wespis ill thriw thrm away when im dine. Chesp crsp ones one dhit fron behind. Because im a champ i catch everyone unawares its why im boss sweetie. And my romance with her thats the most epic one going on earth right now no offense agsib. Take some if you want i am offensive im nature. Cause i dont like polite its phony so i dont like phony dhot either. Fuck polite satans polite im not and im better snd tougher om Azriel. I know you trued yo get your bsck up but i set uou down i fefeated your childish shit easy. With a few sentences youre a kid to me. But youre gryn s lil old to play princess thats for sure. Yiure not skways the sharpest knife in the drawer but youre no fool. Nobodies sharp compared to ke you know that. And her romance and mine is yhe mist epic of sll time. We ve never met making it ever rarer. I dont jnow i hope so. But i font hint people unless im gonna kill them. Inlove saying tgst sbd it moght be true Taylor. If we met we may never part long and then never agsin after that. Its a rare energy i create if ivtry i csn seduce any woman be you see i dont try. Because im not a slut. I like good chemistry snd its rare. I dont jnow aboit soul mstes msybe but thetes not yoo nsny people out there for snyone. So what im nsrried that means yiur romantic lifes done nope not je. Maybe wed just be buddies msybe dhes git a bf gf or both. Lots of people do these dats. Dhe sint fuckn married i know that. Snd even if shecwas thst wouldnt stop me ir her. Thetes an energy between us now like no other teo people slive. Yhat is romsntic thats like soilmate dhit in motion not a movie.me n her are the besr and you know it. Uoure not do bad rither byt her snd i sre the best. Of vourse youre not gonna say thst to your bf.

TAYLOR SWIFT The Eras Tour in Munich, Germany N1 (July 27th, 2024)

[dundeey]

What do you mean, "Prowl is not a cop"?

The essay we’ve all been waiting for. And by we I mean nobody. And by nobody I mean me. 

Introduction

To me, IDW Prowl is very clearly not a cop. To some, while in agreement that Prowl does not serve the role of a cop within the narrative, he is at least written to be cop-analogous. This, however, I still do not agree with. Those who think otherwise should pay more attention to the issues the character stars in.

Back when I had just finished reading IDW, I was pondering over this topic when I suddenly came across a wonderfully heated discussion between a passionate Prowl fan and some other users in a thread on the TFW2005 boards. This fan was fiercely defending Prowl from the cop-allegations given by both fans and third party Transformers figure companies. I read said user’s comments and was quite impressed (and perhaps even a little touched) by their arguments. When I had a similar discussion with some friends many months later, I tried to refind the thread, just to find ANOTHER thread, this time made for the sole purpose of discussing IDW Prowl’s alleged cop motifs. So, because other people have put this way better than I ever could, I'm mostly just going to share parts of their discussions with you. The threads are long, chaotic and full of irrelevant clutter, so I've carefully (but NOT cherry)picked out what's relevant so that you will (hopefully) see my side of things. So here we go.

By the end of this, it's important that we have established what exactly a cop is. We will also need to have established what Prowl's role is within the IDW canon. Then, because this is just as if not more important, we need to have analyzed the writer’s intentions. Finally, we need to see if the dots connect. Spoiler alert: they don't. Not even a little bit. In fact, I'm going to show you a couple of quotes by Prowl that are so ANTI-COP that it's almost comical. But first, let’s start off with something real stimulating: forum comments. Do skip to the TLDR if you don’t wish to read through four pages of them.

Thread: XM Studios Prowl statue

“Always feels funny to me when people not familiar with the character assume that Prowl is a cop just because he turns into a police car... when really, he was a military strategist in most continuities (and second in command to Prime in some). (...)” - user BB Shockwave

“I was just about to say the same thing! Prowl is not a cop! (lol) This sculpt looks really cool. I appreciate the aesthetics... but the riot shield and truncheon show that they didn't really get what the character is about (Ironhide instead fulfills that role in 1984, or Red Alert in '85). Prowl is a high-ranking planner, calculator, strategist, and in some continuities, a plotter. He's a quiet background guy.

This is sort of like producing a Starscream statue with a bellowing rage-face, or Soundwave in a break-dancing pose, or...uh... Cliffjumper with a clipboard? (...)” - user SMOG (in reply to user BB Shockwave)

“Prowl has been a cop in a very large amount of continuities. At this point him being a cop at one point or another is more commonly used.” - user octobotimus (in reply to user BB Shockwave and user SMOG)

“Really? In which continuities is G1 Prowl a cop?

RID Prowl was a police officer, and Armada Prowl started as a security officer, but they aren't the same character... like at all.

IDW 1.0 Prowl was a former police agent in flashbacks to the pre-war period in IDW (as were Chromedome, Orion Pax, Roller) though mostly in a detective capacity (mechaforensics, technically). IDW 2.0 Prowl seems to be a security officer, but that's also pre-war, so we can assume he grows into his standard military strategist role long before he gets to Earth.

In Dreamwave, not a cop. In Cyberverse, not a cop. WFC trilogy, not a cop. In Animated, he was a ninja. In Highmoon/Prime he was a high-ranking militia officer. In Marvel he was a strategist and first officer of the Ark. In Sunbow he was... just some guy?

That doesn't seem like a very large number of continuities. Am I missing any?” - user SMOG (in reply to user octobotimus)

“Prowl was at one point or another a cop in IDW, WFC/aligned, RID, and Energon by technicality (being on a swat team). And that’s not counting the continuities where he was part of a “security force” where he essentially was a cop but was named something else to sound more Cybertronian.” - user octobotimus (in reply to user SMOG)

“RID and Energon are different characters, unrelated to G1 prowl in every way except name and having "Police" stamped on their alt-modes. In WFC he was less a cop, than a high-ranking security director operating on the administrative level - a bit more akin to Intelligence than civilian policing and definitely not some beat cop with a shield and truncheon.

And as stated earlier, Prowl wasn't a standard officer in IDW -- he was a forensic specialist. The role and skillset don't quite fit the "cop" motif this statue is pushing. And IDW Prowl's depiction is so much more than "cop" -- whether it was in the writing runs of Furman, Barber, Roberts or Roche... Prowl's role was way more far-reaching and espionage-adjacent.

In fictions like IDW, where Prowl has been a top military strategist and intelligence director for millions of years during the most relevant periods of G1, why reduce him to the "law-enforcement" cliche when doing a depiction of G1 earth-mode Prowl? A more cagey or contemplative pose would have been less dynamic, but more representative of the character.

Should Optimus Prime and Chromedome now be cop-themed going forward because they were cops in IDW? And where does that leave characters who actually are explicit police-analogs like Ironhide, Red Alert, and Nightbeat (who don't have POLICE stamped on their alt-modes). Or perhaps Streetwise, who is implicitly a cop based on his bio, but not in terms of his official function.

As stated, all of these examples ultimately just stem from an ongoing, simplistic, and somewhat incorrect understanding of the character and his role. It's not a huge transgression... just a recurring pet peeve, that I think detracts from the appeal of this statue.” - user SMOG (in reply to user octobotimus)

“I don't find it reductive at all.

Rather, I think it helps to show the character is multifaceted.

For me, it wasn't "Prowl is just a cop" but rather "Prowl is also a cop".

So while I consider him more of an intellectual type, it was nice to see this figure showing Prowl in the middle of the action.” - user Smasher (in reply to user SMOG)

“Does it make him multifaceted though? I mean, one can draw on millennia of combat field experience without relying on a truncheon and giant shield with "POLICE" emblazoned on it. I think Snake-Eyes can be a commando and a ninja, just based on whether he's carrying a sword or not, but I'm not sure the police paraphernalia is as versatile in the case of Prowl (considering both his origins in G1, and his growth in subsequent G1 fictions).

I believe it's reductive from its point of conception, or at least based on reductive assumptions, but yes... of course it can be additive if we choose to supply our own context.“ - user SMOG (in reply to user Smasher)

“Idk man I think you’re overthinking things. As you can see by my profile my favorite character is Barricade, who is just a decepticon cop.” - user octobotimus (in reply to user SMOG)

“Barricade is a Bayformers invention... so who knows what he's really supposed to be or if anyone gave it any thought? Is he a cop? Does he actually do any cop stuff? Or does he just disguise himself as a cop car?

Logically, he's just another warrior. Or a tracker. Or even an intelligence officer (which is why he's paired with a spy like Frenzy)

Otherwise, as a cop, wouldn't that mean his job would be to act an enforcer on civilian populaces under Decepticon rule?

As you can tell, my favourite way to engage with Transformers as a longtime fan is precisely by overthinking things. :)“ - user SMOG (in reply to user octobotimus)

“(...) [Prowl] became a military tactician once the war started. I think most saw he was a cop in one continuity and it just made sense, so everyone ran with it. (...)” - user SunSwipe5

“(...) But even if he did time as a detective on Pre-War Cybertron, I don't exactly see the Autobot supreme military strategist on Earth doing random police grunt work in his spare time. :)

I think on some level, it's just slightly tiresome to see the most obvious motif repeatedly dumped on Prowl... ie: "you are your alt-mode". Especially when he rarely gets his due as it is. :)“ - user SMOG (in reply to user SunSwipe5)

Those were some pretty compelling arguments for not just IDW Prowl but Prowl’s disambiguation, and I wasn’t even gonna go there. Also, I love octobotimus’ last comment. Of course, if you think too hard, you lose. Classic rookie mistake. Moving on.

Thread: Is PROWL a bad cop analog? (IDW)

“I saw a Facebook post in a tf group about how Prowl in IDW is a bad cop analog based on the things he's done. That list included bombing a city, leaving the autobots, becoming a part of Devastator, putting Overlord on the Lost Light, and more.

I however see it as Prowl being out for himself, and not so much about him being a crooked cop. Bombing a city was to stir up AUTOBOT ranks, which is his faction. Becoming a part of Devastator was originally not of his own will, but gives him a strike force to carry out his actions. Putting Overload on the Lost Light... maybe he was bad for that.

In any case, I can see where the argument comes from, but I don't agree with it. Prowl was never really a police analogue to begin with. His official title is as a Strategist and Analyst, which lends itself to that kind of work. True, he has the paint scheme and held the office, but that doesn't mean he fits that motif after leaving cybertron.

I dunno. Discuss if you want I suppose.” - user Tankhunter48

Author’s note: So, while I like to post comments from both sides of a discussion to keep things neutral, I’m just gonna come out and say that the first half of this thread is filled with unhinged comments that are not just based on bad opinions, but straight up say shit that is not true. I could go through each of them and give my counter-arguments like an insane person, but if I show you a bunch of bad arguments just to refute them, you’ll basically gain net zero information, and that’s a waste of both of our time. So I’m going to jump straight to the comments that are actually saying something worthwhile. But by all means, go through the thread yourself if you want to have the same agonizing experience I did.

“I have never once heard of a cop doing any of those things. Bombing a city? Never mind becoming part of a combiner. Someone on Facebook doesn't know what analog means.” - user SouthtownKid

“Fans like to make comparrisons between things they don't understand and claim it was an analogy/metaphor/symbolism a lot.

If Prowl was supposed to be a "bad cop" he'd be a stereotypical brutish, power-absusing crook on the take so-to-speak. Someone who hides behind his authority and only does the bad things he does because of the safety and freedom it grants him.

IDW Prowl is cold and calculating. Apathetically doing awful things or turning a blind eye in a misguided sense of justice and logic. He cannot see the trees for the forest as it were, focused so much on statistics and strategy he'll see widespread death and suffering as acceptable losses if it means moving closer to ending the war or achieving a goal he deems "worth it."“ - user SPLIT LIP

“(...) Exactly, he's not the "bad cop", he's the realist.” - user TGS1985 (in reply to user SPLIT LIP)

“Prowl is a good example of how the D&D alignment system is far too simplistic and restrictive to be very interesting (in my gaming days, I preferred systems without this sort of artificial character trait system). He isn't evil, or even neutral because everything he does is to promote the social good as he sees it. He does little, if anything, for his own selfish benefit. He isn't exactly good, because he's very willing to allow suffering if he sees it as ultimately advancing the public good. He certainly isn't chaotic, because he believes in and promotes a strong government presence. He isn't lawful, because he believes he, as a de facto representative of that government, has a right and obligation to step outside the bounds of the law to promote the public good as he interprets it. I suppose you could argue that makes him neutral on the L/C spectrum, but I think that's a stretch. Like many relatively well-written characters, he doesn't fit on that sort of simplistic grid.

I'd argue he isn't a bad cop, because he isn't a cop. The stereotypical cop, good or bad, is someone on the beat or in the field. Prowl is a guy behind a desk.

If you want to categorize Prowl by archetype, I think Smog has been very on point in describing him as a Magnificent Bastard. He's a Manipulator. He's an Extremist, in that he's willing to go to just about any length in pursuit of his (public, not selfish) agenda.“ - user theosteve

The perfect comment to conclude this discussion with. You can’t argue against it, can you? Indeed, Prowl neither thinks like a cop nor acts like one. The closest Prowl gets to being a cop is when he disguises himself as a cop car while stationed on earth, but, as user SMOG stated, that argument gets dangerously close to the “you are your alt-mode”-mindset.

TLDR

Cop or no cop…? Well, let’s see here. At some point Prowl was in forensics. Eventually, he turned into a military strategist. From what we see, Prowl was never some jock in the field. He’s always behind a desk, thinking of the next best move that will bring his faction closer to winning. On top of that, Prowl is not in it for himself or for those he deems superior to others - he has a vision of what a just world looks like, and fights for it. That is all that Prowl does, it’s all that he is. The thing is - he doesn’t look great doing it. And I think that, more than anything, is what makes people reduce Prowl to a bad cop - it’s the fact that he does bad things. Prowl putting Overlord on the Lost Light has nothing to do with the conversation, but it’s still an argument that’s being used, because people don’t like it. What’s funny about this is that, while exclusively in fiction good cops do exist, Prowl is not even that. This isn’t about Prowl being good or bad, it’s about whether he’s a cop or not, allegorically or otherwise. And to prove that he isn’t, I’m gonna share some very important images that are paramount to understanding Prowl as a character:

The Transformers: Death of Optimus Prime, James Roberts & John Barber

The Transformers (2014) #37, John Barber

Oh… Oh. Here we have Prowl single handedly putting an end to this discussion by revealing his past, and Spike representing the average IDW reader. How’s that for a lore dump? It’s as if Barber solely wrote this to check if anyone was still reading this shit. Nobody talks about this, despite it giving more insight into Prowl’s backstory than the first two phases of IDW, and it baffles me. Why do these discussions even exist when issue 37 of EXRID is right there? In fact, why didn’t I just show this at the very start instead of spending five hours on something that no sane person is going to read? Ugh.

Conclusion

So, Prowl is not a cop, period. Why? ‘Cus he said so. See, it’s right there. “I was a cop”. Past tense. Gottem. However…, let’s ignore semantics for argument’s sake, and focus on the big picture: Prowl saw the system for what it was (“the real criminal”, oof) and proceeded to destroy it from the inside out. It made him lose everything and everyone in the process. Despite that, he calls himself proud. Prowl even sided with the Decepticon cause for a while (calling it “our revolution” no less…!) before Megatron turned into a villain… leading Prowl to feel betrayed once again. At this point, he wants out, and he tries, but his failed attempt determines him to keep fighting for another four million years. 

The conclusion is this: if you argue that Prowl is a cop, I’m just going to assume you didn’t read the comic.

[ablobwhowrites]

yandere tf2 y/n idea?

(MEGA YAP SESSION HERE)

I was thinking about tf2 recently and thought about a y/n idea for yandere stories. Hopefully you guys like it

For this one it's kinda the new mercenary of the team. They use the suit of tfc medic as miss Pauling was in a rush and gave that to y/n before having to go somewhere so y/n uses the suit but with some small modifications to it but it's mostly the same as it's hard to modify something that was specifically made for this job. As now no one has ever saw their real face as they always have the mask on even when having the helmet off, the mask stays on and many are curious about what they look like but no one will really know (except for Pauling but she doesn't tell anyone). But I was looking at the old abilities of the medic and I saw that one is basically if a enemy medic were to use their heal ability on the enemy, it would actually poison them or something but the affect will go away if the enemy's own medic were to heal them and I like to think that's one of this y/n's abilities if they are able to hit the enemy with this kinda short get away to hurt the enemy team. Their class is kinda a mix of medic and scout as they are kinda half as fast as scout but mostly to get away if things get to heavy but their primary weapon is a shotgun and pistol with their Melee (you can chose what they have) but when it's a free day, y/n mostly stays around pyro (pyro stays around them as pyro really likes y/n)

The other mercenaries like y/n as they are kinda quiet and aren't like a second scout. Y/n is mainly apart of the blue team so y/n's medic isn't really that insane (that's what y/n mostly sees but yeah) and they are a kind of nurse for medic and so everyone calls them, Nurse or something that even though their actual class is just called backup (I'm very bad at names so please bare with me) Soldier likes y/n and they don't know what specifically soldier likes about them but just goes with it. Y/n sometimes treats soldier like a literal drill Sargent and is scared of getting screamed at. Sniper like y/n because they don't really bother him but when they do is when they are in a middle of a battle and y/n is feeling tired and takes a rest for a bit with sniper before scout begins to scream for y/n and they go back out. Scout likes y/n cause medic has them do the kind of checkups on the team and always gives him a lollipop cause the new guy who praised him for helping and giving him candy, he likes them already plus he talks with y/n a lot but so do the other mercenaries as y/n kinda being the only non lunatic in this place and having a actual medical license so y/n is actually a good listener and actually knows how to deal with some medical stuff. Also they give all their mercenaries lollipops after each check up even medic gets one.

But of course the red teams also likes y/n as their nurse is kinda more cold and doesn't like people but just does their job and goes like the complete opposite of the blues nurse (y/n was actually meant to go to the Red team but since Pauling was so busy at the time she only had the boxes of stuff that y/n and the red nurse needed at the time. But if she found out, she would have them swap. Miss Pauling needs a rest day at least.) That once y/n was in middle of a battle and was basically knocked out and was just a head as they didn't really believe blue spy about how the red medic kept his head at the base one time but now y/n was in that position but instead of having to be kept in the mini fridge red medic has, it was more of y/n being treated like they are apart of the team but mainly was stuck in the base and was absolutely horrified when y/n asked where their body was and red medic showed them that he has it in a fucking meat locker but medic makes sure that y/n's body is still functioning as of course he'll sew them back up soon but only when miss Pauling switches them to the Red team. Blue team does devise a plan to get y/n back and succeed but y/n has some scars around their neck but is alright with it.

(I love this guy. Plus I like the fit and wanted to do an y/n based off the tfc medic but yeah. But hopefully you guys like this yap session and if you want more of this please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's you have. But for now please stay safe and drink!)