#i just want to feel important to someone you know?

[drchucktingle]

how are you human?

so many interesting comments and thoughts on my post saying buds should consider not coming up to strangers in marginalized groups and saying 'how are you a real person that actually exists?'. i will point out this: despite my VERY gentle tone a few buds said i was having a 'meltdown' for even mentioning it

others said i was being too serious for someone who is ‘not a real person’. so if you would any more evidence of what it is like to be a buckaroo like myself there it is. every day, autistic folks who may seem ‘weird’ are bombarded with messages and comments and implications that they are fundamentally not human beings

sometimes it is outright and blatant like the comments on last post saying ‘well why are you getting mad? you are not even real’ and sometimes it is in the very subtle ways that folks use language when they talk to us. there is huge difference between ‘how do you exist?’ and ‘i am glad you exist.’

anyway, something that i think many people who have not lived this experience dont seem to understand is i KNOW the poster who said ‘how are you a real person that actually exists’ probably meant it as a compliment. that is THE POINT of why i am taking a moment out of my trot to gently and anonymously let them know how it might feel to be on other end of something like this as a queer or autistic or otherwise marginalized buckaroo. it is obviously not their intent to actually hurt someone, so i am letting them know

maybe because queerness and autism are not physically apparent it is hard to explain, but imagine going up to very tall or very short person and saying ‘cant BELIEVE you are real’ as a compliment. not a great way to treat others. on my original post, an indigenous author chimed in with their own experience and feelings similar to my own. a woman who said she was very tall told her story. point is, while i do not have their experience, what i am saying has a universal thread for 'othered' folks

point is: i UNDERSTAND there is this sort of exaggerated or ironic (or maybe even sometimes very literal) language around fandom to say things like ‘how are you a human?’ to creators, but since it is not your intent to hurt, i think you might want to know how that feels to marginalized buckaroos sometimes.

obviously you can say anything you want. i do not hold it against you. also, if you think ‘oh no, did i say something like this to chuck at a convention? i am so embarrassed' then DO NOT WORRY i promise you buckaroo you are just fine. i present myself in a way that is unusual by definition, so i have pretty thick skin about this type of thing and a lot of patience. MANY buds start off thinking i am ‘a joke’ and then become fans over time and i am glad to trot beside them and prove love is real.

however there are other autistic or queer or marginalized buckaroos with smaller platforms who hear this just as much as me, so i think it is important to say it loudly and maybe together we can work on making a very slight shift in the way we speak to the ‘others’ in our lives

we do not NEED to let subtle dehumanization slip into our language. in some cases it has been called ‘micro aggressions’ but i think buds dont often consider what that means for COMPLIMENTS. ultimately, telling marginalized people YOU ARE SO AMAZING YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY EXIST may seem very fun and silly on the surface and for some folks it probably feels that way, but for others it can feel like a reminder of the broader doubt about their humanity. you can just say ‘YOU ARE AMAZING’ without the reminder of the many times autistic or queer or marginalized folks are told in a very serious and pointed way (like comments on the last post) ‘YOU ARE SO WEIRD THAT I HAVE DECIDED YOU ARE NOT REAL’

buckaroos can take this information and apply it to their interactions, or they can ignore it, that is totally fine. we are all trotting our own trots and proving love in our own way and thats okay bud, HOWEVER i feel like it is important to at least let folks know, even if that means getting told i am having a ‘meltdown’. i think it is important to have complex or difficult conversations if it will prove a little more love in the long run. THANK YOU FOR READING BUCKAROOS. i am honored to trot forward with you can tackle this kind of thing with you, and honored you buckaroos have created such an amazing space with me to pull apart these kind of feelings. THIS IS PROOF THAT LOVE IS REAL LETS TROT

[craftea-fork]

Let's see, queer represents what ? Queer, the strange and eccentric, unorthodox in society's ways, distinctly different. Whether that means gender, sexuality, or [anything anti-nuclear family lifestyle of a monogamous single couple taking care of personal biological children while] living alone, I think that the entire identity of rejecting that norm is queerness. So

lgbtqia+ is being used so Ace is represented already, but let's expand the questioning. When we ask to include something new, just ask the following: Are the lifestyle traits misunderstood and/or mocked? Are the needs unmet and often underrepresented? Is their existence is not just ignored or forgotten but dismissed, repressed to the point of oppression? Are they ostracized when outed, and forced to find small peer groups.

Are aspec identities queer?

Yea, I'm pretty sure that checks out As someone who is poly (a romantic minority) I am a strong advocate for these conversations as we transition to the GSRM which is a better term than LGBT which is exclusive and outdated. GSRM means Gender Sexual or Romantic minority. So this will be upsetting to people that want a purely sex laden gay environment in what they knew as LGB spaces before T even was recognized. It's time they recognize the whole landscape of the term and usage has changed. We have gay bars, pride parades, plenty of spaces for the sex positive and horny. We also have gay little bookstores with cafes and lounges for those who seek quiet. It's important that these spaces have vibes and themes for those that seek it. We don't have to exclude anyone, just make more spaces!

If you want to ask yourself if a trait belongs in the LGBTQ+ ask if it is related enough to the identity that it overlaps with what you're making the space for in the first place. I mean, what is it that the emergence of queer sprung from? The more inclusive we make it, the bigger of a percentage of the population can feel like they have voices rooting for them.

In this trying time, I wouldn't say no to a sudden 30% of the population throwing a queer revolution for civil rights (gay/poly marriage and adoption), total gender autonomy, and the like. More sex education for kids and gender education for parents. I honestly wish parents had to pass tests before becoming parents and I wouldn't say no to grading them along the way frfr, if you're poisoning the kids' minds with barbaric nonsense, we'll know because you refuse to do something like a simple critical reading comprehension test (if required you'll probably fill in random bubbles) woah that's a tangent TLDR more queer people = more strength to the movement = the more the merrier and I don't get why people are gatekeeping "women only" spaces or events are starting to irk me. and i'm afab without trying to transition, I just am a man inside and like dressing like a girl. It weirds me out so much I wouldn't want to go to those events.

interact with this post if you believe aspec identities are queer

trying to prove a point (not forced!!)

[adieutristana]

not sure why it won’t let me respond to this one, but i’d be happy to write it! thank you for the request <3

also yall know i sometimes share the songs i have on repeat. right now it’s ’wings of a butterfly’ by HIM. ugh, so addictive

summary; jinx’s girlfriend comforting jinx, who thinks she doesn’t deserve her.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of poor mental health, a lot of crying and a panicked state, slight suicidal ideation, fluff

men dni.

jinx's mental state has always been... fragile, at best.

jinx never liked speaking of her past, preferring not to dwell on it. it was too painful for her, bringing tears to her eyes, her body quivering, sometimes even triggering hallucinations. as you spent more time by the girl's side, she began to slowly open up, dropping little details about her past every now and again.

she'll drop in anecdotes about her parents, or her childhood with vi, mylo, and claggor. she told you briefly about the job she went on that triggered the seemingly never-ending chain of unfortunate events that was her life, but she was always vague about it. shying away from the details, wincing when she even mentioned the incident on the bridge. most of what you had gathered about that time in her life was through word of mouth of others in zaun, bystanders who remembered it.

but you never push, never pry for more than she'll give you. it's not important to know every little detail, really, what matters is jinx here and now and how she's doing currently. how what happens has affected her and what you can do to support her.

in many ways, you've become the girl's crutch. her sanctuary of sorts, her safe place to come back to when the world gets too harsh or the voices become too loud. jinx navigates her life in fear, as much as she tries to put up a tough front- but you've never given her anything to be afraid of. that's one of the things that sets you aside from the other people in her life.

but tonight, it's all just so overwhelming. jinx can't shake the voices, can't shake the thoughts swirling around her mind. she's shaking, tears spilling from her eyes and lip quivering, her hands tugging at her braids and eyes squeezed shut. she tries to rock herself back and forth, trying to give herself some kind of comfort, but it isn't doing anything. she can't ground herself, can't shake the thoughts of worthlessness and the need to just disappear flying at her.

she knows that you're sleeping right next to her, and that makes jinx feel even worse. god, she's a mess. why can't she just let you sleep? be quiet and normal for once? you deserve better than this, surely, to be sleeping and have a girl losing herself next to you. she tries to stifle her sobs. the girl can't decide whether she wants your comfort or to just be left alone, leaving you to sleep and be okay without her. but it's all so much, jinx can barely form any coherent thoughts.

she hears you stirring next to her, blankets rustling, and jinx knows that she fucked up. her eyes blow wide, trying to rush over and coax you back to sleep, but you're groaning and blinking your eyes open.

"what... what's going on, love?"

you whisper, voice heavy with sleep.

"n-nothing, toots, just..." she sniffles, taking in a shaky breath. "go back to sleep... i'll be fine, i'll..."

she can't even finish her sentence before she's in hysterics again, you rushing to sit up beside her and scoot closer. sitting right next to your girlfriend's trembling form and taking both of her shoulders, trying to ground her somehow.

"jinx, baby, what's wrong?" you breathe out. "please, talk to me... i can't help you if you don't talk to me."

she's heaving, desperately trying to look at you, but her eyes are clouded with unshed tears.

"i don't deserve you. you should be with someone better than me."

she states, plainly. her voice is quiet and frail, holding eye contact with you... it's unsettling, frankly. you cautiously tighten your grip on her shoulders.

"what makes you say that? of course you deserve me."

she shakes her head slowly, sniffling.

"no. i'm a monster, a murderer," jinx mutters. "i've done bad things, babe. a lot of bad things."

you tilt your head, your voice dropping slightly. trying to use a softer, more soothing tone, trying to just get through to jinx.

"you think i don't know that?"

"you do. but i don't know if you understand it."

you're slightly taken aback by this, slowly swallowing and examining jinx's expression. she's so withdrawn, so cold. it's like she's not even there. you've seen your girlfriend in episodes before, shaking her head and screaming for the voices, the visions to stop. having to rock her back and forth in your arms as she settled down, gently shushing her. reminding her that everything is alright, she's safe, you're not going to let anything hurt her.

"honestly... maybe everyone would be better off without me."

this snaps you out of your thoughts, immediately grasping jinx even harder.

"don't you dare talk like that, jinx."

you say, voice stern. although, it makes jinx wince slightly, and that brings a feeling of harsh guilt, enveloping your very being in that moment. you can't bear to see her in any more pain than she's already in, especially to contribute to that pain.

"i just... i don't understand it. you're always so nice to me, and you don't bring up any of what i've done. even when i come back here covered in blood."

you gaze at her as she goes on, simply letting her talk. get it out, jinx. it's okay.

"why don't you care? anyone else would." she asks, a single tear falling.

"i'm not anyone else."

you whisper, hands coming to gently cup both of her cheeks. cradling her face in your hands, as if you were handling a piece of precious porcelain. that's not too far off, though. for you, jinx is the most precious thing in the entire world- far more precious than any money or items. she's your treasure.

"i know what you've done, jinx. i've seen it. and honestly, i don't give a shit."

jinx lets out a quiet gasp, feeling one of your thumbs coming to wipe her tears away, feeling sticky cheeks from all of the crying. poor girl.

"but-"

"none of that. i don't care. i know that there's good in you, because i've seen it. i see it every single day that i'm with you. you are anything but a monster."

your eyes are gazing into jinx's own, making sure that she gets every last word you're saying.

"you are a caring, talented, loyal girl, one who i've seen be gentle and kind when she wants to be. you've cared for me, loved me, protected me, all without asking for anything in return. that's rare, jinx."

she nods slowly, rosy eyes still locked with yours. she isn't saying anything, but you can tell that jinx is comprehending what you're telling her, taking it in.

"but you could have anyone." she protests. "i don't understand why you chose the crazy criminal."

"jinx, stop talking about yourself like that."

you say, pressing your forehead to hers.

"i chose you because you make me happy, and i love you, and again, i see the good in you. i don't want anyone else. i know that you get in your head like this, but i don't think any less of you for it. if anything, i admire your resilience."

you pause for a moment, before jinx finally lets up, slowly nodding along.

"...you promise?"

"i promise."

"you won't leave me?"

"i wouldn't dream of it."

jinx lets out a shaky breath, nodding again. slowly wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her chin on your shoulder, letting her eyes slip shut.

"let's get you in bed, okay?"

[janeyseymour]

Love Languages

Summary: You're the music teacher at Abbott Elementary, and you find that Melissa Schemmenti's love language may be not-so-gentle bullying- in Italian.

WC: ~2.8k

After accepting a music teaching position in one of the rougher areas in the greater Philadelphia area, it’s safe to say that you aren’t quite sure what’s going to be coming your way. Still, you persevere and head into Willard R. Abbott Elementary School’s professional development week with a smile and your bright and sunny disposition. The only way that you think you can make it as a teacher in a less affluent area with harder backgrounds than what you’re used to is to remain as positive as possible.

You quickly learn that there are about two teachers in the school who attempt to stay as positive as you when you walk into the library for your first meeting of the school year: Janine Teagues and Jacob Hill. The rest of the teachers are older and a bit more seasoned- jaded and attuned to the situation that you’re all in. It’s an underfunded school with students who don’t necessarily come from money with a principal who can poorly manage the building at times. 

Still, as the meeting drags on (you feel like you don’t actually know what you’re walking into; most of the presentation has been pictures of Ava during her vacation this summer), you attempt to stay focused. Eventually, the topic shifts into more educational topics, and you take down a few notes despite the fact that benchmarks and other state mandated tests are not a part of your curriculum. And at some point towards the end, the principal introduces you to the rest of the staff.

“She our new music teacher,” Ava tells your new coworkers. “Don’t go scarin’ her off the way you scared off White, you hear?” She actively points at one teacher in particular with her perfectly manicured nails. “Schemmenti, I’m talkin’ to you.”

Your eyes follow the direction of Ava’s hand, and sitting there is a beautiful redhead who looks like she hasn’t been paying attention to these staff meetings for the last seven years. Striking green eyes are rolled, and Schemmenti scoffs.

At lunch, you’re just trying to heat up your meal when you’re practically bombarded by the two younger teachers who still seem to have a childlike wonder to them.

“You should sit with us so we can get to know you!” Janine smiles. She had already introduced herself and Jacob to you earlier in the day, and it’s quite clear she’s taken with your bright, yet somewhat shy, personality.

“And why would she do that, pipsqueak?” you hear a low voice growl. “I thought we had our group pretty filled out- and that was before Greg even wormed his way in.”

Your eyes search for who that voice belongs to, and it’s none other than the redhead from earlier. Damn- it’s sexy the way she speaks.

“Because, Melissa,” Janine gestures wildly. “It’s important that she feels comfortable at this school! I want her to feel just as welcome as I did my first few days here.”

“I didn’t do nothin’ to try to make you feel welcome,” Melissa states. “And I ain’t goin’ out of my way to be nice to someone who’s just going to leave us in a few days anyway.” Then she turns to look at you. “Ain’t that right, newbie?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and find out,” you quip as the microwave signals that your food is finished. You smile at the group warmly before sighing. “While I do appreciate the invite, I have a few things I still need to set up in my room and get together. Have a nice day though!”

You exit, but not before you hear Melissa grumbling, “She’s just another leccaculo. Ass kisser.”

You aren’t, but you suppose that she doesn’t know you yet, so you let it slide and silently head off to your classroom to pour over lesson plans while you eat your meal.

That’s only the first time she calls you that. As time goes on, she gets more confident and starts insulting you in Italian to your face. The first time she has the courage to call you a leccaculo directly, you have to bite back a laugh. She has no idea you know what she’s saying- you had taken Italian all throughout high school and studied abroad in college.

“I’m not an ass kisser,” you chuckle, and your laughter only grows when emerald eyes widen with realization that you understand her. “But thanks anyway.”

She calls you a myriad of other insults in Italian as the days pass by, whether it be in the staff room or while she’s dropping off or picking her kids up from music. Occasionally, it’s when you have the unfortunate lunch duty, and she does too. And each time she does it, you just roll your eyes playfully and laugh before letting her know you know the translation, refuting her claim, and thanking her.

It almost becomes like a bit of yours- and inside joke to a certain degree. Sure, she calls the others Italian insults from time to time, but yours seem to be almost daily, if not every day. And you’re the only one who actually knows what she’s saying, which makes it all the more hilarious.

It’s not like you really mind either. It’s quite entertaining to you to see that even when she starts to switch to Sicilian slang, you know what she’s saying. It’s keeping the language alive in your mind.

“Don’t you care that she says all that stuff to you?” Janine asks you one day after Melissa has left the staff lounge.

You shrug. “It doesn’t phase me.”

“But you know what she’s saying to you,” the second grade teacher reminds you. “And it’s never nice.”

“I do,” you chuckle. “Listen, I know she’s mean, and she’s rude, but her voice is so lovely. I’d listen to her call me names all day. And I do. Even at home.”

“At home?” Janine gives you a look that tells you she’s clearly confused, but you just shrug her off with a smile. 

“I live like… seven doors down from her. When I go on my walks after school, she’s pulling into her driveway just in time to throw an insult my way. And why should I dwell on it when I know at this point, she doesn’t mean what she’s saying? She just likes speaking her language and having someone who understands what she’s saying.”

And with that, you exit the staff room to head to the bathroom before your whirlwind of an afternoon starts. 

To a degree, you’re right. The fiery Italian second grade teacher loves that she can speak in the language she used to talk in growing up. Someone finally understands what she’s saying. It’s nostalgic. But at this point, Melissa just likes hearing your voice. She likes to see that dumb smirk that you give her as you reveal that you know exactly what she was calling you, before it melts away into that bright smile of yours. Melissa Schemmenti realizes that she just might have some feelings for you.

Once she has that revelation though, she doesn’t change what she does. If anything, she lays them on a little thicker, challenging you to fight her back or tell her she’s gone too far with a few of her insults. But of course, you’re a champion and you can only laugh at some of the insanely creative insults she comes up with in a foreign language.

“You have quite the imagination when it comes to what you choose to say,” you chuckle as she hurls one at you while picking her students up. “I am indeed not… that, but thank you.”

She’s about to say something else while her students wait for her at the corner of the hall, but then Barbara is coming down with her students, and you’re forced to turn your brain back on to work with kindergarteners.

“Well, Miss Schemmenti,” you smirk. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with next.”

“Neither can I, Cagacazzo.” The redhead chuckles.

“Not that either,” you playfully roll your eyes before turning to the kindergarten teacher. “Why, hello Mrs. Howard!”

“Hello dear,” Barbara greets you warmly, a hand stretching out to gently squeeze your arm. “How are you today?”

“I’m wonderful,” you smile. “But I think my day is about to get better, now that I have your kiddos.”

“I do hope they behave for you,” Barb tells you, although she gives a few of her more rowdy students a pointed look.

“They always do,” you assure her sweetly. Only then do you realize that Melissa is still standing there. “Miss Schemmenti? You there?” you tease.

The redhead begins to flounder for words, but Barbara steps in to save her. “Melissa and I were going to chat on our ways back to the classrooms, dear. Don’t mind her.”

In all truth, the second grade teacher just loves how your voice sounds. It’s amazing the way that you can switch from a lower register in your vocals while teasing her and bantering with her before raising your pitch and sounding like an angel to speak with Barbara and her students.

The two head off once you explain to the small class what they’re to do upon entering your classroom and ushering them in. 

The pair is a few paces away when Barbara leans in and quietly whispers, “Girl, you have it bad for Y/N.”

“I do not,” Melissa grumbles her denial as she gestures for her students to continue on down the hallway.

“Don’t act like you don’t,” the kindergarten teacher hums. “I see the way you look at her, mmm, yes.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Not as crazy as you are if you don’t notice that you want to court the music teacher,” Barbara chuckles lowly as she turns into her own classroom.

“Barb!” Melissa rolls her eyes. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, this ain’t Bridgerton!”

“It may not be,” the kindergarten teacher quips. “But I know what my eyes see!”

“Sei pazza,” Melissa calls back as she too enters her room. “Crazy!”

Barbara Howard is a lot of things, but crazy isn’t one of them. And both veteran teachers at the school know it. 

A few weeks pass, and the routine that you find yourself in with the redhead continues on as usual. The routines that you find yourself in with the others soldiers on. Melissa is snarky and hard to read, often times brushing you off. You still allow her to insult you with a smile and a laugh, refuting every name that she calls you. You settle into easy conversation with the others at lunch, always excited to hear what they’re doing in their classrooms that week, or to just converse about whatever could be going on in their minds at that moment.

You find that you quite enjoy having this odd little group as your work family. You’re not quite sure how you managed to weasel yourself into their very tight knit group, but you aren’t complaining. It makes working at Abbott a lot easier than when you were working in a school where homeroom teachers essentially told you that you weren’t a real teacher. How they could treat you like that baffled you then, and it baffles you to this day. You’re just thankful you got out of there and are now being appreciated at your new place of employment.

“Have a nice weekend,” you tell your colleagues as you go to leave the staff room. You smile brightly and wave at them before smirking. “And no, Melissa, I am not whatever you were going to call me this time.”

“Damn, taking my fun away,” the redhead grumbles. “I’ll just save it for when you’re on your walk later.”

You actually don’t see the redhead pulling in while you’re on your daily after school walk to decompress. Her car isn’t in the driveway either, so you know she isn’t home. It’s odd, sure, but once you’ve passed, you don’t think much else of it.

The weekend is here, and you thank goodness for that. The kids have been amped up what with the holiday season about to kick off with Halloween before leading into November and December. 

Once you return from your walk, you’re showered and changed into sweatpants, takeout is ordered and eaten; you’ve allowed yourself to indulge after the hectic week. You have no plans other than to curl up with a glass of wine and a good book. If you drink enough, you may just end up at the keyboard that you have set up, or perhaps you’ll bring out the guitar that sits in the corner of your living room. But you know one thing for sure: you are not leaving the comfort of your own home.

You’re about two-thirds of the way through your small bottle of wine and getting a bit restless laying on the couch with your book. You sigh softly as you put your bookmark in place and stand to head for the keyboard when your phone lights up.

Melissa Schemmenti is calling you? It’s… you glance at the clock on your wall. It’s nearing eleven. Why is she calling you?

“Melissa?” you answer, clearly confused.

“I- I don’t know why I called. Sorry. Have a good night,” the redhead’s voice crackles through the phone. And even though you aren’t with her, and you really have no idea why she’s calling this late at night, you can sense that there’s something off with her. She doesn’t have the same bit that she usually does- she almost sounds… scared?

But before you can react, the call disconnects. You shoot her a text asking if everything is alright, and when five minutes go by without a reply, you run a tired hand over your face before pulling your shoes on.

You’ve never really noticed how eery the area that you reside in is at night. You’re rarely out this late, and when you are, you aren’t walking the streets. Still, you head in the direction of the redhead’s house. It doesn’t take you long. Once you’re at her front door, you take a fortifying breath before knocking gently.

You shouldn’t be shocked when she opens the door wielding a weapon: her precious baseball bat.

“Seriously?” you ask. “I knocked so gently, how could you think someone was trying to hurt you?”

“I never know,” Melissa answers. “I bet you’re an idiota who answers the door without a bat, aren’t you?”

You chuckle softly. “I am not an idiot, but I can say with confidence that I don’t have a baseball bat with me when I open the door.”

“Well, you should,” the redhead counters. “Why are you here?”

“Melissa, you called me at eleven at night sounding terrified and then didn’t answer my text. I do care about you. you know. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” you tell her as she sets down her baseball bat.

Your coworker hums gently. “I thought you were barely tolerating me this whole time. I mean, I’ve seen how you are with the others- and I’m not like that. I can’t be like that, even if I wanted to.”

“I know,” you smile softly. “You’re not easy to know, and you make it hard to like you sometimes. But I’ve always liked a challenge, and sometimes you have to meet people at their own pace.”

“But I didn’t expect you to come all the way out here. I wasn’t thinking; I just woke up scared and calling you was the first thing I could do. You didn’t need to check up on me.” Melissa welcomes you into her house.

“No,” you sigh as you make your way into her house. “But I wanted to. Thank you for letting me in.”

“You’re thanking me for letting you into my house?” the redhead quirks a brow.

You chuckle. “Well, that. But also for letting me in and past your rough exterior. You’re finally starting to meet me halfway.”

The redhead just rolls her eyes. “Just because I called you in a moment of weakness doesn’t mean I don’t still think you’re a barbone.”

“I can’t be a bum,” you smile cheekily. “I have a job, a house, and I came all this way to check on you in the middle of the night.”

“Only an idiota would venture out at eleven at night without a baseball bat,” Melissa counters. “You know I ain’t letting you walk home alone now. So, how about a glass of wine, and maybe a movie before I shove you in my guest room for the night?”

It only occurs to you after you wake up the next morning (on the couch, with Melissa using your chest for a pillow), that she could’ve just driven you home.

Tags

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[zodiac-blood]

Like as someone who would definitely fall under the category of "is asexual with no sexual attraction but still does it anyway" I completely understand the notion of "hey it's nice to understand that not all ace people are sex repulsed" but also as someone who also considers themself gay (in a mlm way) (in a tertiary attraction kinda way) and has a girlfriend its like. But I've never seen anyone say any of the gay men in media I relate to can also date women without feeling attracted to them. Its like.... So??? Give me a reason aroaces are the only time there are exceptions that are respected that ISN'T just the the amatonormative idea of ""dating & sex is just natural"" and that allowing this exception means people can still center their stories around dating and sex.

This probably is because allo queers, even if being queer, can still abide by the amatonormative idea of "everyone needs to want/pursue a relationship and (romantic&sexual) love is the most important feeling", so even if yes, a gay man is not abiding by the cishet standards of attraction he can still have a "normal" love story of falling in love and pursuing that interest. Also additionally that aroaces fall outside of the "sexuality binary" (the weird idea that the only sexualities are "exclusive attraction to men" and "exclusive attraction to women" and that anything outside of that is not valid) A romance & sex repulsed Aroace cannot fufil any part of the amatonormative expectation and so exceptions are only allowed in the case that it makes the most important thing about their life still center around romance and sexuality. (Of course- exceptions aren't normally allowed like the fact no one gets I can be gay and have a girlfriend but that exceptions not accepted because it doesn't fit the sexuality binary)

Cause like. Most Allos can understand/relate to the concept of not feeling attracted to a certain gender (like het men don't feel attracted to men but can understand the concept of a gay man not feeling attracted to women under the basis of "its like me but reversed") but they don't have any point of easy reference to relate to no attraction at all so they don't really even try. If they can't relate to it then they don't feel the need to change their worldview to allow it.

Anyway as I said; I would fall under the category of "aroace that is in a relationship" (and not even because of the tertiary attraction) so I totally understand there are people who are like me. And yes I think having that sort of relationship is valid- I mean I'm literally living in one- but its very telling that every aroace character always has this same exact debate but you don't see ANY discussion about biromantic homosexuals or any form of split attraction and dating without attraction in allo characters.

Unfortunately I don't know that many canonically aroace characters- other than Percy (canon ace and Jello said she may also be aro) & Howie (aroace) from Epithet Erased and Lilith (aroace) from the Owl House. Didn't get into toh fan spaces so idk about that but I know I definitely have seen posts about shipping Howie and Percy (sometimes together bc of their rivalry - but other ships are more common.) And yeah Percy is only stated to be ace and "potentially aro" and not explicitly aroace- still definitely have seen many a Percy x Howie or explicitly sexual Ramsey x Percy / Zora x Percy going around so :v

Even if I am in a relationship the way I go about my relationship is a lot different than what allos go through- yet every time in fiction an aroace character is in a relationship its written exactly how allo relationships are. (Though I tend to be romance repulsed so I don't read much of that anyway lol). I do love that other aros who are more romance favourable than me like to write/draw relationships that fit how they live- but when allos write/draw it a lot of time they don't take care in actually considering how that would absolutely affect the dynamic or that there are some characters that just don't want any sort of romantic or sexual relationship at all.

I'm probably going to end up writing my own post abt this further so I don't derail but; also the whole idea of "split attraction and the ability to be not sexually attracted but not sex repulsed in a relationship is only an asexual thing" and not just like. A broad attraction thing that anyone can experience. Definitely is also aided by &/ partially the cause of these exceptions only being applied to aroace folk.

-Toby (they/them) & Bias (he/they)

the way fandoms are desperate to make all aroace characters romance and sex positive but then dont do anything remotely similar to any other identity is astounding. hmm i wonder why

PLEASE dont derail this about shipping characters of other identities please let this one post be about an aroace struggle

[unacknowledgeable]

Continued: Serial killer reader x yan!batfam

.........Ooooookay, I guess yall really liked my serial killer!reader? I guess I'm honor bound to continue??? Oh noooo, the horrorrrr. But seriously, I'm glad! Because it only gets worse from here! >:}

Anyway, this was really difficult to write because I literally could not find good starting and stopping points, I tried to make my thoughts flow into each other as seamlessly as possible but there's SO MUCH I wanna write for this, it’s eating me alive, (also like, feel free to send asks bc I get sidetracked a lot in my writing and looove just answering questions as jumping off points, so please gimme gimme)

That being said, enjoy!

WARNING for disturbing imagery, untreated mental illness and trauma, blood, and depictions of murder (seriously)

So obviously, this M/c is a serial killer, so how do they go about keeping this hidden while simultaneously living with the world's greatest detectives?

Simple, ya don't.

Okay so that's not completely true. Compared to the average criminal, you put in a lot of effort to not get caught, but the average criminal doesn’t live with THE Batman either

Compared to the rest of your family though? You basically put in the bare minimum required to hide your… unsavory activities

Of course, you'll wash your blood soaked clothes yourself, in the lesser used washrooms of the manor, but once in a blue moon, when you’re too tired to care or your catch of the night put up a greater fight then anticipated, you'll throw your tainted clothes in with the rest of the families

And they just… don't fucking notice.

Or when they do, they just assume that one of the others had an unfortunate run in with some criminal while in civvies 

You've overheard many admonishments from Dick or Alfred over the years, telling Tim or Jason to “Please stop putting bloody clothes in with the whites, there's a basket for them two feet away!”

It was always pretty hard trying to keep a straight face when hearing those scoldings, but you always did, you didn't want Damian demanding to know what was so funny and dampening your mood

Or Cass giving you one of her calculated looks and suddenly getting nosy, that would make losing your clothes to Tim’s closet a lot less worth the laugh.

It’s just that, this assumption is waaaaay more plausible then say, the serial killer they've been tracking relentlessly for literal years, is just…tossing their VERY incriminating evidence in with the family's laundry, then passing out on some couch in one of the many sitting rooms of the manor, while the family goes out and discovers their latest victim

It's just easier to assume it was one of the others, Dick would never connect you, of all people, to the gore tossed haphazardly in the hamper, it's way more likely to be one of the many crime fighters of the family, not the soft spoken hermit of the manor, and even if that was a possibility in his mind, you don't even have a scratch on you

Not that he’s ever bothered to check you for injuries before, like he does almost religiously for the others

And Alfred? Well he's of the belief you'd grown out of your… tendencies, that it was a one time thing. Despite his reputation as an omnipotent presence in the manor, he never did realize just how deep your mental issues ran. Not until it was far too late.

You don't even have a specific weapon either, half of the time you'll just take one of Alfred's steak knives and hit the lower levels of Gotham, wandering around the decrepit streets till you found someone suitable 

Other times, when you’re in an exceptionally bad mood, be it because Damian said something particularly venomous or Alfred missing an important event for you because something came up with one of your siblings, or even when your classmates decided it would be funny to key your car-

Or it's just one of those days

Those days when the abstract voices simmer louder in the back of your mind, pushing and nagging. Images that you desperately want to forget but can't help the need to recreate. All threatening to boil over until you either crumble into a sobbing heep on the floor or go out and do the one thing that has always been able to shut. them. up.

Those days you’re… forgetful

On those days, you forget to grab one of Alfred’s pristine knives, but that's fine, Gothams streets are littered with dangerous items, so there's no shortage of tools at your disposal. You're creative, resourceful, you can use whatever's on hand at the time, whatever's in reach.

But if there's nothing? No sharp objects, no discarded bricks or loose pipes or even a half empty beer bottle, well… you're no stranger getting your hands dirty

Those times however, are pretty hazy in the aftermath.

You’ll forget certain details, like how they gripped your arms in a vain attempt to draw your own blood as you drew theirs, in the event that if they dont get away, at least you'd be caught, (all it leaves are dark, tender bruises along your arms, that you'll spend weeks poking and prodding at, in the hopes of reliving that moment)

Or how they'd flail their legs, inches from the ground, trying to kick your legs out from beneath you (it was kinda cute, how much shorter they were then you, how little their attempts to free themselves did when it mattered the most)

Even their last, warbling pleas for mercy were lost to you. You know they said something, could vaguely recall that they spoke, too absorbed in watching their bloody lips turn blue as the oxygen in their body slowly ran out (No no please please…My girls are waiting)

No, no you don't remember much but what you do remember, what you always, always remember, are the eyes 

You remember the tears, the fear, the acceptance, the rage, the refusal, the disbelief, the confusion, the indignation, and most of all the recognition. 

Whether it be them recognizing just who you are or realizing that this is who will end their life, you don't know, you’ve never bothered to ask. 

You prefer to think it’s the latter, it's hard to explain, but it makes you feel so so important

When it’s over, and the adrenaline in your veins soften, your breathing calmer, the blood rushing through your ears no longer so deafening, and you can feel the pleasing ache in your limbs, you sit, and asses the damage, as you always do

You always make sure to grab their wallet, take out the ID and memorize it, before gingerly putting it back, and finally walking away, head clear and numb in the cold Gotham air

There's no real reason why, its mostly force of habit at this point, it started with your very first kill, you don't feel like breaking the little ritual now, or anytime soon

It just feels wrong, to take a life and not even know whose life it is...was.

Later, long past any reasonable hour, you lay in bed, fresh out of the shower and thumbing the bruises, listening to the voices over the family's communicators (you stole one of Dicks, he has a nasty habit of leaving them around the manor) as they patrol the Gotham streets for crime and mayhem

You honestly can't help the small smile that graces your face, falling into sleep, as you hear the quiet, defeated sigh over the highly protected com link, “B, I've found another one, it's…it’s pretty rough tonight”

The pause is long before a small, gruff, “I have your location, ETA in 10 minutes”

You slept pretty good that night

Damn, sometimes the shit I come up with scares even me, again, feel free to send asks (shh I'm not begging), the brain worms are always hungry and I have sooooo many thoughts about this thing. lol 

Hope you enjoyed!

[kyri45]

I’m going insane over that last update. That feeling Xiaotian has about wanting to change his name himself, and Tang emphasizing his son’s pronouns, there’s something so queer about it in such an affirming that hit me like a truck. I don’t know if I’m getting this across how I want it to, but I just want to say that moment really stuck out to me.

Thank you! I'm glad it was somehow perceived in that way. It wasn't my main goal, but it was something I kept thinking while drawing that scene, because for my story the whole "forging your own identity YOURSELF" was very important.

I think on a logical point of view, having someone else just go to the underworld would have been extremely more easy, but, especially because MK went through so much to forge his own person, that he wouldn't let anyone, not even his parents, decide what his new name would be.

[v6quewrlds]

part 2 to the joe angst where reader overheard joe's friends

part two to this.

“Babe, what's wrong?” he asked, rushing over to you. “Why're you crying? Did something happen in the bathroom?”

You looked up at Joe, your eyes bloodshot red and puffy from the tears you had shed during the ride. You took a shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. But as you looked into his baby blues, you couldn't hold back the sobs that were now threatening to overtake you.

You took a seat on the bed, your body trembling. “Why didn't you defend me?” you managed to ask between tears.

Joe's brows furrowed, utterly confused. “What are you talking about?”

Your voice trembled as you recounted the conversation you had overheard, the words stumbling out of your mouth in a rush. “Joe, they basically called me a party girl, said I'm not right for you, that you need to settle down with someone stable...” The accusation hung in the air, thick with hurt and betrayal.

Joe sat down beside you, his own expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. “Sweetheart, you gotta breathe, you're workin' yourself up. That's not what they meant. It was just...” He sighed, searching for the right words.

“Joe, I'm not an idiot. I know what I heard,” you said, your voice breaking as you wiped at your face. The room was quiet, the air charged with tension. “It just hurts, you know? To think that your friends don't think I'm good enough for you.”

Joe's eyes widened, and his hand found yours.

You continued with a sniffle. “And it hurts to think you wouldn't stick up for me when I'm not there. I know they're important to you, but...” Your voice trailed off as you tried to keep the dam of tears from breaking again.

Joe's face softened, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “Babe, they weren't talking about you. They were talking about the new girl that does my PR, Sophia. Remember her? She's been dropping the ball a little bit, and they were worried she's gonna blow up something important when I’m not breathing down her neck during the season. Nothing to do with us, I swear.”

You searched his eyes, looking for a hint of deceit, but all you found was genuine bewilderment and affection. Sophia was flippant, you knew that, had recognized it within the first few minutes of meeting her. Joe had complained about that flippancy on several occasions during the handful of months you had been dating.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of your misunderstanding. “I overheard you guys saying I wasn't right for you, and I just...”

Joe's hand tightened around yours. “They were talking about someone else. I'm sorry you had to hear that, especially out of context. But I promise you, I see a future with you. A future that's a lot more than just fun."

Your shoulders relaxed, the tightness in your chest slowly dissipating. You took a deep, shaky breath, feeling the truth in Joe's words. “I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions,” you murmured, wiping away the last of your tears.

Joe leaned in, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “Don't be. It's natural to get upset when you think someone's talking smack about you. But you gotta have faith in us. I'm not going anywhere. I love you too much.”

The confession hung in the air, a declaration that seemed to melt the last of your doubt away. Your eyes searched Joe's, looking for any hint of uncertainty, but all you found was the steady, loving gaze that had captured your heart from the moment you met. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace as he pulled you closer. Your heart swelled with relief and you whispered, “I'm sorry, Joe. I should've pulled you aside before dipping like that. I just felt embarrassed.”

He kissed your forehead gently. “It's okay. I get it. But you know you can always talk to me.”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. You took a moment to gather yourself before speaking again. “I guess I just didn’t want to cause any drama tonight. I know how important these guys are to you, and I wanted to make a good impression.”

Joe wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly. “If it makes you feel better, they really liked you. They're lowkey embarrassed that they approved of you so fast.” He laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Shawn said you're the first girl I've brought around that didn't immediately kill the vibe. That's high praise from him.”

You managed a small smile, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. You leaned into Joe's embrace, breathing in his familiar scent, and allowing it to comfort you. You realized that in the midst of your fear and doubt, you had been ready to throw away something that truly meant something to you.

“Give me their numbers, I'll apologize in the morning,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

“No, you don't have to do that,” Joe protested, but you had already pulled away, reaching for your phone.

“Yes, I do. I owe them that much after making things awkward. Maybe it'll help clear the air before we all have to see each other again.” You took a deep breath. “Plus, I want to hear the end of that prom story.”

Joe chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Fuck that. The parts you heard were bad enough, you don't need to know the rest of it. I have an image to uphold.”

[survivalist-toons]

As someone with low self-esteem. It is... especially important to comment on fics from writers who you either know are new or haven't seen before. I am new to the writing game, I want so badly to write stories. Make characters. But struggle with feeling "good" at it that I end up struggling to make future chapters. Like everyone else re-posting this, comments. Heck, not even just comments. Signs of appreciation that aren't public are enough to show writers both new and old that you loved their work. Keeping stuff private leaves empty space for the writers to think... And from someone with low-self esteem issues, that space to think can be filled really quickly with thoughts like "Am I losing it?" "Maybe I should do something else" "I'm not good enough." I know I struggle to post on here partly because I don't think I'm good enough. COMMENT, FANART, FANFIC. Do all who stumble upon this reposting-post-thing. DO SOMETHING TO SHOW YOUR LOVE FOR SOMEONES' WORK. Don't leave the writer/drawer/animator/etc alone with their thoughts. A sign of appreciation goes a long way.

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they’re starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they’re reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there’s 10,000 other people that will continue…but if you participate in a fic “book club” server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don’t rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit “post”

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE — PART TWO

paige x azzi

warnings: language

word count: 4.8k

A/N: Here’s the next chapter!! It’s another chap of me setting the scene so bear with me. The next chapters when Azzi officially gets on campus will have more interaction between them. I’m also not sure how I feel about the 1st person POV so I might stop after this who knows. Anywho let me know what you think and leave comments and live reactions if you can!! Happy New Year everyone 🥳

—————————————————————————

July 2019 - Paige POV

I was deep into my basketball workout, the sound of the ball echoing through the gym as I went through the drills with precision. My trainer standing by the sideline, coaching me through each movement — footwork, ball-handling, shot mechanics. I was lost in the rhythm of it all, my mind focused solely on the next move, the next shot, just as I did every offseason.

But then, something on the TV caught my attention.

The US 3x3 tournament was on — I hadn't been paying too much attention to it, but I always found time for basketball, no matter who was playing. It was in my blood. I just loved the game at all levels.

My focus slipped for a second as I looked over at the screen, noticing the score was a little close. Then I saw Azzi.

I froze, the ball bouncing softly at my side as I watched everything unfold. One minute, she was pushing through the defense, looking like she was about to make a play, and the next, she was on the floor. Her knee buckled awkwardly, and I saw her fall, immediately clutching it. The pain was clear as day on her face.

"Oh fuck," I muttered under my breath, the word escaping before I could stop it. My trainer immediately moving toward the TV to turn the volume up.

The announcers' voices filled the gym, sharp with concern. "All of a sudden there’s concern for the health of one of the best high schoolers in the country. We can only hope Azzi Fudd is able to walk out of here on her own which will be a good sign for all the viewers who I’m sure are holding their breath as this all unfolds." One said, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in his tone.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen as Azzi stayed down, her face twisted in pain, tears welling in her eyes as the camera zoomed in on her. I hate when they do that shit.

I didn’t particularly like Azzi. She was too passive for my liking, not nearly as fiery or intense as I thought a player should be. Especially someone of her caliber. Plus she fouled the hell out of me for no reason that one time. But seeing her in that kind of pain? That wasn’t something I could enjoy. Despite all the rivalry, despite everything, I hated seeing anyone get hurt.

For all our back-and-forth, the trash talk, the competitiveness that had grown between us, I never wanted to see her hurt. She had just had an incredible season, her name up there with the best in the country — and now, it could all come crashing down in a second. This injury could change everything for her, just like that.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when my trainer asked, “You think she’s going to be ight?”

I didn’t answer right away. I just stood there, watching as they helped Azzi off the court, her face still contorted in pain as she limped off. It hit me kinda hard — this was a big deal, and despite everything that had happened on the court between us, I couldn’t help but feel for her.

“Yeah,” I muttered. "I’m sure she’ll bounce back."

After that the gym felt a little different now. The ball didn’t bounce as loudly, and the drill didn’t seem as important. All I could think about was how quickly things could change in an instant. How that could have been me. How it could still be me.

…

Later that night, laying in bed, Paige aimlessly scrolled through social media. Her feed was flooded with news of Azzi's injury. It was everywhere. All anyone seemed to be talking about was the #1 player in the class of 2021 tearing both her ACL and MCL after her incredible sophomore year. Paige had to admit, it hit her in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She had seen Azzi's growth first-hand the few times they’d played — her rise to stardom, the awards, and now, this. The thought of the rivalry they'd shared now feeling so... empty... nagged at her.

Paige knew that she’d see St. John’s again twice next year but something about the thought of no Azzi in the mix made it not as exciting. Without Azzi, there wouldn’t be any real competition left. Their games had been some of the most intense, back-and-forth battles she’d ever played in, and now that felt like it was over. There was no way Azzi would be back before the playoffs next year.

Paige’s fingers hovered over her phone screen as her mind wandered. She didn’t know why she was doing this, but she found herself scrolling through her contacts, looking for Azzi's number. They’d played together on the U16 team and Paige had everyone’s number from the team saved after they insisted on having a groupchat. She tapped it and paused, unsure of what to say, knowing if she was in Azzi’s shoes no words would ease whatever she was feeling. Still she sent a message anyway.

You'll bounce back. It's just a setback Fudd.

She stared at the message, fingers hovering for a moment before hitting send. She didn’t expect a response. What was she even doing? Azzi probably didn’t even want to hear from her, they didn’t even like each other. But it felt wrong to just leave it at that — to not acknowledge what Azzi was going through. She knew the girl after all.

With a heavy sigh, Paige set her phone down and went to brush her teeth to get ready for bed. She didn’t really expect a response back.

But when she returned, phone in hand, her screen illuminated, signaling a new notification.

Thank you, means a lot.

Paige typed a quick reply: Anytime.

Then she put her phone on the nightstand, settling into bed as she turned on a WNBA game.

November 2019

Azzi sat at the end of the bench, her leg throbbing slightly beneath the brace, trying to make sense of the game she’d just watched. Her team had been outclassed from the jump, and without her on the floor, it felt like they had no chance. Paige of course had been unstoppable—37 points, and the craziest part was, she didn’t touch the floor the whole fourth quarter. It was almost embarrassing to watch.

When the buzzer finally rang, signaling the end of the game, Azzi’s shoulders slumped and she sighed in relief that it was over. She didn’t even look at the scoreboard; it didn’t matter. She stayed seated as her teammates lined up to shake hands with the Gonzaga players. The energy in the gym was deflated—everyone had known the outcome was a foregone conclusion the moment the game tipped off.

As Azzi adjusted her knee brace and slowly stood up, she was surprised to see Paige walking toward her.

The other players from Gonzaga hadn’t thought to come over and shake her hand, but Paige didn’t hesitate. She offered Azzi a quick high five, her face a mix of competitiveness and something else. Azzi raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the gesture but unwilling to show any emotion to the blonde in front of her.

Paige’s voice was light, almost teasing. “What’s that, 4-1 now, Fudd?”

Azzi couldn’t help but scoff. “You didn’t talk shit the whole game,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You just had to come over here and ruin it, didn't you?”

Paige laughed, a playful glint in her eyes. As she turned to walk away, she tossed over her shoulder, “No comp to talk shit to on the court that’s all.”

Azzi watched her go, a mix of annoyance and begrudging admiration in her chest. Paige had a way of making things look easy, and even though Azzi hated it and hated how she acted, she couldn’t deny it—Paige was damn good.

March 2020 - Paige’s POV

I was sitting on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands, stomach in knots. My phone sat next to me, buzzing with more notifications I couldn’t bring myself to check. The championship game we’d worked so damn hard for, the perfect season we’d earned — all of it, gone. Just like that.

CoVid-19 had canceled the last game, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. It felt like a bad dream. The end of my high school career. Just like that, like a snap of a few fingers. Kind of funny how life is in that way.

We had been unstoppable. Undefeated. We were supposed to go out on top. I was supposed to walk off that court with my teammates, with that championship trophy, the culmination of all the hard work and sacrifice after losing last year. But now, it was all over, and I was left with nothing but this empty feeling in my chest.

It felt wrong, especially after the season I’d had. Gatorade Female High School Athlete of the Year. Gatorade National Player of the Year. Naismith Prep Player of the Year. Morgan Wootten National Player of the Year. I was on the cover of SLAM, for fucks sake. A McDonald’s All-American. I was supposed to play in the Jordan Brand Classic. The championship with my team was supposed to be the last piece of the puzzle. And now it was just... taken from me. From all of us.

I wasn’t the only one feeling it, but that didn’t make it any easier. My teammates were crushed, too. We all were. We’d worked for this. We had dreams about our comeback season, and now they were dashed. I just couldn’t understand how everything had unraveled so quickly.

It wasn’t just about the game, though. It was everything that came with it. The way everything seemed to be falling into place too quickly. My future at UConn was waiting, but it felt like the rug had been pulled out from under me before I was ready. All of a sudden, the world felt uncertain even though I knew exactly where I was headed for the next four years.

I tried not to think about the stuff I’d lose, like the last game I was supposed to play, the players I was supposed to compete against, and the milestones I was supposed to hit with my team. Instead, I kept thinking about what was next.

The only thing I could do right now was work. There was no championship trophy to hold, no fans to cheer for me, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t still prepare.

So, I grabbed my shoes and headed to the gym. I knew there was no real closure here. Not right now, so it was pointless to get in my feelings about it. Pointless to sit around and be sad. There was still a season ahead of me, more basketball to play. College was waiting now.

…

The gym was quiet except for the sound of basketballs bouncing. Paige was working through her shots, focused as she tested her range and worked on different combo moves. She wasn’t expecting company, everything was shut down. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the future, not on what had been taken from her. The weight of losing her senior season to the pandemic still hung over her, though she didn’t let it show in her work.

Then, she heard the faint sound of footsteps behind her. She pulled off her headphones and turned around, surprised to see Azzi standing there. It had been about seven months since Azzi’s knee injury, and seeing her standing there in person was different from seeing her in a game. The two of them never really spoke outside of playing one another, and the awkwardness of the situation wasn’t lost on either of them.

Azzi paused when their eyes met. “My bad, didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, clearly about to turn and leave. The gym was small and only half a court and she didn’t want to deal with whatever Paige had to say today.

Paige shook her head in disagreement, clearly not phased by her presence. “It’s cool. You don’t need to leave.”

Azzi hesitated before nodding and walking over to the bench, sitting down to put on her basketball shoes. Paige returned to shooting. Once Azzi had finished getting ready, she stood up, stretched, and grabbed a ball. Paige was still shooting when she glanced over taking off her headphones again.

“How’s the knee?” Paige asked before she could stop herself, looking down at the black sleeve covering Azzi’s right leg. Her voice broke the silence, and Azzi looked at her, surprised by the blonde speaking to her.

“It’s a work in progress,” Azzi replied, her tone softer than Paige had ever heard. It was clear she was still recovering, but she didn’t seem too eager to talk about it.

Paige simply hummed in response, turning back to the basket. Neither of them said much after that.

Paige continued to go through her drills as Azzi worked on her shots, most of them swishing effortlessly through the net, though she was missing more than usual. Paige, focused as always, didn’t really think too much about what the other girl had going on. After a while of silence, Azzi turned to her.

“Congrats on all your awards, by the way,” Azzi said, her voice genuine, even if it came out a little unexpectedly and awkwardly. Paige nodded, briefly acknowledging it with a half smile. There wasn’t much more to say—her accomplishments had all come in a season that felt incomplete, and she didn’t really wanna think about that right now.

Then, on a rebound, Azzi’s ball went a little further than expected, and Paige jogged to retrieve it, having been closer as she was getting some water. Azzi watched her and when Paige came back, she passed Azzi the ball without a word.

That was the turning point. Instead of keeping to their separate routines, they began to shoot together. Azzi rebounded for Paige, and Paige did the same for Azzi. They moved around the court, each shot a natural rhythm as they stepped into the pass. The way they moved, the way they passed and shot, was effortless, like they had done this a thousand times before. Neither said a word as they shot, they were just happy to not have to run after their own rebound every two seconds. The ease between them told a story of mutual respect even though it was usually clear they weren’t too fond of each other.

The silence between them stretched on as Paige and Azzi continued to shoot. The rhythm of their movements, the swish of the net, and the soft thud of the ball bouncing were the only sounds filling the gym. They both seemed absorbed in their own thoughts as they passed the ball back and forth.

After some time, Paige’s phone kept buzzing so she glanced at the clock. She had been there longer than she’d planned, and she remembered telling Drew she’d take him to the movies. So she reluctantly made her way to the bench to take off her basketball shoes even though she hadn’t cleared her mind like she hoped. Azzi was still shooting, focused and intent, as if the ball and the hoop were the only things that mattered.

Paige bent down to untie her shoes, glancing up as she did. Azzi missed another shot, and the ball rolled off to the side. Paige grabbed it without thinking, tossing it back to Azzi with a casual flick of her wrist.

As the ball landed back in Azzi’s hands, Paige couldn’t help but notice the slight hesitation in Azzi’s movements, the way she seemed to favor her left leg a bit. Azzi took a moment before shooting again, but the ball missed again, clanging off the rim and bouncing awkwardly as the girl groaned in frustration.

Paige stood up, grabbing her shoes from the ground as she spoke. “You’re favoring your left side when you shoot now,” she said, her voice calm but observant. “That’s why your shot’s not falling. You gotta trust that your knee will be fine.”

Azzi paused, the ball resting in her hands as she processed the comment. Paige could see the wheels turning in Azzi’s mind, the realization slowly dawning on her. She didn’t reply, but Paige noticed the way she shifted her weight as she took a second shot, more thoughtfully this time as it went through the net.

Paige didn't linger, just headed toward the door. Azzi didn’t say anything more either, lost in her thoughts as she continued to shoot.

November 2020

Azzi had been wrestling with the decision for weeks. The pressure to commit was everywhere, with coaches, family, and even fans weighing in with their opinions. Narrowing her choices to UCLA, Maryland, and UConn had been easy enough—each school had its appeal.

Maryland offered familiarity. The hometown hero story would mean playing in front of her family and friends, building a legacy close to home. UCLA? Well, their facilities were out of this world, and the program was on the rise and it would be nice to be the player who brought them to the top. But UConn... UConn was something else entirely.

The school was synonymous with greatness. Azzi had grown up dreaming of wearing that blue and white jersey, playing under Geno Auriemma, and being part of a dynasty, of being a husky. There was no denying the opportunity to grow under one of the best coaches in basketball history.

But there was a large problem. Paige.

Azzi had only crossed paths with Paige a handful of times during their games, but each interaction had left a bad taste in her mouth. Paige Bueckers was an undeniable talent, but her confidence often read as arrogance. The way Paige carried herself—with that smirk and cocky demeanor—rubbed Azzi the wrong way every time. Could she really spend years as a teammate to someone who seemed so self-absorbed? She couldn’t imagine having to share the court with the girl let alone the ball that she would probably never pass to Azzi.

Azzi turned the thought over and over in her mind day after day, replaying memories of Paige’s antics during games, her posturing, the way the media fawned over her, the way she soaked it in. It was irritating. Still, Azzi decided she couldn’t let one person dictate her future. This was her dream, her opportunity to compete at the highest level, to win championships.

When Azzi made her commitment to UConn public, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and she was ready to face whatever came next—even Paige and all of her bullshit.

A couple of states away in Connecticut, Paige sat scrolling through her phone in the gym when the news broke. A tweet caught her eye, and as she opened it, her jaw nearly hit the floor.

"DMV’s Azzi Fudd, 2021 #1 Recruit Commits to University of Connecticut"

Paige stared at the screen, rereading the headline as if it would change. Her eyebrows shot up, and her eyes bulged in disbelief.

“What the fuck” Paige muttered to herself.

December 2020

During high school winter break Geno organized Azzi to come on a visit to meet the team before her official arrival. The visist had been going smoothly—almost perfectly, in fact. The facilities were incredible, Geno’s warmth and charisma made her feel valued, and the team seemed thrilled to have her there. Everything felt right. Everything except the glaring absence of Paige Bueckers.

It wasn’t like Azzi had come to the visit just to ‘officially’ meet Paige, but it would’ve been nice. Paige was clearly the face of the program now, the freshman star everyone raved about. If they were going to be teammates, Azzi figured they’d at least cross paths before she officially got to campus the upcoming summer. But so far, Paige had been conspicuously absent from all the introductions, the tour, and now the relaxed hangout in the dorm's common area.

The team was great, though. Christyn and Olivia, two of the team’s upperclassmen had gone out of their way to make Azzi feel comfortable, sharing stories about what it was like to play under Geno. Christyn was particularly funny, throwing in sarcastic comments about Olivia’s sometimes over-the-top pregame rituals.

Aaliyah, Nika, Saylor, and Piath—some of the freshmen—were a mix of energy and chaos. Nika’s personality was magnetic; she was constantly cracking jokes and pulling Azzi into the group’s banter. Aaliyah had a quieter, grounded presence, offering up thoughtful questions and laughing at Nika’s antics. Saylor and Piath added their own flair, with Saylor occasionally teasing Nika for her over-the-top expressions and Piath keeping things calm when the group got a little rowdy.

Then there was Aubrey, who was nestled between the older and younger players. She had an easygoing vibe, but there was something quietly sharp about her observations and she didn’t seem to talk much. But as the night wore on, Aubrey began to loosen up a bit and was leaning in to share a few inside jokes about the team dynamics here and there.

“You’ll like it here,” Aubrey said, nudging Azzi with her elbow. “Well, once you get used to all the chaos… and Paige.”

The mention of Paige brought the blonde’s absence into sharper focus. Azzi glanced toward the only closed door in the suite, making her assume it was Paige’s. Azzi had heard what sounded like the same game replaying over and over since she’d been in the suite coming from behind the closed door. She hadn’t thought much of it earlier, but now it felt a little deliberate that she hadn’t come out yet.

Evina noticed Azzi’s glance and sighed. “I’ll go get her,” she said, standing up and walking toward Paige’s door.

Before she could get there and knock, the door swung open. Paige emerged in a whirlwind, a granola bar clamped between her teeth, headphones slung around her neck, her phone in one hand, and her basketball shoes in the other.

“Hey, P,” Evina said, trying to stop her. “Come hang out for a bit. Azzi’s here.”

Paige grunted, barely making eye contact. “Can’t. Played like ass yesterday,” she mumbled around the granola bar before walking past everyone and out of the suite.

Azzi scoffed, unable to hold it in. It was hard not to take it personally. She didn’t know Paige well, but her quick exit felt more like an insult than anything else.

“No, don't take offense,” Evina said, noticing Azzi’s reaction. “Paige is… well, she’s Paige. You’ll get to know her. She’d live in the gym if we let her. Trust me, it’s not about you.”

Aubrey snorted from her spot on the couch. “Yeah I lost a bet and had to drag her out of there twice this week. First time, I turned the lights off. She didn’t even notice, or didn’t care. She just kept shooting until she got tired of me messing with her music and walked out.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “And the second time?”

“Had to practically carry her out,” Aubrey said with a laugh. “She gave up eventually, but only because I promised her Nika wouldn’t eat all the protein bars anymore.”

“I don’t eat all of them!” Nika protested loudly, drawing laughter from the group.

Azzi chuckled slightly but her irritation still lingered. Sure, Paige might be obsessive about basketball, but her absence still felt pointed with Azzi knowing the older girl didn’t like her. Azzi decided to ignore it though and as the night wore on, the team’s easy camaraderie pulled her in, and Azzi found herself genuinely liking everyone. Even looking forward to being here in the summer.

But Paige’s absence hung over everything, making it hard for Azzi to fully relax. When it got close to midnight and Paige still hadn’t returned, Nika, Aubrey, and Evina began debating who should go to the gym this time.

“I went twice already!” Aubrey said, throwing her hands up. “I’m not doing it again. I’d rather wrestle Olivia’s big ass for the remote.”

“You didn’t even try last yesterday,” Nika teased. “You just texted her and gave up and I had to go eventually.”

“Yeah, because she’s a weirdo when she’s like this.”

Evina groaned, standing up. “Fine shut up. I’ll go.”

Azzi watched as Evina grabbed her keys and headed out, her frustration bubbling to the surface again.

About thirty minutes later, the door to the suite swung open, and Evina stepped in, followed by a very irritated Paige. Azzi immediately noticed the tension as Paige, her hair sticking slightly to her forehead from sweat, strode in mid-sentence.

“It’s not that big of a fucking deal, E,” Paige muttered, clearly continuing a heated discussion the two had been having on their way back.

“It is a big deal,” Evina shot back, her voice calm but firm. “And you’re going to handle it. Now.”

Paige groaned dramatically, tossing her basketball shoes onto the floor by her room before following Evina inside. The door shut behind them, and for a brief moment, the suite was quiet.

Then came the muffled sounds of what was unmistakably yelling. Azzi wasn’t sure whether Paige or Evina was louder, but she could hear enough to piece together that Evina was getting on Paige about something.

The team, meanwhile, carried on as if this was perfectly normal, as if it was their routine. Aaliyah was fiddling with the remote trying to find a game, Aubrey was scrolling through her phone, and Christyn and Olivia were engaged in a debate over which snack brand had the best pretzels.

Eventually, the noise from Paige’s room stopped, and a few moments later, Evina emerged, her expression relaxed and a victorious smile playing on her lips. “She’ll be out soon,” she announced, as if this was some kind of accomplishment.

True to her word, a while later, Paige reappeared. She had swapped her clothes for a loose hoodie and joggers, her wet hair thrown over her shoulders. She glanced at Azzi, her blue eyes softening slightly.

“Hey,” Paige said, offering a small, almost sheepish smile. “Sorry for missing most of your visit. Welcome to UConn Azzi.”

Evina, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, watched the interaction with a knowing grin, as though she’d personally orchestrated this rare moment of civility.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard by Paige’s shift in demeanor. She nodded, her response clipped but polite. “It’s all good.”

Paige didn’t seem to notice Azzi’s hesitation—or if she did, she didn’t care. She flopped down onto the couch between Nika and Olivia with an exaggerated sigh, stretching her legs out and leaning her head against Nika’s shoulder.

“Welcome back to the land of the living twin,” Nika greeted her, her voice light and teasing.

Paige tilted her head, giving Nika a look that Azzi couldn’t quite decipher. It was like an entire conversation passed between them in a single expression. Nika burst out laughing, shaking her head as she nudged Paige playfully, making the blonde crack a smile as she leaned back on Nika’s shoulder.

The casual interaction threw Azzi off. For someone who’d seemed so intense and standoffish earlier, Paige was now practically melting into Nika. It was… strange.

Nika, Azzi had learned over the course of the evening, was one of the sweetest and most outgoing members of the team, always cracking jokes and making people feel included. On the surface, she and Paige couldn’t have been more different, yet here they were, leaning on each other like lifelong best friends.

Before Azzi could think too much about it, Christyn, who had been munching on a bag of chips, reached into the cabinet and tossed two protein bars at Paige, hitting her square in the chest.

“Eat,” Christyn ordered, her tone casual but firm. Paige barely reacted, opening one of the bars and shoving a piece of it in her mouth without a word.

Azzi couldn’t help but notice the dynamic. It was almost as if it was second nature for everyone to take care of Paige. Dragging her out of the gym, making sure she ate, looking out for her even when she seemed pissy about it.

It was strange to witness but oddly endearing picking up on how much they cared about each other. Azzi still wasn’t sure how Paige fit into the easygoing, tight-knit vibe of the rest of the team, but seeing her now—grumbling about snacks while slouching into Nika’s shoulder—it was clear there was more to her than Azzi had originally thought.

Azzi had planned to be the bigger person today and put all their bad blood to the side. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had been avoiding her, and it left a sour taste, so she kept her mouth shut.

[ikkyfics]

may i req a remus fic? maybe smtg angsty? like hes dating the r for a bet? i lovee u anyways, I'll devour whatever remus fics u decided to write my love

Sweet Lies

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Warnings: angst

A/N: honey, I hope you like it and you are so sweet, saying these things that make my heart race - thank you so much <333333 I really hope this doesn't just sound like a stupid cliché

Masterlist

Remus Lupin entered your life like a comet: unexpected, bright, and impossible to ignore. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped seeing him as just another quiet student from your house and began to notice the quiet strength he carried. There was something in the way he seemed to notice the details that everyone else missed—a book you liked to carry with you, the slightly frustrated tone in his voice when someone interrupted you during a heated discussion about spells. He didn’t just see you, but seemed to understand the parts of you that no one else bothered to unravel.

You had always been calmer, more reserved. In a castle full of extravagant personalities and voices echoing down stone corridors, you were the type of person who preferred to observe. But Remus changed that. Not in a grand or obvious way, but with small gestures that slowly began to dismantle the walls you had built around yourself.

“You’re always so focused here,” he commented once, sitting beside you in a quiet corner of the library. His brown eyes shone with something that seemed like genuine admiration. “It’s like the world could end outside, and you wouldn’t even notice.”

You had laughed, trying to look away, but he didn’t give you room to escape. “Maybe because the world is calmer in here,” you replied, closing the book you were reading. “There aren’t as many distractions.”

“Is that so?” His tone was curious, almost challenging. “And me? Am I a distraction?”

He was. From the first moment he pulled a chair next to you, from the first time he asked if you needed help with that complicated spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His presence was a constant distraction—and one you didn’t want to escape.

Now, as you both walked across the school grounds, the night air bringing with it a chill that made the sky look even more starry, Remus held your hand gently. His fingers were long and slender, marked with scars he never fully explained, but which you had learned to recognize as an essential part of him.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path to look at you. The moonlight danced on his brown hair, tousled by the wind.

“Not really,” you lied, not wanting to break the moment.

Remus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile you knew was reserved for when he was about to challenge you. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Before you could answer, he took off the scarf he was wearing and carefully wrapped it around your neck. The touch of his fingers brushing your skin made a pleasant warmth rise on your cheeks.

“All set,” he said, adjusting the scarf as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Now, no cold can get to you.”

You didn’t respond, simply pulling him by the collar of his robe, making him lean closer. Your lips met in a slow, peaceful kiss, a perfect reflection of how Remus made you feel. He was everything you didn’t know you needed: secure, warm, and a little broken, but somehow whole when he was by your side.

When you pulled away, his eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “If I could, I’d stay here forever,” he whispered, his voice deep but soft. “Just the two of us. Nothing else matters.”

"Remus," you called, hesitantly.

He turned his head toward you, his brown eyes shining with that familiar mix of curiosity and patience. "Hm?"

"Do you think people can really change? I mean... not just change on the outside, but on the inside too?" Your question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost regretted saying something so vulnerable.

Remus furrowed his brow, a subtle gesture you had learned to recognize as a sign that he was thinking deeply. "I think so," he replied carefully. "But it’s not easy. Changing means facing parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. And not everyone is willing to do that."

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight seemed to soften the lines of his face, making him almost ethereal. There was something comforting in the way he spoke, as if he understood things that no one else could.

"I’m asking because..." You paused, the hesitation tightening around your throat. Part of you wanted to pull back, keep what you were about to say hidden, like you always had. But his presence had a way of making you feel safe, as if nothing could hurt you while he was by your side. "Because sometimes, I feel like I’m... not enough. Like I’ll never be good enough for anyone."

His eyes met hers with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, trying to keep a light tone that contradicted the pain in your words. "I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never been the one people choose. I’m... comfortable, but not memorable."

The silence that followed your words wasn’t empty. It was heavy, filled with something you couldn’t name. Remus squeezed your hand, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried an emotion you hadn’t expected.

"That’s not true," he said, almost in a whisper. "You’re so much more than you think you are. And if other people can’t see that, the problem is theirs, not yours."

The warmth in his words warmed something inside you, something that had long seemed dormant. You looked at him, searching for a clue in his brown eyes that always seemed to be full of secrets. He knew how to say the right things, but there was something in that response—a hesitation, a slight tremor in his voice—as if he carried an invisible weight.

"Do you really think that?" you asked, your voice filled with a vulnerability that was hard to admit.

Remus hesitated, just for a moment. It was such a small gesture that, if you weren’t paying attention, it could’ve gone unnoticed. But you did. The pause was brief, but enough for something inside you, something very small, to stir.

"I do," he finally replied, his voice firm now, as if he wanted to bury any doubt that might have arisen. "You’re incredible. And I want you to know that."

You believed him. There was no way to doubt him when he said things in that deep, conviction-filled tone. So, you let the moment pass, preferring the security of the present to questioning what might have caused his hesitation.

When he leaned in toward you again, pressing his lips to yours, you allowed yourself to believe that this was all that mattered. The kiss was calm, unhurried, but filled with something you couldn’t name. Maybe a silent promise.

The next few days passed like a dream for you. Everything seemed to align in almost a magical way. Remus was always around, with that soft smile and the eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul. He had a way of making even the simplest moments—like studying in the library or walking through the halls of Hogwarts—feel special.

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared whenever you thought of him. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, like everything around you could fall apart, and yet you’d be safe as long as you were with him.

That afternoon, you were leaving the charms classroom when you heard familiar voices coming from a nearby corridor. The sound of laughter was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable tone of Sirius Black.

"You have to admit, Moony, it was brilliant," Sirius was saying, his voice full of amusement.

"I don’t know if brilliant is the right word," Remus replied, but there was a light tone to his voice, as if he was trying to hide something.

Curious and with a smile on your face, you made your way toward the voices. It was always nice to see Remus with his friends. He seemed so at ease with them, so different from the introspective Remus you knew. And you liked Sirius—he had that easy charm that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

But when you got close enough to see them, you stopped. They were facing away from you, meaning they hadn’t noticed your presence. Remus was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, while Sirius gestured animatedly.

"I still can’t believe you pulled it off," Sirius continued, laughing. "You know, of all of us, I thought you’d be the last to take a bet like that."

The smile on your face froze.

Remus sighed, looking uncomfortable. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Sirius."

"But it was, and it worked," Sirius insisted. "Thanks to you, Prongs finally got what he wanted. Lily agreed to go out with him. All because you got our friend here to think you were interested."

You couldn’t move. It was as if the ground had disappeared beneath your feet.

"I..." Remus hesitated, and for the first time, his voice sounded heavy. "It’s not that simple, Sirius. She... she trusts me. I didn’t want it to be like this."

"But it was," Sirius repeated, now with less enthusiasm. "And don’t tell me you didn’t know from the start that this was a bet. You agreed, Remus. And now... well, you know it’s not going to last forever."

You wanted to say something. You wanted to shout, cry, demand an explanation. But the words were stuck in your throat. Everything around you seemed to spin. The air was cold, but it felt like you were suffocating.

Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Without realizing it, you took a step back, and the sound of your movement echoed down the corridor. They both turned immediately, and the expression on Remus’s face when he saw you was enough to break your heart.

"You heard," he whispered, his voice full of something that seemed like regret.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice. All you could do was look at him, your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed there, in front of them. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the pain in your chest was so intense it felt impossible to stay there for another second. So, you turned away, without saying a word, and began to walk, your steps quick and awkward, desperately trying to put distance between you.

"Wait!" Remus’s voice echoed down the corridor, full of urgency.

You didn’t stop. Not for a second. The tears burned in your eyes, threatening to fall, but you blinked furiously, determined not to let him see how much he had hurt you.

"Please, just... listen to me!" Remus insisted, now closer. You could hear the sound of his footsteps, hurried, as he tried to catch up with you.

"Leave me alone, Remus!" Your voice came out louder than you intended, broken by the knot in your throat. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was to disappear, to flee from that nightmare that seemed to be sucking the air from your lungs.

But he didn’t give up. Before you could take another step, you felt his hand grabbing your arm. The touch was firm, but not aggressive, as if he were afraid of hurting you even more.

"Please, listen to me," he pleaded, his voice low now, almost begging.

You turned toward him with a sharp movement, pulling your arm from his touch. "Listen to me?!" Your voice trembled, filled with hurt and disbelief. "What else can you say, Remus? That it was all a bet? That I was just a joke to you and your friends?!"

He shook his head so forcefully that his brown hair fell over his eyes. "It’s not like that, I swear! It wasn’t supposed to be like this..."

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this?!" You took a step back, as if his proximity was too much to bear. "Then tell me, how exactly was it supposed to be, Remus?!"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His silence was like a direct blow to your chest. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain, the guilt... but also the truth.

"It was real," he finally said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible. "What I feel for you... it’s real. I know I messed everything up, but I need you to know that."

You laughed, but the sound was empty, almost cruel. "Real? You think that matters now? After everything? You got close to me to help James get a date with Lily, Remus. You used me. How... how can you say that’s real?"

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. "I know it seems unforgivable, but please, believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I... I don’t even know when I started feeling this for you. But I do. I feel it so much it hurts."

"Well, congratulations," you shot back, your voice heavy with sarcasm and pain. "At least we’re on the same page. Because it hurts, Remus. It hurts so much that I can barely breathe. And you’re the reason for it."

The words came out before you could think, but they were true. He looked at you as if every syllable had been a blade. "I just wanted a chance to explain..."

"There’s nothing to explain," you interrupted, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "You’ve already said everything you needed. And I... I was foolish enough to believe in you."

You didn’t wait to see his reaction. Turning, you ran, ignoring his calls behind you. The tears finally fell, a cascade of pain you couldn’t contain any longer. And as you ran, you realized that no matter how fast your feet moved, there was no escaping the feeling of having entrusted your heart to someone who shattered it.

The following days were a blur of pain and emptiness. You felt like you were moving through life as a shadow of yourself, desperately trying to rebuild the walls you had torn down for him. Every brick you laid felt too heavy, as if the hurt and betrayal had drained all your strength.

Avoiding Remus was harder than you’d like. Hogwarts suddenly felt too small, with hallways that always seemed to lead him to you. But you refused to look into his eyes, to give any sign that he still had power over you. It was always the same: turn into another hallway, enter an empty room, or simply lower your head and keep walking.

You felt his gaze on you sometimes. Not insistently, but present. Like a shadow. He didn’t confront you directly, didn’t call your name out loud, but you knew he was there, at a distance, trying to find a moment when you weren’t so broken.

But you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed more worn out with each passing day. He clung to the routine like a man adrift, trying not to drown in the sea of guilt that consumed him. He knew he had no right to approach you, not after what he had done. But he also knew he couldn’t just leave things as they were.

He tried a few times, hesitantly, to approach you in the hallways. "Please, just a minute..." he had started on one occasion, but the way you ignored him, as if he didn’t exist, was worse than any response.

Other times, he simply watched from afar, waiting for a sign, anything that might indicate that you were willing to listen to him. But nothing came.

He threw himself into his studies, trying to find a distraction, but even that was useless. The words in the books seemed to dance, and he couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of how it all started haunted him, cruel and relentless.

James had presented the idea casually, almost as a joke. "If you get close to her, Remus, I swear Lily will go out with me. She said she’d only agree when our grumpy friend finally had a boyfriend."

Remus remembered Sirius laughing when he heard the plan, how he had crossed his arms and commented on how impossible it would be to win you over. "She’s not the type to fall for tricks, Prongs."

But James, with that confident smile and unshakable determination, insisted. And Remus, for reasons he didn’t even fully understand at the time, agreed. Maybe it was James’s persistence, or the need to help his friend get what he wanted so badly. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, he already knew there was something about you that intrigued him.

At first, that was all it was. A simple, almost harmless plan. He would get closer, gain your trust, and then James would have his chance with Lily. But nothing went as he expected.

You were different. From the very beginning, Remus realized there was something about you he couldn’t ignore. The way you spoke, with a calm tone but filled with passion for what mattered to you. The way you laughed, a sound that seemed to light up any room, even though it was rare. The way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the scars and the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He started with small gestures: sitting next to you in class, starting casual conversations in the hallways. And every time you smiled at him, something inside him melted. He liked being the cause of that smile. He liked hearing you laugh, seeing your face soften when he made some silly comment to ease the tension.

And then came the kiss.

Remus would never forget that moment. He didn’t know exactly how it happened—maybe it was the way you looked at him that afternoon, the sun setting and bathing your face in golden tones, or maybe it was the way your soft laugh filled the silence between you. But he knew he couldn’t resist anymore.

When your lips met his, it was as if the world had stopped. There was no bet, no guilt, nothing but you. He felt his hand tremble slightly as it touched your face, but when you returned the kiss, when your fingers found their way into his hair, Remus knew that was the best moment of his life.

And that was why he couldn’t confess.

Every time he thought about telling you the truth, the fear paralyzed him. He knew he had started it all for the wrong reasons, that he had lied to you, but now... now you were the most important thing to him. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

But the weight of the guilt was unbearable. Every smile you gave him, he felt the knot tightening in his throat. Every intimate moment, he hated himself a little more. He wanted to believe that what you had was strong enough to survive the truth, but a part of him knew that the revelation would destroy everything.

And now, as he walked through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, trying not to think about the sound of your broken voice, Remus knew he had made the wrong choice. He should have been honest. He should have told you everything before it was too late.

But he didn’t. And now, he didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

The reunion happened days later, at the end of a quiet hallway near the library. You had gone there to find a moment of peace, away from curious glances and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. But, as if the universe insisted on testing your strength, he was there.

Remus was leaning against the wall, his face marked by exhaustion, his brown eyes fixed on the floor as if carrying the weight of the world. When he heard your footsteps, he lifted his gaze, and the air seemed to vanish from the space.

"I... I didn't know if I should be here," he started, his voice rough, as if he had rehearsed those words a million times and still didn’t know how to say them. "But I needed to see you."

"Why?" Your voice was cold, distant, but inside, everything was in ruins. "What more could you possibly say, Remus? What’s left to explain?"

He took a step towards you, but stopped when he saw the way you instinctively stepped back. The pain on his face was almost tangible, but it was nothing compared to what you felt.

"I know I messed everything up," he said, his voice breaking. "And I know it's selfish of me to want to talk to you after everything. But I can’t... I can’t just let you go without trying, without telling you how much you mean to me."

"Mean to you?" You repeated, laughing without humor. "Remus, I was a bet. I was just a means to an end. And now you want to tell me I mean something?"

He shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t like that... it’s not like that. Yes, in the beginning, it was because of James. But from the moment I truly got to know you, everything changed. You changed everything. I know this doesn’t erase what I did, but... I love you."

"Don’t say that," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t make this harder than it already is."

"But it’s true!" He took another step, and this time you didn’t back away, even though you wanted to. "I love you. I loved you from the moment I realized you were different from anyone I’ve ever met. From the moment you let me into your life, even when I didn’t deserve it."

You stared at him, your heart racing, and the pain you had tried to suppress overflowed. "And that’s what makes it worse, Remus. Because, despite everything, despite the lie, despite the betrayal..." Your voice faltered, but you gathered all the courage you still had to say the words you feared the most. "I still love you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Remus seemed to freeze, his eyes wide as he absorbed your words.

"You have no idea how much this hurts," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Remus. And that’s what’s destroying me, because I know I can’t trust you. I know that every time I look at you, I’ll remember that it all started with a lie. And I don’t know how to deal with that."

"I didn’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "If I could go back in time, if I could change anything, it would be this. I never would have been part of that bet. I would have gotten to know you for you, not because of James’s stupid plan."

You laughed, but it was an empty sound, devoid of joy. "That doesn’t change anything. You made a choice, Remus. And now we both have to live with the consequences."

He approached slowly, as if every step was a silent plea. "Then tell me what I can do. How can I fix this? Because I can’t imagine my life without you."

"There’s no fixing it." Your voice was firm, even as your heart seemed to shatter. "Some things, Remus, can’t be repaired. Some things just break, and all we can do is accept it."

For a moment, you stood in silence, the world around you fading as you looked at him, trying to memorize that moment. Because you knew it would be the last.

"I wish things were different," you finally said, your voice so low you could barely hear it. "But they’re not. Please, just... go away."

His gaze shattered, and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something more. But then he simply nodded, the heavy silence settling between you before he turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

You waited until he disappeared before letting the first sob escape, as painful as the feeling inside you.

[that-one-p00k1e]

─────〃★ for you, I wouldೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

✧ summary: things they would do for you ft. Ren Kaji, Hajime Umemiya, Haruka Sakura, Hayato Suo, Jo Togame, Mitsuki Kiryu, Akihiko Nirei, Tasuku Tsubakino, Toma Hiragi, Yamato Endo, Chika Takiishi

✧ content: fluff, gn!reader (I think), OOC most likely, established!relationship, not proofread I'm sorry, tsubakino's pronouns are confirmed he/him ✦ a/n: HAAAAPPPYYYYY NNNNNEEEWWW YYYYEEAAARRR BBBBIITTCHHESSSSS😝😝😝😝 six months since I last posted omg-! I'm still alive! 😍 tysm for the support while I'm gone ily'all <33

—REN KAJI would turn off his music and pull down his headphones to listen to you ramble. Though he had his attention to his phone, he'd give silent nods and hums here and there to let you know that he was listening. Occasionally, he'd throw in little comments and questions regarding the topic you were telling. Little to your knowledge, your rambles to him were like taking notes. He'd mentally highlight things that he thought were important, and would keep it in mind in the future. He's the type to look nonchalant, but deep down, he cares more than he lets on. “... What's wrong?” he asked as he heard you abruptly stop talking. “Forget it.. You're not even listening.” You looked away in disappointment, letting out a quiet sigh. “But I have been listening,” he tried to reassure, feeling slightly guilty for making you feel neglected. “Really? Then repeat all the things I've been saying.” He, in fact, did repeat most things you've mentioned and justified his word.

—HAJIME UMEMIYA would gift you random bouquets every week, as if he hasn't gifted you enough already. What's special about his bouquets is that you can never guess the theme for the week. First, he started off classic – flowers, with the consideration of them being fake so that you'd be able to keep them forever. Then, he brought you a bouquet of snacks and sweets that he knew were your favorite. Next thing you knew, he's giving you a bouquet of money he's been secretly saving up on. You felt guilty; guilty for the effort he's been putting, just for you to return it with some unprofessional homemade baked goods. It felt unfair. But does he sail on the same boat? No. He's going to reassure you that he expects nothing in return, and that you being there for him and loving him was what all he ever wanted and needed.

—HARUKA SAKURA would spend his free time struggling to assemble a Lego flower bouquet set after learning about White Day. He wanted to return your gesture of gifting him during Valentine's, despite himself denying such intention. It took a lot of effort, in both figuring out what to get while fearing you wouldn't like it –to the point that he would even call over Nirei and Suo for help – and in building the tiny pieces of bricks after settling on a final decision for the gift. He persisted to build it himself, no matter how much his friends offered to help. He wanted to make sure it was his work purely, done with his own hands. The whole process was frustrating, infuriating, and was basically a test of patience. But after seeing how you kept the received bouquet in a glass vase – delicately treasuring it on your bedroom display – he has never felt so proud yet flustered his whole life.

—HAYATO SUO would waltz into the café without a care in the world while having scattered lipstick stains decorating his face. Moreover, it wasn't your idea in the first place– it was his. Your relationship wasn't out yet, and he thought, what better way to publish it than announcing it wordlessly but gives double the impact? “Hm? Oh, this? It's my beloved’s artwork. Do you like it?” he'll innocently ask when someone questions the visible lip prints. Sakura was a blushing mess, and Suo was very much enjoying the look of bewilderment from others as they received the unspoken news. This was the reaction he wanted. This was what boosted his pride furthermore in being your boyfriend, and he'd shamelessly do it again to show off his love for you to the world.

—JO TOGAME would be your personal walking object holder. He'd take your bag and sling it over his shoulder with you needless to say; he'd keep hair bands around his wrist in case you decided to tie your hair up; he'd hold your shopping bags throughout your journey at the mall. Never were you the one to request his aid first, and never has he complained about being tired. He'd even go barefoot just to lend you his footwear when your feet start to hurt in heels. Moreover, he'd carry you bridal along the way. Despite you worrying over him tiring himself, he persisted to keep ahold of you. He loves seeing you enjoy life without a care in the world, and he'd do anything to carry burdens that dare to get in the way of that enjoyment.

—MITSUKI KIRYU would deliberately lose in a game of UNO and let you take the victory when he could've won decades ago. The whole time the both of you were playing, he's been holding a Wild and Draw 4 but refrained from using them. Instead, he kept drawing cards and just went yolo to buy time. Though he always played fair, seeing your dejected expression after losing many rounds this time was a little too unbearable for him. He promised himself for once, just this once will he let himself take a loss. He knew it wouldn't be fair, but if it meant that he'll get to see you smile in victory, then he doesn't find any problem with that.

—AKIHIKO NIREI would write down even the littlest of details about you that were thrown at him. You'd be casually mentioning a trivial preference as a ramble, but never had he pulled out his notebook and pen so quickly. During his early stages of getting to know you, he made sure to memorize everything you told him about yourself; your favorite color, favorite food, dream place to go, he even looked up your zodiac sign after knowing your birth date. He doesn't mean it in a creepy way. In fact, it was his way to know how to get closer to you. Despite already having the skill to remember it all, he likes to write it down to make sure as well as for keepsake. Thanks to that, now he has a cheat sheet on how to make you smile.

—TASUKU TSUBAKINO would wear himself a nail polish color that reminds him of you. Or, moreover, your favorite color. He loved being stylish, and what better way to do it than having at least a part of you involved in it? He'd walk proudly in his heels that you got him as a gift, and was even more ecstatic if someone complimented them, proud that your taste in fashion was appreciated by others. He'd ask to trade manicures with you for a date, where the both of you choose a nail look for each other. But if you weren't into painting nails, he'll ask you to choose a look for him instead. On special or fancy occasions, he'd often wear your fav lip combo or makeup look, as he treasures your choices and views them as something precious and only to be used when necessary.

—TOMA HIRAGI would pull up to the function wearing either a Hello Kitty or Kuromi tee under his gakuran jacket. Was it his personal choice to do it? Clearly not. Was it his choice to willingly wear it for the sake of his beloved significant other? Very much so. After many attempts of pleading, he caved in and (begrudgingly) agreed to your whole ‘matching outfits’ idea. He ate a pill or two when he saw how he looked in the mirror. Then ate two more when he finally appeared in public, especially at how much Umemiya and the others teased him for it. It was embarrassing, but was it worth it? No questions needed. The beaming smile you immediately wore when seeing him agree to your shenanigans, was enough proof that it was all – undoubtedly – worth it.

—YAMATO ENDO would revel in the feeling of being the center of your attention as you placed stickers and colored in his tattoos or drew silly doodles along his body. He liked the feeling of flexing himself while having you express your inner artist onto him. He'd think of himself as your muse; the art and the artist. Once you were done, he'd be extremely careful with doing activities, afraid of your artwork smudging off at the slightest touch. Even during the shower, he makes sure not to wipe it with full pressure. He considered turning it into an actual tattoo, really. Because it would mean that he'd get to keep something of yours to be a part of him, eternally.

—CHIKA TAKIISHI would let you do his hair as you please. He was one to outright reject the idea of someone touching him, but you – you had the privilege to do as you please to him without him raising a finger to stop you. You had him wrapped around your delicate fingers, his head leaning into your touch as you smoothly ran your hands through his long locks of red that met its ends with yellow. When he saw that you did your hair the same way as his, a flicker of surprise reflected on his eyes. Though he tried to come off as indifferent, he was secretly pleased to acknowledge the fact that the both of you were matching. He'd spend the whole day with you while wearing those matching hairstyles, not caring about how others would think of him. All he could focus on was how ethereal you looked in your current look. In fact, he always thought you looked beautiful in any shape and form of physical aspects.

[khorneschosen]

You aren't important enough*

I couldnt even care enough to correct the typo.

Anyway im going to read through this and see if there is anything worth replying to. Please be interesting.

Yes I'm aware you guys will fight us with irrationality. That's why you are irrational and why you are evil. And again, what would raping women give us? We apparently already have power over you, and the strive for power is proof of its lack, but its quite clear we have power and we use this power to.... Make feminism successful. Again if we wanted to refuse you, we could, we are stronger than you, and what ever you have we could take.

Again what would we have to gain from raping you? Pleasure? A sense of conquest? A sense of control over someone who offers us nothing we couldn't just take? Lol. You have nothing to offer, and what do you have to offer we can't just take right? So why have we allowed you anything? Why don't we just crush you?

The fact you even have a word to describe yourself, is proof, that men do not seek to oppress you. If we did, we could, would, and you wouldn't be able to fight us. We would win by default.

In your own warped view of reality even this is true. Like operating within your warped system this is true.

But you don't have to accept it, if you don't feel like it. Isn't that right?

Do me a favor, walk off a building and see if your feelings will save you from the ground you are rushing towards.

Put a loaded gun to your head and pull the trigger and see if your feelings will shield your gray matter.

I mean it stands to reason that both of what I just said will kill you. But reason is just a tool of male oppression and dominance.

And why you will fail. Irrationality is not a weapon, its poison. Refusing to grant your hysteria the title of anything rational is my ultimate point. It's hard to prove to other people, that your philosophy does not believe in reason, reality, or rationality. You can say it all day but people think you are just insulting them. The only way you can hurt me, is by choosing to allow you to hurt me.

Irrational means create irrational ends. Like your entire movement not knowing how to define woman all of a sudden. After all we can feel what a woman is, and don't need to really know after all. After all why should someone need that tool of male oppression to define what is a woman.

Do you see how your rejection of reason, has led to, your movement saying "a woman is who ever we or they feel like" ? Or is that just male oppression.

You know I am enjoying this conversation. Its great to take a live specimen of what your philosophy produces and bringing it back to civilization.

It brings me great pleasure, you see and any and all of your insults are easily ignored. You have no power to hurt me, but by choosing to engage with me, you've given me so much joy. It actually brought a smile to my face.

I wonder even knowing this youll continue to engage with me. It would be delightful to see what you'll do.

why do women always have to be the bigger person? why don’t men just stop “joking” abt raping us?

[avelera]

(Arcane Meta) Mel Medarda does not dislike Viktor and she's not biased against him

I feel like I'm seeing some rehashed arguments leftover from S1, but I see some wild (to me) claims that Mel dislikes Viktor, or looks down on him as a person from the undercity or for being poor, or that Mel is jealous of Jayce's time and wants to keep him all to herself. These are all wild to me because we have canon refutations of every single point that people seem to be ignoring.

Mel does not dislike Viktor. At most, she might be neutral towards him and, at worst, on one (1) occasion saw him as an ideological opponent to one of her goals. We have evidence of this in canon in her reaction to hearing that Viktor is dying and in the scene when he's in the Hex cocoon and she comes to check on him and reassures Jayce that, "He will come back to us." How close she feels to him is up to interpretation, but she shows concern for his wellbeing and genuine care for his recovery.

We have no evidence Mel looks down on Viktor, and why would she? The first time she would have met him would be as Heimerdinger's assistant, a respectable position, and then as the co-founder of Hextech. Viktor may not be Noxian royalty but he has never been low-status when she's known him. As Mel said, "No one is expendable, that's what this is all about." We don't have any evidence or scenes that show Mel dismissing someone she's met in person just because of their birth.

And on that point about being Noxian, Mel is not from Piltover. She is, technically, a political refugee/exile from Noxus, albeit a wealthy one which obfuscates for many the fact she is a refugee. She cannot go back to her home country, as far as she knows.

Mel came to Piltover as a young adult. She wouldn't have grown up with Piltover biases. She'd have her own biases as Noxian, to be sure, and like many people of extreme privilege, I have no doubt that Mel can overlook people in need like the undercity or see people who are wealthy and/or political players as more important to her goals, but automatically ascribing class or cultural biases to her the way Caitlyn and Jayce have them innately towards the undercity as citizens of Piltover who grew up there, is making up a bunch of stuff that just isn't there in the text.

Mel never shows possessiveness of Jayce, quite the opposite, especially when it comes to Viktor. When she hears Viktor is dying, she immediately says that Jayce should leave her to go be by Viktor's side. She never questions why Jayce is taking care of Viktor when Viktor is in the Hex cocoon. She never chastises Jayce for leaving the Council in its time of need (even though she'd have reason to there!) or for leaving to take care of Viktor. She never demands Jayce's time for personal reasons and she never badmouths Viktor. She completely understands the importance of their bond (however you view that bond) and the only thing she advises Jayce to do when she visits him after he abandoned the Council to go help Viktor is go check in with other important people in his life after the bombing, like Caitlyn, who lost her mother, and Jayce realizes Mel is right because she's more adept with people than he is, and realizes he's been neglecting other people in his life who are hurting.

The one scene people use to say that Mel dislikes Viktor is this one, where she encourages Jayce to create defensive Hextech weapons. People use the fact that when Viktor tells her absolutely not, she gives him a disappointed look, and then refocuses her efforts on persuading Jayce, who is the easier target and the more effective one because he has more power.

Personally, I don't see that as disdain at all, it's just practical. Mel has a goal. Her goal is Hextech weapons (a goal she will later walk back when she realizes the consequences). Viktor is unmovable on this point. Jayce is not AND if he agrees, he has the power as a Councilor to make them happen. He could probably also persuade Viktor too, which Mel has zero chance of.

Mel's disagreement with Viktor here to me should not be read as her feelings on him in their totality, it is an ideological one separate from whether or not they care for each other as people. Mel is entirely able to separate those two things as a mature, intelligent, and extremely skilled-with-people person.

(Viktor, on the other hand, has disliked her since the start and sees her as a threat, especially with her influence on Jayce. But that's another essay entirely.)

[justordinarygirl]

IDW Starscream x reader

This got me so interested that I lost sleep and just started writing, falling asleep every 20 minutes, lol

The meeting alone was a message of destiny. First acquaintance, discussions at some boring event didn't just brighten the evening, but allowed a veritable meadow of flowers to bloom in your spark. Peaceful Cybertron was beautiful, it was a pity that few people appreciated what they had.

Then the long war. Deaths, one after another, the smell of about to burst energon from someone's insides, hunger, pain, death again. At what other moment than this should you want to be closer to the one who heals the frame and the spark with mere words, with tugging sounds and a self-assured tone? You didn't hesitate to pick a side. The processor was on maximum, reports, tasks, fixing equipment or repairing the wounded, you learned fast, everything you could learn, just to earn a higher rank, to stand if not on par with Starscream, then at least to be as close to him as possible. But that plan failed so miserably… You were sent away, as if to separate you from him, fate mocked and hated for something.

Without giving up hope, you kept in touch with him from a distance. You wrote to him much more than he did, and more often than not, he would suddenly appear online, reply to one or maybe just two messages with something short, and start complaining. About the Lord, about the tasks, about the soldiers. And you supported him as best you could, not knowing that you were the only one who stayed on his side and told him something positive, like a life preserver thrown so timely.

Then it was finally over. After an agonizingly long time that passed imperceptibly but sucked the last drop out of every Cybertronian, the one you had been waiting and longing for for so long finally stood before you. He was washed and polished, just like you. After millions of years, nothing creaked in your joints, the sky overhead was clear, and Starscream, though slightly changed, was looking over his shoulder with such familiar optics.

For so much time of companionship and support, you were allowed to watch the most important events not from the surface of Cybertron under the new ruler's balcony, and not live, but standing directly behind his back. You've missed him so much that you delight in every movement of his adorable wings, from a full flap, to a barely perceptible twitch. And now he stands there, says his speech, which he has been working on for a long time, makes snide comments, waves goodbye and goes to the exit, passing by and casting a lingering glance at you.

On another workday, you hand over the report into his manipulators, savoring the instant touch of your fingers as he picks up the datapads. He sets them aside and stares at your figure standing in front of him, scrolling from side to side in the expensive chair.

"Not a single remark in your direction my dear, not during the war, nor for your service to me personally, I should suspect you, are you surely a common mortal?" his voice is so sweet you want to lick your lips languidly. You chuckle at his words, and smile at him sincerely, not believing it to be true.

"You shouldn't, I'm just always motivated. It's nice when work is appreciated, you know how unpleasant it feels when it's blatantly not to"

He presses his lips together and nods a few times, dropping a slightly sinking gaze to the surface of his desk, but wipes it off his faceplate and looks at you with the familiar friendliness only you are accustomed to. "You were, are, and I hope will remain my oldest and dearest friend, I need loyal people like you at my side."

And you nod to him too, more than willing to do him a favor. But, oh, how you want to be more than just a loyal friend to him in this time, how you want to put your helmet on his shoulder, take him by the arm and intertwine your fingers, especially in front of everyone. How you want to just nuzzle into his cheek and leave a kiss. And even more than that. Much more. You hide your EM field from Starscream and take a step back, coughing slightly.

"Well, I'll be off, right? So much for rebuilding Cybertron," and you slip out of his office, almost flying out, not noticing at all his outstretched manipulator in your direction in a pathetic attempt to delay.

He abruptly dropped his helmet onto the table with a loud clang, growling out of not knowing what to do. Friend, you're a friend. Odd, what else could he say? 'Hop on my lap, please'? He can't take this pressure, this feeling that if he doesn't act faster, someone will take you, so friendly and open, into their filthy clutches. He doesn't know how to approach you. He's barely even interacted with femmes during his asset. It's worth asking for advice. Primus, from whom? It's all idiots! He jumped up, remembering someone he could have a decent contact with and maybe even get something worthwhile. Dropping his chair from the abruptness of his movements, he quickly close his personal documents and left the office, remembering to lock it.

You're calmly walking down the corridors with another plan in your head and a whole city of ideas and dreams about the future, when you see someone with your side-eye around the corner and turn your attention to the end of the next corridor. Your processor reflexively recognized Starscream's figure instantly, only then did you realize that Windblade was standing next to him. That wasn't the point, it was the way they were standing. Close, too close. He exhales and leans toward her, saying something too quietly for you to make out. Her optics widened in disbelief and surprise as she opened her mouth and looked as if she was embarrassed. Your jaws clenched to a squeak. What could he possibly have said that? He so rarely stood so close to even you, what was she doing so near to him? You stepped out from around the corner completely and shouted a greeting to the far standing mech and femme, causing them to literally recoil from each other. Oh no, you saw the whole thing!

You're in front of them in a couple seconds, looking as shy as if they'd been caught kissing in the pantry.

"What were you discussing?" you smile affably at them both, shifting your gaze from one to the other. They look at each other sharply at your question and Windblade nods her shoulder awkwardly, kneading her hinge and averting her gaze. What was that supposed to mean? Were they flirting?

Starscream instantly went into tactical retreat mode, taking one step back, then another, then silently turning on his heels and adding a step into the unknown. Oh, how rude. This is after all that? Distrust, huh?

You felt as if the spark was about to stop shining from the pain beneath your breastplates. You held yourself back from showing emotion, continuing to look welcoming to at least one onlooker.

"You looked so embarrassed together. If I'm reading this right, I'd have to say that the two of you are very organic." No, you don't think so. And your own words hurt you, but you just want to know more. And femme is throwing up her manipulators and actively waving them around in denial.

"No, no, you've got it completely wrong! We weren't talking about anything like that, never mind…"

"Then what else could you have discussed?"

"We weren't discussing anyone"

Oh no, they weren't gossiping about you behind your own back were they? You force yourself to chuckle sarcastically.

"It's all clear with you lovebirds, how shy." you don't want to hear any more, so with the same quick stride that Starscream had, you walk off in the other direction, leaving Windblade at a loss. What should she have told you? To declare in Starscream's absence that he's in love with you and like a boy doesn't know what to do when he barely trusted her with it? It would have been such a scandal.

She looked sadly in the direction Starscream had gone, then in the direction you were going, and sighed heavily, leaning against the wall and realizing how difficult it was going to be for the two of you.

@skittyhugger because it's your order.

Аnd @alexandraibis because I know damn well you're gonna love it.

[nickeverdeen]

Heya, an idea that's been plaguing my mind recently is Vi x celebrity fem!reader, could be any type of celebrity, could also be a nepo baby but I need headcannons about this.

💐

Vi x celebrity!fem!reader hcs

You and Vi meet in the most unconventional way—she doesn’t recognize you at first, thinking you’re just another “fancy woman”

There’s an undeniable spark between you two, even before she realizes you’re a celebrity

Once she finds out who you are, Vi immediately feels the need to shield you from anyone who might want to take advantage of your fame

She loves how, despite your celebrity status, you’re still grounded and easy to talk to

Vi isn’t used to cameras following her around, so she takes it upon herself to help you dodge them when she can

Vi prefers spending time with you in private, whether it’s at your place or in some hidden spot in Zaun, far from prying eyes

Vi gets a little overwhelmed when fans approach you, but she always steps aside to let you have your moment

She might get a little jealous if someone flirts with you, but she trusts you completely and knows you’re hers

She doesn’t love dressing up, but she’ll endure it if it means being by your side at an important event

Vi’s hand is always on the small of your back or gripping your hand tightly when fans or paparazzi get too close

Despite her tough exterior, Vi loves leaving sweet notes or sending texts to remind you how proud she is of you

Vi becomes your safe haven, the person you can always turn to when the pressures of fame feel too much

You love introducing Vi to the glitz and glam of your life, though she’s more interested in the free food than anything else

You take every opportunity to show Vi how proud you are of her, whether it’s on social media or in interviews

She loves showing you the less glamorous parts of her life, like her favorite dive bars in Zaun or introducing you to her friends

You both work hard to balance your vastly different lifestyles, creating a middle ground that feels like home for both of you

You and Vi are unstoppable together—her street smarts and your public influence make you a formidable duo

No matter how different your lives are, Vi loves you for who you are, not for your fame or fortune, and that’s what makes the relationship so special