#im still trying to figure out tags for these things

[bu3ck3r]

tied together — part 3

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: hi im sorry it took so long but part 3 is finally here! let me know what you think♡

tied together – masterlist

paige’s pov:

the second the text sent, paige threw her phone onto the bed and walked away like it might explode.

she made it to the other side of her dorm before turning back.

five minutes. no response.

she chewed on her sleeve.

was it too much? too soon? too obvious?

then the screen lit up with a text from azzi.

hey. what’s going on?

short. careful. but not cold.

paige picks up the phone, sits back down. her hands are sweaty.

i just… can we talk? like really talk?

yeah, i’m here paige.

the typing bubble flickers.

i keep trying to act like that night didn’t mean anything. like it was just a one-time thing.

was it?

that makes her stop. her thumb hovers.

no. it wasn’t.

azzi doesn’t answer right away.

paige can see her reading it. thinking. probably doing that thing where she pinches the bridge of her nose and overanalyzes every syllable.

okay. good. because it wasn’t for me either.

paige exhales like she’s been holding her breath for weeks.

her hands shake a little.

so where does that leave us?

i don’t know. confused? wanting more?

paige’s heart pounds.

do you?

yeah. i do.

another long pause.

paige types something. deletes it. types again.

i’ve missed you. not just… physically. i miss talking to you. laughing with you. you always saw me, even when i didn’t want anyone to.

there’s a beat. then:

i still do.

and that’s it. that’s the shift.

paige sinks deeper into her bed, phone glowing in her hand, and for the first time in months, she lets herself feel it.

this thing between them?

it’s not going away.

do you want to ft?

the question makes paige’s breath catch.

yeah. yeah, i do.

she hits the call button before she can talk herself out of it.

it only rings once.

azzi appears on the screen, face softly lit by the glow of her phone, hair down, eyes tired but steady.

they don’t say anything at first.

just… look.

it feels like breathing again after holding it for too long.

paige breaks the silence first, voice quiet.

“i didn’t think you’d pick up.”

azzi shrugs. “i was waiting for you to call.”

that hits her harder than it should.

paige smiles — tentative, but real. “i’m glad you did.”

azzi tucks her hair behind her ear, gaze flickering down for a second.

“i don’t know what this is yet,” she says. “but i know i’m not ready to let it go.”

paige nods, barely blinking. “me neither.”

silence again. but it’s a better kind now. charged. warm.

and just like that, something’s begun.

something real.

something they’ll both spend the next chapters figuring out.

together.

paige’s pov:

it was late — like, dangerously late — and she was curled up on her dorm bed, hoodie pulled up, legs tangled in her sheets, half-heartedly scrolling through instagram when she saw it.

azzi tagged in a photo.

the photo wasn’t even that scandalous, not really. azzi and a couple teammates out at dinner, smiling, arms thrown over each other’s shoulders. regular stuff. normal. friendly.

but there was this girl — blonde, bright smile, pressed up too close to azzi, laughing into her shoulder. like they knew each other too well.

paige’s stomach twisted violently.

she zoomed in — god, pathetic — and stared for way too long.

it was stupid. she knew it was stupid. azzi was allowed to have friends. people who made her laugh. paige had no right — no claim. but still.

she tossed her phone onto the bed, flopped onto her back, and stared up at the ceiling like it had answers.

it didn’t.

her brain wouldn’t shut up — painting ugly little what-ifs in her head.

was she moving on?

did she already move on?

a sharp knock on the door made paige jump. she scrambled upright, heart hammering, hoping for she didn’t even know what.

it was just nika, poking her head in.

“you coming to team breakfast tomorrow?”

“yeah,” paige mumbled, voice rough.

nika gave her a long look, concerned but too tired to fight it, and closed the door again.

paige sat there, chewing on her sleeve, phone buzzing uselessly beside her.

one new text.

it was from azzi.

just a stupid meme about basketball.

paige stared at it for a long time.

she wanted to answer.

she wanted to ignore it.

instead, she just… liked the message. no words.

and hated herself for it.

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azzi should’ve been asleep hours ago.

the game tomorrow was important — huge. coach had drilled it into them all week: stay focused. stay ready.

but here she was, scrolling through paige’s socials like an idiot.

paige hadn’t posted anything new. she never did anymore. but azzi still checked. still hoped.

she flopped back onto her bed and exhaled loudly.

the post from dinner had gone up without her even realizing it. bree had tagged her and everyone else. just her group of friends, maybe a few of them a little drunk. but it wasn’t a big deal.

still, something itched under her skin. like maybe paige had seen it. like maybe, maybe it would get under her skin the same way azzi’s heart still ached at the sight of paige in a uconn jersey.

her phone buzzed again.

a new text — this time, from bree.

u good?

azzi thumbed a reply.

yeah. just focusing on the big game.

it wasn’t a total lie.

but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

paige’s pov:

morning came brutal and too soon.

paige rolled over, bleary-eyed, and grabbed her phone. her thumb hovered over azzi’s text again. the one she still hadn’t really answered.

but when she saw on instagram that the team bus rolled up to the arena, she couldn’t stop herself from checking her phone one more time.

azzi had posted again.

just a story, of the team in their uniforms slung over their shoulders, laughing, shoving each other.

paige caught a glimpse of her — azzi, head thrown back, laughing like nothing was wrong.

it gutted her.

paige’s chest was tight and her palms were sweaty. she wasn’t nervous about the game.

she was nervous about seeing azzi again.

even from 800 miles away.

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azzi should’ve been locked in.

but her phone vibrated in her bag and she couldn’t stop herself from checking it.

a new notification.

paige bueckers liked your story.

azzi froze for a second too long, teammate’s voices buzzing around her like static.

something hot curled low in her stomach.

something she tried to smother.

focus. game first.

but when she laced up her shoes, her hands were shaking.

paige’s pov:

paige watched azzi’s game from her ipad, curled up in her dorm bed, headphones in, hoodie pulled low over her eyes.

it was reckless. stupid.

but she couldn’t help herself.

the second tipoff happened, she was locked in — eyes glued to every movement.

azzi was beautiful out there. sharp. effortless.

but she didn’t look like she was having fun.

something was off. paige could see it — the stiffness in her shoulders, the way she forced her shots, the way she glanced at the crowd like she was looking for something.

paige clenched her fists under the blanket.

was it her fault?

her heart ached and soared and cracked all at once.

at halftime, she stared at the paused screen and thumbed out a text before she could second-guess it.

you’re killing it. don’t overthink. just play.

she hovered. then hit send.

and immediately regretted it.

what if azzi didn’t want to hear from her?

what if she was ruining her focus?

but five minutes later, her phone buzzed.

you’re watching?

paige smiled, heart doing something stupid and painful in her chest.

always.

azzi stared at the text way longer than she should have.

“always.”

god.

it made her legs feel weak.

she tucked her phone away before coach could yell at her, but the fire in her chest was new — steady. hot.

not fear. not nerves.

hope.

she took the court after halftime like she had something to prove.

like someone was watching just for her.

she hit a three-pointer and didn’t even think — she turned toward the camera, a little smirk playing at her lips.

the crowd went wild.

but all she could think about was paige seeing it.

see me, she thought, like i still see you.

by the end of the game, paige was basically curled into a ball under her blanket, ipad balanced on her knees, heart pounding like she’d played instead of just watched

azzi was on fire after halftime — all energy and smiles and little moments where paige could see it — the shift. the lightness.

it was beautiful.

south carolina won.

paige should’ve been annoyed. should’ve been bitter.

instead, she found herself smiling, stupid and soft, when azzi threw her arms around her teammates and laughed, messy and real.

she deserved that. deserved to be happy.

paige’s fingers hovered over her phone. she shouldn’t text.

she really shouldn’t.

but she did.

proud of you. you looked like you were actually having fun out there.

the three dots appeared almost immediately.

you’re a terrible liar p. you always know when something’s off.

paige’s heart twisted.

it wasn’t off. you were still you.

another long pause.

and then azzi texted:

facetime?

paige almost dropped her phone.

her thumb fumbled over the screen.

she called without thinking.

azzi’s heart was hammering so hard she could barely hear the dial tone.

when paige’s face popped up — hoodie still on, cheeks flushed, hair messy — azzi had to look away for a second just to catch her breath.

“you look like you haven’t slept in three days,” azzi teased, voice low, tired.

“you look like you just dropped twenty points on national television,” paige shot back, grinning.

azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the way her cheeks warmed.

there was a long pause. comfortable. aching.

“i saw the post,” paige said suddenly.

azzi blinked. “what post?”

“the one with… you know. that girl.”

azzi squinted at her. “you mean my friend olivia? paige, she’s literally dating some guy from the men’s team.”

paige’s face froze.

“oh.”

azzi laughed — actually laughed — and the sound cracked something inside her.

“you’re jealous,” azzi said, delighted.

“am not,” paige muttered, but her ears turned red.

“you’re the worst liar i’ve ever met,” azzi teased.

they both grinned — and it felt like slipping back into something dangerous. something that still fit.

“you were supposed to be focusing on your game,” paige said, after a beat.

“you were supposed to be focusing on yours,” azzi countered.

they stared at each other. neither looking away.

god, paige missed this. missed her. missed the way azzi could tear her down with two words and a smile.

“so what now?” paige asked, voice cracking on the last word.

azzi went quiet. her eyes softened. her hand lifted, like she could reach through the screen.

“i don’t know,” azzi whispered. “i just know i don’t want to keep pretending like you’re not on my mind all the time.”

the air left paige’s lungs.

“yeah,” she said. “same.”

they stayed like that, neither brave enough to say the thing they both knew was waiting.

the call stretched late into the night.

they didn’t even talk about basketball. didn’t talk about the future.

they just talked.

memories. dumb inside jokes. the time paige accidentally started a fire trying to make ramen in her dorm room. the way azzi couldn’t parallel park if her life depended on it.

it was easy. effortless.

it was terrifying.

at some point, paige curled up tighter in her bed, ipad propped against her knees, and muttered, “i miss you.”

azzi was quiet for a long time.

then she said, “come visit me.”

paige’s heart stopped.

“azzi—”

“i’m serious.”

“it’s not that simple.”

“it is. you come. we figure it out.”

paige stared at her. pale, serious face. big, dark eyes. voice steady.

“one trip doesn’t fix everything,” paige whispered.

azzi smiled, small and sad. “no. but it’s a start.”

paige wanted to say yes. god, she wanted to.

but fear still sat heavy in her chest.

“i’ll think about it,” she said finally.

azzi’s face didn’t fall — not exactly — but the hurt was there, hiding in the corners.

“okay,” she said softly. “think fast.”

the call ended sometime after 3 a.m.

azzi sat there, staring at the black screen, feeling hollowed out.

she didn’t know what she’d expected. paige to jump at the chance? to confess everything in a neat, perfect bow?

it was never going to be that easy.

she rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.

but still, she didn’t regret asking.

if there was even a sliver of a chance to fix them —

she was going to take it.

no matter what.

paige’s pov:

practice was hell. paige couldn’t focus.

every play call blurred. every drill felt off.

geno yelled at her three times before he finally pulled her aside.

“what’s wrong? you good?” he barked, hands on his hips.

paige nodded automatically. lied. automatically.

“yeah. just a little tired.”

he stared her down — the way only geno could — like he saw right through her.

“you can’t play scared, paige,” he said gruffly. “not at this level.”

paige swallowed hard.

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paige sat on the floor, back against her bed, phone heavy in her hand.

the draft text stared up at her.

i want to come. i just don’t know how to not be scared of losing you again.

she didn’t send it.

instead, she clicked open a flight booking site. fingers trembling.

her heart raced.

she found a flight.tomorrow morning.

her thumb hovered over “confirm.”

click.

it was done.

no going back now.

azzi woke up to her phone buzzing violently under her pillow.

one new text. from paige.

hope you’re free tomorrow. coming to see you.

azzi shot upright, heart pounding.

was she dreaming?

was this real?

her hands shook so hard she could barely type.

you better not be messing with me paige.

wouldn’t dream of it.

azzi grinned into her pillow, cheeks hot, heart soaring.

but just as she was about to call her, her phone buzzed again.

another text. from bree.

heads up — dawn is pissed. mandatory team meeting tonight. no visitors allowed this weekend. period.

azzi’s stomach plummeted.

no visitors. no paige.

not now.

not yet.

paige zipped her suitcase shut with shaky hands.

flight confirmation email glowing on her phone.

hope blooming stupid and fast in her chest.

for the first time in months, she let herself believe it

maybe they could still fix it. maybe it wasn’t too late.

she grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and headed for the door.

as she was about to leave, her phone buzzed.

new text.

from azzi.

paige. we have a problem.

paige froze.

heart in her throat.

she stared at the message, the weight of it sinking in.

what kind of problem??

dawn is pissed and we can’t really have visitors this weekend, she wants us to be more locked in on our next game, so i basically have to sneak you in.

her fingers hovered over the screen.

azzi you’re gonna be the death of me i swear.

yeah whatever. you can’t hide the fact that you want to see me anyway.

oh yeah? and who was asking me to come in the first place?

you’re so annoying.

and you love it.

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it should’ve been illegal how fast azzi ran down the stairwell.

she kept her hoodie pulled tight over her head, her sneakers squeaking against the tile, adrenaline buzzing under her skin. every door she passed felt like it might swing open and catch her — every second felt too loud.

she didn’t care.

because paige was here. paige came for her.

the text had been simple.

i’m outside.

no hesitation. no second-guessing.

azzi shoved open the heavy door at the bottom of the stairwell, stepping out into the freezing night air — and there she was.

standing half-hidden under the shadows of the overhang, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled into a messy bun, hoodie two sizes too big.

paige. here.

their eyes locked. neither of them moved at first.

then azzi was crossing the parking lot at a near-sprint, breath clouding the air, heart hammering so loud she could barely hear her own footsteps.

paige grinned when she saw her — wide and wild and so stupidly pretty — and opened her arms like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

azzi crashed into her without thinking.

arms around her neck. face buried in her hoodie.

breathless. shaking. laughing.

“you’re insane,” azzi whispered against her shoulder.

“so are you,” paige said, squeezing tighter.

azzi pulled back just enough to look at her.

“you’re gonna get us both expelled.”

paige tilted her head, smirking. “worth it.”

azzi bit back a laugh and grabbed her hand. “c’mon. before someone sees.”

they sprinted back across the lot, hand in hand, into the stairwell, up three flights of stairs, hearts pounding in time.

by the time they reached azzi’s door, they were both breathless — not from running.

from everything else.

azzi fumbled her keys, swearing under her breath. paige laughed quietly against her back.

“you’re so bad at sneaking.”

“you’re distracting,” azzi hissed, finally getting the door open.

she yanked paige inside and shut it fast, the click of the lock sounding way too loud.

for a second, neither of them moved.

then paige dropped her bag with a soft thud and looked around, grinning. “cute room.”

azzi rolled her eyes. “shut up.”

but her heart was racing too fast, her hands trembling too much.

paige walked slowly toward her, hands buried in her hoodie pockets, eyes locked onto her like there was no one else in the world.

“so,” paige said, voice low. “you gonna give me the real welcome, or…?”

azzi raised an eyebrow. “real welcome?”

“you know.” paige took another step closer, closing the distance between them. “the one where you pretend you’re mad at me, but really you’re just dying to kiss me.”

azzi opened her mouth — probably to tell her to shut up again — but paige didn’t give her the chance.

she reached out, grabbed the strings of azzi’s hoodie, and yanked her forward.

their mouths crashed together — messy, desperate, nothing like the slow careful kiss they’d shared at the hotel.

this wasn’t slow.

this was weeks of missing and aching and regret all poured into one furious second.

azzi made a soft sound against her mouth — surprised, needy — and paige swallowed it like she couldn’t get close enough.

paige’s hands slid up into her hair, tugging gently, angling her head just right.

azzi clutched at her waist, fingers twisting in the heavy fabric of her hoodie, trying to pull her closer, closer, closer.

paige backed her up until the backs of azzi’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and then she pushed — gently but firmly — until azzi was sitting.

paige hovered over her, breathing hard, eyes dark.

“you okay?” she whispered, forehead resting against azzi’s.

azzi blinked up at her, dazed.

“i’m perfect,” she breathed.

paige’s lips twitched into a crooked smile.

“good.”

and then she kissed her again — harder this time, deeper, swallowing azzi’s gasp like it was oxygen.

azzi clutched at her hoodie, pulling her down with her, until they both toppled onto the bed, tangled together, mouths never breaking apart.

the world spun around them.

like only this mattered.

paige hands were buried in azzi’s hoodie, fists curled tight, mouth moving over hers like she was trying to memorize every single second.

azzi tasted like mint gum and something sweeter — something that made paige dizzy.

god, she missed this.

missed her.

she pulled back slightly — just enough to look at her.

azzi’s cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a little messy where paige’s fingers had tugged too hard.

“you’re so beautiful it’s unfair,” paige whispered, voice wrecked.

azzi laughed, a little breathless, a little wrecked herself.

“you’re such a sap.”

“only for you.”

azzi’s eyes darkened — and then, suddenly, she wasn’t the one being kissed anymore.

she was kissing back — hard enough to steal the air from paige’s lungs.

azzi grabbed the hem of paige’s hoodie, fisting it tight, and pulled her down again, flipping their bodies so paige landed half-straddling her thighs.

paige gasped in surprise and azzi grinned against her mouth.

“my turn,” azzi whispered.

paige opened her mouth to respond — maybe tease, maybe say something cocky — but azzi kissed her again before she could.

and this kiss, this one was hotter. more dangerous.

azzi slid her hands under paige’s hoodie, palms skimming over bare skin, and paige shivered.

she couldn’t help it — she moaned quietly into azzi’s mouth.

azzi bit her bottom lip gently in response, pulling back just enough to smirk.

“you missed me that bad, p?”

paige’s face burned — but she didn’t back down.

she grabbed azzi’s jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“you have no idea,” paige said, voice low and rough.

azzi’s smile faded, replaced with something hungrier.

she tugged paige down again, harder this time.

neither of them was pretending anymore.

they needed this.

they needed each other.

azzi didn’t know where paige started and she ended anymore.

all she knew was paige’s hoodie bunched under her palms, paige’s mouth hot and heavy against hers, paige’s body fitting into hers like they were made for this.

paige kissed like she was drowning — frantic, hungry, desperate to feel everything all at once.

and azzi let her.

she let her until her own chest ached, until her head spun, until she couldn’t breathe without needing more.

and then she kissed back harder — biting at paige’s lip just enough to make her gasp, dragging her fingernails lightly down her ribs under the hoodie.

paige groaned into her mouth.

“baby, please.” she whispered without thinking.

azzi’s fingers stilled.

paige had called her that before, but not like this. not raw and needy and worshipful.

paige froze.

she hadn’t meant to say it — not yet — not now.

but azzi just smiled, slow and soft, and whispered back:

“say it again.”

paige lifted her head, grinning.

“baby,” she repeated, voice low and teasing, pressing kisses just under azzi’s ear.

azzi shivered.

it shattered something inside her.

azzi sat up abruptly, their chests colliding, their breathing ragged.

paige’s hoodie slid half up her body, baring inches of pale skin azzi couldn’t stop staring at.

paige smirked — that cocky, dangerous smirk that always got her in trouble.

“like what you see princess?”

azzi narrowed her eyes, heart hammering.

without a word, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of paige’s sweatpants and tugged her closer.

paige let out a surprised laugh — and then their mouths crashed together again, fiercer this time.

azzi shifted, climbing fully into paige’s lap, straddling her thighs, pressing down just enough to make paige gasp again.

“you’re gonna kill me,” paige muttered against her mouth.

azzi smiled against her lips. “you’ll die happy.”

paige’s hands slid up the back of her hoodie, palms splaying wide across her spine, holding her so tight it almost hurt.

they kissed like that — hard and messy and too much — until azzi’s head was spinning and paige’s hands were shaking.

it wasn’t about proving anything.

it was about everything they hadn’t said, everything they still couldn’t.

it was about not letting go again. not this time.

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paige couldn’t think. couldn’t breathe.

all she knew was azzi — azzi’s mouth, azzi’s hands, azzi’s body pressed against hers like she was trying to crawl inside her skin.

it was overwhelming. it was perfect.

she pulled back just enough to look at her — really look at her.

azzi’s hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen.

she looked wrecked.

she looked beautiful.

paige cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her jaw.

“i missed you,” she whispered, voice breaking.

azzi closed her eyes like it hurt to hear.

“i missed you too,” she breathed.

paige leaned in again, pressing soft kisses along her jawline, her throat, her collarbone — anywhere she could reach.

azzi tilted her head back, giving her access, breathing hard.

“you’re gonna ruin me,” azzi whispered, voice shaking.

paige smiled against her skin.

“already did.”

azzi laughed — a watery, broken sound — and pulled her closer again.

they kissed slower now — deep and languid and aching — like they had all the time in the world.

they didn’t.

but they pretended.

they lay tangled together on the narrow dorm bed, paige half on top of azzi, azzi’s fingers tracing lazy circles on her back under the hoodie.

it was quiet. it was safe. it was dangerous.

paige nuzzled into the crook of azzi’s neck, breathing her in.

they stayed like that — wrapped up in each other — until a sharp knock shattered the silence.

both of them froze.

azzi’s heart leapt into her throat.

another knock — louder this time.

“azzi? you in there?” a voice called. “c’mon, we’re doing movie night! you’re missing it!”

it wasn’t bree or aliyah.

it wasn’t anyone who knew.

azzi and paige locked eyes — wide, panicked.

paige mouthed:

hide?

azzi shook her head quickly and whispered:

stay quiet.

she scrambled off the bed, straightened her hoodie, and called toward the door:

“uh — yeah! be right there! just, uh, changing!”

“okay, hurry up! we’re starting in five!”

footsteps retreated down the hall.

azzi slumped back against the door, heart hammering.

paige was sitting cross-legged on the bed, trying — and failing — to look innocent.

“you,” azzi hissed, pointing at her, “are a menace.”

paige smirked and sprawled back against the pillows like she owned the place.

“you love it.”

azzi narrowed her eyes, trying to look stern, but she couldn’t help the way her lips twitched.

yeah.

she loved it.

she loved her.

even if she couldn’t say it yet.

after things calmed down they curled back into each other, whispers low and messy between kisses.

paige pressed her forehead against azzi’s.

“i don’t want to leave,” she whispered.

azzi tightened her arms around her.

“then don’t.”

paige laughed softly.

“you gonna hide me under your bed all season?”

azzi kissed her temple.

“if i have to.”

they stayed like that — wrapped up, breathing the same air — pretending like the outside world didn’t exist.

but eventually, reality crept back in.

paige’s phone buzzed on the nightstand.

azzi felt her stiffen.

slowly, paige reached for it. one new message. from cd.

where are you? call me. now.

azzi’s blood ran cold.

paige’s hand shook slightly as she lowered the phone.

they stared at each other — the weight of it settling between them.

“what if they know?” azzi whispered.

paige swallowed hard.

“i don’t care.”

azzi did. she cared so much it hurt.

but she also cared about paige more than anything.

and right now, she wasn’t ready to let her go.

not again.

paige reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently.

“whatever happens,” paige said softly, “we got it. okay?”

azzi nodded, throat too tight for words.

together.

for as long as they could be.

for as long as the world would let them.

azzi’s pov:

azzi closed the door gently behind her, hand still gripping the knob like she didn’t quite trust her legs to work yet.

the hallway was quiet.

too quiet.

like the kind of quiet that follows a moment you already know you’ll replay in your head for the rest of your life.

she leaned her forehead against the door. closed her eyes. tried not to feel everything all at once.

the bed still smelled like paige — vanilla shampoo and whatever it was that always clung to her when she wore hoodies two sizes too big. the sheets were rumpled. her pillow had an indent from where paige’s head had been.

azzi didn’t fix it. couldn’t.

she just stood there, heart pounding, a little stunned. a little wrecked.

because the thing is it hadn’t even felt like sneaking around.

it felt like coming home.

and now paige was gone again.

the moment paige stepped back onto uconn’s campus, the cold smacked her in the face — but it wasn’t the weather.

it was geno.

he didn’t yell.

he just stared at her like he was watching a bomb tick down to zero and couldn’t decide whether to duck or let it hit.

“you left campus,” he said. no greeting. no lead-up. just that.

“didn’t tell anyone. didn’t check in. just vanished.”

paige nodded, throat tight. “yeah.”

“and if something happened? if someone saw you?”

paige looked down at her shoes.

“i’m sorry.”

“sorry doesn’t cover it, bueckers,” geno snapped, then paused. exhaled.

“one more stunt like that? you’re benched.”

paige nodded again.

but something in her chest clenched.

she wasn’t sorry about azzi.

she was sorry it got close to costing her this.

azzi’s pov:

practice dragged. every drill felt wrong in her body. every coach’s whistle sounded like it was breaking glass inside her head.

azzi went through the motions, but her mind was somewhere else.

every time her phone buzzed in her locker, she flinched. every time she didn’t see paige’s name, her stomach twisted.

but then, just as she was unlacing her sneakers, it lit up. a text from paige.

alive. not benched. miss you already.

azzi smiled, small and tired, and leaned back against the cool metal of her locker door.

told you i was worth the risk.

you’re worth everything.

her heart dropped to her knees.

it took her five minutes to type back a reply — and she deleted it three times before she hit send.

─────────── ౨ৎ ──────────

the week that followed it got easier. and harder.

they texted constantly — like nothing had changed.

and maybe that was the problem.

paige would send dumb tiktok’s at 2 a.m. and azzi would reply half-asleep.

they facetimed when they could, always late, always under the covers with their voices low like they were sixteen again.

“azzi, say something cute or i’m hanging up.”

“you’re lucky you’re hot.”

“that’s not cute, that’s just true.”

“fine. i miss you. happy now?”

”…keep talking.”

and azzi would. until her voice got quieter. until the screen got blurry. until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence.

but under the sweetness, little cracks formed.

one day, paige read azzi’s message and didn’t answer.

azzi waited.

one hour. then two. then six.

nothing.

then, casually, a story went up on one of paige’s teammates instagram.

she was out with friends— laughing, carefree, someone’s hand brushing her shoulder.

azzi stared at it too long.

her throat felt tight. her fingers curled around her phone.

she told herself not to spiral.

but the truth was — she had spiraled before.

that’s how they ended up like this in the first place.

the third day paige didn’t call, azzi stopped checking her phone every two seconds.

she stopped scrolling back to old photos, to saved messages, to that blurry selfie of paige curled under her dorm blanket with the words “wish you were here” typed across the top.

when paige finally texted her again — casual, light, like nothing was wrong — azzi stared at it for a long, long time.

and then, slowly, typed:

i don’t like feeling like an option.

paige stared at her phone, the words burning like acid in her chest.

she read them again.

and again.

she felt it in her stomach first — that cold, dropping sensation like the floor was gone. then her throat tightened, her eyes stung, and suddenly she was on her bed, phone clutched in one hand, forehead pressed to her knees.

she hadn’t meant to pull away. hadn’t meant to be distant.

she was just… tired. overwhelmed. trying to balance everything.

but azzi didn’t know that.

all azzi saw was silence. distance. the kind of neglect that looked a lot like not caring.

paige hit call without thinking.

it rang once. twice.

no answer.

she swore under her breath and tried again.

this time, azzi picked up.

she didn’t say anything at first.

neither did paige.

just breathing.

tight, shallow, broken breathing — like they were both underwater and neither could remember how to come up for air.

“az,” paige said finally, voice low and cracked.

azzi closed her eyes.

“i didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” paige whispered. “like an option.”

“then why did you?” azzi asked quietly.

“because i’m scared,” paige said.

azzi blinked.

“scared of what?”

“of doing this wrong,” paige admitted. “of ruining it. of not being enough.”

her voice broke on the last word.

azzi’s heart twisted.

“you’re already enough,” she whispered.

another long pause.

“i didn’t know if you still wanted me,” paige said. “not just the texts and the flirting. me. all of me. even the messy, screwed up, inconsistent parts.”

“i want all of it,” azzi said. “every part.”

silence again — but it was warmer now. softer.

and then paige said it.

not dramatic. not loud.

just a whisper, like she didn’t know if she was allowed to say it out loud yet.

“i love you.”

azzi froze.

the words settled into the space between them like they belonged there. like they’d always been there, just waiting to be spoken.

paige’s breath hitched. “too much?”

azzi swallowed hard, her voice suddenly shaking.

“no.”

a breath.

“i love you too, paige.”

the second azzi said it back, paige almost dropped the phone.

her throat went tight. her chest cracked wide open.

there was no teasing. no jokes. not this time.

just quiet.

and then—

“took you long enough,” azzi said softly.

paige let out a wet, broken laugh. “shut up.”

azzi sniffled. “make me.

paige smiled. “i would if you were here.”

another beat of silence.

then azzi whispered, “come see me again.”

paige stared at the ceiling.

“i want to,” she said. “i just…”

“are you scared again?”

paige didn’t answer.

but she didn’t need to.

azzi whispered, “we’ll figure it out.”

paige nodded even though azzi couldn’t see her. “yeah.”

paige’s pov:

the next day, at practice, coach pulled her aside again.

“bracket’s almost done,” he said. “you ready for a rematch?”

paige looked at him, heart thudding.

“what rematch?”

he tossed her a printed sheet. tournament seeding projections.

and there it was.

uconn vs. south carolina. potential final four.

her hands trembled as she stared at the page.

everything in her chest turned cold.

because she wasn’t ready.

not to play against her. not to break this again.

not after they said i love you.

[socksdoeswrites]

omg new ideas keep flowing within me 💆‍♀️ can you do reader getting hurt really bad and they start crying for their bf, the jjk boys. you can decide how you want to write it, in a story like form or in an smau where it’s like someone else texting from the readers phone. THANK YEWWW XX

an: the emoji is sending me lmaooo! i most definitely can! you already know i love my jjk men :))! i decided to do a short story thing. i figured it'd be a little more detailed. when people ask for things like this im gonna start locking the fuuuuuuck in. don't wanna leave you pookies unsatisfied!!! you guys deserve the best of the BEST! so, lemme stop yapping, and get to this writing! my writing flow can no longer be stopped guys. im in for real. xoxo!

parings: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, and you!

tags/warnings: cursing, fluff, angst, cliffhanger (im sooooooryyyy i thought it'd be fitting), spoiler!!! tojis is a little... different, i decided to only do the men men in this, but if you want me to add yuuji and megumi, and the others please lmk!, i think thats all!! i really hope you enjoy! (guys, idk if you know the song, "die your daughter", but i listened to that on loooooop writing this.)

//////////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

satoru gojo

he didn't know where to look. his mind racing with different thoughts, bad thoughts. his vision wasn't focusing. under each pile of garbage, he listened carefully. a whimper, a scream, a something. he begged and pleaded to himself.

"c'mon, baby. c'mon..."

satoru knew had to be in this area. his heart shattered when a gut-wrenching scream flooded his ears. immediately turning to the sound, and if his heart couldn't break anymore, you lay there. a pipe piercing you through your stomach. blood pouring from the open wound. you hadn't noticed him until his broken voice murmured your name...

"y/n..?"

your head slowly moved to the side, as you connected your gaze with his, you yelled.

"t-toru! "

he wasted no more time bolting towards you. he gently moved your head into his lap. a string of curses fell from his lips as he looked around you. the whimpers and groans in pain melting his heart. he didn't know how to help you at that very moment. all he did was caress your cheek.

"y-you're okay... you're gonna be okay, sweet girl. i have you... i'm gonna help you, okay? stay awake for me, yeah?"

you couldn't help but cry and scream, as he tried his hardest to gently cradle you in his arms. if he wanted to get you out of this alive, he had to move you, and quick. desperately gripping onto his shoulders. the metal pipe still piercing your soft skin. he knew exactly who to take you to. it was just a matter of getting there that scared him...

suguru geto

"where the fuck is she?"

that seemed to be the only thing racing through suguru's mind. he felt disgusted with himself that he wasn't able to take care of you like he had promised so many times. the staff from the hospital trying their hardest to calm the raging man down, until he heard it.

the piercing scream from a certain room. your scream. he wasted no time pushing past the staff, sweating as he prepared himself for what he was about to see. no amount of preparation could prepare him for the sight of your bruised and beaten body lying there helplessly. you begged and cried, for him. you had been begging for him this entire time, and he just showed up. talk about tough luck. the guilt completely gnawing at him, until your pain-filled eyes met his...

"s-sugu.."

your voice was hoarse and raspy, and what broke him even more, was the small grabby hands you made at him. he felt like the shittest man alive, as he rushed to your side, leaning his forehead on yours. he held you tighter with each noise you made. he caressed your face gingerly. sorrow filled eyes were the last thing you seen before passing out...

kento nanami

each cough that left your throat burned as if you drank a full body of whiskey in one sitting. the smoke blazed and screamed around violently. you continued to push through.

"k...ken!" a cough followed shortly after.

your screams seemed to fall on no ears as you tumbled through the broken and disaster-filled city.

"baby! p-please!! where!," a coughing fit tore from your lungs.

"where are you?!"

it seemed almost hopeless to keep screaming. your body being bruised and bloody as you had to drag yourself from the rubble. you knew if you didn't get out of this soon it's be the end for you. you begged and cried to yourself to keep moving. to drag your body a few more steps.

"y/n!"

looking up, you saw the man you had been begging for this entire time run straight for you. you couldn't help but weakly smile, and as your vision blurred, your body began to fail. you fell forward into the arms of your loved one... that seemed to be the only thing you remember before black...

toji fushiguro

"ma, you gotta breath for me."

toji's voice rang in your ears as you looked around the room hopelessly. you were on fire, hot to the touch, and all you could do was sit there and scream. you had screamed for this kind of pain to stop, for some sort of relief. this wasn't normal at all. the doctors voices around you discussing matters in a quick tone as they tended to you.

"toji!"

"i'm here."

every time you took your eyes away from his, he stayed focused on your movements focussed if you needed him, if you needed anything.

"you're almost there, pretty. c'mon, keep looking at me..."

with one final cry out... the pain subsided... and the cry of your baby was the only thing flooding your ears... your vision returned back to normal, to see your beautiful baby boy lying on your chest... and toji kissing your sweaty forehead...

"hey, you... took you long enough..."

[honeyvettel]

peck/alex #43: fake dating!!!

43. fake dating | pecco/alex; crack treated seriously, bisexual disaster pecco bagnaia, set in 2025. [1/?]; [900 words]

(from this prompt list here)

it’s not really pecco’s fault if people keep misinterpreting his words. he’s not trying to be difficult; it’s just that things come out wrong sometimes, especially first thing thursday morning, still half-asleep and halfway through his espresso, when he discovers he’s been unceremoniously added to a whatsapp group called '5B reunion'. it takes him a second to clock it—5B, as in his old high school class from the liceo scientifico. apparently, after nearly a decade, his former classmates have decided to organize a reunion. a dinner, no less; and a proper one, booked at a sleek overpriced restaurant in the center of turin. pecco scrolls through the chat, watching a steady stream of enthusiastic messages roll in like a tsunami. people are confirming left and right; some still live nearby, others are flying in just for the night. the group seems disturbingly united in their excitement. he hovers over his keyboard, unsure. high school hadn’t exactly been a highlight for him. more like a long, awkward phase where he mostly kept his head down, stayed in his shell, and avoided eye contact. making actual friends had seemed wildly ambitious, back then. before he can figure out what, if anything, to reply, laura swoops in with another message: ‘bring your girlfriends if you’d like! and boyfriends of course 😊’ pecco reads the message twice, then frowns. it’s well-meaning, sure. very inclusive. but he thought this was supposed to be about them bonding over mutual academic trauma, not speed-dating over tiramisu. he just— doesn’t see the point. that’s when things begin to go downhill. 

pecco sees the name of alessandro popping up to the left corner of his screen, and his jaw tightens instinctively, some old, well-worn irritation curling at the edge. he and alessandro were never exactly friends—not enemies either, but always stuck in that tense, unspoken rivalry that happens when one person walks around like you owe them. alessandro had that effortless, inherited arrogance that money tends to manufacture—the kind that comes from being the only son of turin’s most successful car dealership family, and knowing it. in the message, he tags pecco directly, with the forced breeziness of someone who thinks they’re being funny: ‘@peccobagnaia so now we can finally meet pecchino’s woman, then 😏.’ it’s childish, and slightly misogynistic. pecco remembers, suddenly and very clearly, why he never liked the guy. and maybe it’s just that special brand of teenage resentment that has never quite dissolved, still tucked somewhere under his skin like an old bruise. or maybe it’s just the sharp thrill of pissing people off—alessandro in particular—enough to feel momentarily alive. either way, pecco doesn’t think for long. he types quickly: ‘actually im bisexual,’ and leaves at that.

the group goes dead for five full minutes after it—just pure, uninterrupted, blissful silence. pecco isn’t embarrassed. if anything, he feels startlingly clear. he’s spent enough time wading through that thick, familiar swamp of shame and forced normalcy to know better than to guilt-trip himself over one semi-accidental, typo-ridden message. it’s all still fairly new, of course—the liking-boys part. not the knowing, necessarily. that had arrived one night, quiet and strange, with him leaning against the wall of some club in barcelona watching a tall, blonde guy laugh into his drink with a little too much focus to be casual. and luca—sharp-eyed, maddeningly perceptive luca—had leaned into his space, looked at him looking at the guy, and said, tone casual, ‘you know you can like both, right?’ pecco had turned his head like an owl, stunned. he had blinked against luca’s easy smile, and nodded, slowly, like something was clicking into place. since then, the world has tilted just slightly on its axis. things make more sense now; feel lighter, a little less tangled. and to his surprise, pecco doesn’t hate it.

his phone buzzes again against the table. eventually, laura has replied, ever gracious. ‘well, we can’t wait to meet your boyfriend then!’ she’s bolded the word boyfriend like something to get excited about. pecco stares at the screen; he didn’t say he had a boyfriend; he didn’t even imply it. all he said—all he said—was that he’s bisexual. and now, evidently, he’s been assigned a whole relationship he doesn’t even have. pecco puts the phone down, face-first, and lets his head fall back against the chair. this was supposed to be simple. show up, maybe have a drink, prove to himself he could walk back into that part of his life and not flinch. but now? now there’s a spotlight on him, and a vacant boyfriend-shaped silhouette where a person is supposed to be. he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, resisting the urge to spiral into a full-blown pit of endless self-loathing. he thinks about jerez coming up, how he still needs to find his passport he painfully negotiated back from carola after he’d insisted that he was a grown adult capable of keeping track of his own documents. he needs to fold his team gear, pack his underwear. there’s a whole race weekend ahead; one thing, at least, he knows how to do.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Tell one random thing about yourself then go on anon and asks your 5 most favorite moots this!

I am currently looking into Paganism although almost everyone on my page probably already knows that rn. 💀 its been very fun so far, never knew there was a word for my beliefs.

Currently I am reading Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler. And then maybe I’ll do research into certain deities, such as Lady Hecate and Lady Aphrodite. Hecate is actually the reason I was drawn to Paganism at all.

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[dreamsy990]

TELEMACHUS AND ANTINOUS. FINALLY

[acekindaneat]

supportive bf during Seri's finals week 🫶

[a-loose-collection-of-ants]

I love your depiction of Hamilton and Lafayette, it’s so funny! Lafayette is so sweet and happy and Hamilton just has beef w/ the entire world. I can’t wait to see more of their brotherly relations in ur AMAZING art style

God, they're so narrative foil coded

Seriously though, there's some fantastic contrast between them. They're just similar enough (both roughly the same age, both insecure and glory hungry, + their "shared father" or whatever Lafayette said) - and yet they manage to be exact opposites at the same time.

I could say more but I think this bit from Mike Duncan's biography about Lafayette basically gets at what I'm trying to say:

"Like Lafayette, Hamilton grew up without a father. He also lost his mother to a fatal illness at almost the same age Lafayette lost his. But where the tragedies of Lafayette’s childhood made him the heir of a fabulous fortune, the tragedies of Hamilton’s illegitimate childhood left him systematically cut out of his family’s inheritance. So where the dark clouds of Lafayette’s life were lined with silver, the dark clouds of Hamilton’s life were simply dark. Lafayette emerged from childhood buoyant and effusive, Hamilton cynical and reticent. But even though Hamilton started life a penniless bastard on the periphery of European civilization, and Lafayette started life an insanely wealthy heir in the heart of a great kingdom, they fell into an easy friendship. French was not the only language the two young men shared. The also shared a code of personal honor and a desire to prove themselves to the world." -Mike Duncan, Hero of Two Worlds, The Marquis de Lafayette in the Age of Revolution

Now, I am not qualified to speak on the real figures, but I do like to write. So, there is a narrative opportunity here that drives me insane.

Like, cast Hamilton as brilliant, but overly cynical with a habit of assuming the worst in people, and give him a negative character arc where he comes close to recognizing the potential good of humanity but ultimately falls into his more authoritarian tendencies. Then contrast him with Lafayette who's more naive. He's not quite sheltered but unfamiliar with the sort of selfishness and greed he'd have encountered if he grew up in a more vulnerable financial position. In coming to America he, like Hamilton, is forced to reckon with contempt, greed, and the failings of democratic government. But, unlike Hamilton, still manages to come out of it with a generally positive opinion of humanity.

I'm just saying, if I were writing history to contain ✨themes ✨ they are a perfect opportunity.

[ryssbelle]

Poppy for N2 au, it took me so long to make her design cuz I didn't really know what I wanted to do only because I feel like her design is pretty perfect.

But then I just thought about fun outfits to give her or outfits that I would find comfortable if I was wearing them and it all came together.

Poppy here is pretty much the same as here movie counterpart, as nothing really changes on her end of things other than having more insight on Branch through his brothers, and through Lief. Shes also a bit more understanding a bit earlier on because of it but it doesnt do much to change her own character arc I would say.

Bonus

Part of Poppys design was based off a design I had made for previous rulers of Troll Village/Tree

Namely Queen Protea who I designed as Poppys grandmother

Named after the Protea flower which part of her design is based off :D

In the context of this Au Protea was the one who conceptualized the tunnels while her son, King Peppy, was the one to follow through after her death

[sheetzking]

Compilation of random hakuoki stuff ive done over the last month because ive been replaying the games👍

idk if anyone sees my visions here idek if theres a fandom here ?? hey guys😌

[psychotic-nonsense]

< || >

"Eddie...?"

"I'm sorry. No. Not quite."

"The hell does that mean-" Steve doesn't get to finish. His body reacts on its own again, wanting to surge and face the evil head on. All it does is strain everything in him again, makes him hiss in pain and struggle to remain upright.

The hand that he didn't even realize left returns, and the other holds a wet cloth. It dabs at his forehead, lukewarm and comforting. Everything is as cold as the Upside Down, these days.

"Not important. It really is best that you stay in place." That tone is monotone again, the brief moment of clarity gone. It's back, the... thing using Eddie's voice, his body, his face like an amateur puppeteer. How brutally ironic. "You must heal."

Steve, ever stubborn, bats the hand above him away. It's just a limp wave in his state, but the thing backs off. The hand behind him remains though, surrendering to help Steve find his way up. It's tough, considering how swollen one hand feels and the lingering phantom pains that Steve's body endured but Eddie's did not, but Steve gets himself into a sitting position.

"'Not important,' my ass." Probably not the best threat when Steve hacks up a lung immediately after. The thing doesn't respond, and when Steve faces it again, it's face is painfully blank. Wide, yellow glowing eyes stare at him, a bare hint of white at its center, so utterly familiar yet simultaneously foreign.

"If you're not Eddie, then what are you?" Steve spits, full of emotion compared to the husk beside him. He brings his left hand up to his chest, rubbing softly along the wrist with his other and wincing at the feeling.

The thing takes in a breath, eyes flitting off to the side briefly before returning. Still with that infuriating lack of emotion. "You are not in a good state to have this conversation."

It reaches for Steve's hands with the rag, and he pulls them out of reach. Too quickly, as well, his jaw instinctively clenching with the motion, resulting in an even more embarrassing groan of pain. "You don't know that," Steve forces out.

"I do."

"How so?"

"You are injured, weak. And this is a complicated matter."

"You just don't want to tell me."

"Because it will be too hard for you to hear."

Damn, it's got him there. As much as Steve wants to know, he's not sure he could bear the answer. Everything rubs so raw, everything having happened in such quick succession to him, and he feels like a live wire.

It reaches for his hands again, now frozen on his lap. Steve doesn't fight it, lets it carefully take his hands in its own. "Rest, let yourself calm." The thing says. "Then I will tell you."

Steve, begrudgingly, welcomes the still damp rag it wraps around his swollen hand. Doesn't do more than flinch when it's warm hands begin carefully massaging his through the cloth, thumbs circling around the wrist in a barely there pressure Steve feels in pulsing waves.

He takes the time to study the thing beside him. Human, definitely, an exact replica of Eddie at its core. Same clothes, same hair, all the same from the last time Steve saw Eddie alive. Except this thing glows like a faint light bulb, the light seeming to come from its entire being rather than one place. Steve already knows it's eyes, wide and unfeeling, pure gold but for a pale shape at the center.

Then there's the scars. When Steve last saw Eddie's body, there was a huge gash along it's left cheek, deep and bloody. Now the mark remains, but it glows the same damn bright gold as everything else. No blood, no tears, and this thing seems to have no problem talking with it. He wonders what that means for the wounds that took Eddie.

A slightly stronger pressure is applied to his wrists, and Steve groans again. The hands stop, let him breathe through the pain. Sprained, at best, and the doctors lingering around Hawkins have more to deal with than one possibly broken bone.

They've been sitting in silence for who knows how long now, the rag in their shared hands already cooling. The massage and quiet have done their job for Steve's brain, allowing him to come down from the panic. He's still pretty raw, but he no longer feels so in danger.

"Can I ask you something else then?" he asks carefully, voice raspy and soft.

The thing doesn't respond right away, and doesn't look up when it answers. "Yes."

"Where'd you get hot water from?"

It almost seems to relax at the question, as if it was expecting a different one. It still hasn't moved, still cradling Steve's hand. "Your bags had water and matches. This place had pots, and we are in the woods."

Fair enough, Steve supposes. "Why bother? Water is water."

"It is cold, and you are weak. We assumed the heat would help."

There it goes with the 'we' thing. It referred to itself that way earlier too. But Steve knows he should be wary with what he asks, so he ignores it for now, in place of something far more important.

"Is Robin okay?" His voice cracks a little there. Neither of them talk much louder than a whisper, but Steve still glances over at his best friend. She remains asleep, unmoving in every place but the one that matters.

"You both have similar injuries. You have woken, so she will too. She will be okay."

Steve sighs, put more at ease by that than he thought he'd be. Yet the response only creates more questions. He gently pulls his hand away, turning back to face the thing beside him. It does the same. Confusion to blankness.

"How'd you find us?" Steve asks slowly.

It blinks in response, pausing. "I found you in the Other woods." It says 'other' like it's a title. "I don't know what happened to you."

"Why did you bring us here?"

"It was empty. Close to the Gates."

Steve's coming up on the point of no return. He can feel it. He doesn't ask the more obvious, important question, but he can't stop himself from toeing that invisible line. "Why take us in at all?"

The thing finally shows its first sign of emotion in a while, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. Guilty again. "This is your home. You weren't safe there."

They stare at each other for a while after that. Steve holds back every impossible question he has. It watches him, face falling just a tiny bit more, waiting for him to break.

Steve cracks. His voice shakes, fighting to keep himself in control. To stay calm enough so he can finally get answers. "You apologized for bringing us... here earlier. How did you even know about that- about any of this? The boathouse, the medical supplies, how to start a fire. What-" He stops himself before he goes too far.

Its eyes search his expression, flitting between the injuries across his face. Still just the barest hint of guilt in the slight furrow of his eyebrows. Eyes still wide and inhuman. "I was told."

Steve doesn't ask, 'By who?' Doesn't let it come out in the desperate wail it wants to. Because he already knows. So he gives that plea to another question, puts as much emotion into the pathetic whisper that slips past his injured jaw.

And he breaks. "What are you?"

[chilopodakiss]

also reuploading this mudrock doodle i did on my new ipad (more of hand-me-down) hehe

[prettycoolducks]

just finished playing portal revolution. I like evil science lady and her rabid vacuum cleaner

[good-beansdraws]

Very silly sequel to my other Fuuta/Mikoto duet art -- it turns out both VAs were in this singing group anime together! (I haven't seen any other Milgram vas overlap songs, and now I've found two for them, huh...) I cut the songs together to make a fun little duet, but the individual versions are here: 🔥 ⚾

The outfits are courtesy of @clover0101 's au here :D

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

A Look.

( @quibble-auk I wanted to explore the Swap au Comet some more, figure out his personality without the Spidey senses and Pretender stuff. I played with your concept of programming a bit, more of my own thoughts on the servant class. Maybe I'm not overdoing it-)

Comet hadn’t been able to sleep that night, recharge not on his Master’s list of chores for him to complete. 

Instead the young mech was forced to run errands between the Architect and the Artisan all night. Back and forth to and fro, carrying datapads color, swatches, and material listings. Cometeater wondered why they couldn’t have their offices closer. The reason for such an odd system was that the Artisan enjoyed his highgrade, and adored a large personal studio away from the main towers, especially while he chipped away at a project for the families. Said families would never risk ruining his artistic mood, and they themselves would never do something as lowly as deliveries.  Why not send pictures? Well the pictures never caught the form or the color correctly, that's what he assumed from the drunken ramblings of the Artisan. 

Comet had stood stock still for two hours as the mech worked, ready to deliver his progress at any moment. Stiff and optics lowered, he waited. 

Eventually Nisis shooed him, saying that his work would take more time. That the servant’s hovering was destroying his focus. Comet had bowed low, optics never moving from the floor. 

Silently taking his leave, his programming whirring angrily in his chest. Bowing to the Masters was a movement he had practiced till it was second nature. A slow bend at the waist if being dismissed, keeping your movement smooth and graceful.

Yet it made part of him angry. Some alien piece of him hated the feeling. Comet had been cuffed more than once for allowing his displeasure to show in a twitch of his plating. 

“A servant is placid, a shadow and an extra hand to the Master, bite than hand boy and you lose yours.”

Comeater sighed deeply as he passed the lavish halls, the older servants beginning their days. Quickly and without even a glance they flitted past him. Comet couldn’t help but cut his eyes up at them.

Servants were beautiful mechs. Their colors are inviting and comforting, never pastels or bright eye catching shades. The hues always complemented their master’s paints, embellishments from their master’s pallet dotted and painted in lovely patterns on their plating. 

To be a servant of a house was to be like a painting in the hall, if your servants were beautiful then your status showed with every movement they made. A splendid house would be decorated in the flawless mechs, themselves part of the house itself. 

Companions, status symbols. 

Being a decoration to a family, honoring the Masters was all any servant could ever live for. Providing comfort, advice, anything beckoned of them. 

Comet couldn’t help but be in awe of them. 

He had to be chosen by a family however to become one of them. 

Cometeater sighed deep in his chest as he manoeuvred past the mechs, avoiding the gazes of Guardians when he could. 

The large intimidating sentinels you could almost miss if you were not careful, but Comet knew they would never miss you. Acting suspicious in any way would have you on a list in their minds, Comet couldn’t afford that. He wasn’t exactly supposed to be out this early, not that his Master cared.

Soon he reached the servants door that would lead him down to the  quarters, a section of the wall that when pressed on, opened with no fanfare. He looked side to side, checking for the echo of footsteps or murmurs within the passage. 

Comet heard none.

In a flurry he flew down the stairwell like a bird, he let himself smile as he did it three steps at a time. The airtime from the leaps causing giggles to bubble in his chest. 

Finally he was alone. 

Finally he could cut up just a bit. 

Comet laughed to himself as he went, the tired aches forgotten in the thrill of finally loosening his shoulders. Moving as fast as he wanted, no Master to cuff him for the childish twirl he did when he hit the bottom at a spark hammering speed. Breathing fast, he couldn’t stop grinning, continuing to spin, arms outstretched with his left over momentum. 

Comets laughter echoed through the passageway, dizziness and the thrill of being alone egging him on. He finally came to a halt leaning up along the wall, breaths deep and optics glowing brightly in the dim light.�� Cometeater laid in the exhilaration for as long as he could, now with all of his training and chores he hardly ever had time to feel like this. He smirked, it almost felt like flipping off his Master. 

See you stupid ugly fragger?

He could have fun, do whatever he wanted. 

Comet felt his spark hum, his programming stuttering at the insults, the love of control. Some darker part of Comet crowed, the part of himself that had been numbed and blocked. But still showed its quills. Showed him what it felt like to control, to try and dominate.

He was supposed to report the thoughts to his superior, but Comet was infatuated with knowing something those slaggers didn’t. Having something that was his. 

It made him feel so perfect, why would he let them take that away?

His drunken happiness was cut short however by yells above, thundering steps down the stairs. 

Comet hardly moved in time to avoid the Guards as they rushed past.

He couldn’t help but be surprised when one of them stopped, optics fiery with clicking programming. Comet allowed his own to take root, bidding goodbye to his heated other, keeping him from reacting to the sudden intensity of the gaze.

“Are you alright?”

The guard's voice was close to winded, Comet nodded his servant programming purring at the attention, that he had asked him something. He wanted desperately to ask what was happening, so before his jaw would lock he let it slip.

“Why what's happened?” 

The guard only scowled down at him, “You shouldn’t even be out here boy, younglings are supposed to be in their designated areas till released by your Master.”

Comet’s programming snapped up the attention like a starving dog, the need to please, to help. He also felt his curiosity flare.

“I was doing errands for the Architect, did something happen?”

There was a childish lilt to his voice that seemed to make the guard soften, a look of protectiveness flashing over him.

“One of the guards found a dead mech on the east gate Sparklet,” the warmth vanished before Comet could get a proper glimpse of it, the guard answering his com. Then his faceplate hardened. “That means you should get back to your barracks, now. I don't want to catch you out and about again by yourself. Got it?”

Comet felt a sulkiness rear its head, but his innards begged to please. “Yessir.”

The armored mech nodded, but did not move. Comet sighed in realization, like all guardians the mech wouldn’t just leave him till he knew he’d follow orders.

Comet gave a bow, and turned on his heel for the barracks. He knew the guardian wouldn’t leave till the younger bot was out of sight, so Comet with a sad grumble accepted that his time for play was over.

He had work to do.

[autisticlee]

sometimes people who struggle like to make jokes or find positives about their condition that causes them to struggle so they can escape the constant negative and struggle. sometimes autistic people will say things like "the 'tism" or use the "autism creature" or say their autism helped them have a *positive trait* to feel better about their struggles. because living your life only focusing on the struggles and negatives is depressing and makes it hard to want to live, even if those struggle take up 100% of your life and you can't actually escape them. sometimes any little seemingly positive thing can help a lot.

but there's so many other autistic people that hate when we do that and call it "reducing autism to a cute trendy thing" and say it takes away from *their* struggles and is bad and shouldn't be used. maybe *you* want to only focus on your struggles, but some people can't live in constant negative and need some positive or to find ways to make their condition more positive so they can feel better about living with their struggles. life is hard. I take anything I can get.

I cant get jobs. I can't make and keep friends. I can't get help and support for doing "normal" things so sometimes I go weeks without being able to shower and without eating more than a bowl of cereal a day. most times can't even do things I like. struggle to communicate. have meltdowns. i'll never be able to live independently. I struggle a lot. but instead of sitting here always depressed and having no motivation to live, i'd rather try to joke about "my 'tism is acting up again" when i'm struggling (just an example. don't think I ever actually used the 'tism thing but i saw others use it) or say "i'm just being a creature" when I need to stay in my dark room because everything is too much and I personally find it cute to be a little creature meant in a positive way. i'm not actually downplaying mine or anyone else's struggles. I still acknowledge them and that silly jokes dont make them go away. i'm not trying to be trendy. i'm not doing any of the things people say we do by making silly little jokes. i'm using the silly little jokes to convince myself life can be a little more than pointless, painful garbage all the time.

(continue in tags)