#it has to be 12 hours in one go without quitting

[feather-flavored-melancholy]

So apparently if you play Voices of the Void continuously for an excessive amount of time (I think something like a 12 hours continuous, nonstop session), a door spawns in and starts chasing you. It has no collision and can go through any obstacle, and upon touching the player model, it immediately crashes the game.

The dev forcefully evicts you from the game so you can take a damn break.

Funniest shit I've ever seen.

[intheupside]

About 30 minutes after Team Canada practiced at Hovet Arena, Sidney Crosbystood in the right circle before methodically skating toward the net and firing a shot. The goaltender denied it with a sprawling save, then aimed his glove directly toward Crosby’s face and grinned.

After a 21-year NHL career, Marc-André Fleury is going out on his terms, saying goodbye with his favorite captain by his side.

Fleury, who retired from the league after the Minnesota Wild’s season ended May 1, is enjoying a swan song at the World Championships before his playing career truly ends in the next few days. And he’s doing it with Crosby, his Pittsburgh Penguins teammate for 12 seasons.

Neither star would have it any other way.

“This is kind of perfect,” Fleury told The Athleticlast week. “And you know what I miss the most about playing with Sid? Days like this, just staying on the rink for an hour after practice, just challenging each other. Days like this, I don’t want to leave the rink.”

Around the time Crosby was making that decision to go to Worlds, he received a text from an old friend.

“I never even thought about the possibility of playing with him over here,” Crosby said. “But then Flower texted me. He had gotten word from Kyle, and he was thinking about going. So, then I told him I was going to go. Within a couple of days, he decided to come over, too.”

Fleury’s decision wasn’t difficult.

“Think about it,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I come over here? You get to keep playing hockey a little while longer. Get to play with Sid one last time.”

There was something else, too.

Fleury has had a strange relationship with Team Canada over the years. A misplay in the 2004 World Junior Championship against Team USA haunted Fleury for quite some time, and only once was the future Hall of Famer selected to play in the Olympics, where he never saw a minute of playing time in Vancouver in 2010.

“But,” Fleury said, pointing to the Canada logo on his chest, “wearing this sweater still means the world to me. To do it one last time? It’s everything.”

“This is so nice,” Fleury said. “Me and Sid, we spent so many years together, so much time together, just talking about hockey, life. We won a lot together, too. It’s been a few years since we could really sit down and talk, spend some time together. It’s been perfect. I really thought I was done after we lost to Vegas. So, just to have one more chance to play? To keep going a little bit longer? I couldn’t turn that down. I’m glad Kyle called.”

He’s the ultimate hockey junkie, but in seasons when the Penguins’ campaign ends without a parade, Crosby usually prefers to vacation in Europe instead of watching the playoffs.

Not this year. He was watching when Vegas eliminated Minnesota in Game 6 because he knew it was the last time he’d see Fleury in an NHL sweater.

“I was watching his last game but it never really occurred to me at the time that we could have this opportunity,” Crosby explained.

Fleury doesn’t know when he’ll return to Pittsburgh again, but make no mistake, he will. Players don’t sign one-day contracts to retire where they started as often in hockey as in other sports. But …

“I don’t know,” Fleury said. “Not my decision, right? But I have many great memories from Pittsburgh and my time there, I’ll tell you that. That’s the team that gave me a chance, the team I won with. That city always means a lot to me and always will.”

Dubas is well aware.

“It’s important moving forward that we honor Flower the right way as an organization,” Dubas said. “It was so apparent in October when Minny came to Pittsburgh, just what he means to people. Not just the staff or the players. I’m talking more about the fans, the reaction they had to him. It was incredible. Hockey doesn’t really do the one-day contracts and stuff like that. But other sports do it in a certain way, too, bringing former players back. It’s something we are thinking about, a way to honor him properly. It’s important that we honor him the right way.”

When their post-practice showdown ended, Crosby and Fleury departed the ice — not because they wanted to but because the Swedish ice crew made them leave. Two vacant stools sat outside Canada’s locker room, so Fleury plopped himself down on one and Crosby followed, sitting on the other, their skates dangling a couple of feet above the floor like a couple of kids enjoying the sport they love.

“This is great,” Crosby said with a smile. “Being out there with Flower, the way he’s still running his mouth. It’s perfect.”

Fleury smiled.

“I’m having so much fun right now,” he said.

incredible sidflower from the athletic today

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 12] Reunion

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

You know why he’s doing this. He has wit. He wants you to get your mind off the fact that another woman is pregnant with his child. It’s not a fact that can be easily forgotten, but he played his cards just right. Maybe it’s that, or perhaps it’s the fact that you aren’t all that bothered by the revelation. 

In the beginning you worried about your position, but he reassured you that nothing will happen to you. So now you’re just taking the opportunity to see your family, who you’ve so longed to see. Though you’ll admit, you’re nervous. You wonder how different they’ll see you after they see you in the position you’re in. 

You’re much heavier and rounder than before– Not to gloss over the fact that you carry a monster’s babies. Will they be disgusted by you? Frightened? Or will they understand that you sacrificed yourself for their wellbeing? 

Luckily, the worry doesn’t overshadow the excitement that flows through your body. You ask Hina to help you get ready, attempting to look the best that you can today. But you’re also mindful, refusing to wear any jewelry that shows off just how much wealth is in your possession. 

“Why aren’t they allowed in the palace?” You ask as Hina fixes your clothes. She smooths out any wrinkles visible in the clot, ensuring you look your best for the visit.

“King Sukuna doesn’t like peasants that have nothing to offer in the palace.” Hina answers without hesitation, and you almost laugh. You could’ve guessed as much. “Isn’t it nice, my queen? Being able to travel outside the palace?”

“It is. I’m surprised Sukuna allowed it.” You comment, and she can’t do anything but hum in response. She doesn’t have an explanation for that. “I’m assuming I won’t be alone.”

“You’re never alone, my queen.” She responds, which aren’t the words you want to hear. Regardless, you’re excited to be outside of the palace for a couple of hours– Actually outside the walls, not just strolling through the garden.

“We’ll take gifts, no? To make sure they’re well taken care of.” You suggest, as Hina finishes up.

“Yes. They’re all in the carriage.” She informs you. Sukuna has ensured everything is perfect for today while he… You have no idea what he’s doing. He’s probably figuring out how to take care of her, and you try not to think about it.

You try not to think about it because an ugly feeling seeps into your veins, and you don’t want to feel it. You can’t quite describe it, but it’s close to jealousy. But you wouldn’t call it jealousy. 

“Do you think they’ll view me differently?” You question, your hand going over your bump. You already know the answer. One way or another, they’ll think of you differently. 

“You’re a queen now, of course they do.” She says, which isn’t what you need to hear. But she’s right. “However, if you want me to say no, then I’ll say no.”

“No, you’re right.” You sigh. “Whether I like it or not, I’m someone different now.”

“Are you taking Yuuji with you?” She slightly changes the topic, wanting to cheer you up. The mention of the baby makes you smile, and you end up humming in response. You can’t leave him behind while you’re meeting your family, after all, he’s an essential part of your life now. “I’ll tell the servants to get him ready then.”

Needless to say, Sukuna’s presence is still present even when you’re in the carriage. You’re accompanied by three other servants, one of them being Hina. You wanted to be alone with your family, but it’s obviously impossible. You can’t complain though, this is more than what you could’ve asked for. 

“Can we get out of the carriage before we enter the village? I don’t want to draw attention.” You ask, and Hina laughs. She can’t wrap her head around the fact that you don’t want the people of your village to know of your wealth. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Hina responds, making you sigh. Maybe it’s for the best. Your feet are too swollen to walk and you’re carrying a baby that’s months old. The news of you coming back to the village will soar either way, there’s no point in not trying to draw attention to you. 

“How will you introduce him?” Hina asks, watching as you bounce the baby to keep him calm in the carriage. You smile at the baby who chews on his hands, attempting to soothe the pain in his gums.

“My son.” You answer, hand caressing his chubby cheek. He’s gained a lot of weight in your care, which is relieving to see– You can only hope that your Haru has gained as much weight as Yuuji. 

The rest of the ride is quiet. You feel your heartbeat grow faster, excitement flourishing with the thought that you’re back home. It’s a shame that this is what it took, regardless, you’re happy to be back home.

The carriage comes to a halt, and the door opens. Your eyes fall on the small shack that your family lives in, and your eyes well up with tears. This is it. You’re finally home. 

“I’ll take the baby, my queen.” Hina holds out her arms to take Yuuji from you, and you don’t hesitate before doing so. You need all the balance and support possible before getting out, a task that’s difficult given your current state.

You safely get out, almost having to catch your breath at the simple task. The twins have gotten too heavy, you don’t even want to imagine how hard it’s going to be on you the next couple of weeks. It almost makes you wish for them to come faster… But then you remember the huge responsibility that comes with that, and the pain in your lower back doesn’t seem as bad.

“What’s all the commo–” The door to the house opens, your aunt stopping in her tracks when she sees you. Your eyes well up with tears at the sight of her, and a subtle smile coming to your face. You imagined this emotional moment where you would jump into her arms and hug her until your arms couldn’t hold any more, but you can’t bring yourself to even shuffle your feet. 

She smiles, walking over to you and cupping your face. She holds back the same tears as you do before she engulfs you in a hug. You hear her whisper, “I’m so happy to see you’re okay, my dear.”

“I’ve missed you.” You murmur as you hug her back. And for the longest moment you hold her, just as you imagined; until the cries from Yuuji cut the moment short.

“And who is this?” She asks when she pulls away, eyes falling on Yuuji. You take the baby from Hina’s arms, bouncing him before you tell her,

“My son.” Which she furrows her brows to. Before she can ask any questions you tell her, “He was… Abandoned, and I took him under my care.”

“And your babies. How are you doing?” She questions, hands going to your bump. Now you’re the confused one at her words.

“How do you–” You begin, and she lets out a sigh.

“We’ve gotten some updates from the deity. Before your condition he would often come with goods, but then you became with child and he’d send a servant whenever he could.” She explains, a small detail that Sukuna never mentioned. Something you can’t be mad about.

“How about Haru? Where is he?” You ask, eyes attempting to look inside to find him, but your narrow view provides nothing. 

“Come inside, you can’t be out in the cold like this.” She tells you, even though you have countless layers keeping you warm. You hum in response, following behind her. You worry if everyone will fit inside considering how many servants accompany you.

“Haru! Won’t you come greet your older sister?!” Your aunt shouts as you make your way inside, and you feel your heart race. You pass Yuuji back to Hina, getting ready to hug your little brother.

“Huh?” You hear his confused little voice, the biggest smile coming to your face. Not too long ago that response would’ve taken every last bit of his energy. You walk inside the home, and you watch as your little brother’s eyes widen in amazement.

“Haru.” You smile at him, the tears that have welled up in your eyes managing to spill. The first thing you notice is that his cheeks are chubby again. He’s taller. He’s smiling. He has color again. Life has been brought back to his body. 

He yells your name as he runs over to you, hugging you as tight as he can. His arms can’t hug much considering you’re much rounder. Any other time you’d pick him up and spin him around, but he’s too heavy to pick up right now.

“How are you, Haru? It’s been a while.” You ask him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. 

“I’m fine!” He answers, pulling away from the hug. His eyes stare at your belly before he looks up at you. He can’t help but comment, “You’re big.”

You chuckle. “I am carrying twins.”

“Twins?” He asks, shocked at your words, and you hum in response. Though the amazement fades as his interest shifts, noticing that he’s not the youngest in the room. He points at the baby that Hina holds and asks, “Who’s that?”

“My son.” You respond, and the amazement takes over again.

“You have a whole baby?” He questions and you laugh before nodding in response. Maybe you’ll explain it to him when he’s a little older, but now you’ll just go with that thought. “And you’re having two more?”

“Yeah, it’s about to be a full house soon.” You answer, and Haru’s eyebrows come together.

“Is that why you don’t come around?” He pouts, and you can’t help but share the same reaction as him. If it were up to you, he’d be by your side always.

“You know the deity explained this to us, Haru.” Your aunt steps in, not wanting the cheerful moment to dull down. “We should be glad that she’s here.”

“Fine.” He huffs and puffs. “Glad you’re here, I guess.”

“Now don’t get an attitude with me.” You attempt to be serious, but you can’t help but have a lighthearted tone. You just got back home, you can’t start scolding him just yet.

He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry, making you roll your eyes. A laugh follows quickly after, realizing that you’re finally home. You’ll be gone soon, but that doesn’t matter. You’ll make sure that you enjoy every last second in your home.

“If you get an attitude then I won’t give you the gifts I brought with me.” You tell him, and his ears perk up.

“What did you bring?” His tone becomes more cheerful, making you laugh.

“What didn’t I bring?” You respond, and you look back at the servants that have accompanied you. You don’t have to speak, they already know that you want them to bring everything in. 

Haru hugs you again and tells you, “I’m happy you’re back.”

“I’m happy to be back.” Your hand ruffles his hair, feeling a tug in your heartstrings at the sheer reminder that you’ll be gone just as quickly. 

“Why don’t you take a seat, dear? Your feet must be killing you.” Your aunt speaks up, and you laugh. She read your mind. “You look like you’re about to pop any day soon.”

“I’m due in the spring.” You answer, taking up on her offer and taking a seat. 

“Spring is just around the corner.” She points out, and you sigh. That’s the last thing you want to think about. 

“How about you guys? I hope things have been good in my absence.” You change the topic, though you already know the answer. Your aunt told you all you needed to know about their situation. Sukuna has kept them well.

“With the deity coming around, things have been flourishing.” She tells you, and you sheepishly smile. You’re happy knowing that your sacrifice was worth it. Not only is your Haru doing great, but they’re seeing abundance at a rate that your family has never been able to achieve. “And you, my dear? How are things with the deity?”

“They’re… Good.” You say, not wanting to explain the ups and downs of your life with Sukuna. You certainly don’t want to confess the ruckus that your life is in right now.

“What’s the name of your baby?” Haru asks as he sits down beside you. He cuddles up next to you and you welcome him with open arms.

“Hina, please take a seat.” You tell her, noticing that she stands still as she holds the baby. You watch her sit down before you turn your attention to Haru, “His name is Yuuji.”

“Why is he trying to eat his hand?” He then questions as he watches the baby shove his hand in his mouth.

“His little teeth are coming out, and it hurts.” You explain, and Haru furrows his brows.

“Your baby’s weird.” Haru responds, making you giggle. You shouldn’t laugh, but you can’t help it.

You pinch his cheek before pointing out, “You were just like that too. You were a big crier too!”

“Nuh-uh!” He yells, and you squint your eyes.

“What do you mean nuh-uh?! You were a baby, and I was the one taking care of you!” You scold him, and he sticks his tongue out at you. You lightly hit him in the back of his head for his reaction, making him whine in response.

No matter how big the age gap, he’s still your sibling. The arguing won’t stop, no matter how big or small he is– You wonder if that’s how the twins will be with Yuuji. You hope it is.

It hurts when you have to go your separate ways. It takes everything in you to not cry when Haru bursts into tears. You try to reassure him that you’ll see him again soon, though you’re not sure. You’ll make sure you see him again, even if it’s the last thing you do. The thing is that you know it won’t happen until after you give birth to the twins.

The ride back home is quiet. Yuuji sleeps and you try to hold back the tears to not… You can’t even think of the reasoning. Maybe Sukuna is rubbing off on you. You don’t want to look weak in front of Hina. 

The sun has set when you get back to the palace, and while it’s typically quiet during this time, there’s over twenty servants around. You don’t pay attention to it until you reach your room and notice a woman scrubbing the floor. 

“Hina, bathe Yuuji and bring him back to me.” You order, and the woman hums in response before quietly exiting. You stare at the servant that diligently does her task, and you ask, “Where’s Sukuna?”

“My queen!” She yelps before bowing down to you. You almost roll your eyes, but you shouldn’t. You should be used to this treatment by now. “I don’t know where King Sukuna is.”

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“King Sukuna ordered for the palace to be scrubbed down before your arrival.” She answers, and you hum in response. That doesn’t answer a thing, if anything, your curiosity is piqued.

“Right. Carry on then.” You tell her before entering your room. You try not to think too much about it, perhaps he just wants to prepare for the birth of the twins. However, that’s in spring and it’s going to be a while. The palace will be dirty again by the time it happens.

“How was it? Are you happy now?” You’re spooked by him, too lost in your own thoughts to register his heavy footsteps. Oddly enough, Sukuna’s hands hug you from behind, bringing you into his embrace.

“Why are people scrubbing down the palace?” You don’t even bother answering his question. You don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s rolled his eyes at your lack of manners.

“Why must you know? Can’t I have my place clean?” He responds, making you turn around and face him. You furrow your brows, crossing your arms to let him know that you’re displeased by his answer. He finds it cute as he looks down at you– Oh, you really think you’re intimidating like this when you’re simply tiny compared to him.

“What are you hiding?” You ask.

“Just told them to clean up everything so you wouldn’t see a drop of blood.” He ends up saying, and you furrow your brows. There’s a servant in every corner of the palace, so it definitely wasn’t anything pretty.

You should be squeamish by his response, but at this point you’re used to his antics. As horrid as it is to say. You can’t particularly be mad either since… You have a feeling that you know what he was doing.

“Must have been a massacre then.” You comment, and he’s about to nod in agreement, but he won’t. You’re still a soft little thing, even if you’re tougher than when he first met you.

“You haven’t answered my question.” He points out, and you sigh.

“When can I see him again?” You ask, a question that tells him all he needs to know. He knew this would happen which is why he didn’t want to let you go out, but he had to allow it.

“I don’t understand your attachment to that insolent human.” He scoffs a comment that he regrets making the moment he looks down at you and sees tears welling up in your eyes. He sighs before saying, “I guess after the twins are here.”

“They’re my family too.” You end up saying, wrapping your arms around his large figure. It’s an action that takes him by surprise; certainly something that he can’t complain about. He hears a sniffle, and he tries to comfort you to the best of his ability. “I miss them.”

“What? So do you expect me to bring them here?” He tries to joke, a concept foreign to the being. He even lets out a scruffy laugh to get his point across, but you look up at him with teary, yet hopeful eyes. He immediately tells you, “Oh no. Absolutely not.”

[livingdxadwriter]

Stuck Here Like Me

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: in the wake of the chaos, you’re there to pick up his broken pieces. Takes place during 1x13 so spoilers if you haven’t seen it yet

Warnings: depiction of explicit themes, death, grief, panic attacks, blood, hospital stuff, ptsd, age gap (reader is 35, Robby is 50) (no smut but yall better love it)

WC: 4.3k Drabble who?

A/N: omg no smutties??? Who possessed me??? Okay well there is smutties, this just isn’t it. I mentioned before that I started writing smutties based on ep 12 but when 13 came out I just had to write a comfort fic. God this man needs to be held and loved so I couldn’t help myself. The smutties based on ep 12 is still on the works. So think of it as an alternative ending to this one. I started writing this last night after I finished ep13 and i cant believe I finished it so fast. Hope you enjoy being traumatized give Noah his Emmy btw

Staying away from the chaos of the ER was the plan for today. As far away as you possibly could. You did this on purpose. Neither of you had worked on this day in years. You didn’t mind that Robby had made other plans. You were even happy that he was keeping his mind occupied with Jake. You would happily stay home and catch up on some well deserved sleep. Ever since you convinced Gloria to give you that pediatric emergency medicine fellowship, you had been doing overtime almost every single shift. You left at the same time as Robby every night, and that was saying a lot.

So when you felt movement beside you, your husband shifting as quietly as possible, you were very suspicious. You stirred and grumbled almost immediately. Much to his attempt of getting out of bed without waking you.

“Michael.” You muttered into your pillow, blindly reaching for your phone beside you. He gritted his teeth, turning his head to find you squinting at your phone. “Why are you getting up at six on your day off?”

“Ah, busted.” You felt his weight sink into the bed as he leaned over you to leave a kiss to your hair. “They’re down an attending this morning. And you know we’re short staffed so.”

You scrunched up your face, huffing softly as you shifted on your back. You gave him a look of apprehension and he leaned down to kiss the expression lines on your forehead.

“Today? Really?” The sleep lingered on your voice as you rubbed your eyes softly. He clicked his tongue but said nothing. You weren’t shy about it. You were an R2 when the pandemic broke out. How you managed to start, and maintain a functioning relationship was still beyond you. Though you guessed you understood each other’s he trauma. And your marriage has been without issues so far, so you guessed it worked out. Still, you weren’t beneath bringing it up, even if he didn’t quite enjoy it. “Michael I really don’t think—“

“It’s fine. I’m fine, really.” He was firm with his words, loving, but firm, like he didn’t want to press the matter further. A sigh of resignation left your chest and you shrugged, shaking your head at him.

“Mkay. Want me to come in with you?” You sighed, stretching out your arms with exhaustion. Robby narrowed his eyes at you and shook his head.

“Nope. You’ve been working what? Thirteen? Fourteen hours straight? Absolutely not. Sleep while you can. You’re going to burn yourself out.” You hated when he lectured you, the age gap between you sometimes becoming painfully obvious. You groaned with annoyance and squeezed your eyes shut. You hated when he was right.

“Fine, whatever.” You pretended to pout, which he found quite amusing. With a soft chuckle he leaned down to press a kiss to your pouty lips. You couldn’t help but giggle. “I swear Gloria is still punishing me for hexing you with my charms. She couldn’t get rid of me so she’s making me suffer.”

“Aren’t you doing overtime willingly?” He tisked at you as he peeled himself from you to finish putting on his scrubs. He knew that if he didn’t leave your side soon he would forget he has actual responsibilities to attend to.

You scoffed at him, shifting to your side again, “I’m being coerced. She insists that my fellowship is an unnecessary expense and that if it hadn’t been for your favoritism I would’ve had to transfer hospitals.”

“It wasn’t favoritism. I was completely objective and unbiased. You really are one of my best doctors.” He reminded you and you laughed into your pillow.

“She doesn’t seem to agree. She makes sure to remind me every time she sees me.” You rolled your eyes, disdain lacing your tongue. Robby found it almost amusing how you didn’t even try to hide your opinions. He always had to hold back a laugh whenever you gave Gloria side eyes when she came strolling down to the ER to get on his case about one thing or another.

“Yeah, well, she’s a pain in my ass too. Don’t take it too personally.”

“I’ll make you coffee and something to eat, hm?” You suggested, figuring you would spend as much time with him as you could before you didn’t see him for the next twelve-plus hours. He shot you an apprehensive glance, eyes narrowed but you were already throwing the blankets off you. “I’m already up. I’ll take a nap when you leave.”

Robby chewed on the inside of his cheek, clicking his tongue as his eyes followed you out of bed. His eyes never left you, more than happy to be reminded that you were parading around in nothing but an old tee and panties. He followed you out of the bedroom with eagerness, more than happy to follow you around until he left.

“Shit, my sweet and amazing wife is making me coffee this morning? And she’s making sure I eat? Aren’t I lucky.” He chuckled, following you to the kitchen. Your giggles filled the air and he was so in love with the sound it made his head spin.

“Don’t forget hot and young too.” You looked over your shoulder and shot him a wink, snorting at the groan he let out at your teasing words. If you had to be reminded that he was older, he had to be reminded that you were younger, too.

“God, I hope you don’t say that shit to other people. Makes me sound like such a creep.” He sighed out, his freckled cheeks dusting red with embarrassment. You loved to tease him about it. Even though you were already thirty when you started dating. You found it amusing how worked up he got about the logistics. You knew it fucked him up for months when you first slept together.

“If it makes you feel better, I tell people I wanted to fuck my attending.” You managed to hold in your laughter until after your words sunk in, you had your back to him as you made him his coffee, but when you heard him mutter ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ behind you, you bursted into giggles. “You love me. Oh! Can you get me the strawberries and blueberries from the fridge? And the Greek yogurt.”

“Yes I do, unfortunately.” He sighed out a long exaggerated breath as he searched around the fridge. You shoot him a glare, which he took with a chuckle.

“Okay, well, you can starve then. I’m not making you shit.” You clicked your tongue, huffing as you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby pouted, trying to stifle a laugh at the matching pout on your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He said in between laughs as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you to him and he left kisses on your cheek, on your nose, until you broke a smile and giggles left your lips. “You have such a shitty poker face.”

“I do. I can’t resist your old man charms.” You teased, throwing your arms around his neck. He rolled his eyes at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, successfully shutting you right up. You didn’t protest, you were in fact, very pleased with this exchange. God, you wished he would stay home with you. You didn’t want him to go. You were tempted to jump him right then and there. If you pushed him enough he really couldn’t say no to you even if he tried. But you also knew better. So against your better judgement you relented.

“I really have to go hun.” His words left his chest with an edge, his fingers slightly digging into your hips. You slightly threw your head back, grabbing his face as you whined. “Cmon, don’t do that.”

“I really can’t convince you to stay, hm? You’ll have me all to yourself today.” Your words left your lips softly, quietly. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, his jaw ticking with each string you pulled.

“I’m gonna think with my head and regrettably say no.” An uneven breath left him, much to his dismay. Your offer was so fucking tempting. But he knew better, he definitely wouldn’t hear the end of it if he ended up not showing up.

“Ugh, I like your other head better.” You gave him one last jab to his sanity before you pulled yourself away to resume your previous task. You heard him groan loudly as he reached for his freshly brewed coffee.

“God, you're going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”

Though there was a smile on his face, those soft brown eyes filled with warmth, you knew him well, too well, and you knew there was more hiding behind those eyes, behind the same facade he put up every year. And that sat with you, you carried that worry like a burden, because you didn’t know what truly was going on in his head, what he was thinking. And it made you wish you could just lock him up until the day had passed. But alas, he wasn’t the type of man to hide. Exchanging I love you’s as he walked out the door left you with unease, with anxiety. And you couldn’t shake that feeling.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey love. Lemme guess, you’re staying late?” Your teasing words were laced with humor when you picked up the phone. You had managed to get through your day, though you definitely missed your husband. It was around six when he called.

“Yeah, something like that. Uh, fuck. I’m sorry to ask, but could you come in?” He rushed out his words, a sense of urgency edging through his tone even over the phone. The smile on your face quickly fell and you stilled, stammering over your words. “There’s an active shooter at PittFest and I’m down two residents. Please, you know I wouldn’t call if I didn’t have to.”

You were running to your bedroom for the first pair of scrubs you could grab before he was done talking. Your mind was racing with a million questions, but you didn’t have time to ask any of them.

“Fuck me. You really couldn’t stay home today, huh?” You blew out a breath of exasperation as you threw on pieces of clothing like a maniac. You were thankful you had decided to take a shower before getting started on dinner. Guess you would have to settle for takeout tonight, if you even left the hospital at all.

“I wish I had. Look on the bright side though, I missed you so much I had to find a way to get you here with me.” Though his words were playful, nothing about his tone was humorous in the slightest, there was so much edge to his voice it made your heart sink. As if he needed another thing to make today miserable. Today, out of all days, too.

“You could’ve just asked.”

You were on autopilot, walking to the hospital wasn’t even a conscious thought. You and Robby walked there every shift, it was just automatic. Though you were sure your feet walked just a bit faster than usual because you were walking through those doors and rushing downstairs before your brain could even process where your feet had taken you. You were met with the sight of just about the entire ER staff, day and night shift. Your heart pounded against your chest louder and louder by the second. You spotted Robby talking to Dr. Abbott. His eyes trailed in your direction and he could almost feel a sense of relief wash over him when he spotted you. It was automatic, his feet were taking you to him. He met you in the middle and he pulled you into his chest without hesitation.

“Michael.” You offered quietly, pressing the side of your face against his chest, happily accepting his embrace. You felt him press the cheek against the side of his head, a long sigh of relief leaving him.

“I really needed you. Thank you.” He muttered softly, only for your ears to hear. You nodded.

“You should’ve called me sooner. You’re down two residents?” You asked quietly, feeling the way he tensed under your touch at the question. He half nodded, another exasperated sigh leaving his heavy chest.

“Yeah. Collins wasn’t feeling well, so I sent her home, and I had to send Langdon home, too.” You could hear the slightest bit of edge in his voice at that last part. You frowned, pulling back to look at him with confusion.

“Why? What did he do?” You asked with a frown, having the feeling the reason had nothing to do with illness. His jaw tightened, his eyes drifting away from your gaze.

“You don’t want to know.” He shook his head dismissively, but his tone was anything but reassuring. You narrowed your eyes at him, not convinced by his answer. But he didn’t give you more than that. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

You didn’t want to push it, not right now at least, he had enough on his mind. You simply nodded at him, offering him a half smile as he walked you back to where everyone had gathered. You were met with some confused faces, but also welcoming glances of the familiar ones. You figured they were medical students or interns, since you didn’t recognize the new faces. What a day to be your first day, you thought.

“Okay, this is all hands on deck. That’s why I called for some help. For those of you who don’t know, this is one of our best doctors,” Robby looked at you as he introduced you. You felt almost embarrassed, faint heat rushing to your cheeks but you said nothing. “She’s our emergency pedes fellow, so if you need an attending and you can’t find me or Abbott, find her.”

You felt a bit awkward as Robby continued, now explaining the bracelet system and the colors for each area. You could still feel some confused and puzzled eyes on you every once in a while, but you otherwise ignored it. You figured there would be time for proper introductions later.

Robby and Abbott were done saying their final pieces before everyone dispersed in their own directions. You offered Robby a smile as he left to check on triage. This feeling of unease at the imminent doom that awaited you was making you sick, but you knew this is what you had to do. You eventually found Dana, and you were very distraught by the very evident brushing on her face.

“You didn’t have that last night. What happened to you?” You asked her, your tone alarmed, but you managed to keep your voice down. She sighed, like it was a long story that she had no desire to get into at this time.

“An unhappy patient decided to express how displeased he was with our care.” She states, her tone tired. Your eyes widened, your mouth falling open.

“A patient punched you? Are you fucking kidding?” You scoffed in disbelief and she simply nodded, too tired and burned out to do much more. You shook your head. “Maybe Gloria should fire me. Maybe she can hire better security with my salary.”

“Doubt it. She would find a way to claim we still don’t have the budget for it.” She blew out a humorless laugh, also shaking her head.

You opened your mouth to reply but stopped when you heard a string of voices speaking all at once, you knew it was time for the madness. And you had no idea just how much.

~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t know where your head was anymore. You were jumping from patient to patient like it was a marathon. You had managed to tune out most of the noise, focus on where your hands were. You were helping Langdon when you spotted Robby wheeling in a girl and your heart nearly stopped when you saw Jake following him. Robby hadn’t heard from him or his girlfriend since the shooting started and he was frantic, looking for him every time a new patient was wheeled in. He didn’t show it, but you could tell.

“You good here?” You asked Langdon, his panicked expression matching your own when he spotted Jake. He nodded, ushering you to go. You nearly ran across the other side to find Robby doing chest compression on a girl, and Jake was standing there, refusing to leave her side.

“Jake, hey, are you okay?” You asked him, checking him for any severe wounds, but he didn’t seem to be hurt, despite being covered in blood. He didn’t acknowledge you at first, his eyes glued to the girl on the gurney, you assumed this was the girlfriend Robby had told you took his ticket.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay, just my leg I think. But Leah is really hurt. Is she going to be okay?” He still wasn’t looking at you, not moving either. You gently grabbed his arm as you made eye contact with Robby. You knew that look. You half nodded, trying to usher Jake back. You hadn’t known him super long, his mom and Robby had already been split for a while by the time you came into the picture. But he thought you were cool and you found his relationship with Robby endearing.

“Robby is helping her right now, but you can’t be in here. You need to get that leg checked. I promise I’ll come find you.” You slowly pulled him back as you called for a wheelchair, he wasn’t budging, understandably not wanting to leave his girlfriend. “Jake, please. Robby’s got her but you need to get checked out.”

You managed to join Robby, and it did not look good. You made eye contact with Dana, and you did not like the look she gave you. You took in a deep breath, clearing your throat as you tried to find your voice.

“Where do you want me?”

“Switch with me.” Robby panted, quickly switching places with you. You resumed chest compressions, despite knowing where this would end. You couldn’t stop the bleeding, and you couldn’t transfuse blood fast enough. But you would keep going until he told you to stop. “Stop compressions. Check for carotid.”

You swallowed, pressing your fingers to her neck. You held your breath, perhaps holding yours would allow you to feel even the faintest beat. There was nothing. You sniffled softly and shook your head.

“I can’t feel the carotid.”

“No femoral either.”

You stopped keeping track of how long you were at it. You were at three bags of blood when you stopped compressions, and again you couldn’t feel anything. Robby shook his head.

“Robby.” You protested, knowing this was it. There was nothing else you could possibly do. There just wasn’t enough time. He shook his head again, the denial evident on his face. You exchanged knowing looks with Dana as Abbott spoke, but he couldn’t get through Robby either.

“Push one more bag of O neg, resume compressions.” He insisted, his voice breaking the slightest bit. A shaky breath left your lips and you hesitated for just a second, but you complied nonetheless.

“Abbott is right. The bullet probably tore right through the aorta. I still can’t get a pulse and we can’t give her another bag.” Your own voice was breaking, sweat starting to fall down your forehead and soak your hair. He shook his head at you, checking his own pulse to make sure the machine worked. “Michael—“

“I know, I know. Fuck, just, let me try this. Please. Hold compressions.” His voice was shaky, on the verge of breaking as he avoided your gaze. You breathed out shakily as you stopped and waited. You could hear abnormal beats, coming and going. And then nothing. There was nothing. Robby kept trying, his jaw tight and he squeezed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to find a pulse. Anything. There was nothing. Your eyes found Dana’s and she shook her head at you. Your eyes filled with tears when Robby shook his head. “We’re done.”

Your breath got caught in your chest as you held it, your own eyes fluttering shut as the realization finally dawned on you. When you opened them again your eyes landed on Robby and your heart sank. You swallowed, inhaling sharply before you spoke.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You asked quietly and he quickly shook his head, sniffling softly.

“No. I’ll go. Just.. Can you take her?” He looked at Dana. She nodded. You opened your mouth to speak again but he gave you no time. He was rushing down the hall as you were left with your mouth open, speechless and distraught. Seeing him like this, it reminded you of what today was. And that feeling made you so uneasy it made you nauseous.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You got pulled from patient to patient until your head started to spin. You didn’t even have time to notice Robby was gone. And nobody could find him. Those words made your stomach drop. You rushed to where Jake was, you found him still on his gurney, crying. You figured he knew.

“Jake…” You said softly, and he didn’t even bother to look at you. “Jake, I'm so sorry. We tried. We really did. But I need you to tell me where Robby is.”

Jake stayed silent for a long while, sniffling quietly, still not looking at you, “I dunno. He took me to see Leah then he kicked me out. He started, like crying and didn’t come back out.”

Your eyes widened, your breath picking up and your chest started to pound. “I promise I will come check on you but please, try to call your mom. She must be really worried.” You offered him a half smile, your lip quivering the slightest bit before you rushed to the pedes room. God this fucking room was cursed.

Your heart was not ready for the sight you would find. You were frantic as you opened the door and you found your loving husband, the love of your life, in a corner with his hands behind his head, shaking. You choked on your own breath as you grabbed the curtain and covered the door before you dropped to your knees in front of your husband. Your own eyes filled with tears at the sight of him like this. It was like he didn’t even process that you were here, he was hyperventilating, choking back sobs into his arms.

“Hey, Michael. It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.” You held back your own tears as you reached to grab his face. He wouldn’t stop, he was sobbing and crying like you had never seen him do. You didn’t know what to do, you had never seen him break down like this. Your own tears had started to fall without even knowing. But you kept talking to him, you grabbed his face, “Michael, hey, you’re okay. I’m here with you. I’m here baby.”

“Did… Did I ever tell you you have the prettiest freckles? They go so well with your eyes. You have the kindest, softest eyes. I’ve been in love with them ever since I met you. I knew that you were it, I knew I wanted to be with you, all the time.” You didn’t know what you were saying, or when you started to cry, too, but you continued, “I’m right here with you, okay? At your lowest, remember, like in our vows? I got you, I promise.”

You didn’t know what clicked in his head, or what wall fell down in his fragmented mind, but he reached for you, a broken sob leaving him as he found refuge in the comfort of your arms. He sobbed into your shoulder and you held him, cradling his head as you shushed him softly, choking back your own tears.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? You can cry. It’s okay. Just breathe with me.” You spoke quietly into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. He held you tighter.

“I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t save any of them.” He sniffled into your shoulder, his voice hoarse from emotion. It shattered your heart to hear him like this. You would give absolutely anything to make sure he never felt like this.

“I know.. I know. And I can’t make it hurt less, I wish I could. But it’s okay to grieve and feel like this. Sometimes we need to feel it.” You said softly, breathing softly, each breath you took was slow and steady until his own breath matched yours. You held him there, you let him cry until he couldn’t anymore. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how long he had been holding this in. Years of grief bottled up until he couldn’t take it anymore. “You have saved so many lives. So many people look up to you. I look up to you. And I know you have lost a lot, and that feeling will never go away. But the good you have done doesn’t go away either.”

You lost track of how long you stayed like this. But you didn’t care how long it took. You held him for as long as he needed. You said nothing more as he cried quietly into your shoulder, until he stopped and all that was there was his tight grip on you and his steady breaths in your ear. When he was ready you gently grabbed his face and offered him a sad smile. He closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch, a shaky breath leaving his lips as you gently wiped his cheeks. He opened his eyes to find yours. And as he looked at you, you felt so much sadness seeing the eyes you were so in love with so full of pain. You held his face, your cold rings against his hot skin grounded him. You leaned your forehead against his and stayed just like that. You said nothing. He said nothing. You had nothing to say. You needed this silence. Words weren’t necessary, only grief and sadness was present and that was okay. You would be here to pick up his broken pieces when he was ready.

[omgfangirlland]

I random Idea suddenly appeared in my head (I was about to sleep but this is more important). Originally I had two Ideas but I thought.. Why not combine them? My first idea was a neglected reader who can see ghost.. Like, one day she just developed this abilities. Imagine how it would go if Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were still in the mansion and looking after the batfam. They can see how Bruce Wayne is threatening his daughter and stuff.

The second Idea was a more realistic neglected reader where she's really neglected and I don't mean birthday is being forgotten or what not.. I mean real neglect where she had to work for money and her own food.. Where she has to learn how to cook for herself and learn how to do things at the very young age. I want to see her actual struggle for survival where there are times she barely makes money so she had to go hungry for some days.. Sometimes she resorts to stealing foods just to eat.

I wanted to combine these two but I'm too sleepy to continue two peace out ✌👉

-🔱

The sudden burst of creativity right as you get in bed is such a serious problem- like pls- I had like 10-12 hours where I could have done all of that- why at 3am?😭😭

When I first read this, it was way so late, and I was like "cooking her own food and working isn't neglect-" and then I realized I am in fact poor, and due to the necessity of my parents needing me to be somewhat independent my view of that point is skewed- also the reader is going to be quite young at the start of being in the family so really, a five or 10 year old shouldn't be operating the stove without supervision or finding jobs to pay for necessities-

Reader is the oldest sibling(I love the forgotten oldest daughter trope) in this for various reasons(angst) and I am so keeping ghost!Thomas and Martha btw-

CW - postpartum mental breakdown/psychosis turned into attempted infanticide via drowning, miscarriage/suicide/drugs mentioned.

My thoughts on how this MC came into Bruce's care come down to three options: Bruce and her mom were actually lovers and married, but after Reader's birth mama either left, had a postpartum breakdown, and is now rotting in Arkham, or she died. I personally prefer the Arkham route, but dying during childbirth is also quite angst filling. (Let's all ignore how I keep fridging Reader's mom, pls)

----

Martha and Thomas were by your mother's side as soon as she walked in with you in her arms, Martha almost crying at the sight of your scrunched up face, still wrinkly and flushed. They were both so happy when Bruce found love, both were so sure he'd die alone in some alley, and when the news of the pregnancy came, they were right there, celebrating with their son as if they were still alive.

But Bruce got busy, too busy with both Wayne Enterprises and being Batman. And while your mom had her friend and Alfred, she needed the reassurance of her husband. Martha was the first to notice the cracks.

They both noticed how you'd look at them as if they were right there, so they'd interact with you. Playing with you, making sure you wouldn't bump into anything when you started crawling five months later- but while Thomas would teasingly crawl after you, Martha couldn't help but keep close to her son's wife.

She tried her best to soothe her, trying to give her some warmth from beyond the veil. She knew what was happening- well... to some degree. Martha, too, went through post-partum depression, however, hers stemmed from losing Bruce's unborn brother. Martha hoped to be there for her daughter-in-law before she tried something she'd regret- The dead woman thought your mom would put herself at risk, try to take herself out. She feels guilty that she hadn't seen it earlier.

Your mom would sometimes stare at you for hours, and while it worried Alfred, he brushed it off as the woman simply admiring the bundle of joy she created. He, like Bruce, had other things to attend to. He was sure everything was fine, your mother simply loved you too much.

None of the living expected what happened, mainly because of their own willingness to ignore the clear changes, but Martha and Thomas did. They stuck around even after nightfall, so when at three in the morning your mom walked in and took you out of your cradle, they were hot on her trail.

Obsessive thoughts about your baby, paranoia, sleep problems, hallucinations, and delusions were all symptoms of postpartum psychosis, easily confused with the similar symptoms of postpartum depression.

It'll be easy that everything went to shit quickly- but it didn't. Martha and Thomas watched with pure confusion as your mom filled the bathtub, the thought that she may harm you not even crossing their mind as she held you close, swaying side to side while humming some lullaby. It was a slow build, but when she did submerge your head under the water and firmly held you there, it sure felt like a hundred years passed right through Martha.

She doesn't know how she did it, but Martha was screaming her lungs out as she and her husband pushed the woman away, making her slump against the opposite wall, but neither could pull the plug out, leaving you fighting to keep your head above the water.

Alfred ran as soon as he heard the yelling, a chill passing through him for a moment as he thinks it sounds way too familiar, and your wailing, pausing just for a second to look at your mom, shaking in the corner as she mutters to herself, before he had you in a tower in his arms. Both of the dead Waynes dropped next to the bathtub, clutching at their unbeating hearts and shaking

Bruce is left depressed, traumatized, and with a baby who keeps crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go in his mind. They were supposed to be happy, the it couple with a sassy baby to boot, they were supposed to grow old, he was supposed to hand over the Batman mantle to you.

Now the responsibility of caring for you fell on Alfred, Bruce being unable to care for himself, let alone a baby he couldn't look at without bursting into tears. And Alfred did his best... for maybe three years.

As soon as you started walking on your own, Alfred started pulling away, redirecting his attention to his usual work. By the time you were three years old, you barely knew of the existence of Bruce. Not because you actually saw the man, but because his parents tried to tell you about him.

You were a quiet toddler, mainly due to learning that if you cried, only Martha and Thomas would show up, and they really couldn't do much. Hell, they barely taught you to speak, but oh, did they love to hear your little transatlantic accent in the few sentences you could make.

They were indulging themselves, really, especially when you'd call the mama and papa- "No, MArtha! I'm not crying, you are, my dear-" They both were tearing up the first time it happened. They were indulging themselves with you, because if their focus wasn't on you, it would be on Bruce, and both were so disappointed in him.

They tried at first, exhausted themselves trying over and over again to nudge their boy towards his daughter- typing on his laptop, writing in the mirror, leaving her toys where he'll find them- nothing worked.

So they redirected their attention to your education- they were terrible at it, but Alfred sure as hell didn't seem to care- so they did their best. You could read perfectly, however, your writing isn't the best, and your speech was stuttered most of the time as you preferred to be mute. There really wasn't anyone to force you to speak, your father's parents unable to get much out of you, especially if they pushed. Teaching you sign language was the best course of action.

For the early part of your life, Alfred still cooked enough to leave leftovers for you to munch on, but sometime along the way, he stopped. Martha and Thomas were stumped. They were raised with buffets and golden spoons glistening in foods they didn't even think about how they were being made.

There was also the problem of you being too short to reach the stove top. Your newfound diet consisted of toast, sandwiches, salads, and the occasional baked potatoes and meat. As you grew older, you got better at cooking, mainly due to sneakingly searching the internet and quickly writing down recipes.

Sadly, the problems keep piling up. The more you grew, the more you needed new clothes, new shoes, sanitary stuff from pads to toothpaste- Bruce couldn't be bothered to be a presence in your life, so you tried to talk to Alfred. With no avail. The old butler was simply too busy, moving past you with more speed than you could keep up with. But you needed money, so despite Martha's protest and Thomas's worry, you went outside the manor.

At first, you did meager jobs that people gave you out of pity. Washing that, trimming the lawn, throwing away this, helping the old lady with carrying bags. It didn't pay well, honestly, it was mostly trading, some clothes or food for a bit of help. Until a goon of the Penguin stopped you.

You weren't stupid. You knew the package was drugs, but the amount he was willing to pay was simply too much to refuse. You guessed that was the perk of the public thinking you were dead, no fear of being kidnapped for ransom.

You became a familiar face among them, and while most were ticked off by a kid being involved, there were a few who threw in a few extra bucks. Martha and Thomas hated it. But you started having clothes that fit, food that wasn't burned, and even had a few extra to buy yourself treats, so they held their lips shut. You usually just put the extra money away.

By the time you turned thirteen, you just wrote Bruce off as a man incapable of love. But then Richard "Dick" Grayson came along. And then Jason. And Tim. Despite Martha and Thomas trying to tell you that it wasn't you, that they loved you- Bruce was just-... They couldn't justify it.

The more time passed, the more you thought those two were hallucinations your mind made up to stop you from going insane. You stopped talking to them. You stopped even acknowledging them. By the time Tim fully settled in, you had left.

There was nothing for you there, you took care of yourself for so long, you didn't need Alfred or Bruce- no matter how much you cried at night, wishing for an ounce of the attention they give the boys- and threw yourself into the crime world. There wasn't anything else you could do. You had no school, could barely write, let alone speak- but you were a good mule, and if someone picked you up and decided to train you to be a weapon, you were fine with that.

When John Constantine first set foot in Wayne Manor, the first thing he saw was the bat's dead parents glaring at him. He expected a lot of things when Bruce called him in need of help, angry grandparents who were worried for a runaway granddaughter, who had been missing for years, and that Bruce forgot even existed, wasn't one of them.

----

This took quite a lot of hours to write- kinda rushed towards the end.

Other thoughts:

If Reader did get picked up by a rogue, it'll be funny for them to be either Uncle Two-Face or Slade... It'll even be funny if it were Talia or Ra's after Jason left.

I strongly believe the Reader wasn't even sent to kindergarten.

I also think Martha and Thomas may have lied and told the MC that her mom is dead instead of institutionalized.

If there is supernatural shit, trust, John Constantine will make an appearance.

It'll ALSO be funny if Reader came to terms with her being able to see the undead, so she also becomes a mage/hunter on the side, kinda like the Winchesters. So when John finally connects the dots, he's just like- "Oh. Oh no. We have a bigger problem here."

Dick at first thought Batsis was a helper. So did the others until they were corrected by Alfred. Nobody cared to ask for further info, except for maybe Jason, who asked once why she isn't eating with the family, and it made Alfred pause for so long that Jay just assumed she's mean.

[daloy-politsey]

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life.

David Graeber, Hostile Intelligence: Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

[orellazalonia]

The Weight of Being Forgettable

Summary: You quietly resign, hoping for peace or maybe to be missed, but no one reaches out in the end. You're forgotten just as silently as you existed. However, both you and them recognize the aftermath of being unremarkable. [Part 2 of Always There, Never Seen]

Disclaimer: ANGST, Kidnapping, More descriptive writing rather than dialogue.

Word Count: 2.1k+

Main Masterlist | The One You Don’t See Masterlist

You didn't expect a moment to come. No dramatic breaking point, no cruel words shouted across a room. Just a Tuesday.

The coffee pot had gone untouched again, something you only noticed because you were the one who always refilled it. You stood in the kitchen with the same bland mug in your hand, watching the last drop of dark, bitter liquid slide into a cup you hadn’t even wanted. You were exhausted, in that way that didn’t show. Not physically. Not even emotionally.

Just… worn.

There had been a moment that morning when you stood outside the meeting room and realized: if you walked away right now, no one would stop you. No one would call. No one would ask where you'd gone. You weren't angry. You were just… done.

So you typed it up.

The resignation was short and neat. No frills. You didn’t name names, didn’t leave jabs or guilt. You wrote, “Thank you for the opportunity. I hope my work has been useful. My last day will be Friday.”

Signed and that was it. You sent it at 2:12 PM. There was no hesitation or fanfare, just a quiet email in a quiet inbox. A ghost slipping out through the back door. You half-wondered if anyone would notice before Friday.

Back at your desk, everything looked the same. A little tin of peppermints. A notebook with neat, blocky handwriting. Sticky notes with reminders no one else had seen fit to write down. You glanced around at all the things you’d done, all the problems you’d solved before anyone else noticed they were problems.

And then, the strange part. You felt… relief. No one begged you to stay. No one came running down the hall. The world didn't collapse without you. But for the first time in a long time, the weight wasn’t yours to carry.

By Wednesday, no one said anything.

There were a few auto-replies to your resignation email. One from HR and one from some higher-up who never remembered your name. You finished your shift quietly, filed things neatly, and closed out your checklists with the same care you’d always used.

By Thursday, someone asked where the coffee filters were. You weren’t there to answer.

By Friday morning, you’d cleared your desk. Left nothing behind except a printed version of your resignation on the chair, just in case anyone missed the email. You’d timed it carefully: left during a team debrief, so you wouldn’t have to walk through goodbyes no one was going to offer anyway. You rode the elevator down alone, the hum of its descent feeling like a slow, gentle goodbye.

Even with your absence now, the Tower didn’t stop moving. Missions went on. Briefings happened. The usual chaos rolled forward.

But small things started to go wrong.

The meeting room wasn’t booked in time. Natasha showed up to a double-booked training session and walked out silently annoyed. Clint missed a follow-up appointment because the reminder never got sent. The printer jammed twice. Steve’s requested dietary order was delivered late, and with the wrong items. Sam realized a report had never been filed, one you always used to clean up after hours without being asked.

Still, no one panicked. These were just little things. Little things that piled up.

By the end of the week, someone said, “Didn’t she used to handle this?” in that vague way people talk about furniture that’s been moved. Like they know something has shifted, but can’t quite name what.

Bucky passed your old desk once and stood there longer than expected. You’d always kept it tidy with that little tin of peppermints that he never took but always glanced at. The chair was pushed in. The drawers were empty, but he didn’t say anything.

She noticed however. The one he liked. She brought it up in the common room, late one evening. “Hey,” She asked, “Did we ever figure out what happened to her?”

Someone blinked. “Who?”

“The one who used to…” She gestured vaguely, “…keep everything running. She was always here.”

A pause.

“Oh,” Someone else said. “Yeah. She left.”

And that was it. No party. No sadness. Not even a group email. Just silence where your presence used to be. But slowly, they began to realize that the silence was louder than expected.

Because there was no one left who knew how to keep the floor lights from buzzing. No one who stocked the exact tea Wanda liked. There was no one who stayed late so others could leave early.

The foundation had stepped away. And only now did they realize what they had leaned.

-

Weeks passed. Not many, just enough. Enough for the new intern to forget to attach the mission brief Bucky needed. Enough for the kitchen to stay out of oat milk for three mornings in a row. Enough for minor cracks to widen.

Still no one said your name out loud.

It wasn’t out of malice. More like discomfort. Like the building didn’t know how to speak of someone it had let disappear so quietly.

She, the woman Bucky still laughed with in the training room, started taking on some of the tasks. Not officially, but out of instinct. She noticed the first cracks. Noticed the second. She filled in what she could. But the foundation you’d built was always more than anyone realized.

Across the Tower, people started asking quiet questions.

“Hey, who used to handle these reports?” “Didn’t someone used to refill the med kits?” “There was someone who… what was their name again?”

But no one had the answer.

Bucky didn’t say much. He noticed the gaps the way you notice bruises forming: slowly, steadily, and without warning. One day he reached for the right packet of tea and found the shelf bare. It hit harder than he expected.

He stared at the empty space for too long. Once, he found himself opening his mouth to ask you something, only to remember mid-sentence, that you weren’t there. You hadn’t been for a while now. And he never really got to know you.

He thought, once, to ask where you'd gone. But didn’t. Not because he didn’t care but because he wasn’t sure he deserved to. The silence you left behind wasn’t loud. It didn’t demand attention. It crept in slowly, like a chill that only settles once the fire’s gone out.

Eventually, someone new was hired. Someone louder. More visible. They joked a lot and got people’s names wrong. They were liked immediately. The cracks you left weren’t filled, just covered.

But the Tower never felt quite the same. And if anyone noticed? They kept it to themselves. Just like you always did.

-

Meanwhile, you thought it would feel lighter now. You told yourself it would.

The resignation was supposed to be your moment of quiet reclamation, stepping away from a place that never made room for you. And in some ways, it was. There were no more emails at 3 a.m. No more long hours watching everyone else get noticed while you stayed invisible in the background.

But the silence didn’t go away. It just changed addresses.

Your apartment felt bigger now. Colder. It echoed in the wrong ways. Mornings dragged on to the point where you didn’t get out of bed until the sun was well into the sky, and even then, it was usually for coffee you didn’t finish.

There were no messages. No calls. No quiet “Hey, are you okay?” from anyone who’d worked beside you for years. You’d told yourself not to expect anything, and you didn’t. But it still stung.

You scrolled through job listings with numb fingers. “Team player.” “Self-starter.” “Thrives in fast-paced environments.” You checked boxes and rewrote cover letters, and every word felt like a lie. You weren’t really a team player because you were the person the team never noticed.

When people asked how you were doing, you smiled. Said, “Good.” And everyone believes it if you say it with enough clarity. The truth stayed quiet like it always had.

Some nights, you wondered if they noticed you were gone. Not just the missing reports or forgotten appointments but you. The person who stayed late, who remembered the small things, who kept the Tower going without ever asking to be seen.

But you already knew the answer.

No one had reached out. No one had asked you where you went. You didn’t even blame them. Not really. You just wished you hadn’t wanted to be seen so badly. You wished your heart didn’t ache for a version of yourself that maybe never existed. Someone important, someone valued, or someone that people remembered.

Instead, you spent your days in cafés where no one knew your name. You read the news in the corner of quiet libraries. You went on walks just to keep yourself moving. Because if you stopped, if you stayed still too long, you might disappear entirely.

And part of you wondered if that would really make a difference to anyone. So you kept moving.

Not healing. Not rebuilding. Just… existing. You’d left quietly and the world had kept on turning. Just like you always knew it would.

However, your normal routine broke on a Wednesday. You hadn’t expected anything from the day, not peace, not purpose. Just a walk through streets you didn’t love but had grown used to accompanied with a pair of headphones, an old playlist, and a jacket too thin for the wind.

You’d built your mornings this way on purpose. You couldn’t be useful anymore, but at least you could be moving.

You were halfway through your loop when the van pulled up.

It didn’t screech to a stop. Didn’t come with a crash or chaos. Just a quiet slide beside the curb. The back door opened, and hands reached out with no hesitation.

You didn’t even scream at first.

Shock held you still. Your mind scrambled for something, logic, maybe a pattern, anything familiar, but it never came. Just the pavement vanishing from under your feet, cold air in your lungs, and cloth pulled over your face. You could hear a voice muttering, “Got her,” like you were an object, not a person.

You tried to fight, of course. But you weren’t trained. No combat skills. No enhanced strength. Just muscle memory from years of carrying coffee trays and filing paperwork.

It wasn’t enough.

When you woke, you came to with the kind of headache that bloomed behind your eyes in a slow, dull, and heavy sort of way. The light overhead wasn’t fluorescent. It was colder than that. Artificial. The kind that hummed in a way that got under your skin.

Your wrists weren’t tied. You weren’t in chains. Just a room. Stark white, sterile edges. A thin cot. A small tray with water and a protein bar sitting untouched beside you. It wasn’t meant to feel like a cell. But it did.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t call out. You just sat there, quietly. Waiting. At first, you thought, someone will come.

Maybe Natasha would notice your name in a briefing file and raise an eyebrow. Maybe Steve would frown and say, “Didn’t she used to work with us?” Maybe Bucky would finally look up and remember that girl in the back room who always had the right intel before he needed it.

You imagined Tony cross-referencing coordinates and catching the glitch in a camera feed. You imagined Sam flying low, scanning streets, muttering, “This doesn’t feel right.”

But the hours passed. Then a day. Then three. And you slowly began to understand: No one was coming.

Not because they couldn’t. Not because they didn’t care. But because they didn’t know. You were no longer on the rosters. No longer in the comms. You weren’t even part of a security clearance group anymore. You had wiped your hands clean and left quietly.

To them, you were gone before you disappeared.

There wouldn’t be a mission presented with your name as the victim to save. You didn’t matter enough to track. You weren’t an Avenger. You weren’t an asset. You were the quiet one in the hallway. The background hum. The afterthought. And now, nobody at all.

The realization wasn’t a crash. It was a slow, silent exhale. It wasn’t grief. It was confirmation and it made something deep inside you shut down.

You moved back on the cot and stared at the ceiling. Letting the hum of the light fill the silence that no one else seemed to want to, you thought to yourself: This is what it’s like to vanish completely.

[alicearmageddon]

"The North Korean regime in the ‘50s developed a series of remarkably effective torture techniques, techniques that were so effective, in fact, that they were able to make captured American airmen admit to all sorts of atrocities they had not in fact committed, all the time, being convinced they had not, actually, been tortured. The techniques were quite simple. Just make the victim do something mildly uncomfortable—sit on the edge of chair, for example, or lean against a wall in a slightly awkward position—only, make them do it for an extremely long period of time. After eight hours the victim would be willing to do virtually anything to make it stop. But try going to the International Court of Justice at The Hague and tell them you’ve been made to sit on the edge of a chair all day. Even the victims were unwilling to describe their captors as torturers. When the CIA learned about these techniques—according to Korean friends of mine, they’re actually just particularly sadistic versions of classic Korean ways of punishing small children—they were intrigued, and, apparently, conducted extensive research on how they could be adopted for their own detention centers.

Again, sometimes, in Palestine, one feels one is in an entire country that’s being treated this way. Obviously, there is also outright torture, people who are actually being shot, beaten, tortured, or violently abused. But I’m speaking here even of the ones that aren’t. For most, it’s as if the very texture of everyday life has been designed to be intolerable—only, in a way that you can never quite say is exactly a human rights violation. There’s never enough water. Showering requires almost military discipline. You can’t get a permit. You’re always standing in line. If something breaks it’s impossible to get permission to fix it. Or else you can’t get spare parts. There are four different bodies of law that might apply to any legal situation (Ottoman, British, Jordanian, Israeli), it’s anyone’s guess which court will say what applies where, or what document is required, or acceptable. Most rules are not even supposed to make sense. It can take eight hours to drive 20 kilometers to see your girlfriend, and doing so will almost certainly mean having machine guns waved in your faces and being shouted at in a language you half understand by people who think you’re subhuman. So you do most of your dalliance by phone. When you can afford the minutes. There are endless traffic jams before and after checkpoints and drivers bicker and curse and try not to take it out on one another. Everyone lives no more than 12 or 15 miles from the Mediterranean but even on the hottest day, it’s absolutely impossible to get to the beach. Unless you climb the wall, there are places you can do that; but then you can expect to be hunted every moment by security patrols. Of course teenagers do it anyway. But it means swimming is always accompanied by the fear of being shot. If you’re a trader, or a laborer, or a driver, or a tobacco farmer, or clerk, the very process of subsistence is continual stream of minor humiliations. Your tomatoes are held and left two days to rot while someone grins at you. You have to beg to get your child out of detention. And if you do go to beseech the guards, those same guards might arbitrarily decide to hold you to pressure him to confess to rock-throwing, and suddenly you are in a concrete cell without cigarettes. Your toilet backs up. And you realize: you’re going to have to live like this forever. There is no “political process.” It will never end. Barring some kind of divine intervention, you can expect to be facing exactly this sort of terror and absurdity for the rest of your natural life."

-David Graeber, Reflections from a Visit to the West Bank

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.

[starrycassi]

Fluff jayvik hcs because why the fuck not.

Jayce is the in-universe equivalent to Latino. This is not a headcanon I'm Chris Lane himself.

Outside of their hex work, Viktor is quite fond of biology. He appreciates learning about evolution and how many different life forms deal with the same problems but face it in different ways. He is that one bug lover in every campus. Particularly fond of butterflies. He's got a few pinned down on his wall. Jayce finds it sort of creepy but keeps quiet.

Jayce is a geology nerd. He started getting into it while searching for a mineral that could resemble the first "stone" given to him by the mage when he was about 12. This was his very first theory: the arcane is actually stored in rocks and can be extracted like gold or such. It was clearly wrong but left him with a vast knowledge of just rocks. He has a million little chips around his bedroom. He fears the day he has to move because they're all heavy as fuck when combined.

Jayce is actually really athletic. But, like, for health benefits. He does appreciate his own body and WILL flex it if given the opportunity, but it's not the main reason why he exercises/works out (yes I know the forge bla bla I'm talking when he finally becomes a scientist guys). He wants to live a long life to take care of his mom, and knows that a good physique would make that easier.

Jayce ends up annoying Viktor into agreeing to do some low-impact stretches with him when they spend more than 24 hours just sitting around in the lab. And I'm talking VERY low impact. Wrist stretches, shoulder openers, some neck looseners. He's actually really patient and caring when they do this, and Viktor has definitely fallen a little bit more in love with each muscle movement.

Expanding on that: after 48 hours of work he Will Get The Zoomies. This ends up in Viktor, sitting peacefully, counting down the pushup reps Jayce is doing. He needs to get rid of all that energy and Viktor is more than happy to help. Especially when Jayce eventually starts taking out his shirt to do his little routines.

Jayce likes psychology and general health. He is really in tune with his own emotions in the show, okay? This man is reading self help books in his spare time. A lot of time the theory doesn't actually make it to his heart but at least he understands it. Viktor finds the chemistry side of psychology interesting, but is not that interested in the rest of it. Basically psychology vs psychiatrist ig.

They're both dinosaur nerds. Jayce is a big fan of their diets/possible mating rituals while Viktor is obsessed with fossils and evolution. Jayce likes flying specimens more, while Viktor is partial to the marine ones.

Viktor's one and only loved physical activity is swimming. Takes the weight off his leg and spine for a second. One of the few "luxuries" he owns is a decently sized bathtub with all the proper accommodations to get in and out without help.

Viktor is a snake person. They're easy to care for (if you just follow the right steps), easy to transport, don't require that much physical effort, will not wreck his house while he's gone, et cetera. Of course he doesn't have a twelve feet venomous one. Probably more of a cornsnake/Rosy boa guy. Which also means that the first time Jayce visits his apartment, the man almost dies in five consecutive heart attacks.

Jayce would definitely love a golden retriever I'm sorry he truly is the living bisexual boy stereotype. Physical affection, a good excuse to go outside for a run, force him to keep a routine. I actually think he would never own one on his own because he knows his schedule is way too fucked up for a pet, but Ximena does have one to keep her company and he loves it. I can only see this man with either a cat that comes to his balcony every night or some obscure brand of bird.

Jayce is amazing at cooking, but incredibly messy and takes his sweet time with it. He had time to learn from his mom and sees cooking as an act of love that should be appreciated. Viktor is really fast and efficient, but can end up with tasteless stuff. Grew up with hastily stolen ingredients and half a bottle of kitchen oil in Zaun. Food is fuel kind of mentality.

The only person who Viktor accepts constant help from is Jayce, and this is because he knows that Jayce is Just Like That. There was one or two big fights about it at first, but, with times, he's learned that Jayce is doing this out of the wish to show love and not out of pity or concern. Jayce is well aware that Viktor can adjust his own brace and has no problem with fixing his own tie, but he loves loves loves being useful.

This evolves in Viktor trying to reciprocate the gestures. Keeping Jayce's foundation on his bag (there is no way Mr. Charisma doesn't cover his eye bags every time they need to be in public) and learning how to properly apply makeup for him. He keeps an extra pair of earphones after finding out that Jayce is actually just as easily overstimulated as him. Remembers his coffee order, straightens out his collar, refills his stapler and clip drawer.

They are PARTNERS okay? I need the little domestic signals. No big "I love you's" but daily "I got you that cinnamon latte monstrosity you call a beverage" or "You forgot them? Don't worry. I have emergency pain pills in my wallet. Yes, the ones you take. No, it's technically not stalking if you leave the receipts laying around."

They both really enjoy videogames. Viktor likes noir/detective ones and Jayce is a fan of anything that includes racing. They seldom play the same game at the same time, more often just keeping the other company while doing their own thing.

They can both sew. Pretty similar to the cooking one. Jayce learnt for pleasure, Viktor out of necessity.

Have seen the other sob silently over failed equations and burnt metals so many times that they both have perfected the routine by now. Viktor likes to be given space and Jayce needs someone to come calm him down. Which is hell, because Jayce hates leaving Viktor alone. He feels useless. And Viktor heats having to do the whole consolation thing. He feels inadequate. But that's what the other needs, so they try.

When really stressed, Jayce has been known for having psychosomatic thermal issues. Viktor has had to throw blanket after blanker over him because he will Not Move if his body gets too cold, which in return makes him panic, which makes him even colder.

Both fuckin hate winter. It always finds them with So Many Extra Sweaters in the lab. Viktor carries an extra scarf around. Just in case. Jayce's PTSD gets triggered, while Viktor's body just reacts horribly to the cold. Some days they just wrap themselves up against one another and try to guard off the cold.

Viktor has some auditory hallucinations. Very rarely. Mostly of Rio. He doesn't want to talk about it. So he doesn't. Jayce notices, but knows better than to go poke and prode at Viktor's feelings. It doesn't usually end well.

Are both amazing at chess. Have threatened to kill each other over it. Had to take out the board from the lab after the sixth consecutive tie.

(Mel is actually the only other person in the building who can easily, quickly and steadily beat them, including when they work together. Even Heimerdinger gets thrown a few curves here and there)

Jayce Can Not stand it when Viktor is disrespected, but never steps in. He knows Viktor will defend himself and will only get in the middle of it if it gets physical. The one time he tried Viktor's cane met his shins about five times in a row. It was a "small warning about limits."

Jayce avoids ordering junk food when they work for hours, for both of their health. He also doesn't want to sacrifice taste, so he buys from two/three exclusive places that can meet their nutritional + palatial needs. Viktor can, will and has eaten only pizza for about three days straight.

Had he never been... well, the man of progress, Jayce would've turned into either a bioengineer or surgeon. I have no idea on how to explain this but I need u to believe me please (I'm just a healthcare student with severe delusions)

Jayce's mom makes a big deal of his birthday. Viktor denies being jealous. It doesn't work. Next year, Ximena also makes a big deal of his special day.

Viktor is currently unaware of his exact date of birth. He picked one based on analysis and what his mother could recount but has never known the exact number

They get married and live happily ever after idc idc

Addition 1: Both are Well Aware of the law (Jayce's little sister is a cop + Viktor just like reading everything). Can both hold their own in a legal conversation. They just choose to ignore it. Have a vast knowledge of legal technicalities and use them only to bend said laws. The more they learn, the worse they get. Basically those guys who read the rulebook only to find loopholes on it.

[moonlight-records]

Because I Liked A Boy | LN4 (PSDE)

pairing: reader x LN4

summary: You were known as the one who tamed Mr. Playboy of the paddock and for a moment, you thought you had. Then everything goes sideways and suddenly you regret what you've done all because you liked a boy.

warning: angst. so much angst. break-up, player!lando, OOC Oscar?? it's based off the song, sorry not sorry

a/n: welcome to the playlist series, deluxe edition! i put my stim playlist on shuffle and picked the first 12 songs that was played (last two songs are bonus songs!). yes the titles are the songs, whoops

wc: 1.9K

song 1 out 12: because i liked a boy by Sabrina Carpenter

You and Lando had “broken up” right before Baku. Aka, Lando had dumped you right before Singapore which was horrible because he had given you tickets to the race. He let you keep the tickets, thank god, but you would’ve easily sold them if your flight was refundable but the asshole had done it quite literally 24 hours after they hit the non-refundable mark so you decided to go.

That was the first mistake you made. The news broke right after qualifiers when Lando was spotted with another girl at a club.Then the rumors spread that night about how Lando and this girl were a thing first. That you were nothing more but a psycho. Obsessed. A “proud mistress.” A homewrecker. A slut. You decided that it wasn’t worth the energy because you knew the truth and that things would blow over within a week or two.

That was mistake number two because by the second week (and the first week into summer break),  you were still getting hate and death threats directed at you or about you and it was too late to attempt to clear your name. You were thankful for the handful of fans who defended you and found it really odd Lando decided to just let himself be seen with another girl instead of announcing his split beforehand since clearly this girl came after you but there was nothing to do now to change the public’s view of you.

Clearly, it showed that Lando really did not care for you as much as you thought so you decided to do yourself the favor and just disappear. You deactivated all your socials and only told your close friends you were going on a social media detox. Your family were going on a mini vacation when in reality you found yourself waltzing into

Plopping down on the couch, you run your fingers through your hair before letting your head hang. Your fingernails dig into your scalp and suddenly your sweats are wet from the tears falling onto them before dragging your hands down and silently crying into a mix of  your hands and hair. You tried to figure out what had happened.

What has gone wrong?

You swore that you and Lando were happy. Sure, the long distance at times was rough and the time zones felt killer but you had held strong. You were convinced that you two could make it to the postseason and the few month or two that you two had together would help immensely. Still, you had been warned to keep him at a distance. That Lando was nothing more but a player and a heartthrob that moved on when he was bored but you swore that you were the one and for a bit, you were fooled into believing it along with everyone else.

It was almost a year. A fucking year basically you spent with Lando before he decided to dump you. A year of fucked up sleep schedules and sleepless nights. A year of traveling to go see these races. A year of meeting his friends and slowly being integrated into his world just for it to come crashing down. God, how stupid were you? You had poured so much energy into this boy just to be the one that got hurt in the end. What you would’ve give to punch him in his stupid fa—

“Here.”

You look up to be greeted with a carton of ice cream. You take the carton without a second thought, top flung off, and spoon diving in. You grunts slightly as you struggle but you manage to be victorious as you get a spoonful. The couch shifts next to you and tears immediately swell again when there’s a gentle comforting hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you mumble while shaking your head before shoving another mouthful of ice-cream into your mouth, “you tried to warn me. I didn’t listen. This is the consequence of my action.” You laugh bitterly, “God maybe I really am nothing more than a naive hopeless romantic who can’t pick a good guy to save my own life.”

“Don’t say that, y/n.” You can hear the frown as you look over, “you aren’t naive. You see the good in everyone and I admire that about you greatly. You saw the best in him,” gently brushing some hair out of your face. “But he’s never going to change unless he wants to. Sadly, he doesn’t and you got burned in the end because he’s too busy being a player.”

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you into his side. “You’re too good for him.” Pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “Now. Do you want a trashy movie or trashy TV?”

“Trashy TV. Maybe that new mom documentary about those Mormon moms from tiktok?”

You snicker slightly at the . “The what documentary?”

“Do you seriously not keep up with these things?”

“No.”

“We really have to change that.”

Summer break had come and gone. You had done a lot of crying and snacking but you had also done a lot of healing. You think you’ve done a lot of healing anyway but today would be the deciding factor.

Your stomach twisted and turned as you watched the destination time get lower and lower the closer you arrived to the Austin track. You glance out the window anxious before looking back at your phone. When you arrive, you thank the driver as you climb out, holding your purse just a bit tighter before making your way to one of the back entrances you knew existed. Nobody in the media knew about it so you got into the paddock undetected from the media as you started your journey to a certain garage.

You’re so close to your destination before you’re finally spotted. “Y/N?”

You freeze hearing the familiar British accent behind you. His voice sounded surprised. You should just keep walking, you’re so close to your destination but your body betrays you as you turn. You study those stormy green eyes that seem to grow a bit colder seeing you here. You ball your hands into fists, nails digging into your pal to keep from crying. He didn’t deserve that from you.

You silently stare at Lando, who was in his cream sweatshirt from his new academic merch drop and some joggers along with that stupidly beautiful mullet. God, you swore that Aphrodite herself had hand sculptured Lando which would explain why you could not find it in you to hate his looks. Instead, you clear your throat, “can I help you?”

Lando decides to save both of you the trouble and cuts right through the bullshit. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to support my friend.”

“Friend? Seriously?” Lando looks around then back at you, “last time I checked we weren’t even acquaintances. Hell, are we talking again?”

Anger simmered in your stomach but you kept it at bay, “Why would you think I was talking about you?”

Lando seemed a bit surprised by that, “Well, you aren’t really close with anyone else here,” he let out a small chuckle. “The boys might’ve liked you but I’ve known them longer.”

“Well, maybe some of them weren’t happy with how you let things end. I mean, with your new fling starting rumors about me being a homewrecker and such even though when all that went down we’d already broke up. Yet you didn’t have the balls to say that to the media, did you?”

Lando grits his teeth, “I never told her to—”

“Doesn’t matter,” you cut in. “You let the rumors spread. You let the fire grow. You never denied the rumors or told her it was wrong. You didn’t even tell the media we broke up before that night. Now I’m just the homewrecking slut when she came into the picture after me. Seemed like she was doing a lot of projecting and yet, here we are.”

You cross your arms over your chest staring the Brit down. Silence falls upon the two of you and you’re ready to leave before an arm is slung over your shoulder startling you and Lando. “There you are.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim and smile, “hey.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Lando interjects.

“Excuse me?” Oscar asks, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Spare me, Oscar. Why the hell are you inviting Y/N knowing damn well we broke up just a little over a month ago.”

You can feel your heart twist as Lando speaks. His words were like a knife that would stop at nothing until you were nothing more than a shell of yourself wallowing in pain occasionally through the numbness.

“Well, Y/N and I are friends and I invited her as my guest this weekend so…” he lets his words trail off for a moment.

“When did you and Y/N become friends?”

“When you decided to treat her like trash and tossed her to the side for some random girl probably after you just for your fame and money.”

The silence that followed Oscar’s comment was suffocating. Your jaw was opened a little while you stared at the Aussie in pure awe while Lando’s jaw had dropped to the floor. He quickly regained some of his composure, still unsure how to respond to his teammate and friend (maybe?) remark but Oscar wasn’t done.

“I mean, come on. Y/N is great. Everyone loves her. Everyone looked forward to seeing her. She stayed up countless nights for you. Rearranged her schedules to visit. Hell, she didn’t know anything about F1 until you and worked her ass off to learn your profession. What’s the thank you gave her for almost a year of your life? Some random girl at the club? Seriously?” Oscar shakes his head, “Mate, I love you but I’m not gonna side with you. You fucked up. You picked a girl who’s known to be a celebrity hopper over someone who gave you everything and you want me to side with you and the celebrity hopper? Who has to slander other girls and put them down so nobody focuses on how fast she moves on?? No thanks.”

You stare up at Oscar in awe for coming to your defense. You feel tears starting to swell because this has probably been the worst month in your life and here was Oscar, reminding you first hand that there were people in your corner. That there were people who saw you for you. Who knew the kind hearted person you were. The one who gave it their all until they couldn’t give anymore. The one who saw the good in everyone and loved way too much and never got the same energy in return. You avert your eyes quickly when Oscar’s gaze meets your and you clear your throat. “You should head back to your garage before they look for you. I’ll meet you there.”

“You sure?” Oscar asks.

“Yeah!”

Oscar nods, “Okay,” he glances at Lando but doesn’t bother saying goodbye. They’d see each other soon enough.

You watch Oscar leave before turning to look at Lando, unsure what to say. It seems he was in the same boat as you both stood there awkwardly.

“Well.” You start finally.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Save it.” You hold a hand up, looking away from him, “please. I don’t. The damage has been done, Lando. It’s over. You’ve already told me who I am from your actions. Just…have a good weekend,” You turn and head to Oscar’s garage without a second glance back at the man who was once your everything.

[kenzdolls]

GAMER INTOLERANCE.

⌗ synopsis: you’re a person with IGD (Internet Gaming Disorder), so how does your boyfriend deal with it?

⌗ pairing: mha men x reader

⌗ side note: the loneliness is real I’m gonna be honest—

𐔌.  IZUKU MIDORIYA:

▹ keeps detailed notes about your gaming habits in hero analysis notebook #47 (yes he made a whole notebook just for understanding you better) and accidentally discovers the correlation between your longest gaming sessions and when you're avoiding real-world stress

▹ definitely doesn't stay up until 3am researching igd and healthy coping mechanisms but somehow always has perfectly timed snack deliveries and gentle check-ins during your marathon sessions

▹ creates the most elaborate care packages with color-coordinated sticky notes reminding you about hydration, eye breaks, and "you're doing amazing but maybe stretch?" written in his chaotic handwriting

▹ gets genuinely excited about your achievements and keeps a list of all your high scores, favorite games, and that one boss fight you've been stuck on for three weeks (offers to help research strategies even though he's terrible at gaming)

▹ worry-mumbles about your sleep schedule but learns your game's soundtrack so he can tell how intense your session is getting just by the music bleeding through your headphones

▹ develops an entire system of gentle interventions disguised as coincidences: "oh wow, i just happened to make too much katsudon, and the sunset looks really pretty from the balcony right now, want to see?"

𐔌.  KATSUKI BAKUGOU:

▹ storms into your gaming space like "oi, when's the last time you ate something that wasn't energy drinks and regret?" but there's always a perfectly prepared meal in his hands that he "accidentally" made too much of

▹ absolutely does not research your games to understand what you're going through but somehow always knows exactly when you're about to rage quit and appears with aggressive support: "that boss is being a little bitch, but you're not gonna let some pixels make you their bitch, right?"

▹ installs parental controls on your setup (without asking) but the restrictions are weirdly thoughtful - blocks during meal times he's cooking and creates mandatory "touch grass" periods that coincide with his training schedule

▹ learns gaming terminology just to trash talk your opponents more effectively: "that scrub is camping like a coward, show them what a real gamer looks like!"

▹ forces you into "training montages" where he makes you do push-ups between deaths ("if you're gonna sit on your ass for 12 hours, at least make it a strong ass")

▹ secretly learns to play your favorite co-op games because "someone has to carry you through this shit" but gets embarrassingly competitive about your team rankings

𐔌.  SHOTO TODOROKI:

▹ approaches your gaming habits with the analytical precision of someone who's never experienced a hobby before: takes notes, asks incredibly direct questions like "do you game more when you're avoiding your father?" 

▹ creates detailed spreadsheets tracking your gaming hours vs. mood vs. sleep quality because "data helps me understand how to support you better" (doesn't realize how intense this sounds)

▹ his rich boy solutions are accidentally perfect sets up the most ergonomic gaming space known to mankind with temperature control, blue light filtering, and a mini-fridge stocked with actual nutritious snacks

▹ sits quietly nearby during your sessions working on his own stuff, becoming a comforting presence who somehow always knows when you need emotional support without you saying anything

▹ learns to make your comfort foods from scratch because "store-bought isn't good enough for someone i care about" and delivers them with zero fanfare

▹ accidentally becomes your guild's favorite person because he remembers everyone's schedules and sends polite reminders about raid times and event deadlines

𐔌.  EIJIRO KIRISHIMA:

▹ becomes your personal hype man who genuinely celebrates every single achievement: "bro, you just got that headshot! that was so manly!" *aggressively supportive arm gestures*

▹ definitely doesn't panic-research igd at 2am but starts leaving little encouraging notes around your setup: "remember you're more than your rank!" and "hydration is manly!"

▹ learns your game just enough to understand when you're having a rough session and swoops in with the most genuine pep talks: "hey, bad games don't make you a bad person, you know?"

▹ creates "gym buddy but for life balance" energy - suggests you both work on your respective challenges together (his self-doubt, your gaming habits) with matching goal charts and reward systems

▹ masters the art of the perfect gaming break: warm hugs, protein smoothies, and stories about his day that are just interesting enough to ground you without being demanding

▹ somehow makes every gaming achievement feel like a shared victory while also making every break feel like quality time instead of an interruption

𐔌.  DENKI KAMINARI:

▹ initially thinks dating a gamer will be awesome until he realizes you're way more hardcore than his casual mobile gaming and gets lowkey intimidated by your setup

▹ becomes the master of chaotic interventions: unplugs your router "by accident," challenges you to stupid tiktok dances, or starts playing ridiculously loud music until you're forced to acknowledge his existence

▹ absolutely enables your habits sometimes brings you energy drinks and snacks but draws the line at letting you skip meals: "babe, you can't sustain this lifestyle on doritos and spite"

▹ creates elaborate schemes to make irl activities more appealing than gaming: "what if we went to the arcade? it's like gaming but with more lights and you can see my devastatingly handsome face"

▹ learns to recognize your different types of gaming moods and adapts accordingly - respects your serious competitive sessions but crashes your casual farming sim time with commentary and jokes

▹ somehow becomes friends with your online gaming buddies and creates a support network that bridges your digital and real relationships

𐔌.  TOMURA SHIGARAKI:

▹ completely understands the appeal of escaping into digital worlds and doesn't judge your habits because he's been there, but gets weirdly possessive when games take priority over him

▹ creates a bizarre competitive dynamic where he tries to out-game you, leading to couples gaming sessions that last 20+ hours and probably aren't healthy for either of you

▹ oddly supportive in his own twisted way: "the real world is garbage anyway, at least you're good at something" (this is his version of encouragement)

▹ enables your worst habits while simultaneously calling you out: stocks your space with junk food and energy drinks while muttering about how you're "rotting away like society"

▹ becomes eerily invested in your gaming drama and holds genuine grudges against players who've wronged you: "give me their usernames, i'll make them regret existing"

▹ his room setup makes yours look casual and he creates the ultimate gaming cave where you both can ignore the outside world, which is either deeply romantic or deeply concerning depending on perspective

𐔌.  DABI (TOUYA TODOROKI):

▹ approaches your gaming addiction with his signature blend of dark humor and genuine concern disguised as indifference: "nice to see you're as committed to avoiding reality as i am"

▹ secretly worried because he recognizes destructive coping mechanisms but expresses concern through sarcasm: "wow, 16 hours straight, that's almost as impressive as my daddy issues"

▹ becomes surprisingly attentive to your physical health in subtle ways - adjusts room temperature without being asked, replaces your desk chair with something that won't destroy your back, casually mentions eye strain

▹ uses his insomnia to keep weird parallel schedules with your gaming marathons, becoming a comforting presence who's just... there when you need him at 4am

▹ learns your games well enough to have intelligent conversations about them, but always with his trademark cynicism: "so you're telling me you spent six hours optimizing a virtual farm while eating cereal for dinner?"

▹ creates moments of genuine connection by sharing his own escapism strategies and bonding over the appeal of worlds where you have control

𐔌.  SPINNER (SHUICHI IGUCHI):

▹ actually the most qualified to understand your situation as a former shut-in gamer himself, approaches your relationship with genuine empathy and zero judgment

▹ shares his own experiences with gaming addiction and social withdrawal without making it about him: "i get it, sometimes the digital world feels safer, but isolation isn't actually protection"

▹ creates the perfect balance of gaming together vs. encouraging other activities - suggests co-op games that build teamwork, then translates those skills into real-world adventures

▹ helps you recognize the difference between gaming as hobby vs. gaming as avoidance with gentle questions: "are we playing this because it's fun or because tuesday sucked?"

▹ his lizard brain finds your intense focus oddly attractive but knows when to interrupt with perfectly timed reality checks disguised as snack breaks and conversation

▹ becomes your accountability partner who actually understands the struggle - celebrates your healthy choices without making you feel broken for needing support

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare

⌗ mutuals: @haikyuubby @va-3 @tulippanes @luvseraphh @miss-indigen0us @cupkiki

[liviecurated]

willmack accent deep dive

i am by NO means a linguist, merely someone who took some college classes and thinks willmack are such funny sharks

mack

vancouver -> bay area, ca @ 12 -> minnesota @ 14 -> chicago @ 16 -> boston @ 17 -> bay area, ca

most people say that the vancouverite accent is the same as a pacific northwest/northern california accent, and for the most part i think this holds especially true for macklin (and aiden - they sounds so similar it's crazy!)

while he may be a california boy now, he definitely does have still have some canadians in him still - especially prominent when back in vancouver:

"out" - in all the clips of him, his "out" is always pronounced like a canadian, with an e as in bet + oot as in loot vs the american pronunciation with ow + t. he also seems to do this with "about" and "house"

"the states" - when in vancouver, he explains that his family is going to be doing christmas "down in the states" but also refers to the us as going "down to the states" pretty frequently

"eh" - he for sure does not say this canadianism as much as others, but when with friends and/or chirping someone it does present itself

he's also adopted some weird midwestern americanism's, maybe from his time living at ssm in minnesota and then a year in chicago

one notable thing is his pronunciation of aunt. from my understanding, "aunt" is pronounced as "ant" by vancouverites (same as we do in northern california). yet mack, from what i've heard, pronounces it as "awunts", which according to extensive blog research and minnesota friend consultation, i think is something minnesotans feel strongly correct about.

in summary - mack is a diluted vancouverite, and blends in right at home in northern california

will

lexington, mass -> plymouth, michigan -> boston, mass -> bay area

i'm going to be completely honest - will was incredibly boring (to me) linguistically. i watched hours upon hours of interviews of him talking but nothing stuck out like a sore thumb like some of mack's did.

coming into my research, i expected to pinpoint will's accent as a strong boston accent - his family has lived there since forever, etc, but i was finding it difficult (to my bad, untrained ear).

i think a reason for this could be the decline of the strong boston accent in younger generations, particularly surrounding the horse–hoarse merger (which essentially means that the "traditional" boston accent would pronounce the two separately, whereas now they're pronounced the same). also possible that he just never absorbed the accent because his mom is from chicago and not boston? uncertain

i tried to listen for a couple notable elements of a traditional boston accent

non-rhoticity (or, dropping the "r" at the end of words - think "pahk" for park). will really doesn't do it: when pronouncing "river" you can hear the r at the end, and when pronouncing "car" you can hear the r (although he is impersonating mack here - he has a specific mack voice which is funny!)

cot-caught merger. the "traditional" boston accent will pronounce the two differently, with "coffee" pronounced the same way as caught (think cAW-fee). will however, has merged, and pronounces "coffee" without an 'aw' sound, like toffee.

boston. will actually has quite a "modern boston" accent when pronouncing boston. it's not as notable as traditional (bah-stin) and not as far as "general american" (baw-sten), but is a "modern accent" (baw-stin).

why isn't his accent as strong? it's possible that his family is just too far from being working class (his mom barely has a "non standard" american accent), yet his dad does have larger traces of the traditional accent. in summary - he's a modern boy!

one thing that has been pointed out by even interviewers is how posed and confident will comes across in the media. will attributes this to "st. sebastian's in needham...which helped me off the ice in all aspects". st. sebastian's website lists the following as part of their academic pathway:

so i'm assuming even prior to doing media and getting pr training at the usntdp, will is used to talking to a big group of people - so he's right in his self assessment!

AGAIN, i am a historian and researcher by training NOT a social scientist or linguist --- i could be way off!! if you have thoughts i would love to hear them

[imaginespazzi]

Part 6: To Trying Again

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

I don't wanna mess this thing up (I don't wanna push too far)

(In which an "evil" writer might surprise you guys just a little bit with this part)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff and Angst

Words: 5.6K

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Happy Monday lovelies! This is sort of a filler-ish short chapter though I do think it's important to both plot and character development. I'd like to preface this by saying I've never been to Minsk or Park Pieramohi so I'm very much going off of pictures. Editing and I remain on very, very bad terms so pretty please let me know of typos so I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

July 2018 

“You’re being too loud,” Azzi whisper-screams at the blonde girl in front of her as she closes the door to her room behind her with a little too much force. 

Paige turns her head back every-so-slightly with a pronounced eye roll, “will you please relax.”

“I would if you’d just be a little more careful,” Azzi glares, taking cautious steps as if the sound of her sneakers across the carpeted floor could potentially wake up any of the coaches. 

“Azzi,” Paige says exasperatedly, “the coaches are all the way on the other end of the hallway. Besides, they're probably all sleeping.”

And despite her stubbornness, Azzi can concede that Paige has a point there. It’s nearly midnight and the game against Spain earlier in the day might have had a final score that made it seem like the USA U17 women's basketball team had won handily, but the game itself had been draining to say the least. The post-victory dinner had featured a bunch of worn out teenagers gobbling their food without much conversation and a cohort of coaches who seemed like they needed an hour of drinking followed by good night’s sleep. But even the exhaustion of the day hadn’t been enough to prevent Paige Bueckers and her diabolical mind from coming up with the idea to sneak out into the city of Minsk. 

“No,” Azzi had said immediately even before the words had been spoken, that shimmering glint in Paige’s eyes a dead giveaway as she sidled up to Azzi at the salad bar. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say,” Paige had pouted. 

“You never say anything good.”

“That’s crazy. You’re so mean to me.”

“So mean,” Azzi had nodded in agreement, “so how about you go and bother someone else.”

“Azzi please. We haven’t had just Paige and Azzi time in ages. Don’t want someone else. Just want you.”

And after that well, there wasn’t really any chance of saying no. Azzi’s only fifteen and she doesn’t know that much about love, but sometimes when Paige looks at her with those earnest blue eyes and a smile that promises i’ll always be here, she thinks the way her heart starts to flutter erratically to a beat of and i wouldn’t want anyone else to stay, might just be the start of her finding out. 

“See,” Paige grins triumphantly as the two girls find their way out of their hotel and onto the street, “told you we wouldn’t get caught. Shit’s just too damn easy.”

Azzi rolls her eyes at the attitude, “don’t tempt fate.”

“Fate’s got nothing in front of Paige Bueckers. I make my own fate,” Paige winks as she links her arms through Azzi. 

It’s a mundane amount of contact, absolutely nothing special to it, but Azzi feels herself shiver in spite of the humidity that’s circling around them. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. One moment she was staring across the court, judging the skinny blonde practicing free throws and coming to the conclusion that she’d be no threat; the next moment said girl was next to her on the plane back from Argentina and Azzi, a self-admitted introvert, found herself rattling off about everything and nothing with this girl who seemed to have discovered the keys to all of Azzi’s locks. Hours of talking had bled into days and days had bled into months and despite the fact that facetime had taken the place of in-person conversations, the word friendship had seemed too cavalier a word to describe the relationship Paige and Azzi were building. 

Paige had whittled away all of Azzi’s carefully constructed armor until she was buried deep underneath her skin and Azzi’s sure there’s no knife in the world sharp enough to carve the blonde out from where she lives underneath Azzi’s ribcage. Azzi doesn’t want anyone to try and dig her out. She  thinks she might bleed out if they do. 

“Az,” Paige whines, waving her free hand in the younger girl’s face, “are you even paying attention to me?”

“That depends,” Azzi hums, “are you saying anything interesting?”

“I’m always saying something interesting.”

“You’re always saying something. The interesting is subjective,” Azzi teases, laughing when Paige pouts. 

“I sneak you out to give you an adventure and this is how you repay me? With insults?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her heart.

“Walking boring streets is not an adventure. Virginia has streets too.”

“It’s not about the streets, it’s about where the streets lead to,” Paige says with grave seriousness. 

Azzi raises an eyebrow, “are you entering your philosopher Paige era?”

“I’d make a good philosopher,” Paige waggles her own eyebrows as they two girls find themselves entering park Pieramohi. 

“Virginia has parks too, you know Paige?” Azzi says skeptically. 

Paige lets out a dramatic sigh, “will you just keep walking, woman. Sometimes I wonder if you even like me?”

It’s said like a joke but there’s a hint of insecurity beaded into it that buzzes in Azzi’s ears as she wraps a careful hand around Paige’s wrist, stopping the two of them where they are. 

“Hey,” she whispers softly, nudging the older girl, “you don’t ever have to wonder with me. I’m always gonna like you Paige. Even if you’re a pain in my ass half the time.”

“Had to ruin it with the last part, didn't you?” Paige complains but her eyes twinkle at the reassurance, “Just so you know I’m gonna be a pain in your ass forever.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Azzi promises as they continue strolling through the park. 

The silence is peaceful and the breeze that flows around them is like a comforting hug. And Azzi thinks that she’d be okay if there wasn’t a destination for them to get to, as long as the journey came with Paige by her side. 

“We’re almost there,” Paige says slowly, a slightly nervous edge to her voice. 

“You sure you’re not just getting us lost-” the teasing quip dies on Azzi’s tongue as she stares at the scenery in front of her. They’re standing on the edge of a bridge overlooking a lake and it looks like something out of a disney fairytale; the picturesque image of green trees silhouetted against a magically starry night is captured perfectly on the still surface of the water that’s flowing beneath. As Azzi peers across the railing, Paige right next to her, she feels her breath hitch at the reflection that peers up at her. Because the view in front of them is beautiful but Paige’s eyes are on Azzi and she’s staring at her as if the view is nothing in comparison. 

“C’mon,” the blonde says softly, lacing her fingers through Azzi’s as she tugs her along, “I have a plan.”

“There’s more?” Azzi asks in awe as Paige guides her to the gazebo in the middle of the bridge. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige says and oh- that shy smile is different. Azzi doesn’t think she’s seen that one yet and she makes a mental note to herself, to memorize it and store it along with all of Paige’s other smiles that make Azzi’s insides swoop like a rollercoaster. 

She watches intently as Paige begins to peruse through the purple rucksack she’d been carrying. The first thing out of it is a picnic blanket and then a horde of different snacks, all of Azzi’s favorites. Two plastic champagne glasses are next and then a sheepish grin as Paige pulls out a bottle of soda. 

“Couldn’t quite risk trying to get alcohol,” Paige scratches at her neck. 

“Next time maybe,” Azzi shrugs as she helps Paige set up the arrangement and she feels herself fluttering at the thought of doing this again and again and again. 

“How’d you even find this place?” she asks as Paige begins to pour out the soda. 

“You ever heard of googling?”

Azzi rolls her eyes at Paige’s teasing smirk, “how’d you even have time to do this?”

Paige is quiet for a second as she passes Azzi her glass, “wanted to do something special for us,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes intently on what she’s doing as she pours out a drink for herself, “wasn’t hard to find time for you.”

“You could be a poet, Paige Bueckers,” Azzi whispers and she knows it’s unfair of her but she thinks it anyway. As long as all your poems are about me. 

“The poets are lucky I chose a ball instead of a pen. They’d be out of a job otherwise,” Paige says, trying to ease back into the more familiar arrogance. 

“Always so humble,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes as she holds up her glass, “alright what are toasting to?”

“I came up with this whole thing. You can come up with a toast,” Paige scrunches her nose and Azzi shakes her head at it. 

She thinks for a second before smiling brightly at the girl in front of her, “let’s just keep it simple and toast to us.”

“How original,” Paige teases but she clinks her glass against Azzi’s anyways, “here’s to us.”

“Here’s to us,” Azzi repeats as they both take sips of soda. 

They melt into a comfortable silence, relishing in this rare moment where there isn’t a screen separating them from each other. Facetimes is a wonderful creation but a blurry screen, Azzi decides, doesn’t nearly do justice to just how damn pretty Paige is. Her hair is golden as it basks in the glow of the moon and Azzi wonders if the stars are jealous of how brilliantly the blonde’s blue eyes twinkle.

It’s Paige who speaks first, her voice hesitant, “you uh- you never asked me how my date went a couple of weeks ago.”

Azzi feels her whole body go rigid. She’d almost forgotten about Paige’s wretched date. The blonde had told her about it a couple of days before the actual event and Azzi had played the dutiful role of a best friend, teasing Paige with a light-heartedness she didn’t feel and congratulating her with an excitement that came from anywhere but from the heart. She’d purposely avoided Paige’s calls the day of the date and then two days after, coming up with some sorry excuse she no longer remembers. On the third day, when the hollow ache of i miss her voice in her chest had become too hard to ignore, Azzi had finally picked up the phone and diverted the conversation straight to a different topic. She hadn’t thought of the date since. 

“Guess it slipped my mind,” she says airily, fingers gripping the edge of the picnic blanket. 

“I could tell you about it now,” Paige says slowly. 

I’d rather you didn’t, Azzi thinks but that’s a thought that veers a little too out of the sphere of best-friend-isms and so she simply nods her head, “y-yeah tell me about it. How was it?”

“It was nice,” Paige begins and there’s something hidden in her tone that Azzi can't quite place but she’s a little too busy sulking at the idea of Paige with anybody else to try and decipher it, “dinner was good. Took her to a movie after. That was good too.”

“That’s cool P. I’m glad- I’m glad you had fun,” Azzi says nonchalantly, gripping the glass in her hands just a little too tight. 

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t really have that much fun,” Paige clarifies and Azzi gawks at her in confusion as the older girl fidgets with the frayed edges of the picnic blankets, “just didn’t- didn’t feel right. Don’t think she had much fun either. She never texted me after.”

“What a bitch,” Azzi bites out, suddenly irrationally angry at a girl she’d never met because how could anyone possibly not have fun with Paige, “I’m sorry P. You deserve-”

“I didn’t care that she didn’t text back-”

“Still. It’s just the decent thing to do,” Azzi rants. 

“Maybe,” Paige shrugs, “but I didn’t have time to care about that. I had other things on my mind. Like the fact that you weren’t talking to me.”

Azzi flinches at the accusation, rushing out her previous defense, “I was busy.”

“Bullshit,” Paige sneers. 

“Paige-”

“But I get it,” the older girl says softly as she reaches for Azzi’s hand, tugging the brunette closer to her and Azzi feels something inside her erupt at how close their faces are, “I probably wouldn’t have talked to you for two days either if you went on a date with someone else.”

“Oh,” Azzi breathes out and there’s probably something more eloquent she should say but there’s this realization of maybe you feel it too that’s beginning to creep up her spine, rendering her speechless as Paige continues to stare at her like she’s mapping out all the tiniest details of Azzi’s face. 

“The whole date, I kept thinking how you wouldn’t order what she ordered off the menu or that you would probably hit my hand if I tried to steal something off your plate but then give it to me anyway. And that the movie would never have been so quiet with you and we’d probably get yelled at for giggling too much and I-” Paige pauses, dragging in a deep breath, “I definitely would’ve kissed you at the end.”

A sigh of relief escapes Azzi’s lips, “you didn’t kiss her.”

“No,” Paige confirms as she drops her forehead against Azzi’s, “but I-,” the blonde gulps nervously and Azzi can’t help the way her hand reaches up to caress the blush forming on Paige’s cheeks. 

“Ask me,” she whispers.

“I really want to kiss you,” Paige confesses, voice shaking slightly, “can I kiss you?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, choosing to reply instead by pressing her lips softly against Paige’s. They move slowly at first, testing each other’s boundaries and savoring their first taste of each other. Azzi pulls the older girl onto her lap, hands firmly on Paige’s hips as the other girl clasps her own hands around Azzi’s neck.  It’s a little messy and uncoordinated and Azzi thinks they might need to practice a little more to really get it right but still, it’s everything.

And Azzi just knows

She knows it then just the way she knew Tim was meant to be her dad. The way she knew Jon and José were meant to be her brothers. The way she knew she was meant to play basketball. Azzi knows that she’s meant to fall hopelessly in love with Paige Bueckers. 

March 2033

There are three things Azzi should do. 

Push Paige away 

Tell her this a bad idea 

Run the fuck away

She does none of the above.

Instead Azzi kisses Paige back. 

And it’s still everything. Like the sun and moon are colliding and creating something so insanely powerful; something that feels so eternal. 

There’s nothing soft or slow about it as Paige presses every inch of herself into Azzi until she can feel Paige’s heartbeat as strongly as she can feel her own. It might be impossible but she swears their hearts are talking to each other, tapping out rhythms against each other’s chests that confess all the things their owners are too scared to say. And Azzi wants nothing more than to lose herself completely in the moment because Paige’s lips feel like a drug and Azzi thinks she might just be an addict in relapse. 

Except to relapse, you need to have recovered. And Azzi doesn’t think she ever fully recovered from Paige. 

It isn’t until she feels her back hit the edge of a desk and the sound of something crashing onto the floor infiltrates her ears, that Azzi finally comes to her senses. She tears her lips away from Paige as the older woman groans in protest, arms tightening their hold on Azzi’s waist so she can still have some semblance of control over the situation. And really Azzi knows she’s strong enough to escape Paige’s grip, could easily fight it if she wanted to. But well, she doesn’t want to. And Azzi’s tired of doing things she doesn’t want to do. 

“Paige-”

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘we can’t do this’, Azzi I swear to god I’m going to kill you,” Paige threatens, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s. 

Azzi laughs softly and she can feel Paige’s whole body relax at the sound of it and like clockwork, she feels the tension beginning to release from her own muscles, “if you kill me then we definitely can’t do this.”

“I’ll revive you after or something,” Paige says with a half-smirk. 

“Or something,” Azzi rolls her eyes, “but we can’t-”

“Azzi,” Paige groans. 

“We can’t do this right now and definitely not here,” Azzi amends, alluding to the fact that they’re still in Steph’s office. 

Paige raises an eyebrow, cocking her head slightly, “but we can do this later? Somewhere else?”

The question lingers between them as Azzi bites her lip. She knows what this is, knows that it’s Paige putting the ball in her court. A ‘no’ would likely be the end of things and that scares her more than she’s willing to admit but she’s not quite ready to commit to a ‘yes’ yet, even if that flame of desire inside of her, the one that can only be lit by Paige, is blazing hot through her veins. 

“I don’t know,” Azzi says carefully, shivering at the way Paige’s thumb is rubbing circles against her waist, the flimsy material of her shirt doing nothing to prevent the goosebumps forming on her skin, “TBD.”

“That’s not a no,” Paige says carefully, hope blossoming freely on her face. 

“That’s not a yes either,” Azzi warns half-heartedly. 

“But it’s not a no,” Paige presses. 

“No,” Azzi admits, playing with the neckline of Paige’s shirt, “it’s not a no.”

And Azzi’s so scared of the future, scared that if she lets herself burn, she’ll incinerate everyone around her but there’s something in the way Paige smiles at her words. Something that feels a lot like a promise of i’ll be the rain that washes out the fire before you can turn us to ashes. 

“I can work with that,” Paige says softly, tilting Azzi’s chin up. 

“So desperate to get back into my pants Bueckers,” Azzi teases and she expects a witty remark in return but instead she’s met with nothing but sincerity. 

“So desperate to get back into your life,” Paige whispers, voice cracking on the last two words. 

Tears prickle against Azzi’s waterline as she stares in awe at the girl in front of her. Sometimes she thinks Paige doesn’t even know that there’s a halo of goodness sitting above her head, doesn't even know just how beautiful her soul is. Paige is stunning on the outside; it’s something no one can deny. But it’s nothing compared to how gorgeous she is on the inside, nothing compared to how kind, how humble, how forgiving Paige is. 

“Why?” Azzi asks, her tone rife with heaviness. 

“Why what?” 

“After everything, after all this time, why would you still want to be in my life?” the tears fall harder as Azzi struggles to breathe, “I- I broke your heart. I broke us. How could you possibly want that again. How could you possibly want me again?”

Paige's eyes soften as she cups Azzi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away at the drops of water running down them, “because you’re Azzi. My Azzi. And I get it- I get that you’re not ready to be all in on this with me yet and if I’m being honest with myself, I’m not completely ready either. But we can work on it right? Take it slow and see where it goes and maybe we’ll- maybe we’ll be even better this time.”

“You think so?”

“I believe so.”

Azzi presses her lips delicately against Paige’s, reveling in the way it makes Paige’s breath hitch. She pulls away faster than she would like herself and Paige chases her lips, eyes still closed. 

“What was that for,” the blonde asks, slightly dazed. 

“For being my Paige.”

***

Azzi taps her foot impatiently against her wooden patio as she glances at her phone clock for the umpteenth time. Paige is almost twenty minutes late to pick her and Stephie up to go to dinner at her parent’s house. The invites had technically been separate but Paige had insisted that they needed to go together because Paige didn’t want to walk into the house alone. Azzi’s not sure why Paige is nervous to see her dad and brothers again, not when she’s pretty sure they’re bursting with excitement to see the blonde whose pictures still have a permanent place on the family photo wall, but if Paige wants Azzi by her side, well she’s not going to say no. Not anymore. 

 It’s been a week since they’d agreed to take things slow and Azzi’s still not quite sure what exactly that means, but she thinks she likes it. She likes being able to call Paige and not having to come up with a lame excuse for why. She likes that she and Paige can take Stephie out for ice cream after Curry Camp and they don’t have to pretend they’re only tolerating each other’s presence for the little girl’s sake. She likes that they can brush their pinkies while walking and instead of jolting away, they simply just link them together. There’s boundaries of course. No sleepovers at either of their houses. No doing anything more than kissing. No kissing in front of anyone else and definitely no kissing in front of Stephie. No doing anything in front of Stephie really. And there’s still so much mountain left to climb but as long as they’re pushing up it together, Azzi doesn’t think there’s any incline steep enough to stop her from continuing up this path.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals as Paige’s car rounds the corner into Azzi’s driveway. 

Paige steps out of the car, arms wide open and ready to catch Stephie as the little girl goes tumbling down the front porch, aiming straight for the blonde. Azzi’s not an artist by any means but if she was, she thinks she could paint a thousand pictures of Stephie and her Miss Buecks. It terrifies Azzi a little bit, just how perfectly Stephie fits into Paige’s side but it calms her too because there’s a part of her that’s in love with how much they love each other.

“You’re late Bueckers,” Azzi chides as she follows her daughter’s path down the patio stairs. 

Paige grins, shifting Stephie on her lap as she opens the side door to her car to pull out two bouquets of flowers

“Will these make up for it?” she asks slyly as she hands the larger one, an assortment of pink flowers, to Azzi and a slightly smaller bouquet of purple hydrangeas to Stephie. 

“These are so pretty Miss Buecks,” Stephie gushes before pressing a kiss to Paige’s cheek left cheek and Paige beams at the compliment, “thank you Miss Buecks.”

“You took that long to get flowers?” Azzi asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, “you’re supposed to thank someone when they give you a gift.”

“Yeah Azzi,” Paige’s eyes glimmer with mirth, “thank me like Stephie thanked me. Don’t you think Mama owes me a kiss on the cheek Steph?”

Azzi narrows her eyes at the scheming pair in front of her as Stephie nods animatedly at Paige’s question, “yeah Mama you owe Miss Buecks a kiss on the cheek.”

Shaking her head, Azzi walks over to Paige taking deliberately steady steps. Slowly Azzi leans in, puckering her lips. Paige closes her eyes and Azzi winks at Stephie who’s eyes widen. 

“I’m waiting,” Paige sing-songs, a self-satisfied smirk taking over her features. 

And instead of the promised kiss, Azzi licks a sloppy strip down Paige’s cheek and the blonde shrieks as both Azzi and Stephie burst into laughter.

“EW AZZI GROSS,” Paige whines, hurriedly rubbing her shirt against her cheek, “is this what you’re teaching your daughter?”

“I’m teaching my daughter not to let anyone manipulate her,” Azzi says, giving Paige a careful look, “now why were you late?”

Paige grins sheepishly as she opens the door to the backseat of the door. A lavender car seat is placed on the left side of the car and Azzi feels her heart lurch with no one’s ever cared like this. 

“It’s pu-ple,” Stephie claps excitedly, “is it for me?”

“Of course it is,” Paige confirms, booping Stephie’s nose before looking at Azzi, “it’s just- we uh- we always have to take your car cause it has the car seat and moving it between cars is such a hassle. So I just thought- you know- I just thought it’d be cool- useful- practical- if I had one too? And this way if you ever need me to take Stephie off you then I uh- then you don’t have to worry about me driving. I don’t- I don’t really knows much about car seats but I looked it up online before and the person at the store agreed that this is definitely the best one- like I swear it’s safe-”

She’s cut off by the feel of Azzi’s lips pressed to her cheeks. 

“Thank you Paige.”

***

Just as Azzi expected, Paige merges herself back into the Fudd family with the same ease she’d first had when she’d carved out a place for herself almost a decade and a half ago. It’s a little emotional at first when Tim opens the door, a smile almost as big as him decorating his face as he pulls Paige into a hug even before she can say a word. 

“Welcome home kid,” he whispers into her blonde hair and Azzi doesn’t have to see Paige’s face to know that her best friend is blinking away tears. 

Guilt surges in Azzi’s stomach and she tries to swallow away the lump of i took this from her that’s blocking her throat. It had been so simple at 15 to give Paige a part of her world; Azzi hadn’t thought twice about it. And then with the snap of her fingers, she’d taken that world away. She knows her parents had never cut Paige out; hell they’d been at her wedding to some other woman -and Azzi had pushed them to go knowing Paige would need it- but it was a far cry from what they’d been. A far cry from when Paige’s schedule was a key factor while planning Fudd family summers. 

“Hey,” Stephie pouts, tiny hands crossed over her small body “I thought you always gave me the first hug Pops.”

“We’ll make an exception today,” Tim says with a wink before letting Paige walk into Katie’s arms and spinning his granddaughter around, “but you’re always gonna be my favorite.”

“I better be,” Stephie threatens and the adults around her laugh. 

And finally it’s Azzi's turn to be pulled into one of her dad’s patent bear hugs. She goes willingly, always at her most warmest in the arms of the man whose blood might not run through her veins, but whose love had always protected her from the cruelties of the world. 

“You look really happy today sweetheart,” Tim says softly. 

Azzi’s eyes flitter over her father’s shoulder to where Jon and José are embroiling Paige in a group hug with Stephie in the middle of it, screaming about finally having their “white sister” back, as Katie and José’s fiancé Tallulah roll their eyes at the group of them, and she can’t help but smile into her dad’s shirt, “I feel pretty happy today.”

*** 

“You cheated,” Jon yells. 

“Miss Buecks does not cheat,” Stephie yells back loyally. 

“Don’t get into this Stephie. You don’t know her like we do,” José glares at Paige who narrows her eyes at him, “she’s been stealing from the bank.”

“Miss Buecks does not  steal,” Stephie defends again, wrapping her arms around Paige’s neck from behind as the blonde presses a quick kiss against Stephie’s temple. 

“It’s okay Stephie,” Paige reassures, gently swinging the little girl into her lap, “some people are just sore losers.”

“Can’t be a sore loser because I didn’t lose-” José coughs and Jon corrects himself immediately, “because we didn’t lose.”

“Y’all let it go,” Tallulah groans, leaning her head back against the sofa, “it’s literally just monopoly. Please, I'm so tired.”

“Just monopoly? JUST MONOPOLY?” José guffaws dramatically, “I can’t believe I’m marrying someone who doesn’t understand that it isn’t just monopoly Tallulah. It’s about liars and cheats and honor-”

“Miss Buecks has plenty of honor,” Stephie says stubbornly, leaning her head back against Paige’s chest.

Jon rounds on Azzi, who’s been silently watching the situation, “did you help her cheat?”

“Excuse me?” Azzi asks, glaring at her brother from where she’s been comfortable reclining on the sofa. She’d opted to be the banker instead of playing, content just handing out money to the rest of them while watching the game unfold. But really she hadn’t been paying much attention to anyone else but her daughter and Paige. Stephie didn’t quite understand the rules yet and so she was always on someone’s team. It had been a given tonight, that of course she would be with Paige. And Azzi had watched, trying not to be too obvious, with a foolish grin on her face, as her two favorite people whispered to each other, Paige listening intently to all of Stephie’s ideas whether they were good or bad. 

“Oh good point,” José turns to look at Azzi too, “you’re the banker, did you help Paige cheat?”

“Mama would never cheat,” Stephie argues defiantly as Azzi pushes herself up from the sofa to send a menacing look to both of her brothers. 

“I’m not going to dignify that accusation with a justification,” Azzi says, standing so she’s towering over her two brothers who are still sitting on the floor, “now clean up the game. It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime.”

 They might be well into their twenties and José might be taller than her now, but they’re still not quite  immune to Azzi’s wrath. Tallulah and Paige snicker as the two men, sulking at each other, obey their older sister's command without another word. 

“You’ve gotta teach me how you do that,” Tallulah says, hi-fiving Azzi who smirks in response. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whispers, “what does dig-ni-fy mean?”

“Mean she’s not gonna entertain your uncles being dumba-”

“Paige!”

“Being dumbapples,” Paige corrects and both Azzi and Stephie give her an odd look at her ridiculous attempt at saving the bad word from leaving her lips. 

“Alright Stephie-bean,” Azzi says, pulling her daughter off of Paige’s lap, “it’s late enough. Off to brush your teeth you go.”

Stephie looks hesitantly between the staircase leading up to the guest bedroom -where she and Azzi normally stayed- and Paige. 

���Can Miss Buecks stay with us tonight?” she asks softly, one hand bunching in Paige’s shirt as she stares up at her mother with large doe eyes, “please Mama.”

“Stephie I don’t think-” Paige begins, ready to stick to the boundaries they’d laid out for themselves and really Azzi should let her; should follow her lead really.  

Except the words are tumbling out of her mouth before she can stop them, “yeah she can- she can stay.”

“YAYY,” Stephie squeals, jumping into Azzi’s arms as Paige stares up at her in surprise, “thank you, thank you, thank you Mama. I’m so happy,” she swings from Azzi to Tallulah, “aunty Tully did you hear? Miss Buecks is gonna stay with us and you can make her your famous pancakes in the morning.”

“I can, can I?” Tallulah asks with a raised eyebrow as she lets Stephie and her excited chatter lead her towards the bathroom. With Jon and José both having already started towards their own rooms and Azzi’s parents fast asleep, it leaves just Paige and Azzi in the living room. 

“You’re okay with me staying?” Paige asks softly, finally lifting herself from the floor and onto her feet. 

Azzi scratches the back of her neck, “if- if you want to. You don’t have to. I can- I’ll explain to Stephie-”

“I want to,” Paige says, taking a cautious step towards Azzi, “but the rules?”

“This doesn’t count,” Azzi justifies and Paige smirks, taking another step towards the brunette. 

“It doesn’t?”

“We said no sleeping over at each other’s places. This is my parent’s house. So technically it doesn’t count,” Azzi shrugs, trying to keep her face from breaking into a grin as Paige moves one more step closer. 

“And where exactly am I sleeping?” Paige asks with a knowing grin as she loops an arm around Azzi’s waist, briefly checking to make sure no one’s around. 

Azzi tilts her head, letting the grin break through, “I think Stephie would like it if you slept with us.”

“Ah well if that’s what Stephie would like,” Paige says, nodding commiseratingly. 

“For Stephie’s sake,” Azzi repeats as she wraps her arm around Paige’s neck, pressing her forehead against the older girl’s and letting herself just breathe in the peace that comes with being all consumed by Paige. 

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is laced with uncharacteristic vulnerability as she speaks again, “you won’t- you won’t run away again tomorrow morning will you?”

“No,” Azzi promises, gently brushing her lips against Paige’s, “I won’t run away again.”

[xprloki]

If you want an idea, I can send in a request ☺️ Joaquin makes breakfast and makes plans for his day off with his girlfriend

Hii! Thank you sending this :) I’m going to write in dot points because I’m just getting back into the groove of writing but it’ll probably be a few parts as I can never stop writing - I hope you like it :) This is a long one, im so sorry - I got carried away - not proof read

Joaquin x fem!reader she/her

Joaquin hadn’t had a day off in a while, he has been following Sam around on his “adventures” and learning how to fly in his suit (which he’d ask Sam take and to send pictures of him flying, to you… although half of them were selfies of Joaquin landing wrong and Sam laughing)

Sam was so proud of how hard Joaquin had come, especially when it came to navigating the tricks of flying. He however noticed that Joaquin hasn’t seen his girlfriend for quite a few months and no matter how much the two texted, he knew that Joaquin was beginning to get frustrated for reasons other than not being able to master the kick and thrust with his wings. Sam wished you could be travelling with them, but as much as Joaquin was learning to fly, they were also going on missions and it wasn’t safe for you to accompany them. Even with your skills, he wanted Joaquin to learn to handle himself (and the million dollar wings) without worrying about you.

Sam eventually started getting sick of Joaquin always talking about you, so he decided to do something about it.

Joaquin was eating dinner in his and Sam’s shared motel room when Sam burst through the door (like an angry parent) holding Joaquin’s suitcase in hand and told Joaquin to pack his things.

Joaquin was so confused until Sam explained that he was giving him the week off and that he can go home and see you.

It was like a weight dropped from Joaquin’s shoulders. He was so happy to be the falcon and learning to fly but he missed you dearly but didn’t want to disappoint Sam by asking to go home to you. He felt it would disappoint Sam and that he’d think Joaquin wasn’t taking this seriously.

But with Sam’s approval of him going home to see you, he scrambled to get his things in the suitcase before rushing off to the airport to get the earliest flight.

Joaquin could NOT contain his excitement at the thought of being able to see you and be in the comfort of your presence.

He was so excited that his body just wouldn’t let him fall asleep on the 12 hour flight. He passed the time by making plans… planning what he’d make you for dinner while you made him catch up on the newest episodes of ‘The Last Of Us”, he’d take you to your favourite lookout and wrap his arms around you while you watched the sunset or, his favourite thing of all, laying in bed with you while he plays FIFA and you read your book… his thoughts were going a million miles an hour.

When Joaquin arrived home, it was midnight and he know you would still be awake, most likely watching an old movie, you’d watch old movies when you couldn’t sleep - and when Joaquin wasn’t home, you would have reliable sleeping.

The sound of keys jiggling in the door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone and you were quite sure that you gave the spare key to Joaquin’s mother for when she would drop off “leftovers” (she actually made it specifically for you and Joaquin)

What shocked you more than someone opening your door at midnight, was the familiar sound of the keychains on your backpack which went missing when Joaquin left with Sam and footsteps down the hallway to the lounge room.

You paused the movie you were watching (The princess bride) and bounced up off of the couch and threw your arms around Joaquin. He didn’t even have time to take his backpack off or let go of his suitcase.

You let out a laugh of relief when he hugged you back, squeezing lightly as he let out a soft sigh and kissed your clothed shoulder. The sweet smell of your perfume filled his senses and he closed his eyes, enjoying the moment before you broke away and questioned him about being home early.

“You’re home early, I don’t think I could’ve lasted a day longer. I would’ve booked a flight to see you, no matter how much Sam would’ve hated it” you had muttered into his neck. Your breath on his neck had sent a shiver down his spine. No matter how many times, it always had the same effect.

“He gave me the week off, I didn’t tell you because I wanted to surprise you, I missed you so much, it was painful not being able to see you at the end of each day”

“Joaquin we FaceTimed every night” you said, giggling as you pulled away to look at him. “It’s not the same” he said with a slight pout before smiling and placing his lips onto yours.

It was a long and loving kiss. Nothing too passionate, just enough to say “I love you and I’m glad you’re here”

You had pulled away and started turning the lights in the house off while Joaquin placed his things in your shared room and showered.

You had turned off the tv and had settled into bed, choosing to continue the movie in bed. He came out of the bathroom in grey sweats and a black T-shirt. His hair was still slightly wet and messy from him rushing to dry his hair with the towel and throwing it on the floor (he’d told himself he’d pick it up later, he just wanted to be close to you right now)

Joaquin gently got into bed next to you and wrapped his arms around you, placing his head on your chest. He let out a sigh of relief, his mind finally calm now that he is with you and can hear the sound of your heart beat.

“You know, Westly should’ve just told her that it’s him, she would’ve run away anywhere with him” Joaquin mumbled, half asleep since you started playing with his hair, you couldn’t resist threading your fingers through those curls.

“Shhh, it’s for the plot” you giggled, sipping on your now cold tea. You were so invested in the movie that you forgot about your tea. No matter how many times you watch it, you’re always so invested in the story.

“You know, I’d fight giant rats for you or I could just fly you places so we wouldn’t need to go through the fire swamp, right?” Joaquin said, slightly tilting his head to look at you. Your eyes were starting to feel heavy and you paused the movie and turned the tv off - snuggling into the bed next to Joaquin.

“But that takes the fun out of it, I’d want a man who can fight giant rats with a sword any day” you mumbled, slowly drifting further towards sleep, your body was too tired to resist. Countless night of uncomfortable and short sleeps had caught up to you.

“As you wish” Joaquin whispered, watching your eyes flutter shut, but not before you softly smiled. Joaquin was so so excited to tell you about the plans he had come up with but he was just as tired as you. He’d been able to sleep comfortably for the first week of being away from you, but after that, he would toss and turn in his sleep and struggle to fall asleep. There’s just something about you being with him that puts him at ease..

This is so long so I’ll probably do a part 2 of when Joaquin and reader actually get to do things.. would anyone be interested?

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Meet Me at Midnight.

young!haymitch abernathy x fem!reader content warnings: none all fluff! (no SOTR spoilers!) summary: midnight meetings wc: 2.9k

masterlist.

You don’t sleep much.

Not for any dramatic reason, no nightmares, no voices in the dark. Just restlessness. A kind that settles under your skin and refuses to leave. The air in District 12 feels too heavy at night, and your room is too quiet, and the clock on the wall ticks loud enough to drive you mad.

So one night, you leave.

You don’t go far. Just past the broken fence behind your house, down the road where the lanterns flicker out early. The stars are the brightest thing for miles, so you walk beneath them, your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. You don’t know what you’re looking for.

You don’t expect to find him.

Haymitch Abernathy.

You find him sitting on the water tower’s rusted ladder like it belongs to him. He has his jacket unbuttoned and his hair’s a mess and his expression is unreadable. His eyes flick to you when you stop a few feet away.

“Well,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world, “didn’t expect you.”

You don’t answer at first. Just blink at him in the darkness.

“Go ahead,” he adds, leaning back. “Tell me I’m breaking curfew.”

“I’m not your mother,” you say, surprised at your own boldness.

That earns a crooked smirk. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You should leave. You know that. But your feet stay planted. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the quiet. Or maybe it’s just the way he’s not telling you to go.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask after a moment.

He shrugs. “Could ask you the same.”

You hesitate…then sit on the low steps of the tower, a safe few feet away.

Neither of you speaks for a while. The night stretches on, long and strange and still.

And then, just before you part ways he says...

“Same time tomorrow?”

You don’t plan on going back.

Not really.

You tell yourself it was a one-time thing, an accident, a coincidence, a fleeting moment in a sleepless night. You’re not someone who needs company. Least of all from someone like Haymitch Abernathy. He’s arrogant. He’s unpredictable. He’s always getting into trouble.

But the next night, at exactly midnight, your feet lead you to the water tower again.

He’s already there.

He doesn’t say hello. Just lifts his chin in that lazy, wordless way, like he’s acknowledging something, but not quite you.

You settle on the steps again, arms tucked around your knees. It’s colder tonight. He tosses you his jacket without looking at you. It smells like coal and pine.

You wear it anyway.

Neither of you talks much that night. Or the next. Or the next.

It becomes something you don’t name. A rhythm. A pattern. A quiet kind of gravity that pulls you both back to the same spot, the same hour, the same silence.

Sometimes he brings an apple, and you take turns biting into it.

Sometimes you rest your head on the metal railing and count stars out loud while he hums under his breath, low and off-key.

Sometimes you sit in complete silence for an hour straight—until the wind picks up or someone’s porch light flickers on in the distance and reminds you that time still exists.

But never once do you ask him why he’s there.

And he never asks you either.

Because whatever it is, whatever reason you both have for wandering the dark at midnight, it’s easier not to name it. Not to look too closely at it. Not to admit that you’re starting to look forward to something.

Not when that something might disappear.

The sixth night you find him lying on his back on top of the water tower, arms folded behind his head like he owns the place. His boots are kicked off and resting beside him. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and for once, he doesn’t look like he’s trying to charm the world or argue with it. He just looks…still.

“You’re late,” he calls, not even lifting his head.

“You don’t even wear a watch,” you shoot back, hoisting yourself up the ladder.

“I don’t need to. You’re predictable.”

You try not to smile, but it slips out anyway. The wind’s stronger up here tonight, brushing past your cheeks like cold fingertips, and when you sit beside him, the metal hums under your weight. You both face the sky, not each other. It feels safer that way.

Stars blanket the dark above like a stitched-on ceiling. You’ve always liked looking at them—not because you know the constellations, but because they never change. They don’t belong to the Capitol or the Districts. They don’t care about borders or Reapings or coal. They just shine.

“I used to think those were cracks in the sky,” Haymitch says after a long stretch of silence.

You glance over. “The stars?”

“Yeah. Like the world was broken up there, too. Just in a prettier way.”

You laugh softly, but it’s not mocking. “Poetic.”

“Shut up.”

Another beat passes. Then, “My dad used to sit up here.”

You go still. It’s the first time he’s ever offered anything real, anything personal. Up until now, you’ve only seen the version of Haymitch the rest of 12 sees—semi-closed off but still witty and smart.

“He used to sneak up here after late shifts. I followed him once—thought he was running away. He laughed when I told him that.” His voice is flat, but not empty. Like he’s holding something carefully in the back of his throat. “Said the air was cleaner up here. Said you could pretend you were anywhere else.”

You rest your chin on your knees. “Was he right?”

Haymitch shrugs. “Some nights.”

You don’t say anything for a moment and he pauses. Then, in a calm voice, “Died when I was younger. Mine caught fire and collapsed.”

You turn your head, watching him in the dark. His face is unreadable—eyes locked on the sky, jaw tight, mouth soft.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He doesn't look at you. But after a beat, his hand shifts slightly between you. Not reaching for yours. Not yet. Just…moving closer. Like he’s thinking about it.

You inch your pinky finger toward his. It’s a near-touch. Barely there. But it’s enough to make your breath catch.

“I come out here,” you say, voice quieter now, “because my house gets too quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Just… heavy. Like the silence has weight.”

He nods once, like he understands that exactly.

“The clock in my room ticks too loud,” you add.

That gets a faint huff of amusement out of him. “That’s what keeps you up at night?”

You nudge his leg lightly with your foot. “That, and the fact that I can hear myself think. Which is rarely a good thing.”

He goes quiet again, but not in a way that pushes you out. More like… he’s considering something. Turning it over. Holding it.

“You’re not what I expected,” he says after a while.

You tilt your head. “What does that mean?”

“I dunno.” His voice is low. Honest. “I always thought you were too… good. Too sweet for someone like me to be around.”

The words settle like dust in your lungs.

“You’re not as bad as you think you are, Haymitch.”

He finally looks at you.

It’s not a long look, but it’s full—more real than any glance he’s given you before. There’s something raw behind his eyes. Something unguarded. And maybe it’s the wind, or the height, or the fact that no one else is awake to witness this version of him, but he doesn’t look away immediately.

“I could be,” he says softly. “If I wanted.”

You don’t believe him.

You think he’s more afraid of being good than bad. Because good things get taken. Get buried. Get hurt.

He shifts again. His fingers brush yours. A little closer this time.

Your breath stutters.

You stay like that for a while. Barely touching, barely speaking. Just existing beside each other in the hush of midnight.

And when it’s time to leave, he doesn’t say goodbye.

He just walks you home in silence.

And right before he turns to go, he pauses. Not quite looking at you.

“If I wasn’t there tomorrow,” he says. “Would you notice?”

You blink. The question feels heavier than it should.

“Yes,” you say.

And that’s the last word either of you speaks that night, and after that? Something changes.

Not in a loud or obvious way. No declarations. No confessions.

But the air between you shifts, tilts slightly, like the world is leaning toward something. You feel it in the way he looks at you a second longer than he used to. In the way his knee brushes yours on purpose and doesn’t move away. In the way you start sitting a little closer without thinking.

You still meet at midnight.

Still perch on the water tower like ghosts hiding from the world. Still eat from the same stolen apple, still trade off dumb stories and half-laughed truths and long spells of silence that somehow feel fuller than noise.

But now…now there are moments that hold their breath.

Like when you hand him a piece of bread from your pocket and your fingers touch. And stay there. Just for a second too long.

Or when he leans in to say something, and his voice gets caught between a whisper and a breath, and your eyes flick to his mouth before you can stop yourself.

Or when he tells a joke that isn’t even that funny, but you laugh anyway, and he looks at you like he’s memorizing the shape of your smile just in case he forgets it later.

He’s not the boy people whisper about behind their hands anymore.

Not here. Not at midnight. Not with you.

Here, he’s soft around the edges. Still sharp-tongued, yes—but sometimes he quiets. Sometimes he hums a song you don’t recognize. Sometimes he looks like he wants to say something he can’t quite name.

And one night, he almost does.

You're both sitting close, closer than usual. The stars are blurry behind a thin mist, and your shoulders are touching, solid and sure. His hand is resting beside yours on the cool metal rooftop.

He shifts.

You feel his pinky graze yours. Not like before. This time, this time it stays. He doesn’t pull away. And when your hand turns slightly, your knuckles brush.

That’s all it takes for the air to go still.

You can feel your pulse behind your ears. His hand is warm—warmer than it should be, like he’s nervous. You want to look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to break the moment.

Then, slowly, he turns his palm upward. Like an invitation.

You glance at it. At him.

And just when you think you’ll take it, just when you’re about to let your fingers slide into his...

He pulls away.

A quiet, startled motion. Fast. Small. Almost nothing.

But it’s everything.

He shoves both hands into the pockets of his coat. Clears his throat. Says, too casually, “Cold tonight, huh?”

You say nothing.

Because what would you even say?

He doesn’t walk you home that night.

And though he still meets you the next evening, something about the almost of it all lingers.

It rests in your chest like a weight you can’t shake.

He doesn’t show.

At first, you think maybe you’ve just beaten him there. You climb the water tower like always, perch on the edge with your knees tucked to your chest, and wait. The wind rustles through the trees below, and the crickets sing the same broken song they always do. You count stars. You trace shapes in the sky.

You wait twenty minutes. Then forty.

Eventually, you tell yourself he’s just late.

You leave the apple you brought on the metal ledge where he always sits. And you walk home trying not to feel stupid. Trying not to feel something worse.

The second night, he doesn’t come again.

No excuses. No note. Nothing.

And you sit there longer this time, arms wrapped tight around yourself, heart prickling with something that feels suspiciously like worry.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That you’re not mad. That this was never a thing anyway. He doesn’t owe you anything.

But it still aches. Quietly. Right under your ribs.

By the third night, you don’t want to go.

You sit on your porch steps instead, jacket zipped, thumb brushing over the frayed stitching on your sleeve. The sky is clearer than usual, full of cold light and silence, and you feel it again, that pull.

Stupid, stubborn, steady.

You go.

You tell yourself it’s the last time.

You climb up like always. Settle in like always. But you don’t look at the stars this time. You just watch the ladder. You tell yourself if he doesn’t come by the time the clock chimes two, that’s it. You’re done.

And then, just past one-thirty, you hear the sound of boots on metal.

You don’t look at him at first.

He climbs slowly, like the cold’s gotten into his bones. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and his jaw is clenched, and when he finally sits beside you, he doesn’t say anything.

Neither do you.

For a while, all you hear is wind. And breath.

And then, quietly, cautiously, he says, “I didn’t think you’d still be coming.”

You glance at him. His eyes are fixed on his hands. He looks…tired. Not physically. Something deeper.

“Why didn’t you come?” you ask.

He shrugs, but it’s hollow. “Thought maybe it was getting stupid. Us doing this. Thought maybe you were bored of it.”

You scoff, but it’s soft. “That’s not your call to make.”

He nods, like he agrees. Or maybe like he’s punishing himself.

You look down at the apple core still sitting in the corner, untouched. The one you left for him two nights ago. The skin’s started to brown.

“You didn’t answer my question,” you say.

He doesn’t pretend not to know which one.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Guess I just wanted to see if it would matter.”

You blink. The words settle heavy in your chest.

“Would it have?” he asks, quieter now. “If I’d stopped showing up. Would you have noticed?”

You want to be angry. You want to ask how he could doubt it—how he could think you’d be here night after night if none of it meant anything.

But he’s looking at you like he already knows the answer.

And he’s scared of it anyway.

“Yes,” you say simply. “I would’ve.”

Something flickers across his face, relief, maybe. Guilt. Or maybe something even softer.

He nods. Doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t say sorry.

But he shifts a little closer.

Not much. Just enough that your knees bump.

Just enough that this time…he doesn’t pull away.

The next night, he’s already waiting when you get there.

He doesn’t say anything when you arrive. He just offers you the spot beside him like it’s always been yours. The metal rooftop is cool beneath your legs, and the wind brushes your hair into your face, and the sky above is so clear it almost hurts to look at.

He tosses you an apple without a word.

You take a bite. Pass it back. It’s quiet like it always is, but something about the silence tonight feels different. Not heavy. Not full of unsaid things.

Just waiting.

“I almost didn’t come,” you admit after a while.

Haymitch shifts beside you. “Tonight?”

“No,” you say. “Back then. The first night. I didn’t plan to keep coming.”

“Why did you?”

You glance at him. His face is turned toward the sky, but his eyes flick to you the moment you look. Like he’s been waiting for this. Like he’s been asking himself the same question all along.

You think about lying. About saying it was just boredom or insomnia or curiosity.

But you don’t want to lie tonight.

“I liked being with you,” you say. “It felt like breathing again.”

He swallows. His jaw flexes. His gaze drops to your lips for just a second—and you feel it like a current, sharp and electric.

He leans in first.

It’s not fast. It’s not desperate.

It’s slow. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to change your mind. Like he doesn’t fully believe you won’t.

But you don’t move. You don’t pull away.

And when his lips finally touch yours, it’s soft. Just a brush, at first. Just the warmth of his mouth against yours, tentative and trembling. His hand comes up, fingertips brushing your cheek, your jaw, like he’s afraid you might disappear.

He kisses you like he’s memorizing the feeling. Like he’s starving and terrified all at once.

You kiss him back like you’ve been waiting your whole life.

When he finally pulls away, he doesn’t go far.

His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing shallow. The night presses in around you, and for once, it doesn’t feel lonely.

“You’re not what I expected,” he whispers again.

“You already said that.”

He huffs a small laugh, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Still true.”

You lean into his touch.

And for a little while longer, you both pretend this moment is safe. That morning isn’t coming. That the world doesn’t ask for too much.

You sit with your shoulders touching, your hands intertwined, and your lips still tasting of each other.

And for once, midnight feels like the beginning of something—rather than the end.