#like they could have made the point they wanted to without making it a whole episode

[azzishands]

Fan of a fan - Chapter six

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 5.4 k

A/N: Hi! I wanted to give you this chapter before I go on vacation and will be gone for some days. I don't really know when the next chapter's gonna be out, but it will probably be sometime at the end of next week or later. Happy summer! Oh, and not to spoil, but it's far from over...

---

April 2025

“You got the whole summer to be with your girl, stop pouting,” KK slaps the lead singer in the head, tired from hearing her complaining about not having been able to see Azzi for the last month. 

“You’re literally Facetiming her every single night,” Sarah chimes in. 

“Aubrey, you’re with me on this one, right? Long distance is unbearable,” Paige argues.

The German landscapes are swooshing by the windows of the bus that’s driving through the country. It’s an unusually warm April night, and The Huskies are on the tour bus on their way to the next stop on the European tour. They are sitting at the back of the bus in the small living room area with a couch and a TV-screen. 

“Yeah I miss Jane a lot,” Aubrey agrees. After the Golden Globes after party, Aubrey had unexpectedly stopped with her hookups for some reason. The girls soon found out that the guitarist had actually started to catch feelings for the girl she met at the party.

“But we don’t talk all night on the phone like you do. Out of respect for the other people sleeping on the bus, you know,” she then adds, making a point. 

“TRYING to sleep on the bus,” KK emphasizes, irritated. 

“We have to Facetime during nights because of the time difference,” Paige says back. “And I’m trying my best to be quiet, but it’s not that simple when Azzi Fudd just happens to be a comedian as well.”

“Bro, just fly to her,” Sarah sighs, tired of this whole discussion. “We’re tired of hearing you complain about it, and you’re tired of not seeing her, so just go. We have four days off after the next stop. You’re not gonna be able to see her for long, but at least you won’t be here complaining about it.”

All eyes turn to the bassist. Fly to LA for barely four days? It’s not like Paige hadn’t thought about it before. But the time to fly there and be jet lagged, and then fly back and be jetlagged to go straight back into touring seemed like crazy behaviour for Paige to even seriously consider it herself.

Azzi and Paige had been talking about Azzi visiting them on the European tour, but the actress had a packed schedule of press until May. But truth be told, Paige couldn’t wait any longer. 

It had been exactly five weeks since they had last seen each other in Minnesota. Paige was afraid that they would drift apart during the tour, but Azzi was very good at upholding contact which eventually made her realize that she didn’t have to worry about it. They quickly returned to the routine of Facetiming each other every time their schedules allowed them. And when they didn’t have time, they still texted. 

“Could I really do that?” Paige asks after a moment of silence after Sarah’s passive-aggressive suggestion. 

“YES! Okay good, now that’s settled, let’s get back to Fortnite please,” KK says and starts the game that has been on hold for thirty minutes because Paige just had to vent about missing Azzi. 

The bandmates were truly tired of having heard the same complaints every day for the last weeks, but at the same time, they were extremely happy for their lead singer. They could do it without the constant whining, but other than that, they wouldn’t trade it for the world. They could see how happy Azzi made Paige, in the way Paige had started to write happy lyrics, or the way she would admire the view on the road more, or the way she was smiling all the time.

“You wanna play?” Aubrey asks when she notices that Paige is zoning out. 

“Nah, you guys play, I’m just gonna go to bed and chill a bit. Might come later though,” Paige says and stands up.

“She’s gonna call Azzi,” Sarah murmurs while rolling her eyes. 

Paige knows that the girls are happy for her, and doesn’t care about their teasing and their eye rolling. And they know it too. She’s just happy that they have the relationship with each other as sisters would have. They would take a bullet for each other, but not without annoying the fuck out of each other first.

The singer was wondering if she should surprise Azzi, or if it’s even possible. The actress could be working all those four days, and Paige would just sit alone in Azzi’s apartment, waiting for her. Of course she could meet Ice Brady while she’s there too, but it didn’t really feel worth going if Azzi won’t be able to spend time with her. 

“Hey there superstar,” Azzi answers the Facetime call with a playful smile. 

Paige is lying in her bunk with the curtain closed, trying to have some sort of privacy in the bus. 

“Hi there pretty girl,” she responds. “What you doing?”

“I just finished an interview with Variety,” she says. “It was actually very fun, I enjoyed it. How’s Berlin?”

“Berlin was great. We’re driving to Hamburg now, and then we’re playing there in two days.”

Azzi is walking somewhere, one hand holding the phone, the other holding an ice tea. She’s wearing sunglasses to shield her eyes from the sun in sunny LA, with her hair down and a baby blue top. 

“You look so good today,” Paige bites her lower lip. 

“Thank you,” she lights up at the compliment. “It’s a bit dark in your bunk but of what I can see, you don’t look half bad yourself.”

“It’s all for you,” Paige blows a kiss and gives a wink. 

Azzi laughs that laugh that makes Paige's stomach flutter with butterflies. 

“I miss you,” Paige says, all serious. 

“I miss you too,” Azzi sighs. 

“What are you doing on the ninth to the twelfth?” Paige suddenly asks.

“Uh, let me check. Why?” Azzi curiously asks as she opens her calendar app to check. 

“Just wondering,” Paige shrugs. 

“I have a shoot with Z on the ninth, and then a youtube video with some magazine on the tenth, but then I’m free on the eleventh and twelfth.”

“Is it like a full day shoot kind of thing? And that youtube video?” 

Azzi looks at Paige questioning. “The shoot is scheduled from 9 am to 4 pm, and the youtube thing is from 11 am to 3 pm, so not really. You want me to share my calendar with you?”

“I mean, if you want to,” Paige smirks. “But I’m thinking about flying to LA for a quick trip.”

Azzi’s eyes widen behind her sunglasses and she grins surprised. 

“Wait, really?” she exclaims. “How come?”

“To see you, you dummy,” she snickers. 

“Are you for real?” Azzi asks, astounded.

“Yeah, if you want me to.”

“Of course I want you to,” Azzi says. “The ninth to the twelfth?”

“Yeah. I mean I know we won’t be able to use all four whole days since you got work to do, but we still get to see each other, and that to me is good enough,” Paige nods. 

“You’re crazy,” Azzi is smiling from ear to ear in disbelief. “You’re actually gonna come for four days all the way from Europe to LA? The jetlag will be jetlagging.”

“I don’t care. I wanna see you,” Paige simply says. 

“Ugh, what did I do to deserve you,” the actress mumbles to herself more than to Paige, but Paige lights up when she picks up what she’s saying. 

“So I’ll see you on the ninth?” Paige asks.

“I’ll see you on the ninth,” Azzi nods happily. 

—

The days after that went by in a blur. The Huskies played in Hamburg, and immediately after the encore, Paige ran out the venue and took a taxi straight to the airport. She almost missed it when a couple fans recognized her at the airport, wanting to get some pictures, but she got to the gate just in time to board the plane before they would close it. 

With a layover in Amsterdam and at least twelve hours spent in the air, Paige finally arrives at LAX at 03:00 in the morning. The time difference making her travel back in time, as if she hasn’t already been through the whole night.

Paige had insisted that Azzi didn’t have to come pick her up, but Azzi had instead insisted that she definitely wants to. So that’s why Azzi’s there, with a bouquet of purple flowers in her hand, 03:00 in the morning to pick her up.

“Oh my God,” Paige breathes out to herself when she spots the actress at the gate with the bouquet. She hurriedly walks over to her and throws her arm around her, hugging her tightly.

“Finally,” she whispers into Azzi’s hair.

“Can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” Azzi rubs her back. 

Paige reluctantly unwraps her arms from the actress at last.

“These are for you,” Azzi says and hands her the purple flowers. 

“Purple flowers!” Paige exclaims excitedly. “They are beautiful, just like you.”

“Aw stop, you should be too tired to say stuff like that,” Azzi gently nudges Paige as they start to exit the airport. 

“Yeah, I’m glad it’s still night here because I need to sleep,” Paige states and puts her arm around Azzi’s shoulders as they walk out. 

The airport is relatively quiet and calm. People are sleeping on the benches, and the ones who aren’t are watching over the bags to make sure they’re not stolen. Paige appreciates the quiet and still atmosphere, mainly because it makes her feel like a normal person for once. No one recognizes them, no one even looks their way. 

They take a cab to Azzi’s apartment, and Paige immediately falls asleep with her head resting on Azzi’s shoulder. 

“Hey sleepy head, we’re home,” Azzi wakes her up softly when the cab stops outside her building. 

The sun is already starting to rise, and Paige blinks from the bright light. It feels like she’s half asleep the whole way up to Azzi’s apartment. They don’t exchange many words with each other, only comforting touches that never want to let go of each other again. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Azzi leads them straight to the bedroom, seeing how Paige’s eyes are barely open. 

Azzi was gonna get up in just a couple hours, but she had slept before she had gone to the airport, so she hadn’t lost that many hours of the night's sleep. But that doesn’t stop her from feeling absolutely dead the next morning when her alarm wakes her up at 7 am. 

She quickly shuts it off to not wake up Paige who was spooning her from behind, holding her tightly as if she was her teddy bear. Carefully untangling herself from the blonde, she tip toes out the bedroom to get ready for her workday. 

Paige doesn’t wake up until two hours later. With hours spent on the plane included, she had slept a total of thirteen hours. She shouldn’t be this tired, but the tour life was draining her energy more than she had realized. 

The first thing she does is open her phone to send a text to Azzi, to wish her a good morning. But the actress had beaten her to it. 

Azzi Fudd: Good morning beautiful, I made some pancakes for breakfast that I put in the fridge.Tell Ice I say hi! See you at 4 xx

The singer walks out of the bedroom and takes a look around. She has never been in Azzi’s apartment before, but she has seen it a hundred times during their Facetimes. It’s a weird feeling being somewhere that feels so familiar, yet so new. 

The living room is a lot bigger than it looks like on the phone screen, and so is the kitchen. Sunlight is streaming into the windows, making the apartment feel bright and open. Paige likes that Azzi's scent is lingering in every room she walks into. She wishes her own apartment had that function. 

She finds the pancakes in the fridge as promised, with a little note on it.

‘For Paige Bueckers only! Back off if you’re not Paige Bueckers. Paige Bueckers, if you’re reading this, enjoy!’

Paige chuckles to herself in amusement. She can’t stop smiling as she reheats the pancakes and eats them. She eats them all, feeling like she has been starved for the last hours just by sleeping. 

The second Paige leaves the apartment building to take a taxi to the cafe Ice had sent the address to, she gets approached by a group of teenage girls. It had almost looked like they had been waiting for her, the way they were already gathered right there.

“Oh my God, Paige Bueckers! Can we get a picture?” they all ask in unison. 

“Of course,” Paige smiles and gives them what they want. It’s at least eight of them, and she takes a picture with each and every one and then another one with the whole group. 

“Do you know that you live in the same building as Azzi Fudd?” one of them suddenly asks. 

“Oh, I don’t- um,” Paige tried to think of what to say. How does she explain that she doesn’t live there without exposing their connection to each other?

“Wait a second, I remember that picture of you two together. OH MY GOD, DID YOU JUST COME FROM HER APARTMENT? IS SHE HOME?” another girl exclaims in glee. 

The atmosphere quickly becomes stressful for the singer as she tries to navigate through the situation. The group of girls are all staring at her with big hopeful eyes, just waiting for her to answer. 

“Uh, yeah no, she’s not here right now,” Paige manages to say. 

“Are you guys dating?”

Paige’s eyes widen in surprise from the straight question. She shouldn’t be surprised since these girls clearly have no shame in asking whatever pops up in their minds, yet here she is, wondering how it feels to be so unhinged.

“We’re just friends,” Paige swallows hard. “I have to go, but it was nice to meet you all.”

She quickly exits the scene and starts to walk off to nowhere in particular, just somewhere far away from the group of girls. She picks up her phone, ordering an Uber and opening her messages to Azzi.

Paige Bueckers: I think you might need security, there’s literally people outside your apartment waiting for you

Azzi Fudd: Was it that group of girls?

Paige Bueckers: Yeah, do you know them?

Azzi Fudd: No, but I think they live in a building nearby. They’re harmless, kind of intrusive sometimes, but mostly just sweet. Did they bother you?

Paige Bueckers: No it was fine, they just asked for pictures, and had some hard questions for me. Just got a bit worried that people know where you live like that.

Azzi Fudd: It’s cute that you’re worried. And hard questions?

Paige Bueckers: They had some questions as to why I was coming from Azzi Fudd’s apartment, let’s just say that

Azzi Fudd: Oh

Azzi Fudd: What did you say?

Paige Bueckers: I said we’re just friends

Azzi doesn’t answer immediately to that, so Paige puts her phone down in her pocket to enter the Uber that just arrived in front of her. There was no answer the whole ride to the cafe either. 

“Hey Buckers,” Ice gives her friend a tight embrace as the singer finally arrives through the door. “So glad to see you again.”

“You too Ice,” Paige says. “Been too long."

They sit down at a table and order some coffee. 

“How’s the tour?” Ice asks. 

“It’s tiring, but I love it. Wouldn’t want it any other way anyway, I want to give it my all,” Paige smiles. “But hey, what about you? I heard you have something big going on, that movie that’s in the works that everyone is talking about?”

“Yeah, it’s basically a female version of Call me by your name, and I’ll be making my debut as an executive producer of it, which is so exciting. Which is why I’m so glad I get to see you today, because I might have a job opportunity for you,” Ice tells her.

“A job opportunity? I’m not an actor,” Paige snorts and takes a sip of her coffee. 

“No but remember the unreleased album of some acoustic songs you made way back in the day? The one you said no one but-”

“-No one but you have heard, yeah?”

“Well, I kind of took the liberty and showed it to the director and the music supervisor of the movie, and… They loved it. They said they would be thrilled if you wanted to compose the soundtrack of the movie, if you want to.” 

Paige just stares at her friend with wide eyes, speechless. A composer? To a whole soundtrack to a movie? 

“And I’m sorry I showed your unreleased music,” Ice adds and makes a face to show how apologetic she is, and also because she doesn’t know what to say as Paige is silent.

“That’s fine,” Paige finally mumbles and swallows. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“I know, it’s okay.”

“I mean wow,” the singer exhales. “But I can’t follow Sufjan Stevens, no way.”

“I said it's basically a female version of it, it’s not literally Call me by your name but with women. It’s a whole ‘nother storyline, whole ‘nother script, it’s not the same age gap, but it is set in Italy in the eighties. And if we would’ve wanted Sufjan Stevens, we would’ve asked him. We want you, Paige,” Ice explains.

Paige nods slowly, taking in the information, feeling overwhelmed and flattered at the same time.

“The filming will be this summer, and then the release is probably gonna be some time next year. I think they said something about winter 2026. It gives you over a year to work on it,” Ice elaborates further. 

“Is this just for me, or the band?” Paige asks. 

“Whatever you want. They just liked what they heard, and if you think you can deliver it by yourself, then great. If you want the band involved, then also great. It’s up to you.”

“Okay, I want the band involved. We’re in this together,” Paige confirms. 

“Is that a yes then?” Ice raises her eyebrows with a smirk. 

Paige just snorts. “Let me talk to them first. But I’m definitely interested. But yeah, can we have some time to think about it?”

“Of course,” Ice nods. 

The singer discreetly taps on her phone to see if Azzi had answered. She hadn’t.

“So… you and Azzi?” Ice grins at her friend. 

“Yeah,” Paige smiles widely. “Or well, we’re not together or anything, but we… Yeah.”

“You’re not? You sure talk about each other as if you were,” Ice states. 

“I mean we haven’t talked about it. We’re exclusive I guess, but it was never something we talked about, we just kind of always were. I think.”

“So you’re exclusive but you’re not together, and you haven’t talked about it? Kinda sounds like you’re together,” Ice takes a sip from her coffee. 

“I guess we’re more together than not. I guess I just assumed we weren’t since we haven’t really spent that much time together. I mean we Facetime all the time, but we haven’t really been there physically with each other that much yet because of our schedules,” Paige explains. 

“I see,” her friend nods. “I mean there’s no rush. But flying from Europe to LA for four days for somebody? We’re not talking about casual, alright.”

“Of course not,” Paige huffs. “She’s amazing and I love- uh, I love being with her.”

“You know, I haven’t seen her this happy with someone ever,” Ice tells her. “I love when she’s single and not being involved with anyone because she always seems to become so passive when she is. But with you, I feel like her lively self just becomes elevated. You make her really happy.”

Paige tilts her head to the side with a questioning look. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“We haven’t really talked about our exes, but I know there were rumours about her and Maya Hawke,” Paige says hesitantly.

“Yeah, that didn’t really end well,” Ice scratches the back of her head. “Azzi was really beaten down after that. But you should probably talk to Azzi about it if you wanna know what happened.”

Paige takes a sip of her coffee with the revelation that there was in fact something between the two actresses in the past and makes a mental note to maybe ask the actress about her past relationship. 

—

“Oh my God, it’s Azzi Fudd and Zendaya!” Paige pretends to freak out as the two actresses approach the singer who casually was waiting and holding a taxi for them.

“Shit, you’re Paige Bueckers from The Huskies!” Zendaya jokes back and gives her a hug. 

“How was the shoot?” she asks and proceeds to give Azzi a tight hug. 

“Kinda boring,” Azzi deadpans and enters the taxi. The two other girls follow her lead and they are soon on their way home. Zendaya lives on the way to Azzi’s apartment, that’s why they’re all riding together. Paige is sitting in the middle with Azzi on her left side and Zendaya by her right. 

“You know Paige, you should come to this little party we’re invited to tomorrow,” Zendaya says. “I’m sure you’ll know most of the people there.”

Paige takes a look at Azzi to see her reaction to the invitation. Azzi just smiles at her and nods. 

“Sure, as long as Azzi’s there, I’ll be there,” she says and grabs Azzi’s hand. 

Zendaya rolls her eyes with a smile and whispers a “oh my God” under her breath. 

The taxi stops after a while and lets out Zendaya.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow then,” she bids her farewell to the two in the car and walks away. 

At home, Paige plumps down on the couch and motions for Azzi to join her. The actress obliges and takes a seat next to her. Without hesitation, Paige puts her arm around her and pulls her in closer.

“I’m honestly so tired,” Azzi says and snuggles into Paige. “Like, not sleepy, but just so tired from working all the time.”

“You need a break?” Paige asks softly and rubs her back. 

“I’d love a break,” she says. “Caroline called me yesterday and told me that a part in a movie I had auditioned for a couple months ago was suddenly free, and they offered me the part because the one they originally casted couldn’t. The filming would start in august, so it would definitely cut my break shorter.”

“Is it a good part?” 

“It is, and I really love the script,” Azzi affirms. “So I know it’s gonna be worth it, but yeah, kinda bummed about making my break shorter. Anyway, how was meeting Ice?”

Paige takes a second to think about what to say, before she speaks: “It was good. She offered me a job. To compose the soundtrack to this movie she’s gonna be an executive producer for.”

Azzi moves out of Paige’s arms to look at her with wide eyes and a big smile. 

“Oh my God, that’s amazing Paige!” Azzi exclaims all excited for the singer. “Wow!”

“I know, it’s a lot,” Paige feels Azzi’s reaction rubbing off on her and can’t help but actually get excited about it as well. 

“You’re gonna do it?”

“I haven’t accepted the offer yet because I need to talk with the girls about it, but I think it would be really fun,” she says. 

Azzi gently throws herself on Paige and gives her a warm embrace while smiling like a fool. “I’m so excited for you,” she says, and Paige wonders to herself what she did to deserve Azzi Fudd in her life, and quietly thanks herself for making every decision that led her to this moment. 

“You know, my absolute favorite song is from a movie soundtrack,” Azzi tells her as she lets her go from the embrace. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Iris with The Goo Goo Dolls. It was for the movie City of Angels. It’s my all time favorite song,” Azzi reveals. 

“Thought your favorite song was one of ours,” Paige fake gasps, and Azzi just rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding. Iris is a classic, but an all time favorite? I don’t know about that.”

Azzi frowns and looks at Paige, offended. “What do you mean? It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. The lyrics? The chords? The guitar solo? I cry every time. Literally can not listen to it just anytime, because I will get emotional.”

“Yeah yeah, drama queen,” Paige teases. “Have you heard Agape from If Beale Street Could Talk? That’s emotional.”

“Yeah but it’s a different type of emotional. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful as well, but it’s more bittersweet. It’s like a beautiful ending, whether it’s sad or happy. It’s what’s being played when rolling the credits to someone’s lifestory. Iris is more raw and desperate,” Azzi argues. “Nicholas Cage literally throws away his immortality for love.“

“Okay, I might not have listened to Iris in that way,” Paige admits. “But I still think nothing can beat Agape.”

“Whatever,” Azzi shakes her head and gives Paige a gentle nudge. 

“By the way,” Paige says a bit more quietly. “Ice mentioned something about you and, uh, Maya, today.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows in surprise. 

“Oh,” she just says. “What did she say?”

Paige swallows nervously and answers. “Nothing much, just that it didn’t end well. I was just kind of wondering, what happened?”

Azzi takes a deep breath and looks down a bit before she starts talking. “We were just, I don’t know, kind of dating but also not. We were great together, but she just never wanted anything serious with me, which took me a while to realize. And when I confronted her about it, she said she wanted to focus on her career, and she just kind of ended things like it was easy. Like we hadn’t practically been each other’s partner for the last months. I just felt so stupid and pathetic. Like I wasn’t enough.” Azzi sighs. 

Paige offers her a sad smile. “You are more than enough, Azzi,” she says softly. “Always.”

She sees the younger woman’s eyes get teary, and so she gently uses her fingers to lift up her chin and plant a soft kiss on her lips. 

“I’m fine,” Azzi whispers as tears are starting to fall down her cheeks. 

“You don’t have to be,” Paige just says and uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears. 

“It was like four years ago, really, I don’t think about it anymore,” Azzi meets Paige’s eyes and tries to look as non-hurting as possible.

Paige just cracks up a kind smile. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt when you do think about it.”

Azzi sighs and falls into Paige’s body, who catches her so easily. 

“It’s more about the way I was feeling and thinking about myself than it is about her,” Azzi says in Paige’s arms. “Like, there were days where I just felt so… unworthy. And insignificant. I wanted to mean something to her so bad, so maybe I could stop feeling insignificant.”

Paige’s blue eyes fill with tears as she hears the word from the actress. She closes them and quietly holds her breath to not cry, being grateful that Azzi is in her arms, unable to see how close she is to breaking down.

“I just get sad that there was a time where I felt like that, you know? I’m not crying because I miss her or anything,” Azzi clarifies and gently untangles herself from Paige’s arms to look at her. When she does, she is met by Paige’s quivering lip and watery eyes that are looking at Azzi with sadness, and it feels like she’s looking in the mirror. They just stare at each other for a moment. Azzi’s eyes never leave Paige’s blue ones, and none of them need to say anything to understand what’s being felt. 

Paige wants to reach Azzi, wants to make her see what she sees, wants to infiltrate her for a second to share the way she feels for the actress. And so she just looks into those brown eyes, hoping that her blue ones reflect Azzi just the way Paige sees her - just perfect. Little does Paige know that Azzi is thinking the exact same thing about her in that moment.

“How can you be this beautiful,” the actress wonders out loud and gently pokes the blonde woman’s cheek.

“Just wondered the same about you,” Paige swallows and takes Azzi’s hand in hers. “Been wondering that for a couple years actually.”

Azzi cracks a smile at that and looks at her tenderly. 

“I think you might be one of my first fans,” she teases. “According to Cathy, you’ve been talking about me for years apparently, you little fangirl.”

Paige just rolls her eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but feeling a little embarrassed that her step-mom had outed her like that last month. 

“If I would’ve known I actually had a chance with you, I wouldn’t have opened my mouth about you that much,” she murmurs.

“Why are you so embarrassed, I think it’s cute,” Azzi chuckles. “Oh wait, were you one of those fans who made edits of me? Or like, wrote fanfics? You totally were, weren’t you.”

“No!” Paige immediately protests. “Of course not! Nothing like that, my God.”

“Yeah right,” Azzi leans forward and gives her a kiss on the cheek. 

“I just watched your movies and thought you were really talented and pretty,” she defends herself. 

“And?” 

Paige hesitates before she finally gives in. “And I might have liked one or two edits of you…”

“Uh-huh, and?”

“Nah, that’s it,” she says and shakes her head. “But if you wanna talk about fan behaviour, let’s talk about the fact that you went to one of our concerts years ago. Now that’s stalker behaviour.”

“What?” Azzi laughs. “It was a concert.”

“Or the fact that you came to me at the Golden Globe after party, asking me for a cigarette. You don’t even smoke,” Paige argues. “You wanted this cookie bad. Stalker.”

This time Azzi can’t really argue against it, because she knows it’s partly true. 

“You’re blushing,” the singer points out with a big smirk on her face.

“Shut up,” Azzi mumbles.

“Make me.”

And Azzi doesn’t hesitate as she crashes her lips to the blonde’s. Paige falls backwards from the impact and Azzi falls on top of her, perfectly straddling her lap. The way Paige gently caresses Azzi’s back with her hands doesn’t match up with the way Azzi’s kissing her so roughly. 

Paige sits back up with Azzi in her lap and suddenly breaks the kiss. 

“Thank you for telling me about Maya,” she says sincerely. 

Azzi blinks in surprise. “Of course.”

“And I think it’s only fair that I share something with you now as well,” the singer says, visibly nervous. 

“Okay,” the actress says slowly with her arms wrapped around Paige’s neck, unsure what’s gonna come next, but gives Paige her undivided attention and looks at her intently in the eyes.

“I love the way you can’t cut onions,” Paige suddenly confesses softly. “And the way you always need to take a photo of the sky. And the way you talk about acting. How you always fall asleep with your mouth open. How you cry to Frozen, every time. How you can’t help but sing any song that’s stuck in your head. How you never can admit that you’re actually shorter than me. How you listen to me when I yap. How you hold me like no one else has. How you take care of your friends and family. How you’re so grounded in this crazy industry. How you’re obsessed with unicorns. How you’re so wonderfully, amazingly, kind, beautiful, patient, funny, smart, open, warm and loving.”

Azzi doesn’t even try to wipe away the tears that are slowly rolling down her cheeks now. She just looks at Paige with the softest eyes, not understanding where this came from. 

“Paige,” she says. “What a-”

“-Azzi, I’m so so in love with you.”

Paige doesn’t even wait for Azzi to say anything back, she just grabs her face and kisses her like it’s the air she needs to breathe. Azzi’s lips taste like salt from her tears, and Paige’s lips taste like love. 

—

[kirain]

@svanha The White Light of the Morning:

The last vestiges of moonlight slipped through the slatted windows, bathing stone and wood in a cold, pale white. The room lay in silence—not a peaceful silence, but the tense stillness that usually precedes disaster.

It was nearly dawn.

Zea sat at her vanity, gently working a brush through the tangles in her hair as she blinked away the fading remnants of sleep. Behind her, Emmrich stood against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his head low, breath shallow.

He'd held that posture for a while—likely mulling over his next book, or quietly sifting through all they'd learned about the elven gods, as he so often did. Zea found it endearing when he drifted off into thought like that.

She couldn't have known how he suffered.

All seemed well—until he moved. Just a flicker, but enough. His hand jerked, his legs buckled, and he crumpled to the floor like a tower struck at its foundation.

"Emmrich!" Zea gasped, leaping to her feet. In an instant, she was at his side, dropping to her knees. "What's wrong?"

"I-I can't—" His voice cracked like brittle bone. "I can't—"

His fingers clutched at his shirt, as though something were gnawing at him from the inside. His breath came too fast—too painfully. His eyes were wide and wet, glassy with dread.

"I was sure! I was—Maker's breath, I was so sure!" His voice rose, frantic. "I made the choice. I said yes—I said yes, but what if... what if this is it? What if this is all we get, and then we disappear?!"

The words burst from his throat like steam from a ruptured pipe.

"What's the point of all this," he choked, "if we just... die?!"

Zea said nothing—not a hush, nor an urging breath. She simply gathered him into her lap. As always, he curled up in the space between her legs, clinging to her arm as she rubbed his back and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. Another attack—worse than most. His nails dug into her skin without meaning to, his rings biting deep enough to leave marks that hurt more than she'd ever admit.

After an unbearably long time, he sat up, still only partially whole. But when he did, Zea's hand moved—slowly, gently—to his chest, right over the place where his heart hammered, fragile and afraid.

"This," she said, her touch soothing him like a spell. "This is the point."

Emmrich sniffed, a tear rolling down his cheek. "...This?"

"This moment. You and me. Alive. In love." She leaned in and kissed him softly, sensually—not to silence, but to remind him. "That's the point."

His eyes fluttered shut, his body trembling as she cradled his face.

"You speak of eternity like it's a blessing," Zea murmured. "But it's a burden."

His eyes opened and he looked at her, his expression torn, his mind reeling.

"Even liches know that," she whispered. "They don't become bulwarks because they want to live forever. They have to make peace with death first—you know that." She shook her head, her thumbs tracing the lines of his face. "They ascend to keep the balance, to ensure the line between life and death remains intact. If that's what you want, I'll support you every step of the way. But immortality isn't a life, Emmrich. It's a duty. It makes everything feel hollow—repetitive, empty. People cherish life because it ends. That's what gives it meaning."

Emmrich didn't respond. He couldn't—his lungs still wrung dry. But Zea reached for his hand and wove their fingers together.

"If you want to live forever, you do it by leaving something behind. Stories. Memories." Her smile was tender but sure. "Make those with me."

"Darling..."

She pressed her lips to his again, then met his gaze. "I love you, Emmrich. And I want a life—a real life—with you. Not some conditional ghost of an existence ruled by obligation. Just this: you, me, and whatever time we're given."

Emmrich stared at her, reverent, as if before a sacred work of art. In her short years, she'd found what had eluded him for decades—purpose. Courage. It brought him a comfort he could never describe.

"And you're certain you want me? Knowing that one day, inevitably... you'll have to grieve me alone?"

Zea wiped his eyes, shifting closer. "You'll never leave me alone." She smiled. "I'll have the memories."

Emmrich swallowed thickly, then pulled her into his arms and kissed her with a fervour that marked a new beginning. Zea melted into it, her arms circling his neck, making sure he felt every moan, every touch, every heartbeat—all luxuries of being alive.

When they parted, he lingered, resting his forehead against hers.

"I'm ready," he said, his voice steady. "Let's go bring Manfred home."

[hevvxx2]

Title: Loud Thoughts, Hot Coffee- Part 5: “You Thought I Was a Mind Reader? Prove It, Sherlock.”

Characters: Joaquin Torres x Reader

(Sam and Bucky mentioned)

Warnings: uhhh none i think

Blue Words: Inner Thoughts

Pink words: Translation

Summary: A full entire.. week of hell for the reader. SEVEN DAYS, A full seven days she had to endure Joaquin's mind. Unfortunately for him.. she had enough and snapped

Joaquin had officially entered Delulu Detective Mode.

After a full week of increasingly ridiculous “mental experiments” — including the Lemon Incident, the Eyebrow Admiration Debacle, and the now-infamous Internal Scream Test — he was sure she was reading his mind.

And now?

He just had to prove it.

Unfortunately for him, she’d had enough.

They were in the training room. She was stretching, getting ready to spar with Bucky. Joaquin was lingering suspiciously by the weights, pretending to text.

“Okay, this time I’ll think of something she couldn’t possibly ignore. Something wild. Something confusing. Something—”

“Joaquin.” she said flatly, without turning around, “if you think the phrase ‘unicycle penguin parade’ one more time, I’m throwing a dumbbell at your head.”

His eyes snapped up. “WHAT?”

She turned. Slowly. Calmly. Dangerously.

“I gave you a week to stop being weird.” she said, crossing her arms. “A whole week. But nooo, you had to make it a brain game.”

“¡lo sabía!” he blurted, A finger pointing at her.

Translation: “¡lo sabía!” (I knew it!)

“Oh my God.” She sighed, turning to Bucky. “He’s proud. Like a toddler who figured out where the snacks are hidden.”

Bucky smirked, arms crossed. “You kind of walked into this one, kid.”

She stalked toward Joaquin, mock-serious. “So let me get this straight. You thought I was a mind reader and your brilliant strategy… was lemons?”

Joaquin looked guilty. “I panicked.”

“You mentally screamed at me. Multiple times.”

“I needed a control group!”

“You thought Bucky’s eyebrows would trip me up.”

He mumbled. “They’re very symmetrical.”

She narrowed her eyes, circling him now like a shark. “And THEN you had the audacity to start imagining me in situations that would’ve made a sailor blush. The trash bag thought was absolutely feral!”

He turned bright red. “I—I didn’t—”

“Oh, you did. Full soundtrack and everything..."

Sam walked in halfway through and paused, blinking. “What did I miss?”

“She’s roasting Torres for thinking he could outwit a telepath.” Bucky said his arms crossed over his chest

“Oh damn.” Sam grinned. “Keep going then, this is better than cable.”

She turned back to Joaquin, smug. “You really thought you were subtle? You mentally yelled ‘IF YOU CAN HEAR THIS TOUCH YOUR NOSE’ like a lunatic.”

“I thought it was clever.” he muttered.

“I thought it was sad.”

She leaned in, low and dangerous, and whispered:

“Next time you want to test me, Torres… just ask me on a date like a normal person.”

His brain exploded.

Sam, from across the room, practically cackled. “Daaaaamn.”

Bucky clapped. “Finish him.”

But she just patted Joaquin’s cheek once, sweetly, and walked away, sipping her water like nothing happened.

Torres stood frozen, internally combusting, ears pink, pride shattered.

Bucky came up next to him, amused. “That was hard to watch.”

Sam added, “I told you not to poke the psychic bear.”

Joaquin, still shell-shocked:

“She wants me to ask her out?”

Bucky shrugged. “She said like a normal person.”

Sam laughed. “So not with a penguin parade in your head next time.”

Joaquin nodded. “Copy that.”

Pause.

“…Do you think it’s too late to pretend I have amnesia?”

Like my work? Here's my Masterlist!

A/N: I was listening to this while writing this! Sorry this one is short! I'll make up for it next part!

taglist: @mochminnie

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Playful

Nathan Bateman x gn!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals  •  Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? | request info • ko-fi •

Summary: You accidentally call Nathan something you shouldn't.

A/N: This is especially for @krakenkitty & @story-bored who asked for some fleshed out fics of my OI Characters Called 'Husband' By Accident Headcanons <3

Warnings: Fluff, teasing, swearing, pet names, marriage mention, reader having a bit of anxiety (but not too much), typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 780

“Can I get you anything else while you wait?” The waiter asks.

You shake your head and smile back at him, “No, thank you, my husband and I are fine.” Your expression freezes as the words fall out of your mouth, but the waiter doesn’t seem to notice. 

He nods and steps back, walking to check in on the other customers. 

The restaurant was fancy. You’d tried to gently bully Nathan into one that wasn’t so snooty that you’d feel out of place. You’d got there, sort of. A rough compromise. Definitely less exclusive than the one he had first suggested. 

“Why would you feel out of place? We could buy the whole fucking city.”

“You can buy the whole city Nathan.”

“Same thing.” He shrugged.

“How is it the same thing?” 

“My money’s your money.” He had said it like it was common knowledge.

“Oh really? I’ll just go and buy a Van Gogh then, or something.” 

“Okay.” He had looked at you like you’d asked to borrow money for a coke. 

A good eighty percent of the time, you didn’t get him. 

Technically, you hadn’t been dating that long. And you had expected him to be more… guarded, especially with how his home was set up, secluded, in the wilderness with umpteen security and safety measures. 

Husband. Husband. Why the fuck had that sliped out?

You swallow, your mouth dry, and glance at him. He’s sitting opposite you, checking something on his phone. Which you don’t mind, he’d said he needed to reply to a couple of emails. 

Part of you knows it’s more than that. He doesn’t like being in public. It gets under his skin, makes his fingers itch and tense. Work feels comfortable. Safe. 

Still, he’d made an effort to go out while you were both in the city. Because he knew you wanted to. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fu-

Nathan places his hand palm up on the table, leaning forward at a slightly uncomfortable angle so it is as close to you as possible without him actually laying his own body on the wood. He’s got his phone on the other hand, still staring at the screen and typing. 

You pause, your thoughts continuing to stampede around in your skull. 

He flexes his fingers, making a soft grabby motion.

When you still don’t react he speaks, his voice soft. “Hand, please.” 

“What?” Your voice is hesitant, distracted. 

“Your hand.” He wiggles his fingers again until you put your hand in his. He squeezes you gently. “What’s up?” 

“Hmm?” 

“You’re upset.” He says, his eyes scanning his phone. 

You shake your head. 

“Worried then.”

“Nathan-”

“Do you hate it here?” He looks up at you as he runs his fingers over your skin. His gaze is sharp, cutting as it always is. Like he’s taking you apart in his mind and putting you back together. But it’s not awkward, uncomfortable. Instead, it’s oddly reassuring. 

You shake your head again. 

“Then what’s wrong?” 

“I…” You sigh, “I don’t know why I fucking said it, I said, I mean, I called you, to the waiter… I said…” You bite your lip. There was no point lying about it, Nathan would be able to tell in less than a microsecond if you weren’t telling the truth. “I called you ‘my husband’, I don’t fucking know why…” 

He keeps staring at you, keeps stroking your hand. A small frown pinches his features and anxiety squirms in your gut. “And?” 

“And?” 

“And?” He repeats, putting his phone down and taking your hand in both of his. He plays with your fingers absentmindedly. 

“And…” You glitch out for a moment. “Your…”

“Wait,” he smiles cheekily. “You’re panicked that you called me ‘your husband’?” 

You nod and he snorts. Part of you wants to kick him under the table. 

“Why are you bothered about that?” He pinches the tip of your middle finger and wiggles it back and forth.

“What?” You grab his wrist, digging your nails in a little to stop him. Not enough to cause any pain, but just enough that he can feel it. 

He flinches, grinning wildly, enjoying the sensation far too much. Just as you knew he would. “Why are you bothered that you called me your husband? I basically am?” 

That throws you. You pause, your mouth open. But all your words have evaporated into the ether. 

He watches you, still smiling. “You want a ring? I can get you a ring.” 

“Fuck off Nathan.” 

“Now, now,” he licks his bottom lip, excitement gleaming in his eyes and you know he’s about to be a little shit. “Is that any way to speak to your husband?” 

Thank you for reading!

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello there! I've been subscribed to your blog for a long time; I remember loving your writing and theories! And even though I haven't played for 2 years, last week twst nostalgia suddenly hit me and I've started rewatching main story of the game :D (Though I haven't read it all still...). It made me think about something, and I'd like to see your opinion on the matter if that's alright. If something similar was already asked and I missed that, please feel free to ignore my message.

So, hypothetically speaking, if a NRC student gets bullied and asks Azul for help to deal with bullies, is there a chance that, considering his backstory, he might be a liiiitle bit more lenient and prone to name the price for his services lesser than he usually sets? Or do you believe it depends too much on what kind of relationship he and the person asking him for help have? (For example, Azul will be lenient only if he and that person are good acquaintances, or have some kind of pre-established rapport at least maybe?). What kind of other factors could contribute in this as well? I hope my question is understandable and coherent enough, I am not a native English speaker >< Have a lovely day!

Ayyy, welcome back ^^

As for your question… I don’t think Azul would be more lenient with a client that is a victim of bullying. There’s several reasons I feel this way:

1. It sets a bad precedent. If Azul is “soft” with one client, there’s a chance word will spread and other clients will start demanding he lower the costs for them too. People will come in with all the wrong expectations. It’s the whole “give them an inch and they’ll walk a mile” thing. This would make future deals unnecessarily annoying.

2. It messes with his carefully cultivated image. He’s supposed to be impartial with each and every single one of his clients. What does it say about him if he breaks this clause? Azul will come off as unprofessional, biased, and even weak. Like what if someone hears about the deal he cut with the bullying victim because he pities them? Azul wants to come off as tough, not sentimental. And if he comes off as sentimental, what’s stopping others from digging deeper into him and trying to locate other insecurities and weak points?

3. Azul has already demonstrated that he gives no mercy to those similar to him. He believes that his past self is weak and pathetic, hence why he tries so desperately to erase his past. Azul has also developed into a bully and an opportunist himself in modern day. This leads me to think that if he were to come across someone similar to his past self, he’d think them easily exploitable instead of someone he should support. We see this implied in his dynamic with Yuuta Mito, the Yuu for the Episode of Octavinelle manga. Although not explicitly pointed out in the narrative, we do see many parallels between Yuuta and past!Azul: they’re overweight, have a parent that runs a restaurant, and love eating good food. Even if Azul isn’t familiar with the particulars of Yuuta’s background, the fact remains that 1) he can relate to Yuuta based on physique alone and 2) Yuuta would have experienced similar bullying by mobs (and arguably Ace, Riddle, etc.) that game!Yuu does; these are both very similar to Azul’s own experiences. But what happens? Azul still doesn’t cut Yuuta any slack and is willing to make him go homeless anyway.

4. Even without his childhood trauma, he does not seem to spare others. In his book 7, we see a potential scenario in which Azul was never bullied as a child. Despite this happier background, Azul still chooses to bully land dwellers (land dwellers that, mind you, did/said nothing to provoke him or to warrant this treatment).

5 Azul is primarily concerned with accumulating things of value for himself. Greed is a huge aspect of his character (especially if we’re talking pre-OB era Azul); having all his contracts sanded is, after all, what triggers his OB. I think he’d be much less concerned with the circumstances of others.

If it sounds like I’m overthinking this, it’s because I am 😂 and because Azul, too, overthinks + considers the future in decisions he makes in the present. For example, he refuses to sign any contracts until he has read it over multiple times and understands all of its terms and conditions, such as the NDA in book 6. He also refuses to accept extremely valuable clothes because he worries he will be put in a position where he owes someone else an immense debt (in Tapis Rouge/Red Carpet Cadets). Overthinking IS Azul’s modus operandi.

If we want to consider other factors, personal familiarity with the client is definitely one—but I don’t mean it as in, “he’d be more lenient with a friend”. I mean it like, “he would cut a kinder deal with a repeat customer”. You know, to thank them for their business and to incentivize them to keep coming back.

Other factors to consider (although by no means is this an exhaustive list) might be:

Number of bullies that need to be “dealt with” (more bullies -> higher payment demanded)

Severity of bullying (just some name calling would be less effort to fix; this would not be so if the bullying was much more intense)

Form of bullying (verbal, physical, cyber, etc.; this would impact just how much effort, and what kind of it, Azul has to apply to solve the issue)

Identity of the bullies (if it’s an Octavinelle student or a freshman, they may be easier for Azul to intimidate; if the bullies are wealthy/powerful or of high status, like a dorm leader, they would be harder to deal with)

Client’s requests (what do they actually want, in terms of “dealing” with the bullies?)

Client’s desperation (Azul could milk this to get more payment out of them)

[capricorn-writes1]

Hey love, I see your HCS of Aomine with s/o that is horrible in sport and I love it ❤️❤️❤️ but Can I request Himuro, Murasakibara, and Alex with S/O that are also horrible in sport???

❤️Murasakibara Atsushi, Himuro Tatsuya and Alexandra Garcia Having S/O Who Are Terrible At Sports❤️

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Hello there, Anon. I try my best to make the portrayal of their character based on their personality, and I would like to apologize for replying to the ask late because I had horrible carpal tunnel syndrome in my right hand and depression, and I had to focus on finding jobs as well as therapy. Thankfully, I graduated in July from my university and was able to get a quick 6 months of internship before leaving to find a new job.

Gender: Neutral Warning: None

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Murasakibara Atsushi: Center/Ace - Yosen High School

Watching you trip over your own shoelaces during a casual game of catch is peak comedy to him. He’ll be chuckling with a mouthful of chips, mumbling, “You’re sooo bad at this, (Y/N)~” But he’ll still lazily roll the ball back to you so you can try again.

If someone else laughs at your lack of coordination, he instantly gets defensive. With narrowed eyes and an arm around your shoulder, he’ll say, “Only I can say (Y/N)’s bad at sports.” He’ll probably challenge them to a one-on-one and win just to make a point.

At first, he lifts you by the waist so you can dunk, thinking it’s cute. Then he sees you try to dribble and the ball hits your face. With a sigh, he hands you snacks instead: “Let’s just eat, okay?”

You’re wheezing after a 100-meter sprint while he’s just strolling along with Pocky in his mouth. “You’re sooo slow, Y/N~,” he teases, but he hands you his water bottle. Secretly, he loves watching you try your best, even if you suck.

While his world revolves around towering over opponents and breaking rims, you’re in the corner struggling with jump rope and somehow getting tangled. He watches you with a weirdly soft expression and thinks, I want to protect this clumsy creature forever.

You accidentally hit him with a dodgeball once. It barely grazed his arm, but he dramatically flopped over like he’d been shot. You screamed in horror, but he popped up, laughing like a kid. “You really think that could take me out?” He grinned, ruffling your hair.

He blocks the sun for you during outdoor games, literally just standing beside you like a human shade tree while you squint at the sky. “You’re going to get heatstroke or something,” he says while chewing a chocolate bar. Then he shares it with you and complains when you bite too much.

He calls you his “clumsy little shrimp.” You groan every time, but he says it with so much affection it’s hard to argue. You may not run fast or throw well, but you cheer for him louder than anyone. And that, to Murasakibara, is way more important than being good at sports.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You had never been good at sports. Not just “meh” or “okay on a good day”, you were impressively, artistically terrible. Balls flew in the opposite direction of your aim, running left you wheezing after ten seconds, and you had once managed to trip over a stationary hula hoop. The only reason you agreed to come to the school’s casual basketball day was because he would be there. Murasakibara Atsushi, the walking snack tower you somehow called your boyfriend.

He was already on the court when you arrived, lazily towering over his teammates and dunking without even jumping. You waved at him with both arms like an overexcited flag semaphore. He noticed you right away, slow-blinking like a sleepy cat, and then wandered over. “You wore the jersey,” he said, eyes flicking over the way his oversized shirt hung on you like a dress. “Cute.” You tried to strike a sporty pose but nearly lost your balance. He caught you by the elbow, grinning like it made his whole afternoon.

When you joined the casual game, it was a pure disaster. The first time someone passed you the ball, it bounced off your head and rolled away. Your attempt at dribbling resembled a child slapping a balloon. Murasakibara didn’t even try to hide his amusement. “You’re sooo bad at this, (Y/N),” he said through a mouthful of gummy worms. “Like, impressively bad.” You shot him a half-hearted glare, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Still, he didn’t leave your side. When the others ran ahead, he strolled beside you, acting like you were the star player. When someone snickered after you tripped over your own feet, he shot them a look cold enough to turn summer into snow. “Only I get to call (Y/N) clumsy,” he said, stuffing another piece of mochi into your mouth before you could respond.

You tried to redeem yourself by showing off a cartwheel you’d been practicing in secret, but it ended in you tumbling sideways and landing in the grass with a surprised squeak. There was a pause, then Murasakibara broke into loud, wheezing laughter, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “You’re seriously the worst at this,” he said between laughs, “and it’s the best thing ever.” You pouted, grass stuck in your hair, but couldn’t help smiling too.

After the game, the two of you sat under a tree, legs stretched out, sharing a bag of salty chips while the sun dipped lower in the sky. “I think I’ll just be your personal cheer squad from now on,” you declared, waving an imaginary pom-pom. He hummed in approval. “That’s good. You look better on the sidelines in my jersey anyway.” You leaned your head against his arm, feeling the warmth of the day slowly cooling down.

He handed you the last chip without hesitation, which was as close to a love confession as Murasakibara got. “You don’t have to be good at sports,” he muttered, flicking your forehead gently. “You’re already my favorite.” You stuck your tongue out at him in reply, pretending not to melt like chocolate under the sun.

And maybe you were still bad at sports, but with him beside you-teasing, protective, warm like a giant pillow, you didn’t mind at all.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

❀

❀

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Himuro Tatsuya: Shooting Guard - Yosen High School

He finds your lack of athletic skill kind of adorable. You nearly fall while trying to kick a soccer ball, and he rushes to catch you before you faceplant. With a warm smile and soft laugh, he says, “Maybe stick to cheering, sweetheart.” But you catch him bragging about your enthusiasm to his teammates later.

He’ll gently guide you through the basics, step by step. Himuro’s patience is endless, especially with you; he’ll adjust your posture, your grip, and your stance. His hands are always warm as they rest on yours. And he always says “Perfect,” even when you mess up.

You once tried to join him for morning jogging. Once. After five minutes, you were hunched over a bench wheezing like a lawnmower. Himuro offered you water, wiped your forehead, and said, “You made it farther than yesterday.” You blinked. “I didn’t jog yesterday.” He smiled. “Exactly.”

He always asks if you want to come to practice, even if you just sit and read. He likes knowing you’re nearby, even if you're curled up with a book while drills happen around you.You occasionally peek up and clap when he scores a shot. His cheeks flush every time, no matter how cool he acts.

He once tried to teach you basketball… and deeply regretted it. You managed to hit yourself in the chin with the ball on the first dribble. He was horrified, gently inspecting your jaw with the care of a surgeon. “We’re doing yoga next time,” he declared.

He makes fun of you, but with elegance. “Oh, darling, you were born with many talents… just not athletic ones.” You shove him lightly, and he kisses the back of your hand with a teasing grin. Still, he’ll always volunteer to be your three-legged race partner, no matter the risk.

You’re terrible at catching things, and he’s made it into a game. He gently tosses small items like candy, pens, or rolled socks at you randomly throughout the day. You catch about 10% of them. Each time you miss, he dramatically clutches his chest and says, “And I still love you.”

He becomes your accidental bodyguard during team sports. If a dodgeball comes flying your way, he intercepts it like a reflex. “Sorry, muscle memory,” he says coolly, spinning the ball on his finger. You stick to hiding behind him after that, and he lets you.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

You had no business being on a basketball court. That fact became glaringly obvious the moment you attempted your first dribble and sent the ball ricocheting off your shoe, bouncing with traitorous energy toward the nearest wall. Himuro, mid-conversation with a teammate, turned just in time to watch the chaos unfold. His lips twitched with amusement as he calmly strolled over, picking up the ball like it hadn’t just tried to assassinate a water bottle on the bench.

“I see you’ve developed your own playing style,” he said, smile soft but teasing. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “My playing style is called complete athletic failure,” you muttered through your fingers. Himuro chuckled, gently pulling your hands away so he could look you in the eye. “If this is failure, it’s the most graceful one I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, and you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or flirting. Maybe both.

He offered to teach you the basics, just for fun, he promised and guided you through simple moves, his voice calm and steady. But somehow, even with his patient coaching and the occasional hand on your waist or your shoulder to adjust your form, you remained spectacularly uncoordinated. You tripped on your own shoelaces twice and once flailed so dramatically trying to shoot the ball that he instinctively reached out to catch you. “Basketball might not be your sport,” he said gently, helping you up. “But falling? You’ve really mastered that.”

After ten minutes, you sat down on the gym floor, winded and mildly traumatized by a basketball to the shin. Himuro knelt beside you, not the least bit tired, still looking as smooth and composed as ever. He handed you a water bottle and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “most people would’ve quit by now. I like that you’re stubborn.” You raised a brow. “Is that a compliment?” He smiled. “Absolutely.”

Field day at school wasn’t any better. You were the last one across the finish line in the sack race, having fallen over twice and accidentally hopped into a bush. Himuro was waiting for you with a towel, water, and zero judgment. “You were amazing,” he said as if you’d won Olympic gold. You eyed him suspiciously. “I came in dead last.” He shrugged. “Still my favorite competitor.” He even kissed your forehead, and for a second, you forgot you had grass stains on your knees.

Later that evening, you found yourself sprawled on a picnic blanket while Himuro read beside you, your head in his lap. “I don’t get why you keep inviting me to sporty things,” you said, squinting up at him. “You know I suck.” He looked down at you, his expression warm and unreadable all at once. “Because you make it fun. You laugh when you fall. You cheer like I just hit the game-winner even when I miss. You make all of this feel lighter.”

You reached up and flicked his chin gently. “You’re really good at making clumsiness sound poetic.” He caught your wrist and kissed your fingers in return. “That’s because I love all the parts of you, including the ones that can’t throw a ball to save their life.” You blinked, caught off guard by how easily he said it, as if the words were already true before he spoke them aloud.

In the end, maybe you’d never be good at sports, but Himuro made it feel like you didn’t need to be. With him beside you, even your worst gym-class disasters turned into soft, golden memories. And that, in its own strange way, felt like winning.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

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Alexandra Garcia : Trainer/Coach

Alex finds your lack of coordination endlessly entertaining. The first time she saw you trip over a foam dodgeball, she burst into laughter and nearly dropped her protein shake. “You’re like Bambi learning to walk, but cuter!” she cooed, pinching your cheeks. You glared at her, but your blush betrayed you.

She tries to train you anyway, because she believes in the impossible. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ve trained NBA-level players. I can definitely teach you to catch a volleyball.” Five minutes later, you bonked yourself in the forehead with it. She kissed the red mark and said, “Okay, we’ll start with breathing exercises.”

She takes videos of your flops to watch later and giggle. You caught her once rewatching your failed somersault attempt while drinking wine and giggling like a teenager. “Don’t worry,” she said with a wink. “It’s for analysis purposes.” You deleted the video, and she immediately demanded a reenactment.

Alex loves showing you off in front of her athlete friends. She wraps an arm around your shoulder and announces proudly, “This cutie? Completely useless at sports. And still mine.” They laugh, and you groan, but she’s already kissing your cheek. “Don’t worry. You’re better than all of them at cuddling.”

She makes you do warm-ups with her for fun, knowing you’ll fail spectacularly. “Okay! High knees! Stretch! Breathe! Lift those arms, gorgeous!” You collapse halfway through, panting like a dying hamster. She gives you water and a massage like you just finished a marathon

She’s lowkey protective when people laugh at your efforts. If anyone snickers when you mess up in PE, Alex’s expression drops from sunshine to stormcloud. “Laugh again and I’ll accidentally spike a basketball into your face,” she’ll say sweetly. No one ever laughs twice.

She sneakily flirts during “training” sessions to distract you from failing. “Okay, dribble the ball… and look at me like that again and I might let you win.” You forget the ball entirely. “Oops,” she smirks. “Guess we’re playing a different game now.”

At the end of the day, she wouldn’t change a thing. You bring softness to her loud life, laughter to her serious moments, and kisses after her workouts. “You may suck at sports,” she says, cuddling against you on the couch, “but you’re perfect at being mine.” And when she says it like that, you almost believe you are an MVP.

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You should have known something was up the second Alex walked into your room wearing spandex leggings, a cropped hoodie, and a look of barely-contained excitement. She held a duffel bag in one hand and two smoothies in the other. “Surprise, babe! I signed us up for a couples’ boot camp class at the park!” she chirped. You blinked at her from your blanket burrito, deeply betrayed. “I didn’t agree to this. I’m in a committed relationship, with my couch.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were gasping for breath beside her on a yoga mat, swearing your legs had betrayed you. The instructor had just yelled something about burpees, and Alex was bouncing like she lived on a planet with less gravity. “Come on, sweetie! Use those beautiful thighs!” she called, clearly living her best life. You wheezed back, “My thighs have given up on me. Tell them I said goodbye.”

Alex didn’t stop smiling, even when you collapsed halfway through jumping jacks and accidentally hit yourself in the face. She offered you water with a wink, dabbing your forehead with the corner of her towel like you were the star of a sports movie. Except instead of winning the big game, you were struggling not to pass out in public. “You’re doing great, darling,” she said, kissing your nose. “I’ve never seen someone flop this artistically.”

By the end of the session, your body felt like overcooked spaghetti, and Alex looked like she could run a marathon and then teach Zumba. She practically skipped beside you as you hobbled out of the park. “That was amazing! We should make this a weekly thing!” she beamed. You gave her a flat look. “Only if you also agree to a weekly nap class where I teach you how to lie down and do nothing.”

Later that evening, the two of you were curled up on the couch, and Alex had her legs slung over yours, scrolling through her phone. You caught her watching a video, of you. Flailing dramatically during high knees. “Alex,” you groaned, burying your face in a cushion. “Are you really watching my athletic downfall for fun?” She grinned. “For science. And also because you’re adorable when you suffer.”

She kissed your temple then, soft and warm, and rested her head on your shoulder. “I love that you came with me even though you hate it,” she said. “You were sweaty, breathless, and wildly uncoordinated, and still the cutest person there.” You rolled your eyes but felt the heat creeping into your cheeks. “You’re weird.” “You’re welcome,” she replied smugly.

When she offered to carry you bridal-style to the kitchen later, you thought she was joking, until she actually scooped you up and strutted like she’d won a trophy. “See?” she purred. “You don’t need to be athletic. That’s my job. You just focus on being adorable and letting me show off.” You groaned, but didn’t resist. It was hard to argue when you were weightless in her arms and laughing uncontrollably.

By the time she plopped you onto a stool and started prepping your favorite snack, you had fully accepted your role in this relationship: chaotic disaster, protected and adored by a goddess in sneakers. You didn’t need medals or muscle, just Alexandra Garcia and the way she made you feel like a champion, even when you couldn’t catch a basketball to save your life.

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[oddwalkerduckarts]

Sylus x MC: No Way Out

Literally just realized I never cross-posted my first fic, lol. Sorry for the repeat if you follow me on AO3, I promise I've got a grassland romance fic coming soon.

Summary: A rewrite of my absolute favorite Sylus card. I really enjoy just how hurt his VA made him sound, and I wanted to reflect that in this.

Contains: AFAB MC, hurt/comfort, kinds enemies to lovers (ish??), Sylus in Pain, blood and injury, like a lot of talk about blood, an MC who swears constantly (she's earned it ok), SFW

AO3

-*-*-*-

I'm going to fucking strangle him, she thinks.

She's standing there, in a public park, on a gorgeous day. It should be the perfect sort of afternoon to relax after a hunting shift, and that had been exactly her plan. But Sylus, sitting relaxed and carefree in front of the fountain, has apparently seen fit to obliterate any chance of that. She's still breathless from sprinting to the coordinates her hunter's watch had specified. Sure, it was a relatively short run, but it was enough to have her adrenaline running high and her mind racing in preparation for dealing with a wanderer. She can feel a prickling sensation under her skin as she pants for air; a sensation which is not helped by the prickling of embarrassment as a middle-aged passerby gives her a judgemental look and makes a point of walking a wider distance from her than is strictly necessary.

She throws him a glare that tells him to mind his own damn business before turning the glare back to the true source of her ire.

He's wearing sunglasses, making him even harder to read than usual, but the slight smirk on his face is all too familiar.

No, he's too damn tall for strangling. Bastard hot man. Maybe I'll drown him in that damn fountain. That could work, she muses.

Despite the warmth of the day, Sylus's jacket is still hung around his shoulders, making his silhouette even sharper, more striking. The fountain spreading out behind him gives the whole picture a strangely artistic look, a statuesque man before a sculpture of angels and cranes, a slight mist hanging in the air as the water crashes back into the pool behind him. And somehow, that makes the whole situation even more irritating.

"Did you send a request to be rescued?"

She tries to make her voice cold, icy even. Unfortunately, the effect is slightly undercut by her puffing from the recent exertion.

His one shoulder rises and falls in a careless gesture, expression inscrutable. "I encountered a wanderer, and needed some help."

The words come out in a way that strikes her as odd; almost choked, perhaps?

Even in sarcasm he can barely lower himself to ask for help. What an ass.

"Well," She makes a show of looking around, spreading her arms wide, "Where's the wanderer?"

"I made it run away."

Her eye twitches. She can't start swearing here, in the middle of a public park. She doesn't need to go through that particular bit of remedial training with her superiors again. So instead she forces a slow breath out through her nose and asks, "How did you know I'd be the one to show up?"

Sylus lifts his phone, and her own smiling face looks back at her behind a pair of rainbow, heart-shaped sunglasses. Underneath the picture is a geotag.

Didn't I disable geotags last week...? I thought for sure I did so that Zayne wouldn't see that I got takeout at 1 a.m. again. Shit, does that mean he knows? Ugh, i don't want that nutrition lecture again-

"Let's flip a coin," Sylus's voice halts her train of thought. He tosses a coin from who-knows-where up into the air and catches it with the same hand. "The outcome will determine many people's fates tonight."

What the hell is he talking about? Is he going to blow up a building or something? Ugh, no, he wouldn't have called me if that's what he was up to. I don't need this right now. I'd like to enjoy my afternoon without a hail of bullets, thanks.

She rolls her eyes, opening the watch's interface, scrolling through to cancel the assistance flare, marking it as resolved. There's the tiny splish of a coin landing in the fountain.

He's damn lucky no one else responded. Or maybe I'm unlucky. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, probably.

"I'm busy with work, Sylus, stop messing around. Today, you-"

She's not sure when he stood up, but suddenly his strong arm is around her neck, pulling her close to him. Her heart, much to her irritation, skips a beat. Just like it always does when he's close, damn the man. And he's certainly close now. Close enough to feel the heat of him, to catch the smell of metal polish, oiled leather, and…

...blood?

What the hell...?

Her eyes dart across the dark material of his shirt, underneath the cover of his jacket. She's grown familiar with the streaks of dark red that swirl across the fabric, since it seems to be one of his favorites. And the large, dark splotch that she spies spreading across his sleeve and side is definitely not part of the usual pattern. And the streams of blood leaking from two punctures on his arm are certainly not typical.

"Sylus, you're bleeding!?" She stammers out in shock, trying to process the strange turn in the situation. The last time she'd see blood on his shirt she'd been...

Well. She'd been the one who had opened that wound, hadn't she? A shot to the heart, point-blank range-

No. Focus on the problem at hand.

"What happened-"

Just as the words start to fall out of her mouth, a single long digit is pressed against her lips, startling her into silence.

"Shh," He drops his finger from her lips. It's somehow both a relief and a disappointment, though she refuses to think about why she would be disappointed by the lack of contact. "Let's go. If we don't, we'll be stuck here."

She isn't sure what he means by that. But she reasons that it's probably not wise to argue with a bleeding man. Not that he gives her time to; his arm is already tucking her to his side and guiding her to walk with him away from the park and all its potential onlookers.

As a hunter, she's seen a lot of injured people. Civilians and other hunters alike. For civilians, the reactions vary wildly. Some cry, some scream, some are in the complete silence of shock. Hunters, on the other hand, tend to have more predictable reactions. Barking out succinct updates on their status and position to their partners, maybe requests for backup teams. In the worst cases, calling for assistance to retreat.

Sylus isn't like either of those. This doesn't surprise her, of course. Sylus isn't like anyone in any way she can think of. She barely even counts him as human most of the time. The current situation seems to support this, as well. Looking at him now, as they duck into an alley across from the park, she would never guess anything was amiss, except maybe for the lack of movement from his left shoulder, slightly stiffening his gait. His head is held high, his steps are sure, and he carries himself with the same usual air of arrogant nonchalance.

At least, he does at first.

The minutes roll by as he guides her through a labyrinth of narrow side streets, so quiet the sound of their steps on the cobblestones echo off the walls, and dark even at the height of midday. Side streets like these would normally have her at least a bit on guard, but the man at her side is an entirely different class of threat than whatever petty criminal she'd find here. At least, he would be, under usual circumstances. But with the passing of time, she notices his bearing begins to change, albeit minutely. His steps drag just slightly more against the rough path. His posture sags, just a fraction of an inch, but enough that she can tell. There's a slight labor to his breathing that she's never heard from him before.

And damn her, it's fucking terrifying.

This is a man that she's seen tear another person asunder. A man she's seen stop bullets in midair. A man she's seen take a gunshot to the chest, and then look her in the eye with a cold smile. A man who stood with her in a building as it went up in a blaze around the pair of them. And now, in this strange, wrong moment, he is a man struggling to walk down a street and stand tall.

Idiot, use your head, she chastises herself, you know how to help someone who is wounded. The fact that it's the leader of fucking Onychinus, and maybe the most terrifying person you know, is beside the point right now. For right now, he's a person who is hurt. And you're all he's got.

She curves around him, pressing her shoulder to his side for support, her hand settling just above the stiff leather of his belt. She shifts herself closer, trying to help distribute some of the weight onto herself. Given the height difference, it isn't terribly effective; but she does feel a decent amount of pressure settle across her shoulders, as well as feeling a slight lean to his spine against her arm. And a twitch of a muscle in his side relaxing slightly under her palm. The strength of his arm, even loose as it is across the back of her neck. A surprisingly tight grip of his fingers on her waist. And warmth, radiating from his core. Trapped against her, where their sides meet. Bleeding through her vest, her shirt. An uncomfortable, restless warmth, spreading through her body; collecting in her cheeks, her chest, her stomach.

"You really like helping others."

The slight rumble of his voice, a bit hoarse from effort, startles her. He seems almost surprised, though she can’t imagine why. Helping others is her entire career, after all.

Right. Wounded crime boss. Focus.

"Well," she starts, affecting an irritated tone to cover her distraction, "if I didn't take you with me, you wouldn't have let me go."

"How are you so sure?"

The amusement in his comment is almost lost under the strain. He's getting worse, she realizes. She should've been putting pressure on the wound ages ago. But how to do it while still supporting him with her left arm? She tries crossing her right arm over his front, but again his height proves problematic.

Dammit.

"Lean down a little." She commands. The deep, throaty chuckle it earns her would tempt her to swat him, were it not for how breathless it sounds. To her surprise, he replies without further comment, allowing her hand to make contact with the wound. It’s hot, wet and tacky under her palm with a mix of old and new blood. Underneath the layer of blood and cloth, she can feel a deceptively small hole. A puncture, then. And a deep one, if the amount of blood is any indication. Even the relatively light touch makes Sylus inhale sharply. She feels the muscles across his torso tense, though he doesn’t recoil.

What the fuck? How did a wanderer do this?

A small growl of frustration escapes her as she realizes there's no way to apply an appropriate amount of pressure from the current angle. "Lean down a little more."

He looks down at her, a single gray eyebrow arched. "When hunters accept a rescue mission, do they always tend to the wounded?" Despite the light tone of the question, she notices some of his consonants are starting to drag.

You'd have a lot easier time catching your breath if you stopped fucking talking.

She’s startled by the strength of her own irritation, the thought jumping unbidden into her mind. Ugh. Calm down. I guess if he’s still asking questions, he’s not about to pass out or something. I don’t know how I’d carry him if he did…

"No, we just escort them to the hospital." She puts some pressure to his back, reminding him to lean. To her surprise, he responds without resistance. "We only care for them when they're troublesome, like you."

That barb earns her a slight smirk. She doesn't expect it to be such a reassuring sight. Usually it makes her want to punch him.

They manage to start walking again. It's quite awkward, he's bent almost double and she's moving sort of sideways.

"So what happened exactly?" She asks, then notes with frustration, "You're still bleeding."

Why hasn't he healed himself? I've done worse to him than this. Hell, half the wanderers we've fought have.

"It's nothing. The sun's too bright," he says, like that explains anything at all.

She glances up. The sun is, indeed, glaringly bright today. Not a cloud in the sky, either. She's rarely seen him in Linkon himself, but on those rare occasions, she supposes they have all happened at night. Or maybe he’s just being facetious, she can never completely tell with him.

"Oh good," she teases, "I discovered another one of your weaknesses."

She could swear he intentionally leans more weight on her at that, and she swallows a grunt.

Two turns later, she finds herself looking at a, frankly, aggressively average-looking motel. Maybe a bit smaller than average, but certainly not what she'd pictured their destination to be. She hesitates slightly, checking to see if there's another turn to take. But Sylus continues ahead, seeming to know where he's headed, and she goes along with him. Fortunately, there seems to be a lack of visitors at the moment, there’s a single car pulled up next to the motel, and no one outside. Nevertheless, her eyes don't stop scanning their surroundings for potential dangers, even as they come up to the door underneath a neon sign reading OFF CE, the ‘I’ occasionally blinking to life.

They enter the office, and she vaguely realizes what an odd picture the two of them must make as they enter. Sylus is half bent-over her, now obviously bleeding and breathing heavily. She's wrapped around him, in her hunter's uniform, with his blood covering her hand and beginning to dye her sleeve.

An inconspicuous sight, they are not.

Fortunately, the only person in the small office room is a pre-teen boy, who is deeply engrossed in a mobile game. She's pretty sure she recognizes the sound effects to be from Light and Dark Raiders: Dragon Team Descent.

She briefly wonders what level he is, before Sylus raps sharply on the desk with his free hand.

"I want room 503."

The boy starts, guiltily putting his phone into his pants pocket. As he does, she notes the abandoned textbook and scratch paper on the desk beside Sylus's hand. Her nose wrinkles slightly of its own accord.

Algebra. No wonder he was playing on his phone.

The boy blinks at the two of them, and for a moment, she thinks she'll have to explain that they're not criminals (well, she isn't), or victims of a mugging, or something. But, to her surprise, the kid asks no questions. Just pulls out a key card from a drawer, and a first-aid kit from a side table, putting them both on the desk before immediately returning to his game. She wonders how often this happens, that Sylus shows up here bloodied and half-conscious. Surely it can't be that often? But then, why does she care in the first place? This is Sylus. The man who kidnapped her, regularly kills those who upset or betray him, and rules over the N109 zone like a tiger over jackals.

"Thanks." The slight mirth in his voice surprises her, and she just notices the slight traces of a warm smile leaving his face as she turns her gaze to him. The contrast between her most recent though and his soft expression is jarring. Whatever the situation is here, Sylus clearly knows this child and vice-versa. The thought that this child, who is playing games, doing schoolwork, and occasionally checking in the odd customer, is wrapped up in the chaos and lawlessness of the N109 zone settles uneasily in her stomach.

But, before she has much time to think about it, Sylus is moving forward again, and she's bound to go along with him. The odd pair walk down a narrow, carpeted hallway, toward the elevator doors at the end. Her arm is beginning to ache from holding pressure in this position, but she does her best to hold steady as Sylus uses his free hand to push the button, still holding the kit and card. She tries to think of something, anything to say, as they step into the elevator together. But she can’t stop listening to the short breaths he takes, and trying to calculate the amount of time he’s spent bleeding. When did she begin to worry over this man like a mother hen? He was the last person alive who she would consider needing any sort of care from another person.

And yet, he does. So she will give it. Because no one else will, right now.

Her sleeve is now soaked, and as they exit the elevator, she can’t help but note the trail of dark red droplets staining the carpet in their wake.

Sylus slides the key card through the reader, and despite the worries about his current state, she can’t help leaning forward to get a glimpse of where the leader of Onychinus makes space to lick his wounds on occasion. However, perhaps to her slight disappointment, it’s as seemingly average as the rest of the motel. Although, once inside the room, she does note that there’s an extra half-room sized space that houses a kitchenette and some cupboards. Sylus gives a slight shrug of his uninjured shoulder, and she realizes that she is still holding onto him as she studies the new space. Her hands leap from him as though burnt.

Rather than face his infuriating smugness at her distraction, she busies herself with opening a side drawer with her clean hand, slightly hoping there will be an object of interest to redirect her thoughts. Unfortunately, it’s completely empty. It seems silly to be disappointed, considering the current situation, but she had half-expected to find a secret arsenal hidden in the room. It certainly wouldn’t surprise her given Sylus’s usual business. Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be anything for her to ‘borrow’ from her charge.

“Is this your safe house in Linkon?” She wonders aloud, heading over to the sink to clean the blood from her hand before it has a chance to completely dry. She rolls up her soaked sleeve (the shirt is definitely ruined, she’ll have to get a replacement), trying to prevent it from continuing to drip. She really doesn't want the poor kid at the front desk, or whoever the cleaning person is, to have to clean up more blood than is strictly necessary. The cool water sluicing over her hands and washing away the stickiness is calming, grounding in this unreal situation.

Deep breaths, that's what Jenna said at that training. Although that was about not telling rude onlookers to go fuck themselves in the ass… I think that still applies to this situation? The purpose is still to calm down.

“Can I get some help?” Despite the breathlessness, his tone stays airy, perhaps slightly irritated.

She turns from the sink, towards the sound of his voice. He's sitting on the floor of the shower, having apparently already dropped the jacket from his shoulders and discarded the sunglasses. The sleeve and abdomen of his shirt are soaked through, dark and heavy on his frame. The puncture- no, punctures, there's another she hadn't noticed, and a graze across his ribs -are clearly visible, the fabric frayed and partially plastered into the wounds. A small stream of blood is already starting to reach past the open first-aid box on the tile and slither lazily towards the drain. He pulls at his shirt collar on the injured side, unable to manage the buttons on his own.

She could never, before this very moment, have imagined Onychinus's Sylus ever looking like this. Like a wounded, wild animal; stubbornly refusing to die, but unable to continue on under its own power alone. And yet, still assessing her with those crimson eyes, seeing if she will balk or break or abandon; wash her hands of the whole thing and let him fend for himself. Perhaps daring her to do so.

But that isn’t who she is.

She turns off the faucet and walks over to him, muttering, “At least have the decency to say ‘please’ next time you ask.” Another jibe, meant to pull out their usual banter.

Instead, he exhales a ‘sorry’, as though he was holding his breath.

She doesn't expect the pang of disappointment or the accompanying anxiety that comes with the apology where a teasing quip should be. This is, quite simply, not the Sylus she is used to dealing with.

When did I start becoming used to him?

Probably somewhere in between Sylus threatening to take her hand off to get rid of the energy linkage, and Sylus easing her nerves over text the night before a banquet, or maybe Sylus helping her pick out a pair of sunglasses, or sending his stupid bird to check on her all the time.

In between dozens of small moments, it seems

She kneels down, squeezing into the uncomfortably small space between his outstretched leg and the shower wall, and begins undoing the buttons. It's easy to imagine, with his panting breaths as she uncovers more and more of the toned body underneath his shirt, what this might be like in another situation. Far too easy.

No, no no no no. Do not imagine that right now. Professionalism. I'm a model of professionalism. I am not going to imagine fucking the shot-up sexy man.

The sound he makes when she brushes the skin over his sternum makes her resolve considerably weaker.

“Does it hurt?”

His slight grimace and narrowed eyes, at least, help dismiss any untoward thoughts of hers. “Your hands are cold.”

“I just washed them. Bear with it.”

She gingerly begins to tug at his left sleeve with one hand, her other maneuvering the collar of the shirt so that removing it takes as little movement from him as possible. Fortunately, his shirt (and her sleeve) seem to have soaked up a decent amount of the blood, so it isn’t terribly difficult to examine. She’s never seen wanderer marks like this. But she has seen Sylus with a nearly identical wound before, just slightly left of his sternum instead of on his arm.

A flare of anger rises in her chest. The fucking bastard lied. And, worse, she took him at his fucking word .

Idiot. This is still Sylus. Of course he lies, it’s his whole deal. He’s a black market arms dealer, murderer, and smuggler.

“A gunshot wound?” She seethes, even as she leans around to look for an exit wound. Two gunshot wounds, really, both in his upper arm. Three if she counts the graze streaking across his ribs, which has opened up slightly after removing the shirt. And no exit wounds. She hopes they haven’t hit the bone.

Of course the bullets are still in him. It’s probably the only reason he didn’t fucking bleed out.

She sits back to glare at him, trying to ignore that his face is even paler than usual. For his part, Sylus unflinchingly meets her gaze, which is even more infuriating. He could at least have the decency to try and fake an ashamed expression, rather than having this… curious impassivity. “Wanderers don’t shoot guns. Is this an old grudge or a new one?”

He gives a small, humorless huff. Which is, decidedly, not an answer.

“You always cause trouble,” she growls, refusing to back down from his stare, “but you’re never honest about it.”

He doesn’t bat an eye at her fury. He’s eerily calm, actually, even lacking his usual air of arrogance as he keeps his gaze.

“If you’d like to keep your involvement with the N109 zone to a minimum, then you shouldn’t care too much.”

There’s no condescension in his words. It’s a straightforwardness that is foreign to her interactions with Sylus before now. She’d think it was sincerity, were it not for the recent lie.

She gives a sharp snort, “But I thought you liked my ‘excessive’ concern.”

A strange, small smile pulls at the corner of his lips at that, along with a small hum that she can’t quite interpret the meaning of. It disarms her once more, leaves her reeling, the angry wind taken out of her sails. She wishes, not for the first time, that she could read desires like he can, just to be able to piece out all the thoughts he doesn’t say.

He finally breaks the staring contest between them, reaching over to retrieve a pair of tweezers from the first aid box.

“Turn around.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t need to see this.” He mutters, still wearing that strange not-quite-a-smile, “I’d rather not give you nightmares about me.”

That would be a first for him, she’s never gotten the idea that he much cared if he was fit for her nightmares or not. But he’s fixed her with that same oddly pretensionless look. So what can she do but heed him?

She turns her head to the side, and tries not to flinch at the quiet, pained noises he makes. Even worse is the slight squelching noises of the damaged flesh, which is nauseating to hear (though she’d never admit it). She’s had numerous injuries over the years, from wanderers, accidents, and her own lack of grace; but she finds herself currently grateful she’s never had to try and dig bullets out of herself.

“Is there local anesthetic in the first aid box? I can administer it for you.”

“No need,” he grunts, as something metallic clinks to the tile, rolling before coming to rest against her foot. A 9mm hollowpoint bullet, the top blooming out like a bloody flower. A few more moments and pained noises, and its twin joins it. She takes this as her cue to be able to turn around.

The sight twists her heart with worry once more.

Sylus is leaning back against the tiled wall of the shower, face ghostly in color, chin tipped up slightly. Though he’s still conscious, his eyes are unfocused, and lacking their usual vividness. His mouth is hanging open as he forces himself through steady breaths. His injured arm is limp at his side, with fresh blood streaming from the wounds down his arm and dripping steadily onto the tile.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She mutters to herself through her teeth. Enough is enough. He called for her help, and he’s damn well going to get it.

She steps carefully around him, trying to find space for herself in the close quarters. It’s certainly not an easy feat, with him being nearly as broad in the shoulders as the wall he’s leaning against. She finally manages to squeeze herself in by squatting down in front of him, her knees between his. She’s pleasantly surprised to find hemostatic gauze in the first aid kit, though she supposes she shouldn’t be; the kit is probably specifically put together for Sylus’s needs.

He grunts as she packs the wounds. Though she’s doing her best to be gentle, there’s only so much she can do at this stage. She knows it isn’t a permanent fix, but it should be enough to get him back to the N109 zone, and whatever passes for his version of safety. She does manage to staunch the bleeding as well, and that is a relief in and of itself right now. She takes out the alcohol wipes and begins cleaning the area surrounding the graze.

“You’re skilled.” His words are slurred slightly. If she’s being honest, she’s impressed he can still manage coherent speech. Maybe, now that he’s out of the sun, his healing is returning to normal speed. She hopes so. “I thought you were the type who usually comes out unscathed.”

She gives an affirmative hum as she concentrates on cleaning the area. Then adds, “but, because you keep messing around, all of my time lately has been spent on you.”

She waits for a response, but there is none. So she continues, “I don’t often get to take on very difficult missions.” In her periphery, she can see his face tip slightly towards her, watching. “My marksmanship skills are getting rusty.”

“I see, you’re not exactly pleased.” He says quietly. Almost regretfully, though perhaps that is just her imagination. His head lolls back to center as he continues in a more airy tone, “I’ll find a few dangerous wanderers for you to use as training dummies later.”

She rolls her eyes as she discards the wipe, and reaches for the bandages. She's about to ask Sylus to lean forward, so she can pass the bandage more easily around his ribcage, but he beats her to the punch; closing the small distance between them to rest his forehead heavily on her shoulder.

“Give me a few minutes,” he murmurs.

And God, she tries to do that, she does try. But she isn't properly balanced for his weight, and it isn't more than a few moments before she falls backward, flat on her ass. Sylus doesn't seem to be fazed. He simply shifts to a kneeling position, head remaining in place. She can feel his heavy breaths, puffing through her shirt, just below her collarbone.

“Does it hurt?” She murmurs. He gives a grunt in response.

Her mind wanders as she begins winding the bandage around his chest as gently as she can. She hates this. Hates how seeing a force of nature brought low fills her veins with an icy dread. Hates seeing him pale and shaky and damn vulnerable. She knows he can stop bullets. She knows he can tear a man’s very atoms apart on a whim. Hell, he can look a giant fucking bird wanderer in the eye as it drops giant stone feathers on him without a second thought. It’s unnatural, to see such a power reduced to the same level of humanity as everyone else.

But in the next breath, she realizes that she likes this. Not the hurt, or the exhaustion, of course. She isn't a sadist, even if she sometimes thinks he is. But so often he seems more like a weapon than a person. Something to be pointed in the direction of what you want obliterated, and released like a bullet from a gun; cold, unyielding, unfeeling. But, maybe, not all of the time. She's heard concern in his voice in the heat of a fight. Playfulness radiating out of a simple text. Gentleness, in the grip of his hand as he leads you through a dance. And now, right now, he's a person in pain, vulnerable and reaching out for help.

The two sides of a coin, the Leader of Onychinus and Sylus. Equal and opposite and baffling. They can't both exist on the same side together, and yet, a coin can't only have one face.

“Your tender loving care is going to last the whole night, huh,” He drawls against her shoulder.

And assholiness. Definitely assholiness, she thinks as she moves to wrapping his arm.

“Why don’t you just instantly recover and head back to the N109 zone to wreak havoc, then?” She retorts, though it’s missing her usual venom. It’s too good to hear him starting to banter again. This doesn’t stop her though, from cutting his responding chuckle a bit short with a rougher yank on the bandage. “You’re either the source of trouble or in trouble,” She pauses a moment, before a genuine question bubbles out of her mouth.

“Aren’t you tired of living like this?”

“It’s almost like you’re telling me to join you, and become a member of the hunter’s association.” There’s a slight mocking edge to his voice, and she briefly wonders if punching him in the gunshot wound will make him pass out. It almost seems worth it. But instead, she finds herself giving into the impulse to match his tone.

“Do I make hunting look easy? We’re required to memorize the hunter’s code, and take assessments during the holidays.” She finishes tying the bandage with a tug, lacing her words with teasing doubt, “Could you handle that?”

There’s only silence in response. She wishes she could see his face, get some idea of what he’s thinking. But his forehead remains on her shoulder. She becomes aware, once again, of his breath; less heavy now, and steadier, but no less warm. And now that she’s unoccupied with tending to him, she becomes terribly aware of all the other sensations. Soft hair brushing against her ear and cheek, the nudge of his nose against her collarbone, the smell of sweat and blood and something underneath that she can’t place.

A strange, visceral impulse to wrap her arms around him makes her muscles twitch.

Where the fuck did that come from? I’m not going to do that, absolutely not, I’m just helping him. He’s probably had to do this alone dozens of times and-

Her thoughts begin to swirl, out of her control.

And it should not feel like a knife to her heart (a sword to his) to think about that. To think of Sylus wounded, maybe unconscious on the floor from blood loss (so much blood) until his evol kicks in to restart the healing. Breath choked and mouth leaking red (you must press on)-

How many times, Leader of Onychinus? How many hails of bullets, stabbings, poisonings, beatings… How many more, Sylus?

She swallows down the rising lump in her throat, bottles and corks the swirling thoughts for later. But she still finds herself asking,

“Be honest with me. Why are you doing all of this? Do you not care about your own safety?”

She feels the shift in his face, feels what could be a sigh across the base of her throat. “There are shadows even in the places where the sun doesn’t shine. And it just so happens,” his voice shifts slightly, into something odd, self-mockery, maybe, “I’m a person who likes to live in the dark.”

Likes to, or must? She wonders. Before today, hell even before thirty minutes ago, she wouldn’t have considered Sylus to be a man without a choice in… well, anything. Now… now she isn’t so sure.

“If you’re curious about my world,” his whisper at her ear sends chills racing down her spine, “you’ll have to step beyond the border between light and shadow. You must be the one to make that decision.”

There’s something thick in the air, something tense. A breath being held. She looses a halfhearted laugh to try and assuage some of it.

“You act as though you’re giving me a choice.”

He draws back then, and she expects him to resume leaning against the wall. Instead, he remains within a breath of her face, crimson eyes filling most of her view. They’re focused precisely now, practically electrified intensity. It’s like staring at a paused lightning strike, and she needs to look away, break the contact.

A warm thumb touches her chin, a finger curling underneath it, and they drag her gaze back to his. There’s the curl of his smirk, ever-so-slightly narrowing his coreless eye.

“Of course,” his voice is breathy now, and gentle , in a way she’s never heard it before, “I did give you a choice. And it’s precisely because you’ve never chosen something that surprised me.”

She vaguely realizes her lungs are burning. Ah. She’s forgotten to breathe. The slight gasp of an inhale she takes seems loud, too loud in this tiny, silent space. And it carries the scent of him into her lungs, warming her chest. The thumb pressing just below her lower lip is a burning contact point, begging her to take it into her mouth. To lave her tongue over it slowly.

Insanity. This must be insanity.

A deep, throaty chuckle barely registers over the static in her mind. “Maybe someday.”

Someday what?

But he leans back, settling against the tile with a smug look on his face, and the electricity dissipates. She is left dazed, confused, and flustered, wildly trying to find some sort of grip on what just happened.

“You’re going to lose your balance like that, sweetie.”

“I… what-” a sense of dread settles low in her stomach. Then, mortification, as she realizes she was leaning closer, chasing the strange electricity that had evaporated as quickly as it had come.

I should’ve fucking punched him.

She grinds her teeth together to avoid aiming one at him now.

"Well, apparently you're beginning to feel well enough to be your usual infuriating self," She leans back to stand up, deeply grateful to not be sitting on the hard tile anymore. "So, you likely don't need my help anymore, and you can make your way back to the N109 zone."

His smile is devilish. "So quick to leave your charge behind. Unfortunately, i doubt I'm in any shape to get back to my ride with the sun still out. And the gauze will need to come out in a little while anyway, so i can heal them faster."

"And?"

"And, since you've done such an excellent job with the bandages, I can't exactly manage that myself. So, I'll be needing your further assistance. Unless, that is, you mean to leave me to me own devices."

Absolute motherfucker.

She quickly starts assessing her options, there has to be some sort of out.

"I could just leave. Luke and Kieran can help you when you get back."

He gives a little nod, "You could."

The "but you won't" hangs unsaid in the air between them. Her better nature has backed her into a corner, and they both know it.

An irritated sigh escapes through her teeth as she holds out her hand to him, "Come on, I don't want all my hard work going to waste because you pass out from the change in altitude, and you crack your head open or something."

"So very selfless, miss hunter," he grins as he takes her hand. She yanks him upright, though it takes considerable effort. He reaches out to brace his good arm on the shower wall to keep from swaying off balance, the remaining half of his sodden, ruined shirt slipping to dangle from his shoulder.

"Altitude sickness?"

He gives a small laugh as he steadies himself. She remains close by, honestly a bit worried he will end up in a heap on the floor. And God, what would she do then? He'd be too damn long and heavy to move effectively.

Better safe than unconscious.

She tucks herself back against his now-bare side, and quickly realizes that maybe, just maybe, putting the side of her face directly against him like this was a mistake. She can feel the muscle of him firm against the curve of her jaw, and his deep chuckle against her ear as it rumbles through his chest nearly makes her breath stop. Again.

"And eager to help, too. A model example of a hunter."

"I liked you better when you were bleeding out." She grumbles, vaguely aware of him shaking the last bit of his shirt off.

If I dont kill him or kiss him before sunset it will be a fucking miracle.

[jasontoddscrowbars]

Part 53 of the robots have taken over! 🫃🤖

Trigger warning: This has technology taking over world shit. Ik that’s freaks some ppl out (me) so thought I’d warn you.

Tim: you want to know why I won’t ever have children?

Dami: not really?

Tim: singularity.

Damian closed his eyes. As he slowly inhaled a breath and lowered his tablet, Dick, tightened up. He sat between them. Was beside Tim on the sofa, kitty corner to Damian who was on his chair to the right. Dick did not like to be in the middle of these conversations. He did not like to be in the room at all.

The twos fighting had changed for vicious verbal debates. He didn’t have the mental capacity to keep up with them; he’s not only becoming more than confused but he’s had brain cells fried, he’s cried, hell, last time he locked himself in his room for over a week because he’d lost his will to live.

They were ruthless but leaving now was no option or they’d notice his existence and he’d be dragged in.

Damian: not that conspiracy theory bullshit.

Tim dead panned him as if Damian was the biggest moron on the planet. It was sort of a boost to Dicks pride for him to not be the target even if he had no clue what singularity was.

Tim: singularity is happening Damian. Half a year, year tops.

Damian rolled his eyes as he began to lift his tablet back up.

Damian: and you won’t have kids because computers are going to reach a point that they don’t need us anymore?

Dick twitched. What?

Tim: that uneducated response proves why you don’t deserve an opinion.

Damian tsked: you can’t live your whole life scared that ai is going to become omnipotent and take out man.

Tim: it will happen and you should be more scared! Especially seeing that most of what WE do runs on technology. We’re not Superman.

Damian: YOU might be useless without it.

Tim: we both know without batdaddy i’d have you down before a birdie can chirp.

Batdaddy? Gross. Dick did not want to know what context that nickname came out of.

Damian: you’re being delusional and paranoid again!

Tim, leaning forward with a sneering grin: but you can’t dispute it.

Damian was almost on his toes now, his fangs barring.

Damian: not going to happen. Even if it did, you would destroy humanity first with your own need for omnipotence. Hell, you could be the one to make AI’s take over happen, if it was realistic.

Dick sat back deep into the couch to avoid Tim; was almost sucked into the cushions like one of Tim’s hidden guns no one was supposed to know about. Wasn’t sure when he’d wimped out like that but it felt right.

Tim: singularity is going to happen. There was a study that tested shutting down ai and you want to know what happened?

Dick, squeaking: no.

Tim, becoming aware of his meek demeanor fed off of it: OpenAI’s o3 model had 79 out of 100 trials edit its script so that the shut down wouldn’t work. When ordered allow yourself to shut down, 7% of the time, they didn’t.

Dick had his knees in his chest, arms wrapped around them as his heart was racing. He was practically near bawling.

Tim: in another study, Anthropics Claude 4 Opus had been told it would be replaced by another model. It sent EMAILs that an engineer was having an affair. 84% of those emails blackmailed the engineer to not shut down the program.

Dick was pissing himself. Most definitely pissing himself. How awful, how terrifying… he didn’t want to be blackmailed!

Tim: it also copied itself onto external servers, made malware…

As he dramatically paused, Dick felt like he might just faint. Even Damian was a bit pale and peckish.

Tim: it wrote future versions of itself about the NEED TO EVADE HUMAN CONTROL!

Dick: no!

Dick rose, threw the pillow he had grabbed at some point and had been throttling down at Tim’s head as he began to storm away.

Dick: fuck no.

He grabbed Damian’s tablet. Sensing doom, Damian clutched at it but it was useless. The tug of war ended with a loss for Damian and his tablet on the floor being kicked in by the heel of Dicks shoes.

Tim sat on the edge of the couch excitedly.

Tim: that’s right Dick! Prove to it that humans are horrible!

Dick screeched as he clutched at his hair. He abruptly turned and took off. As he did, Bruce entered the room confused. He had very serious dad eyes that the boys were in trouble.

Bruce: what’d you do this time?

Tim: I can’t have kids due to singularity.

Damian: that’s bullshit! It’s not happening.

Jason, who’d been quietly watching: it sounded pretty convincing.

Damian crossed his arms: even if it did, you two can’t have kids because you’re gay!

The room went silent.

Dick backtracked into the room.

Dick: Damian Wayne! You cannot tell a man he cannot have kids because he’s gay.

Damian threw his hands out confused.

Damian: he can’t! They’re both men! It’s biologically impossible.

Tim was fuming now.

Dick: wow. Didn’t know Dami was so bigoted.

Dami: I’m not? I’m gay? They can’t have kids!

Tim: oh, I’m having a kid now.

As he rose, Jason perked up.

Jason: we are!

Bruce, unsure if he should be enthusiastic or not: you are?

Tim: we are. I’m going to Steph right now and asking her to surrogate.

Damian: as if she would.

Tim: she will. Especially after I show her the house footage of this conversation. She’ll do it Damian.

Tim snatched Jason’s hand as he took off with him.

Damian collapsed back into the chair with a pout. He wanted to say he’d proved Tim wrong today but he felt like as ass about everything.

Damian: fine.

Damian:

Damian: I won’t have kids.

Bruce snapped his head to him as he gave him a sharp eye.

Bruce: what?

Damian shot up, riled now: I won’t have kids! And when his great great grandchildren are fighting off the robots, mine will not be thanking me because I didn’t have any!

As Damian went to get his phone to tell Jon the glorious news of their doomed future, Bruce fell back against the wall defeated.

Bruce: why can’t they take over now and take me out?

Dick, screeching: nooo! They can attack after I die. Save it for the next generation.

Bruce raised a brow, concerned for his wimpy son.

The boys did know that the league had contingency plans and they had a superhuman on their side, right?

The sauce for the ai shit is the Wall Street article Ai is learning to escape human control. It cost though so I looked up videos. CBS did a report which is where I learned it from.

And if you’re wondering if there is going to be a baby from now on in the series.

Tim doesn’t half ass shit.

[forsaken-headcanons]

hi gang I haven't talked about Jason much lately.. anyway time to not talk about Jason again.. im also off anon.. I'm becoming more confident (plus I'm gonna be talking more about my au on my tumblr so uhh.. am i allowed to say that? idk, but i already have so..) still gonna sign off as anon tho so it's easier for me to find my headcanons here 😓😓

also hi u guys are open again that's so silly i love you guys mwah don't go bald on August 23rd 2031 at 5.47pm GMT timezone.. /threat. <3

uhhh continuation of this ig..

https://www.tumblr.com/forsaken-headcanons/783700752669540352/hope-u-guys-r-okay-considering-there-is-315-asks?source=share

it's au time aka I lowks forgot to say that 1x1 is also being tortured because I hate them (lovingly) I need to torture my (second) fav killer, cuz I ain't doing nothing to my baby Jason. you will NOT catch me writing angst about JayJay 😭🙏

also actually laying this out well so it isn't as fuckass as my other ones 💔

FIRST - the 1x1 au lore.. >

- a prophecy was created about the first child of Telamon - a child that was yet to be born. The child would grow from a sweet, caring one into something engulfed by malice and hatred.

- Once the first child of Telamon - 1x1x1x1- was created, the whole of Robloxia fell silent, fearful of what the child would become. Those who followed prophecies rule by rule and those who enjoyed results were excited. Would the first child of Telamon break the prophecy? Or would it be consumed by it's density just like the others before it?

- When Telamon deemed 1x1 to be old enough, he told them about the prophecy, about the fate that laid ahead of them. Though he left out very key parts out, parts that would eventually ruin 1x1.

- 1x1 was distraught, they didn't want to become a creature of hatred, they didn't want that for themselves. So they tried to stop it. They tried to always make sure that they were nice, that they never did anything that could be deem hateful. They did it so much to the point they became obsessed with it.

- And the obsession eventually led to the hatred. The obsession consuming 1x1 to the point where they hated it. They HATED.

- Thus the prophecy was fulfilled. And the first child of Telamon was turned into the creature of malice and hate that they were always fated to be.

- Now, what was the part that Telamon left out? The part that had made 1x1 ruin themselves without even knowing about it? Well, the prophecy stated that the one who tries to be the opposite of what they are destined, they will be it. If 1x1 hadn't tried to not become hatred and malice, they wouldn't have become it.

- If Telamon had told them that they didn't have to be overly nice and never hateful, they would have not become this. If they stayed the way they were before being told about the prophecy, THEY WOULDVE BEEN FINE.

- Taphs made a some point during this uhh yea he's just there, there's no prophecy about him , he was just made to serve Builderman

- UHHH they get forsakened

- rip

uh anyway au headcanons - (is it really headcanons if its canon to my au.. UHH)

- they/her 1x1 my love.. they prefer they/them tho so

- a sensitive soul but doesn't like to show it cuz she's supposed to be this disgusting creature of hatred - THEY CANT BE SENSITIVE!!!

- They can't stand being alone , lowks always with John Doe (I ship 1xdoe so uhh.. my otp since like 2016 I love them..)

- cuz yk they're a being of hatred they get angry a LOT quicker than anyone

- favourite movie is Lego Batman (It's the only movie Telamon let them watch.)

- surprisingly good at many card games, she prolly played some with Robloxians when they were obsessed with being nice so they just gradually got better at it

- they HATE touch.. always have despite ignoring it for like a realllllyyyy long time, they move away from touch the SECOND they feel it. Recoils at it.

- likes to paint, especially people they like and sceneries that are nice looking

- they have a ranking of all the killers and survivors, Shedletsky is at the bottom of both.. despite not even being a killer..

erm that's all I have for now hehe /silly (mod c00lkidd has infected me.) anyway SORRY FOR THIS LONG ASS WALL OF TEXT FUCKIJG HELL HOLY ESSAY.. - mb gang half of this is just the intro erm.. oopies

- 🔪🥩 anon

(not my drawing)

Self fulfilling prophecies... Doomed self fulfilling prophecies oh my god that makes me so sick. Being so afraid of becoming something it instead comes the other way around oh my god

1x being sensitive makes sense to me, being a literal being of hatred they would be rather sensitive to negative emotions and easily triggered.

[chaotic-major]

Every time I throw my hat into the prediction ring, I always end up a little to the left. That being said, I am not one to give up easily, so here we go.

I’m not sure Rui 5 will be the next wxs event.

WAIT!! Before you start calling me a dumb stupid bozo for even thinking that, just hear me out.

Backlight lens flare is agreed to be a pretty nothingburger event (a fun nothingburger event with bakuno reki, but nonetheless). The only lore piece for Rui’s story that it introduces is the unnamed director who (as far as I’m aware) has not reappeared.

With the second WL for WxS having come and gone, it seems like colorpallette could take it two ways, imo:

A) We touch back on Asahi’s offer to Rui, possibly leading to a trust based conflict (“why didn’t you tell us in the first place?!” Yada yada yada)

Or

B) We find out who the unnamed director is and whats his deal (who knows, maybe he wants to steal Rui away to his own theatre company)

With Nene and Emu’s 5th and 6th events tying off the opera troupe part of the arc, and the WL2 finalizing that they have completed their training tour, I can really only see us returning to PXL.

A lot of people, myself included, really want and believe that Rui 5 will be the arc ender, especially because he hasn’t been one yet and well, why wouldn’t we want a Rui event as our arc ender after a YEAR AND A HALF without a focus of his.

Problem is, there is one massive loose end from the very beginning of this arc that hasn’t been touched on since it was introduced back at the start of this arc.

That’s right everybody, I’m talking about Nakayama from A story where you are the star. Introduced in the 8th chapter of the event, “Becoming the character” the entire thing is almost 12 minutes of 3 main things: Rui’s inner monologue, Tsukasa acting as Nakayama, and “Nakayama’s” inner dialogue.

And that’s the most important part. Nakayama’s inner dialogue. Because it’s not Tsukasa’s, they tell us this directly.

As far as I am aware, this has never happened before. Every time a character, especially Tsukasa, is acting and we see their inner dialogue, their name replaces the characters name.

Even more important is the fact that only Rui notices. No one else, not Bakuno, not Nene, not EMU. No one but Rui is aware. In this case, two things are established.

1) Rui and us as the audience are the only people privy to this. This makes Rui particularly special.

2) While Tsukasa is aware after that he went too far with his acting, only Rui is able to establish how dire what happened is, to us and himself.

So, you might be thinking, Major, where are you going with this? I’ll tell you.

During Mizuki 5, the writers made a direct, in universe parallel between Mizuena and Ruikasa’s relationships. Mizuki and Rui being saved and learning to open their hearts to others once more because of Ena and Tsukasa. In Ena 5, Mizuki is properly “saved”, assured that she will never lose Ena as a friend and support in her life, that she will never be alone because of who she is. But Rui already had this experience through the main story of WxS. So what’s my point?

I think what’s going to happen is that we will be getting a similar 2 part continuation event with Tsukasa 6 and Rui 5, as we did with Mizuki 5 and Ena 5. They reintroduce the loose end fact that Tsukasa’s method of acting is getting dangerous for him personally, and with Rui as the only person who has any prior knowledge and experience of this happening before, is the only person able to help Tsukasa, to return the favour and save him from himself. The reason I specify this will be a 2 part, continuing into Rui 5 as the arc ender, is because I think the initial efforts will fail. I think that no matter what Rui, or WxS as a whole do, they won’t be able to help him right away.

While it’s never said outright, it’s heavily implied that Tsukasa is a method actor. I myself was an actor for a bit, and can give one or two cents on the matter. Method acting is often described to be the most effective way of portraying a character, the most realistic, but also the most harmful to the actor. Looking at how Tsukasa’s acting has evolved over each event, I think we’re standing on the precipice. Back in Sky’s Edge he was emulating the conditions Rio went through to better understand him (ie, trying to survive off of water for three straight days), that’s method acting. With the Nakayama thing in Story where you are the star, “Becoming the Character” and all that, and acting the character to a point that the narrative tells us that his inner dialogue isn’t his anymore but the character’s? Yeah, I’m calling that method acting.

All of this is to say, the next big step Tsukasa can take in his acting journey, is off the cliff; trying so hard to be the character he’s given and succeeding. Once an actor has adopted the mannerisms, the attitude, the thoughts of the character they’re playing, it’s hard for them to unlearn them. You hear stories of how actors can’t get rid of an accent they adopted for a movie, or have a limp because the character they played did.

That is where I believe Tsukasa is heading, and only Rui can save him. This is why I will say, that by the end of Tsukasa 6, Rui fails; hardening his resolve to save Tsukasa from himself, the consequences of his acting, and pull him back to Rui, to WxS, and to himself in Rui 5’s story.

TL;DR I don’t think Rui has enough narrative pieces in play to make his 5th event narratively compelling or the arc ender, which is why Project “lore over schedule” Sekai will have Tsukasa 6 as the july 7th hakolim and Rui 5 as the arc ender to tie up the Nakayama loose end.

Or I’ll be wrong. Who knows. Only proseka and Apollo at this point. What do you all think?

[sowhatwereyousaying]

A Promise - Part 7

summary: Maybe it's time for you to finally have what you needed

warnings: age gap (reader is in their 20s and gong yoo is in his 40s); fake dating, pr

It had been three days since the gala. Three days since Gong Yoo leaned in, smiling like he knew exactly what he was doing, and said the kind of thing that changes the temperature of your blood.

“Maybe I don’t want it to be fake anymore.”

He hadn’t said anything after that. Just smiled, all maddening mystery and moved on to the next guest like he hadn’t just cracked my brain in half.

I, on the other hand, had spent the last 72 hours doing one of two things: 

Replaying that moment on loop and avoiding every attempt he made to reach out.

Texts. Missed calls. A ridiculous flower delivery with a note that just said:

“For someone who almost ran me over with a shoe. Call me, menace.”

He was giving me space, which I appreciated. Kind of.

Until the knock came.

It was a Thursday evening. I was wearing mismatched socks because I was too lazy and drained to find the other one and one of those oversized tshirts that had survived five years of laundry trauma. The knock came again gentle, like he knew I was standing on the other side, heart hammering.

When I opened the door, there he was. Baseball cap. Hoodie. Takeout in his hand. Like a very casual hallucination.

"Before you slam the door," he said, holding up the bag, "I brought dumplings. And I promise not to say anything confusing or vaguely romantic. Unless you want me to."

I blinked. Then stepped aside.

"You're lucky I'm hungry."

We sat on the floor like we’d done before dumplings between us, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, mine still drowning in that tragic tshirt.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It was... thoughtful. soft.

"I meant what I said, you know," he said, after a while, gently. "At the gala."

I nodded slowly, eyes on the food. "Yeah. I figured."

"But I also meant it when I said no pressure," he added. "I’m not trying to make this weird."

"You’re doing a terrible job," I muttered, and he laughed.

There it was again that thing he did. Made everything feel easy and heavy at the same time. Like gravity, but warmer.

"So what do we do now?" I asked, finally brave enough to look him in the eye.

"This whole... ‘accidental relationship that might be real’ thing?"

He looked at me like I was a question he liked trying to answer. And then, without saying a word, he scooted a little closer. Just enough for his shoulder to brush mine.

"I thought maybe we could just get to know each other," he said. "You know. Wild idea."

I laughed softly, feeling the heat creep into my cheeks. "Okay. Fine. What do you want to know?"

He tilted his head. "What’s your comfort movie?"

I blinked. "That’s your question?"

"It’s important," he said seriously. "Says everything about a person’s soul."

We went back and forth like that for hours. Comfort foods. Pet peeves. Weirdest injuries. First crushes. Each answer peeled back another layer. Each laugh felt closer.

By the time I realized how close we were sitting, his knee was brushing mine deliberately, steadily and my heart had lost all sense of rhythm.

At one point, the room went quiet again. The kind of quiet that means something.

He looked at me, that soft half smile playing on his lips. And this time, when he reached out fingers barely brushing my cheek I didn’t flinch.

The laughter had quieted to a comfortable hush. That kind of stillness where the world feels like it’s leaning in; listening.

Outside the window, the city glowed in soft, flickering lights. Inside, everything else had dimmed except for the warmth sitting between us.

Gong Yoo looked at me, really looked at me, like he was cataloging every micro-expression, every quiet shift. His eyes weren’t full of questions anymore. They were full of quiet certainty.

"You still look like you’re trying to run," he said gently, his voice just above a whisper.

I swallowed. "I’m not." "I just don’t know where I’m running to."

There was a flicker in his eyes then something tender, something sure. And instead of saying something slick or teasing, like he usually did, he leaned forward, closing the space between us inch by inch.

"Then stay here," he murmured. "Just for a little while. Just with me."

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t have to.

Because my body moved before my brain could trip over all the reasons I shouldn’t, and I leaned in first.

It wasn’t a fireworks kind of kiss. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy or dramatic.

It was… careful. Warm.Unfolding like something delicate.

His hand came up to the side of my face, slow and steady, like he was memorizing the shape of me. His thumb brushed my cheek once, and I swear I felt it in the soles of my feet.

I kissed him back with the kind of hesitation that comes from wanting something too much and the kind of wonder that comes from realizing you might actually have it.

He didn’t try to deepen it right away. Didn’t pull me closer too fast.

He just stayed there close, soft, like he was letting me decide how much to give.

And when we finally pulled apart, just a breath away, his forehead rested gently against mine.

"You okay?" he whispered.

I nodded. Then I laughed breathless and small.

"I think I forgot how to function for a second."

His lips brushed against my temple, and I felt him smile. "Same."

We didn’t talk much after that. Not because there was nothing left to say, but because everything that needed to be said had just passed between us in silence, in stillness, in that impossibly soft kiss.

I curled up beside him on the couch head resting on his shoulder, his arm gently wrapping around me like it had always belonged there.

And somehow, the chaos of how we met… didn’t feel so chaotic anymore. Not here. Not now.

Because this didn’t feel like a game. It didn’t feel like a PR stunt.

It felt real.

Slow and uncertain, sure but real in the way that mattered most, and for the first time since this wild thing began… I wasn’t scared of what would happen next.

a/n: So, I am aware that even if the story says that it was three days after the event, it's been much much longer than that and I am extremely sorry for that. It's just that life hasn't been "lifeing" recently and I just honestly haven't been able to be the best version of myself. This was written a while back, when I said I was going to be posting it but then, I came back home and it's not been the best. I am working on Part 8 as we speak and I PROMISE you guys that it will be out in a days time hehehe. I hope yall enjoy this and THANNK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE!!

taglist: @preppyfella @muchwita @shadow-tumbler @dyingswanpavlova @ririgy @lariem-blog2 @uurtekass @elliette-laine1 @breakmeoff @sarah-bear706318 @voxslays @celestialstar111

[adsagsona]

Tattoo

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Modern!Sihtric

Authors note: This is my first 'reader' fic. I don't have a clue if it's any good but when inspirations hits you have to go with the flow, right? English isn't my first language, so excuse the mistakes. Not beta-read.

Warnings: No warnings, just a cute first meeting.

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: You've been wanting to get a tattoo for a while and you finally got up the courage to do so. Lucky for you, the tattoo artist looks hot!

You walked into the tattoo parlour with a healthy dose of nerves. While you were talking to your friends the night before with a glass of wine in your hands, this sounded like a terrific plan. A tattoo could be pretty if it wasn’t too big and in the right place, your friends had assured you of that. It wasn’t too painful, they had explained. But of course none of them were up early enough and without a headache to actually come with you.

Taking a deep breath, you checked yourself. While you hadn’t done a lot of effort going out the door that morning, the skinny jeans and tshirt looked good and you and you managed a bright smile upon opening the door to the parlour.

A small bell chimed and the man who was currently standing at the desk looked up.

You couldn’t help but let out a small gasp at the mismatched eyes which settled on you. They looked so intense, before a small smile completely changed his already handsome face. 

It didn’t help that he looked every inch like you had thought a tattoo artist should look, the part of him that you could see anyway. The half shaven head with a braid in the middle and wavy black hair on the other, with a goatee and those eyes… together with a metalband shirt you had vaguely heard of was enough to make you nervous all over again.

“Hi.” You squeaked out when nearing the counter. “I ehm… I called ahead. Apparently Sihtric would be the best artist for what I have in mind?” You really hoped that the man behind the counter would be Sihtric, but of course you couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t the only tattoo artist working in this parlour.

“Then you’re lucky, that would be me.” The man answered and now the smile turned a little wider while he reached out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Oh great, now you had to shake his hand and you were sure yours was sweaty. Quickly wiping your palm off on your jeans you smiled politely and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

“So you needed me to get your design right? Do you have anything in mind?” Sihtric asked, coming straight to the point.

As he took up a tablet, you noticed that he had a few lines tattooed on his fingers, which made you curious. You didn’t dare to ask the meaning behind them at that moment though and quickly reached into your backpocket to your phone where you had stored a couple of pictures which served as inspiration.

“I would like a sort of ankle bracelet with a few… bangles to it I suppose.” You explained as you showed him the pictures. While the sketches on the wall made it seem like this kind of simple tattoo would be beneath him, Sihtric didn’t seem phased by the question. He took a picture of the one on your phone and diverted it to a program on his tablet where he took over the simple lines of a chain.

Some of his dark curls fell over his forehead and you had to restrain yourself from gently brushing them away. What was wrong with you?

“Can I take a picture of your ankle?”

“Wh… what?” Sihtric’s question took you a bit aback, together with the fact that you were looking a bit too closely at those broad shoulders.

“Then I can see how I can put the bracelet on your ankle. And see where to put the bangles so they are put where you want them.” He explained with a smile as if he had noticed just what you had been doing. A flush reached your cheeks and you quickly nodded, rolling up your jeans so that he could see your ankle.

“Alright.” He came from behind the desk and now you could clearly see his whole body which was not a disappointment at all. Briefly wondering why Sihtric was hiding in a tattoo parlour, you looked about where to set your foot so that he could take a picture. He produced a low stool.

“If you can take your shoe and sock off, that would be the easiest.” He held his tablet while you made to do as he requested, setting your foot on the stool.

“Thank you. Could you…?” Reaching out, Sihtric gently touched your ankle so that it had the right angle for him, snapped a picture and repeated this a few times. You were trying to ignore the flush that didn’t want to disappear from your cheeks. This was just a tattoo for crying out loud!

The corner of Sihtric’s mouth ticked up in a half smile and you took that as a cue to hurriedly put your sock and shoe back one while he walked back to the desk. Now that he had your ankle, he could study how to put the tattoo together. He drew a band around what he believed to be the right height and then hoovered his pen over it.

“Which kind of bangle would you like?” He asked.

You began to talk about the things that you loved which would be an inspiration source to use as a bangle. You thought something which would represent the love you held for your family and friends, and something which could express your love for travel. “And hope… I want something which stands for hope.” You murmured the last one with an apologetic smile. “Gods, that sounds stupid.”

“Of course not, it’s good to have hope.” Sihtric answered shortly as he made a few short notes beneath the picture. 

“Ok, I can work with all of this. Do you have an idea when you could come back for the actual tattoo? I need to work this out first, but some time next week maybe?” Sihtric suggested and you took up your phone again to see if you had time. 

You agreed on a time and Sihtric promised that he would send the sketch ahead of time, needing your phone number so that he could whatsapp it to you. Giving it to him, you parted with a little wave before going out the door.

Sneakily you took a picture from Sihtric through the large front window and sent it to your friends, not believing the luck you had with such a good looking and talented tattoo artist. Your friends quickly texted back, demanding to know if he was single and if you asked him out for a date.

All through the evening the texts flew back and forth, goading you into at least initiating a conversation about being single and dating while you were getting your tattoo the next week. Smiling you put your phone down, trying not to think about Sihtric any longer.

In the next week that proved to be difficult as he invaded your mind every now and again. At work, you looked at his picture. You imagined how his hair would feel if it brushed over your skin. Immediately you put it at the back of your mind, knowing that the chance of Sihtric being single was slim to none. 

A text popped up the day before your appointment. You had been waiting for it the entire week, it was a picture of the sketch Sihtric had made for you. With held in breath you opened it and it was perfect. The chain was sketched in delicate links, the bangles had the same kind of vibe and had the shape of a heart, an anchor and a compass which you could see as the symbols you wanted. He had drawn it over your ankle.

After a few minutes of simply staring at the picture, you texted back that you thought it was perfect and that you didn’t want to change a thing.

-THX means a lot- You got back almost immediately.

-Just speaking the truth, ur incredible-

Ok, maybe that was a bit much. When a blushing emoji came back, you knew that Sihtric had a sense of humour. You chuckled and put a grinning emoji back, saying that you would see him tomorrow.

-Looking forward to it!- You got back.

The nerves hadn’t abated the next day, on the contrary. This time it was for real, that tattoo would stay on your skin forever. You did like the whole concept and it would be done perfectly by Sihtric, you were sure of it. 

He was still the same handsome man you remembered and what you saw on the picture you took. Sihtric smiled again and gestured for you to come with him to behind the desk and towards an easy chair which could be leaned back. 

“Otherwise it’s hard to strap you down so you can’t move.” Sihtric commented and as your eyes widened he grinned at you. 

“I’m joking. But you will be more comfortable like this. Do you mind taking your shoe and sock off already?” Sihtric asked and you nodded, putting everything aside and then getting onto the chair.

He lifted the foot end of the chair so that he didn’t have to bend over so much. “Ok, I’m going to print the blueprint of the tattoo so that we can see the placement.” Sihtric explained and he returned in five minutes while holding the print up which he could rub off on your skin. He placed it on the ankle and carefully pulled away. The blue ink was noticeable and you looked at it.

“Check it in the mirror, is this alright for you?”

Sihtric was a professional, checking every last detail and you appreciated that. Going to the mirror, you checked your ankle. Standing behind you, Sihtric crouched down so that he could see it more clearly. A touch of his fingers and you suddenly felt a bit warmer. “Yes, this is perfect for me.” You nodded slowly.

“Alright, then we can start.”

While you made yourself comfortable on the chair, Sihtric prepared his station and pulled on skintight gloves so that he could work. He put his tablet near him so that he could look at the details on it as well.

“So, is there a reason behind the tattoo?” Sihtric asked as he looked at you for a moment.

“Ehm… well, I thought it would be a good point in my life to remind myself of the good things I have instead of focusing on the negative.” You began to explain while the first prick of the small needle began. It wasn’t pleasant but to your surprise it was easy to ignore if you talked to Sihtric.

“That’s a good reason, I get it.” He answered, not looking at you anymore, absorbed by his work. 

“Does the tattoo on your neck mean anything?” You asked a bit more boldly.

“Yup.” Sihtric answered, popping the ‘p’ but not answering the question. He finished the first line and wiped it clean before looking up. “Wisdom and chaos, it’s a serpent.” He then clarified, clearly enjoying the confused look on your face.

“You thought I was just a pretty face, huh?” He joked before working on and giving you the benefit of the doubt. You wanted to splutter an answer, but wasn’t sure if he actually wanted one. 

“Well… you do have a pretty face…” You began after a few minutes of silence. “But I like the meaning behind your tattoo. Says a lot about you.” 

“I like it when people think about what they want on their skin. Like you.” His fingers brushed lightly over your ankle. “Says a lot about you too.”

Sihtric concentrated on the ink and it didn’t take much more than half an hour to get all the details right. Once in a while he touched your ankle, turning it gently this way or that, or telling you how to shift in the chair.

You talked about tastes in music, Sihtric’s was all over the place, festivals and tv series to take your mind of the needle dragging over your skin.

You’d been on your phone in between and giggled just around the time Sihtric was done, pulling off the gloves. “Something funny?” 

“My friends are bitching at me again to take a picture of you… I might have texted them about how handsome my tattoo artist is.” You now grinned slowly, leaving Sihtric to blink just a second before he licked his lips.

“Then let’s oblige them… you’re done so. Want to look in the mirror?” He held out his hand so you could get off the chair. 

“It honestly looks amazing already. Thank you so much.” You told him as you took the few paces towards the mirror. You turned your leg one way and then the other, falling utterly in love with the elegant tattoo.

“Right… pictures…” You let out after a minute. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

In answer Sihtric wrapped his arm around your shoulders and waited for you to snap a picture, which you quickly did. What you did not expect was for him to kneel down and put his hand on your leg to point out the ankle tattoo. With a giggle you took that picture as well, before sending both to your friends.

“Alright, now back to business… you have to take good care of your ink. Put yourself on the chair again.” Sihtric nodded towards it and you hopped on, propping your leg up. He took out some salve and gently smeared it over the new ink, making you catch your breath. Wrapping your ankle, he gently patted it.

“All done. Make sure you keep up with the instructions, alright?” He held out a paper with instructions and you nodded with a smile. 

“I will, it’s too beautiful not to take care of it.” You smiled at Sihtric as you took the paper and put it away in your backpocket together with your phone which was buzzing with new messages. 

“We should put in an appointment after about… I think three months. Then it should be healed and I can see if it needs touchups.” Sihtric explained. Your heart skipped a beat, that meant you would see him again. Checking your schedule you found a date which suited the both of you. 

“How much do I owe you?” You then asked seeing as you had no other reason to linger about. 

“Well… I’ll give you a choice.” Sihtric leaned his arms on the desk. “I could tell you how much it is… or I could ask you out on a date? Which one would you prefer?”

 “Wh… I… oh…” You let out. “A date?” You questioned and he nodded, reaching out his hand to caress over your cheek.

“Yeah, a date. As in, we go somewhere nice, we have dinner… that type of stuff.” Sihtric looked utterly serious.

“I don’t mind a date.” You whispered softly and it made Sihtric smile.

“Good. A date it is then, beautiful.” He answered, brushing his lips over yours.

[momentomori24]

[This has been sitting in my draft for a while lol]

When it comes to Curly's failings, I always see people bring up his obvious failure to protect Anya and him prioritising Jimmy, who was the rapist in that situation. Which is completely valid btw and we should rake him through the coals for that alone even more. But I also see too many people saying that Curly "didn't enable Jimmy" or playing softball for his actions. And I could maybe see where that comes from if that incident was the only thing we had to point to-- but that wasn't all he did, is it? Curly being indifferent or not taking Jimmy's mistreatment and belittlement of Anya seriously was hinted at so much earlier than that.

Namely, the very first time we play from Curly's point of view. Let's just skip the fact that Curly was putting everyone in danger by not taking his psych evals seriously and simply giving the same answers to pass them even tho he was shown literal minutes after this scene being clearly not-sane, and go straight to the point I actually wanna get into. Which is this:

These scenes in isolation wouldn't be that bad. From his pov, it's played off as comical and it is. Jimmy being a brony (not really lmao) and getting playfully dragged over it is funny. But unfortunately this is the first example out of many for Curly's complacency. Anya is complaining about Jimmy not taking his psych evals or her seriously, which is easy to believe considering how much he rags on her for "not being a good nurse" (she kept Curly alive on hopes and dreams how dare you). So he keeps making her do silly and inappropriate reports she clearly doesn't wanna do, which is kinda shitty (also borders on harassment). But rather than actually saying something about Jimmy's behaviour or even acknowledging how it sucks he says this:

Mate, that's not a good thing 💀 He's clearly aware that the problem is Jimmy's lack of respect for Anya specifically. He knows that if he, his friend and a man in power, were the one doing the evals Jimmy wouldn't try that disrespect. But it's Anya, a meek woman who ranks lower than him so he thinks he can get away with it (which he DOES), and Curly's shown as comfortable in knowing that. He doesn't chew Jimmy out for making Anya uncomfortable nor does he reassure her that he will do something about it. All he does is take it off her hands this once and helps Jimmy power through it to get a good diagnosis (even tho we know he's DEFINITELY not sane either). He doesn't even mention Anya's discomfort or confront him on his inappropriate behaviour, just teases Jimmy in good fun instead because he doesn't think of it as anything serious. It's subtle and pretty minor in comparison to everything else, but I think it's worth pointing out. Especially because this convo takes place after Jimmy had assaulted her, which makes this so much worse.

If you need any more evidence of Curly being an enabler you need not look further than Anya herself. And I'm not just talking about the way he failed her here-- I'm talking about Anya's own view of Curly and the way said view influences her actions.

Just look at her choice of wording. "What would you have done". This is in response to him saying that she could've come to him if she were feeling stressed, which she-- in his eyes-- didn't. The question itself implies that she had no faith in Curly to actually help despite his insistence that he would've, which I think is significant because it shows that she's very much aware of Curly's shortcomings when it comes to her situation AND it's one of the first (or the first time) she actually verbalised her lack of trust towards him or anyone directly. Prior to this scene she had told him about her rape and the rapist, presumably because she trusted him to handle it. And he dismissed her because the rapist was his best friend, and that evidently deeply scarred her. Enough so that she secretly took the gun and hid it someplace else and didn't even tell Curly were that was, because she knows that if Curly has access to it there's a so much greater chance Jimmy will have too, insinuated by the line "the least I can do is make sure he never gets it either". Speaking about the gun:

It sucks so bad that this perception of him isn't even inaccurate nor unjustified. That despite everything Jimmy had done to her and everything he could still do to her, he'd very likely still not allow her access to the gun for protection. Because that's exactly what he didn't do anyway. He didn't attempt to keep her safe from Jimmy, instead he just pretended that nothing was wrong and still let Jimmy's belittlement of her pass. He didn't give her the gun after the incident, because she wouldn't have hid the case if he had. Despite his desperate reassurance that he'd do anything, he did nothing but make it worse for her and she KNOWS that. It's so frustrating knowing he entrusted the axe to Swansea when he needed it but not the gun to Anya when she needed it too. Also this:

The fact that his knee-jerk reaction to her admitting that she's pregnant was "Who would you--" is so fucked, especially considering she's already told him what happened. "Who would you" what? Who would you fuck? Who would you have sex with? That choice of wording drives me up a wall-- SHE wouldn't and didn't do anything or anyone. That was JIMMY. The potential sentence implies that she had any choice or agency in her pregnancy. She didn't. And the fact that Curly had to ask "who" insinuates that he's been putting Jimmy's action out of sight and out of mind the whole time, choosing to not think about them or what happened to Anya at all. And considering he still made her do Jimmy's evaluations despite being able to do them himself and literally didn't even think of making sure she gets psych evals done too--especially AFTER getting sexually assaulted--that might actually be the case (I haven't seen anyone make a stink about that piece of info so I'm going to because what kinda colossal fuck up IS that??).

I vaguely had a post like this in mind but seeing so many people be like "well Anya did some wrong stuff too like leaving Curly alone with Jimmy but you don't get mad at HER for that so why is Curly not doing anything about Jimmy being alone with Anya so different??" actually makes me want to blow some people up. Jimmy's an abuser, sure, but Anya has no real reason to believe that he'd actually harm Curly. From her perspective, they were close, close enough that Curly would not only let Jimmy continuously disrespect her but also get away with assaulting her too. That, and she knows that Jimmy was closer to Curly than anyone and more likely to be civil around him than he ever was to her. She has barely any reasons to suspect Jimmy would harm Curly when they're alone. Curly, on the other hand, has every fucking reason on the planet to think Jimmy would harm her when they're alone. He knows he raped her (likely in her room at night too). He knows that he sexually harasses her. He knows that he doesn't respect her at all. And that was BEFORE the crash. Anya tried insisting on giving Curly his medicine, only for Jimmy to keep aggressively insisting that he'll take care of it despite her protests. Curly didn't try to keep them separate at all even though he was the Captain and had the power to do so. And this should go without saying, but leaving your rapist alone with his best friend that he was close to and enabled/protected him and leaving your friend alone with the woman he raped (and might have repeatedly assaulted given his free access to her) is NOT THE SAME and I'm going to start chucking some people down a waterfall because what the fuck is that argument 💀 Actually leave it to the fandom of the game where the rape of a woman is the catalyst for the events that unfold to use her trauma to defend the guy that enabled it in the first place. Bloody hell.

The reason why this whole Curly discourse pisses me off is because it-- from what I can see-- ONLY brings up his failures 1-0 days before the crash and the Dead Pixel scene (or all the discussion around other points are drowned out by those two). Those scenes, while important to talk about, are not the only things he's done, and focussing on those as the only things is a mistake that comes short of understanding the issue. When it comes to Curly the main defences I see for him are "he was trying not to escalate the situation" and "he was trying to keep things under control the best he can" and "he was waiting for the right time to help Anya", but those don't work when you look at the bigger picture of everything he's done.

He half-assed through his psych eval despite clearly not being sane (and KNOWING he's barely sane, he literally admits it to Jimmy's face). He still continued to task her with Jimmy's psych evals. He brushed over Jimmy's sexual harassment of her as a joke. He didn't think about making sure she got psych evals done herself after being raped. He gave Swansea the axe but didn't give Anya the gun despite it being for "unrest amongst the crew" (whatever the hell THAT means). He let her assault slip his mind that she had to remind him. He's literally a blond man. He took no action to hold Jimmy responsible for anything, and prioritised how his violation of Anya would affect him rather than her. He ignored her demands for him to get rid of Jimmy. He still allowed Jimmy free reign of the ship as co-pilot even after he was openly fantasising about killing everyone and had a major motive and the means to do just that. He was potentially thinking of making her miscarry to cover up what happened. He was so accustomed to her sucking up being disrespected and disturbed that he didn't even notice a difference in her behaviour until she hid the fucking gun. There's so much other shit he's done and hasn't done, and not talking about them or glossing over them makes it so easy for people to argue that he isn't actually an enabler or just minimise the severity of his neglect.

And while I'm already dragging Curly through the mud, I might as well just drag Swansea too. I've seen too many people being like "Anya should've told Swansea instead" and "Swansea was the one that actually took responsibility". Like, y'all realise he's not that much better than Curly, right? He already knew about what happened to Anya-- he admits it to Jimmy's face-- but he didn't do shit. He knew, but he still got completely shitfaced for months despite her earlier protestation to that (for very understandable reasons). He knew, but he still let Jimmy have the axe AND be alone with Anya while having it. He knew, but when Anya locked herself in the Medical and Daisuke and Jimmy asked for his help he didn't budge nor really showed any care. He knew, but the reason he finally decided to do something about Jimmy wasn't Anya, it was Daisuke. Her suffering and her eventual death weren't enough for him to take action either.

This game, on top of everything else, is a great depiction of rape culture. It doesn't just include the rapists, but the people (mostly men) that stay silent, do nothing, make excuses for and protect the perpetrator for whatever reason, and Swansea and Curly (Curly way more so than Swansea) are both active contributors to the environment that allowed for evil to flourish and continue unhindered until it destroyed them all. And while that arguably doesn't make them evil themselves or as bad as Jimmy, they are so much more a part of the bigger problem than the fandom likes to admit.

[Ok since this is kinda gaining a bit of traction please consider helping these guys out here, here and here. Thanks!]

[crowlore]

man. been thinkin bout this sleeping arrangement

do you think the twins slept in rem's bed the entire year or only after tesla

[lockedtowers]

stop a/starion has a BRAND NEW SIM AVAILABLE ON MODTHESIMS FOR THE SI/MS 2

[seventh-district]

Are you sad? Are you miserable? Is your life falling apart? Is your body falling apart? Does your head feel like it’s full of cotton, or perhaps TV static? Does it feel like the world is crumbling around you? Is it getting harder to force yourself through the daily motions? Is happiness getting increasingly harder to find?

Why not consider making a large, hyperfixation-fueled impulse purchase?

They won’t tell you this, but all of the happiness and satisfaction you’re searching for, along with each of those little chemicals that make your brain feel good, are all hidden within your very next large, hyperfixation-fueled impulse purchase!

So why don’t you go on ahead and grab that credit card, throw caution to the wind, and chase that good feeling? You certainly won’t regret it. No one has ever regretted making a large, hyperfixation-fueled impulse purchase! Never!