#she plays the game and she plays the game GOOD and she is so. so damn cool for it.

[buildthoughts]

Minecrafters Using Reference

Reference as in real world architecture, not other minecrafters' builds, though that's a fair way to learn too. Studying real world architecture gives insights about designing buildings, while studying other minecrafters would give insight into how to accomplish certain effects in Minecraft.

I didn't have more than passing interest in architecture before watching mcyt, but now whenever I'm outside, I'm evaluating the buildings around me. Do I like their shape? color? Any interesting details? Any wear or texture? And above all: How would you do that detail/shape/etc in minecraft? (please note: I don't even play minecraft)

Rendition and Inspiration

There's a minecraft project called BuildtheEarth that's replicating the earth in minecraft on a 1 to 1 scale. There's some fantastic builds on there.

On hermitcraft, Joe Hills is known for creating to scale renditions of real world places/objects. In season 10, he's tackled a project of massive scale with Bell Labs. He used a map from the library of congress to layout all the shapes!

These are examples of renditions/replicas/copies/whatever you want to call it (Although Joe's doubles as a community build area in place of massive parking lots).

Then there's using the buildings for inspiration. This may involve just taking bits and pieces. Or maybe you just take a color palette. Or maybe just the shape. Maybe you don't take anything but vibes. As a general rule, I think having multiple sources of inspiration is important so the new build doesn't end up feeling like a rendition instead of its own thing.

Bdubs in season 9 used the bakery from Kiki's Delivery Service as inspiration for his mud cafe. It can be seen in the wood framing, the stairs, the archway, the shape, the shed, the chimney designs. But the colors, the composition, Bdubs made changes that made it his own and combined the addition to his previous shop Moss o Menos.

The aesthetics of Geminitay's season 10 base is based on the video game Dredge. I feel like the most obvious influence is in her research castle and fishing boats. She used inspiration from the spooky sea creatures in the game to create a uniquely frightening angler shop.

In Pearl's Build a Day series, she did a week focused on real world places. Here's the one she designed after a countryside home in Australia (her home country):

Goodtimeswithscar in season 7, when starting Aqua Town, based his shop on old department stores:

I like looking at his Aqua Town builds in comparison to his Scarland Main Street facades, which draw additional inspiration from Disneyland:

I feel like, comparing the builds you can see how he's grown; he's learned new detailing tricks, found colors and textures that work better with the architecture style. The main street has a similar layout to Disneyland, but his buildings are all unique.

Mogswamp is working on a massive build that's based on architecture drawings from Renzo Picasso:

He's incorporating groin vaults from roman architecture too!

I think builders learning about existing architecture is so good. It can give them so many ideas to add into their toolbox. It reminds them of small details that give builds life, like small sheds, some pipes, porches. And the builds don't need to be realistic; My mind goes to work by Shovel and Joel. Or everything Mumbo has done in season 10.

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I’m doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked. amd he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[starcandybby]

rings and realizations

haechan x reader

summary: while shopping with Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun on a rare day off, Haechan lingers to long at the jewelry store which prompts questions and encouragement.

minors pls dni

warnings: shitty writing, reader is only in a flashback. reader has she/her pronouns, FLUFF, talks of marriage and engagements, 00z tease haechan but he takes it like a champ, haechan is referred to as donghyuck in this because I can, italics are flashbacks!

─────── ౨ৎ ─────── ౨ৎ ───────

It's a rare day off for Donghyuck. In between NCT Dream and 127 schedules, he'd be lucky to sleep in before practice. But an entire day off? Maybe once in a blue moon- and probably not even that often.

Donghyuck would have liked to spend the day with you- preferably in bed, maybe playing video games with you nestled between his legs. However, much to his dismay, when you heard Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun invited Donghyuck to go shopping, you encouraged him to join them.

"Baby," Hyuck huffed, "I see them all the time. I don't need to go shopping with them."

"But, working with them is different! When was the last time you spent some quality time with them- without the pressure of cameras and practice and idol life?" You returned, soft but firm.

Donghyuck rolled his eyes, knowing you were 100% right. It is different spending time with his friends without the context of their jobs; it was more natural. He didn't feel like he had to embody the persona of Haechan from NCT. It was freeing. But, Donghyuck was also stubborn. What was so wrong about wanting to spend time with his girlfriend on a rare day off?

"Plus!" You continued, only encouraged by his eye-roll, "You've been so focused on 127 activities, you probably haven't seen them in a few weeks." A pause, "And, passing them in the company building doesn't count Hyuck." A soft smile graced your lips when you finished, letting him know that you were teasing him. If he really didn't want to go, you would drop the subject and welcome him with open arms on his day off.

"Yeah, yeah fine I'll go." You smile grew at your boyfriend’s response. "But! I get to sleep in, I want to have lunch and dinner together, and I want extra cuddles after dinner."

Your smile was extra wide now, causing the end of Donghyuck's lips to slightly turn up, unmasking his attempt at being serious.

"It's a deal!" And you sealed it with a kiss on his cheek.

So, here he was. At a luxury department store that was seemingly deserted when the four idols arrived. He suspects Jaemin and Renjun had a hand in that. He's half listening to the three discuss what stores they want to stop in; the other half of him is wondering which stores he'd like to stop in himself. Donghyuck isn't committed to a particularly style or brand; if he likes a piece, he'll buy it.

God, he misses you. And, at this moment, he really misses shopping with you, and how your eyes would light up when you really liked a clothing item on him or how you'd get all shy when he returned the compliments.

"Let's stop by Ferragamo first?" Renjun's question snaps Donghyuck out of his daydream. The younger one nodded and followed the three others.

-

Donghyuck hated to admit that you were right. (You always are). But spending time with his brothers felt good. There was no pressure; they could be themselves.

So far, Donghyuck had picked up a few things for himself- new glasses frames, a belt, and a new shirt. For you, he found a luxury purse and matching bracelets for you both. Anniversary gifts secured.

Now, the four men found themselves in Tiffany & Co. Jaemin had mentioned wanting to find some accessories for an upcoming event. While Renjun and Jaemin talk with the sales associate, Donghyuck decides to wander around the store.

He wasn't looking for anything in particular; he had enough jewelry at home and he's not sure Tiffany & Co is his style anyway. So, he just walks around the display cases to pass the time.

Donghyuck has seen so many diamond necklaces, bracelets, and earrings that they're all starting to blur together.

Until, he stumbles upon three display cases of rings.

He almost just walks by but something sturs in his chest seeing the diamond rings. A feeling that tells him to stop, even for just a second.

Donghyuck's eyes move over the rings, taking note of all the different cuts, sizes, and styles.

And he finally caves.

He lets himself imagine which ring would look best sitting on the finger of your left hand.

Which one would you like? What does your dream engagement ring look like?

You two had never discussed marriage or your weddings in depth. But, phrases like: "in our first home", "our kids" , and "when we're married" were not uncommon in such casual conversations about your futures.

Donghyuck was sure hopeful that you would say yes to his proposal, someday.

His eyes continued to move across the display cases, his brain analyzing what you might like or dislike about each ring. He doesn't even notice a faint shadow that appears next to him.

"Getting married soon are we?" Jeno asks smugly. Donghyuck need not to even look at the man to know the teasing smile he's sporting. He's too in his head right now to play along, so he ignores Jeno's question.

"Do you see any that you think she'll like?" He asks; voice coming through serious, almost as an attempt to mask any kind of vulnerability that might lie in it.

Thankfully, Jeno picks up Donghyuck's vocal queue and drops any teasing remarks he may have had prepared. He starts to assess the rings as closely as Donghyuck.

Jeno points out some rings that Donghyuck agrees you'll like. The latter continues to eye the pieces of jewelry while the former now observes his best friend.

Donghyuck. Engaged.

When Jeno first met you, first saw how you and his brother interacted, he knew you were it for him. He just didn't know that his friend was so serious about it so soon.

Soon? Well, you and Donghyuck have been dating for 2 years now, Jeno muses.

"Didn't know you were thinking about asking." Jeno tries to casually begin. He wants Donghyuck to be honest, but he doesn't want to broach the topic too seriously for his best friend to close off.

"I wasn't but I am now." Donghyuck absentmindedly answers, eyes still trained on the rings. But, Jeno doesn't miss the way his eyebrows pinch together and how his fingers can't seem to stay still, always fidgeting in some way.

"How soon?" Jeno continues.

"Not yet." Donghyuck replies.

A moment passes, and another.

"But soon."

Jeno's lips curl up at that. And this is his queue to shift to a more teasing tone.

"Our Hyuckie is getting married!" He shakes Donghyuck's shoulders, finally pulling him away from staring down Tiffany's many rings.

Donghyuck rolls his eyes and shakes Jeno off him, "And you're not going to be the best man so don't even ask."

Jeno feigns shock, "If I beg to Y/N, she'll make you make me the best man."

"I can resist her no problem."

To this Jeno howls in laughter, catching the attention of the other two as they make their way over, shopping bags in hand.

"What's so funny?" Renjun asks, eyebrows raised at Jeno.

“Hyuck just said he can resist Y/N!” Jeno said; words paired with a teasing smile.

"Ah! You're funny." Jaemin lightly slaps Donghyuck's arms, in which he rolls his eyes and freigns annoyance.

But, it's Renjun who notices the merchandise before them, making the connection quite quickly.

"Are you proposing to Y/N?!" Renjun asks, holding a tone of surprise, yet excitement.

Donghyuck feels too shy to confirm Renjun's suspicions confidently. But, his bashful smile and avoidance of eye contact tells the older brother all he needs to know.

"Are you serious?" It's Jaemin's turn to become excited, eyes sparkling at the thought of Donghyuck getting married, to you no less.

The fiancé-to-be nods and rubs the back of his neck.

"It's seriously no big deal. Plus, it won't even happen for a while. I want to wait until everything calms down. So no need to get all excited..." Donghyuck says sternly. But his brothers know better.

As he was rambling, Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno's smiles only grew. Donghyuck is nervous. They're sure they can count the number of times they've seen him this nervous on one hand.

"Okay, okay. We get it. We'll leave it alone." Renjun lets it go for Donghyuck's sake and starts to lead the group out of the store.

Jeno and Donghyuck trail behind the other two. The older one can't help but get one last comment in:

"She'll say yes, you know?"

To this, Donghyuck doesn't say anything. But, Jeno doesn't miss the blush that blooms on his cheeks.

─────── ౨ৎ ─────── ౨ৎ ───────

disclaimer: This is purely fiction- nothing in these works reflect real of these people.

a/n: ahhh thank you for reading! I'm in my hyuck feels as always. I wanted to write something small to get me back into writing a little bit. likes, reblogs, and comments are always always appreciated <3

[endangeredspeciesidentifier]

species found!

this is perhaps evil but I can boost my mood in almost any situation by playing a game called "what was my mom doing at this age?" like rn for instance I'm sleepy because I had a 12 hour work day + stayed up late, and my stomach hurts a little from the enormous chimichanga I smashed for dinner, and my head hurts a little bit from the fat margaritas I had with the chimichanga. and it's like hmm, okay, not optimal, but when my mom was this age she had a 2.5 year old to deal with. can you fucking imagine. can't stay in bed decadently bemoaning your overindulgences because there's a goblin in the next room that's utterly dependent on you for food and hygiene and social needs and if you drop the ball you've fucked up a perfectly good person. and I'm pretty normal so shout out to her for keeping it together but god that couldn't be me, I like fucking around way too much.

Slender snouted crocodile (Mecistops cataphractus)

listed as Critically Endangered

this is perhaps evil but I can boost my mood in almost any situation by playing a game called "what was my mom doing at this age?" like rn for instance I'm sleepy because I had a 12 hour work day + stayed up late, and my stomach hurts a little from the enormous chimichanga I smashed for dinner, and my head hurts a little bit from the fat margaritas I had with the chimichanga. and it's like hmm, okay, not optimal, but when my mom was this age she had a 2.5 year old to deal with. can you fucking imagine. can't stay in bed decadently bemoaning your overindulgences because there's a goblin in the next room that's utterly dependent on you for food and hygiene and social needs and if you drop the ball you've fucked up a perfectly good person. and I'm pretty normal so shout out to her for keeping it together but god that couldn't be me, I like fucking around way too much.

[wosospacegirl]

https://x.com/barcacomio/status/1916523453164785667

omg this is soooo kika and r coded omg even during all the chaos there's only one person they want to be with

The final whistle had barely blown before the pitch dissolved into chaos.

Blue and red flags waved from the stands, players sprinted in every direction, and the small crowd roared with the kind of electricity only a Champions League semifinal win could summon.

But even in the flood of movement and noise, Y/n’s eyes searched for only one person.

Kika.

She spotted her near the sideline, propped up on crutches, her right leg still in a brace.

She was laughing–of course she was–cheeks flushed, clutching a tiny Barça flag like she hadn’t just watched the game from the bench. Like she hadn’t spent the past weeks in physio, forcing a smile through the frustration.

Y/n groaned under her breath. She could already feel her blood pressure rising.

Unbelievable.

Without thinking, she cut across the pitch, dodging teammates and cameras until she was in front of her. Arms crossed.

Frown locked in place.

“Kika,” she said, firm and unimpressed.

Kika’s head snapped up, and for a second, her entire face lit up. Like Y/n was the only person she'd been waiting to see.

“Y/n!” she chirped. “Did we just make it to the final or what?”

Y/n didn’t respond. She was already reaching out, steadying her by the elbow. “You’re not supposed to be on the pitch.”

Kika blinked. “But--”

“You promised you would rest,” Y/n continued, narrowing her eyes at the brace. “You should be sitting down.”

“I was sitting,” Kika said sweetly. “But then you guys started winning--I got excited.”

Y/n sighed and pulled her into a careful hug, muttering, ���You’re the most stubborn person I have ever met.”

Behind them, chaos spun on–flags, hugs, victory cries–but for Y/n, everything else faded away. 

Kika was here. And for now, that was all she cared about.

“You’re the one that carried us today,” Kika whispered, her voice soft, nose brushing Y/n’s cheek.

“I just did my job,” Y/n muttered, cheeks pink.

“You did a very good job, then.”

Y/n was about to grumble something sarcastic when she caught the way Kika’s expression shifted. Her lips trembled slightly. The shine in her eyes wasn’t just excitement anymore.

“Hey,” Y/n said gently. “What’s wrong?”

Kika blinked quickly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It’s nothing. I just... I didn’t think I would get to see this. Not like this.”

Y/n’s chest tightened. She pulled her in closer.

“You should be playing,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry you can't, meu bem.”

Kika shook her head. “Don’t get mad. I’m still here. I got to see the team, you--it's just a lot to take in, I'm still very proud of you guys.”

Y/n's arms never loosened. She held her like she was afraid to let Kika go.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” Y/n said softly, then paused, realising how stiff and clinical it sounded coming out of her mouth. Her face warmed. “I mean--crying’s allowed. Like, you have full permission. From me... I mean, you can cry, and I’ll comfort you. No panic. Totally normal.”

Kika let out a wet little laugh into her shoulder, her fingers curling tighter into the fabric of Y/n’s kit. “You’re such a robot sometimes.”

“Yeah, well,” Y/n grumbled, shifting slightly to shield herself better from the press of cameras. “But I just made it to the final of the Champions League, so I think it’s ok..”

And just like that, Kika laughed again, brighter this time–but still tucked into her shoulder.

It wasn’t dramatic–it was the kind of crying that came from relief, from months of holding it all in.

“I love you,” Kika whispered.

Y/n closed her eyes, her voice barely above the noise of the crowd. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know. Me too.”

They stood there in it, in the mess of joy and exhaustion and all the things they weren’t quite saying.

And then–

“KIKINHA!”

Y/n flinched as a familiar voice pierced the air. Her head turned slowly, almost like she already knew what was coming.

Alexia came charging toward them at full speed, eyes wide and sparkling with victory. She didn’t stop before she reached them, launching herself into a full-body hug like crutches weren’t a thing that existed.

“We did it!” Alexia shouted, practically bouncing. “I told you we would win this one for you, Kika!”

Y/n stood there, stone-faced. “Yes, of course. Ruin our moment. Thank you, Alexia.”

Alexia just grinned wider. “You’re welcome,” she said cheerfully, still latched onto both of them.

Kika laughed, still breathless, her eyes rimmed pink from crying, but so full of light. She was taking it all in.

And even Y/n, grumpy, overprotective, completely in love, couldn’t help but smile, just a little.

“This is the worst day of my life,” she muttered, hopelessly squished between a beaming Alexia and a teary, laughing Kika.

But she didn’t let go.

Not of Kika. Not for a second.

..

Sorry, this is small, I got like zero energy to write anything remotely worth reading.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Worthy

jegulus - anonymous request for muggle jegulus hurt/comfort

CW: blatant transphobia. Like VERY blatant. Along with misgendering and mentions of violence. Putting it under a 'read more' for a reason. Obviously I don't believe what is written in the fake comments portrayed in this microfic.

A small, distressed noise caused James to pause his game and look over to the shorter man curled up on the couch next to him. “Alright, baby?” he asked softly, ignoring the voices of the people he’d been playing with and taking off his headset.

“Fine,” Regulus mumbled, expression cloudy, scowling at the phone in his hand as he continued to scroll.

Knowing his boyfriend well enough to know ‘fine’ meant ‘bad’ and ‘go away’ meant ‘cuddle me now,’ James gently reached for Regulus’s phone, ignoring his weak noises of protest. 

Nervously, he looked at the screen, already guessing at what he would see.

18-Year-Old Transgender University Student Attacked by His Classmates, Hospitalized, the headline of an article read. And the comments below it? So many of them said things like, ‘Good, glad she was put in her place’ and ‘Get this kid into an institution’ and ‘Good on those kids, these weirdos need to be taught a lesson, let's get all of them’ and ‘So fucked up…girls cutting off their tits and boys cutting off their dicks. What has the world come to?’

James’s heart broke. He looked over to Regulus, who was biting at his quivering lip and looking away determinedly. No words could help this. “Come here, love,” he said softly, opening his arms for the other man, who curled close to him instantly.

He didn’t hear the tears, but he felt them. The wet spot, slowly soaking through his shirt, and Regulus’s silently shaking form.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you, and you’re just as worthy of being yourself as everyone else. Don’t forget that.”

He just hoped, one day, other people would realize that. But until they did, he would be the first in line to fight for the amazing boy in his arms.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK, COMES TO LIGHT

PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.

WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.

A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname

You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.

“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.

Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.

“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”

They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”

“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”

They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.

“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”

Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”

Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.

Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”

Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.

Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.

You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.

He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”

Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”

“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”

He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.

“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.

It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.

“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain't gonna save itself.”

"You're so brave," one of them fawns.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.

“Let’s go before I regret it.”

Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”

With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.

“They’re so hot.”

“How you get any work done is beyond me.”

With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”

“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.

“Well? Aren't we all thinking it?”

“Of course not!” You squeak.

“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.

“Ha! You totally would!”

Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”

“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.

“Yes.”

“I could!” Your second friend shouts.

“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.

You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.

“You’re telling me…tha you‘n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.

You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”

“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”

You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.

“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”

“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”

Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”

“Yeah!” The cheer.

After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”

“We want alllll the details.”

“You b-better not hold out on us.”

“I promise!”

Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.

“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.

You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn't been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.

Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.

You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.

Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.

“What’re doing?” He whispers.

You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”

With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.

“We can’t, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can't. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.

“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.

“We shouldn't…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.

“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”

He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.

“But what about—?“

“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”

Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”

“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”

He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.

You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.

All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.

He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.

His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.

You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.

The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.

“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.

“Get on, sweetheart.”

Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.

His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.

You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.

He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.

The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.

What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.

“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”

“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”

The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.

You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.

With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—

“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.

Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!

Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.

Sam��s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.

“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.

“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”

You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.

“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—“

Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.

“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.

He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.

“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.

He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.

You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.

“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”

He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”

You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”

“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”

“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”

He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”

Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.

“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.

He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.

“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”

Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, flinching from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.

What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.

He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.

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: do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or republish any of my works* on here or another platform

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[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

I grew up poor in the 2000s, and I remember all my friends played games like Club Penguin, World of Warcraft, Toontown, and eventually Wizard 101. It was THE internet for my friends, but all those games had a subscription service option which was either fully required or almost entirely required, and if the latter then there were very minimal things you could do without the subscriptions. Leveling up became entirely stagnant and nigh impossible after the tutorials, events and event maps were exclusively for paying gamers, you could not wear 99% of items and often lost access if you stopped paying for the membership.

We had plenty of completely "free-to-play" games like MapleStory and Star Wars: The Old Republic, yes, but they often HEAVILY relied on microtransactions, and the economy in-game always got so insanely horrific that nobody could do anything without paying outside parties irl money by the hundreds or even thousands to achieve the things needed for game progression.

And when the games got to this point, there was nothing fun about them.

I remember BEGGING my mom for the Club Penguin membership, it was just $5/month!! But she couldn't afford it and so I had to sit there and hear all my friends in school talk about seeing Rockhopper or Aunt Arctic at the pirate ship or in the town. I heard my friends talking about doing WOW raids together, or I'd call my friend to play Wizard 101 only for her to go to a place and find I couldn't follow because I wasn't paying.

I couldn't pay. For fucks sake I didn't even get an allowance for my chores! I had no money. At all. Nothing. On a good day I had $1 in my wallet, and I saved that baby for the lucky moment in 10 months from the day I found it when I could buy a peppermint patty at the store!

And yet the internet was entirely rooted in pay even in spaces for children.

I had a shitty childhood of inaccessibility due to lack of money, and no available offline public spaces.

Now I'm an adult, and I see this still. It comes in the form of battle passes and season passes, loot boxes for items and characters because the games are impossible after a certain point without them.

And outside we're seeing less and less places for children to play, too, without money and transportation by a parent/guardian.

There aren't many rec centers, and if so they're miles and miles away with no easy access to get to them. I don't even think there's a single one within 30 miles of where I live in any direction, and I'm in a dense, bustling suburban area. Playgrounds are being abolished for warehouses and "luxury" apartments or retirement homes. I see average skate and sports parks that are exclusive and require country club memberships for anyone to enter, or you have to be a resident of the housing community it belongs to, with community IDs, in order to use these things, and there's nothing special to them. Often those communities even require the renters and homeowners to pay for the access to them for the family. Besides these, the nearest fully public parks are miles and miles away with no convenient way to reach them unless driven there by someone else because public transit is not available in the majority of my state, and it costs a lot of money which children do not have.

Children have so few spaces to exist in outside without needing to pay or get transportation. They don't have any online spaces to be in without needing to pay. But since they can't play outside easily, parents give them the iPad or laptop to play games online and use the internet instead.

Less and less homes have a back yard or even front yard to play in. No apartments here have any play space at all.

Kids aren't given anywhere to exist offline that is convenient, free, and accessible. Parents are therefore now calling for the internet to be sanitized for children to have access to safety, but thing is, this is destroying what spaces adults have as well.

We see Tumblr implementing auto filters and tagging anything with a flesh tone, including photos of deserts, as being inappropriate. These services are crusading to ban all NSFW content on adult-only spaces because children might still be using them. States are trying to ban access to porn websites for adults, more and more social media platforms are banning the ability to post anything remotely suggestive with art and writing, they are banning swears and anything that may remotely be interpreted as an inappropriate keyword, etc.

Adults aren't given freedom because there are "righteous" warriors trying to make the internet safe for kids without fixing the actual issue which is that we need public spaces for children, and even adults, that are entirely free and which can be easily and conveniently accessed.

We need easily-accessible public free parks, rec centers, game shops and the likes. We need places where people can go without needing someone to pay to take them there, or for someone such as a parent or guardian to take them there at all! We need places for kids to be able to have fun without money, and that includes online spaces as well!

We need parents to actually fucking parent their children online and ensure they're not accessing adult spaces, that they're sticking to sites where they can play games and have fun with friends their age! Because there's so little to do as an adult that's different from what kids can do at this point, and so little room to be an adult thanks to parents who don't fucking bother to check on their children and what they're doing.

We need to fix the fact that the world fucking relies on profit even for kids, and make free stuff accessible!! Because if the whole world is made neutral so both children and adults can use it equally, but neither is convenient and remotely usable for either party, then what the fuck is the point?!!?!

What we’ve gotta understand is that “the modern Internet is abolishing spaces for adults” and “the modern Internet is abolishing space for children” are compatible phenomena. Neither group is being favoured: the modern Internet is abolishing spaces for adults (i.e., because grown-up topics aren’t advertiser friendly) and the modern Internet is abolishing spaces for children (i.e., because online communities which consist principally of people who have no money are hard to sell things to). The Internet that contemporary corporate interests are trying to build isn’t a space for anyone – it’s the digital equivalent of an Ikea showroom.

[askoverkill]

transcript below:

(Eventually, it's time for the day to continue.) (You step up to the door, ready to enter-)

Siffirn, wait.

(Huh.) (She's never stopped you in this scene before.)

I'm not an optimistic person by nature.

Mirabelle is empowered by the Change God, but if things were that easy, the Director would have already been dead.

It's nice to think she'll kill the Director in time but...

In the off chance...

(...Odile's voice wavers.)

In the off chance we live without you, what do you want us to do with Lupus?

(...) (Wow, uh.) (You weren't expecting that.)

(Next loop, you're going to make sure both Lupus and the other you know this has to stop.)

(You are not their real parent.) (This isn't a game you want to play.)

(...But for now, you still need to answer Odile.) (Lupus can't get to their real family until the Director is killed.) (Time will repeat until then.)

...There's people that they will return to. I assume Isabeau can return both kids after this job.

I'm sure he'd be happy to do so.

Is there anything you want to tell them, once you...

(Yeah, tell them to knock it off!)

...They're a good kid. There's nothing I'd need to say.

But children need to hear it.

...I love them?

...Gems, Siffrin. And I thought I was awkward.

(HEY??????????)

But rest assured, I'll let them know.

[criticallyaddictedtomilk]

Ok question is: would you consider Fanny from Road 96 to be a good cop?

She has been told what the pits (labor camps for teens fleeing the country in the game) are but refuses to acknowledge them since according to her it's just "black brigade propaganda". Although if you play the game and look at all the different views on [IMPORTANT PLOT POINT OF THE GAME] she has somewhat of a reason to think so.

honestly i think there are fictional depictions of good cops (or even just cops as interesting characters) that, despite being copaganda to some degree, i can cut people some slack for liking for myriad of other reasons, especially if i know they’re keeping ACAB in mind. i just think it’s particularly funny to get Zootopia people whipped up for some reason. born and bred hater. cradle to grave i will be hating. know this

[littlelovelunette]

Please can u write another succubus demon x Sevika?😍 but maybe this time the succubus demon only seduces women🤭 and when she saw Sevika she immediately targeted her but she didn’t use her powers/charm on her because she wanna know if Sevika would be attracted to her even without powers/charm

Different Kind Of Attraction

Sevika x Succubus!Reader

SUMMARY: You're a succubus, and only prey on women, women who're strong and independent like Sevika herself. Sevika was playing poker as per the usual at last drop, and when it was too late into the night— the game wraps up. As Sevika is about to leave the bar, she sees you; a gorgeous woman dressed in a provocative outfit bound to fall victim to any man with lewd intentions so she offers to walk you home. But Janna, did she never stop to think you'd have an effect on her.

Mild Predator-Prey, smoking, gambling, slight slow burn, possible stalker!Reader, cliff hanger ending.

You've been watching her for a while now. Sevika, Silco's henchwoman, his right-hand woman. The scary lady of Zaun. A slow smirk crept on your dark glossy lips. You loved yourself a good challenge of a woman. One might assume your species only targeted men but that wasn't true. Some of you targeted women like Sevika. Women who knew how to carry themselves, who were independent and powerful. That was the kind of woman that got your panties in a twist.

The bar was rowdy. Far too rowdy for your liking so you were hidden away at a far corner, nursing your whiskey as you continued to peer over the edge of your shades, staring intently at the woman whose gambling addiction truly knew no bounds. You sighed, something about her stirred an unusual feeling inside you. The feeling of not wanting to rely on your powers for seducing her, making her yours, charming her. Claiming her.

"Sevika," you tested the name on your tongue, savoring each vowel.

Sevika, who was indulged into another intense round of poker, straightened and looked around the bar. She had gotten goosebumps when you mouthed her name.

"You good?" One of the players asked, cocking a brow and clinking his bottle of booze against the cup, pouring himself another day of mindless poker although he knew better than to challenge Sevika's skills. They lost every game to her anyway.

"Y...Yeah."

Sevika shook her head, lighting her cigarillo and taking a good inhale of the smoke, lungs protesting feebly as she exhaled it through her nose, taking another look around the bar with squinted eyes. What a weird feeling, she hadn't felt like this since... Since ever. She'd always been the one who towered over others, never the other way around. She'd never felt like... She needed to watch out for some sort of predator.

It was one in the morning when Sevika decided she was way to drunk to finish another round of poker so she slammed her hand on the table drunkenly, rattling the cups and bottles that rested over the tabletop.

"Let's call it a night," she said in a raspy voice, "Cash me out!"

The men fumbled with tight bundles of cash and pounchfuls of coins, scrambling to pay Sevika for her several victorious rounds of poker. They didn't look all that happy, yet the kept their gazes averted. You got up, zipping down the turtle neck top slightly only so that your cleavage was on display. You sauntered over to where Sevika was waiting at the table, grinning at the piling cash and coins. She glanced at you when you came by her side and stood there. "You new here? Never seen you before." Sevika asked, arms crossing beneath her poncho.

You nodded simply and placed your hands on the table edge, leaning to peer at the cash, trying to make out an estimate of her winnings. "That's quite a lot of money."

"Yeah," Sevika chuckled, eyes lingering on your curvy behind. "That's quite the nice body. And too late of a night for you to get back home alone lookin' like a snack."

"Are you hitting on me but also implying I can't protect myself?" You grinned a little.

"Just lookin' out for a pretty woman," she picked up the small sack of her winnings.

"My, my, what a gentlewoman." You gave her a smirk, straightening and flattening the hem of your dress. "Are you suggesting you'd rather walk me home?"

"Quite so."

Sevika walked to the door of Last Drop, opening it and nodding her head as a gesture for you to step out. You did so, purse slinging from your shoulder as you walked in the chilly Zaun night with Sevika by your side. Her shoulders were tense as if she was expecting trouble to pop out of every alley possible.

"Why so upright? I'm no celebrity," you giggled.

"Sorry, force of habit with Silco." Sevika grumbled, possibly a little embarrassed as she rubbed the back of her neck.

"That's okay," you interlaced your fingers within her hand's making Sevika's eyes widen slightly, glancing down where both your hands met. "You're drunk, yet you decided to walk me home. I'm grateful." You said as you continued walking by her side.

Sevika seemed like her brain had short-circuited when you held her hand. She stammered with her words in her head and only managed a small "no problem". The air was chilly, fog in the distance as you both walked. Your home wasn't too far away, but when you reached the door of your apartment, a light drizzle of rain started.

"Oh crap." You turned and pulled Sevika under the threshold of your apartment, "You'll get drenched in the rain if you go now."

"It's fine, I don't wanna be a bother—" Sevika began and made a walk back out into the drizzling downpour.

"Nonsense! You walked me home!" You grabbed her arm and stopped her.

"And?" Sevika asked curtly.

"And you'll stay the night!—" you said but she cut you off.

"But—" Sevika started.

"I insist," you said with such emphasis Sevika had no rebuttal for a minute, you took advantage of that and pulled her in with a firm grip of both hands on her flesh arm.

She walked into the small apartment, glancing around the dimly lit living room as you guided her to the couch, helping her take her poncho off. The house smelled like roses and champagne, Sevika sunk down onto the couch. She was so tall, and bulky it made most your furniture look comedically tiny. But it wasn't all that exaggerated and she didn't seem to mind.

"You gamble often?" You asked, knowing better yourself, yet for the sake of conversation.

"Yeah, it's a good source of income especially when drunken bastards love to put their money out on a golden plate for ya'." She chuckled, a little shocked when she saw you pulling out a lighter from the drawer and the exact brand of cigarillos she smoked.

You put the items down on the coffee table and walked to the kitchenette, "You usually stay up past 12?"

Sevika wasn't listening, eyes focused on the branded cigarillos, "How did you—?"

"It's impolite to ignore a direct question," you giggled, tone so sweet it could give one sugar rush, "I just... Happen to use the same brand, I suppose."

"Oh," Sevika looked at you for a second before looking back at the lighter you so graciously offered, "Yeah, I do stay up past 12 often."

"That's not good," you hummed as you walked around the kitchen, cooking.

Sevika grumbled something under her breath, probably a snarky comment on your caring attitude, her fingers wrapping around the lighter and examining it. She half-expected it to be a trap but after she didn't notice any loopholes, she took one cigarillo out, lighting it. Sevika took a deep inhale, leaning her back against the couch making it creak slightly in protest, "You don't really have to cook," she mumbled.

You weren't listening, your hand was a little shaky from maintaing your human form for so long. Your heart thudded loudly against your chest, and your heartbeat rang in your ears as you grabbed the skillet tighter. You struggled to focus on the meat you were frying, sweat beading at your brow.

"You okay?" Sevika asked and you turned, alarmed by her sudden voice.

The container of salt that rested on the countertop innocently toppled over the edge and the glass shattered on the floor. You winced at the loud sound, "Sorry," you turned the heat down, putting the spatula down in a hurry, "Be right back." You left and locked yourself in the bedroom.

"Dear Janna," Sevika mumbled, shaking her head. With the cigarillo between her lips, she walked into the kitchenette area, examining the mess you created in a haste.

"Please, just calm down," you told yourself.

You didn't want Sevika knowing you were a succubus but you felt your tail creeping under the skirt of your dress, horns protruding on the top of your head through the silky locks of hair you had brushed before deciding to present yourself to the woman. You didn't want to take advantage or feed off of her. You just wanted her. Was it such a crime to crave love as a Succubus? No, don't answer that. That was a rhetorical question.

"Are you okay?" Sevika knocked on the door, startling you once again.

"Yeah, I'll be back in a minute," you answered in a shaky voice.

You walked upto the big mirror in the room, taking a few deep breaths and closing your eyes. All you needed to do was calm down, breathe normal and act human. But how could you when Sevika's mere presence under the same roof as you caused your panties to dampen and mouth to itch? You groaned slightly, but managed to compose yourself in record time.

The door creaked open, and the scent of perfectly cooked chicken hit your nostrils, Sevika was standing in front of the skillet, effortlessly turning the meat on its surface using the spatula. The salt that was sprinkled all over the floor was also tidied up. Your eyes widened slightly in astonishment as you walked towards her.

"You can cook?" You asked in a voice that would suggest you were playfully shocked.

Sevika gave you a side glance, smirking, "You sound surprised."

You grinned and leaned against the kitchen counter opposite her, watching her loosen up in the environment of your small apartment was starting to grow on you. You really wanted her to be yours. Desperately so, too.

"I know what you are."

Part 2?

[clouji]

Fortnite

+ hamzah x reader twitch streamer, fortnite, fluff

💟

You haven't streamed in a long time, so you're excited to play Fortnite and talk to all of your viewers. You have been queuing up for duos, but they're all bunz so far.

"Alright, chat," you shout, moving toward your microphone. "Let me see what random I get. Pray we get someone hot and cracked this time. Or someone whose microphone does not sound like it's been microwaved."

> imsogoated: manifesting a soulmate

> enhatt: im so happy ur streaming again y/n

> bananasummer: girl if he’s hot u better flirt!!!!

The loading screen fades. The lobby pops up. A name, Superspreader77, with a voice that breaks through, nonchalant and a bit raspy.

“Hello, Do you got a mic?”

You turned to the camera, covering your mouth. “Oh shit chat.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hi!!”

He laughs quietly and proudly. "Why, do I sound sexy?"

You choke on your drink. “No you sound like a loser.”

“Ouch.”

“Also you sound cocky and weird.”

“And you sound like a tryhard.”

You pause. "Okay, yeah so what.”

You marked Seaport City and dropped with your duo together. Both of you are still teasing each other.

He steals your holo twist gun. You hit him with a bat in revenge. He saves you from a third party and wants you to say Thank you. Instead, you say

"Fuck yourself."

He chuckles as if it's the funniest thing he heard all day.

"You're kinda mean," he says.

"You're kinda enjoying it."

"Maybe."

In middle of stream, the chat loses its mind.

> bananasummer: CAN U ASK IF HES HAMZAH PLS

> jj771: no bc that’s actually his voice omg

> 1234pop: THAT’S HAMZAH FROM SLUSHYNOOBZ WTF

> destiny: HAMZAH??

You took out your phone for a second to check what the chat was about, and then you searched for the name they were mentioning. You have mutuals, you saw what he looks like, and you nodded as you think he is.... cute.

You squint your eyes. "Hey… superspreader"

"Yeah?"

"My chat thinks you sound familiar."

"Oh?"

"They're saying you sound like Hamzah? from Slushynoobz."

Silence.

“Never heard of them. Is he cute?”

“Stop fucking around.”

“You think I’m Hamzah? Wow I'm so flattered.”

“You’re not denying it.”

“Do you think I’m him?” He repeated the question.

"I think you're a liar with surprisingly good aim."

He sighed. "Damn. You got me. You're scary."

"Woah so you're Hamzah... I've been roasting you for twenty minutes. Your fans might attack me."

He laughs. "Don't worry I'll protect you."

You cringed. “Ew. You like me don't you.”

“Hell nah, I'm interested in someone else already sorry,” he says smoothly. “And she keeps stealing my loot like look–right now.”

You won the match. Because of him. Both of you are stressing and laughing.

Then—he adds you.

No hesitation.

“Nice game,” he says. “Let's play again tomorrow?”

When a friend request shows up. You mute your microphone for a second just to scream then you click accept.

“Yeah. But next time, I’m stealing all of your loots and kills.”

He laughs. “Deal. As long as I get to play with you.”

You check chat.

> imsogoated: I’M CLIPPING THIS

> jj771: my two worlds colliding

> bananasummer: He's your dsstiny

You lean into your mic. “Chat. CHILL. It’s just one game.”

Hamzah’s voice cuts in: “ Well, you're never getting rid of me now.”

“I don't mind that actually.”

💟

[bucketgetter535]

No Margin for Error: Chapter Seven

CW: Mild/moderate sexual content

WC: 9.3k

Notes: if Azzi fudd shoved me I’d fold. Not that that’s relevant to the chapter or anything…

The cabin Paige had picked out was halfway up a mountain, surrounded by thick evergreens and wide open stretches of sky. The air was thin and cool even in July, sharp and clean enough that every breath made her feel lighter. It wasn’t some drafty old shack either — Paige had put her twelve million dollar Ferrari contract to good use, renting a sprawling modern place with big glass windows, a stone fireplace, and an outdoor patio that practically poured into the forest.

Right now, though, she wasn’t thinking about any of that.

She and Azzi were slouched together on the wide leather couch, a WNBA game playing low on the huge flatscreen in front of them. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten between them. Paige had one socked foot kicked up against the coffee table, her hair loose and messy, a sweatshirt hanging too big off her frame. Azzi wasn’t much neater — sweats, a tank top, her hair braided back to keep it out of her face. They looked more like college roommates than two of the most talked-about drivers in the world.

Paige tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth and chewed slowly, pretending she wasn’t thinking too hard before asking,

“So… what’s going on with your contract?”

Azzi blinked, glancing away from the TV to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in the last year, right? Eighteen million?” Paige asked casually, like she hadn’t looked that up weeks ago.

Azzi shrugged, totally relaxed. “Yeah. It’s up after this season.”

Paige sat up a little. “So what are you gonna ask for next year?”

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, looking thoughtful. “I dunno. Probably twenty-three.”

Paige immediately made a face, wrinkling her nose. “What? Why?”

Azzi laughed a little at her expression. “Because that’s a lot of money?”

Paige shook her head, scoffing. “You’re a two-time world champion, Azzi. Red Bull’s paying their number one guy sixty-five. Sixty-five. You can ask for thirty. Easy.”

Azzi gave her a skeptical look, smiling faintly. “Oh yeah? And what about you, moneybags?”

Paige kicked her lightly with her foot. “If I win the championship this year,” she said confidently, “I’ll ask for twenty-seven.”

“And if you don’t?”

Paige shrugged. “Nineteen, maybe twenty.”

Azzi snorted, amused. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous for asking for less than you’re worth,” Paige shot back, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully for a second, then added, “How much are you making this year?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow at her. “Eighteen, like we just said?”

“Yeah, but with bonuses,” Paige said, grinning now. “You obviously hit your performance bonuses. You’ve got, like, what? Three wins?”

Azzi tilted her head, considering. “Four, actually.”

Paige grinned wider. “Exactly. So how much are you really pulling?”

Azzi smirked. “You first.”

Paige leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Fine. Twelve million base salary this year. Plus performance bonuses for podiums, wins, points finishes…” She trailed off, doing rough mental math. “Probably around eighteen right now? Nineteen, maybe?”

Azzi let out a low whistle. “Not bad for a rookie.”

Paige grinned proudly. “Not a rookie.”

Azzi smiled at her — a small, real smile that Paige felt all the way in her chest. She didn’t always show it, but Azzi was proud of her. Not just as a teammate, but as… whatever they were outside the track.

Paige picked up the remote and muted the TV, letting the background noise drop away. The sun was sinking lower outside, turning the sky pale gold. The forest outside the wide windows seemed to glow.

Paige looked at Azzi again, a little more serious this time.

“You should ask for thirty,” she said quietly. “You’re worth it. Don’t let them lowball you.”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

“You really think I can get that much?”

Paige snorted. “I think if they don’t pay you that much, someone else will.”

Azzi smiled again, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I’ll have you negotiate for me.”

Paige grinned back, a little proud, a little shy. “Maybe you should.”

They sat there for a moment, the game forgotten, the popcorn cold, the whole world narrowing down to the warm little bubble they’d built between them in that cabin in the woods.

It wasn’t much. Just a conversation about money. But for once, it wasn’t about pressure or contracts or media stories. It was just them. Paige and Azzi.

And for the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe — just maybe — that was enough.

–

They didn’t share a bed that night.

Neither of them said anything about it — it just sort of happened. The cabin had four bedrooms, and while most of them sat untouched, it still felt easier to retreat to separate spaces. Maybe it was because the season had been so long already, and Belgium had only made it longer. Or maybe it was because some things still felt undefined between them, unspoken in the cracks of their closeness.

Paige didn’t mind. Or at least she told herself she didn’t.

Her bed was soft and warm, sheets tucked military-tight, and for the first time in months she didn’t fall asleep to the sound of hotel traffic, airplanes, or the mechanical whir of an engineering debrief. Instead, it was pine trees and wind. No engines, no PR. Just high-altitude silence.

She woke the next morning to the bright slice of sun cutting through the blinds and the dull ache blooming behind her eyes — that familiar post-crash headache still pulsing through her temples like a lazy metronome. She sat up slowly, pressing a palm to her forehead, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of ibuprofen from the nightstand. Two pills, a quick swallow, and she let herself breathe through the sting.

When she padded into the kitchen, Azzi was already there — hair still damp from a shower, wearing a hoodie over leggings, barefoot and scrolling something on her phone while leaning against the counter. She looked up when she heard Paige move and saw the bottle still in her hand.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Still?”

Paige shrugged like it was nothing and opened the fridge. “Comes and goes.”

Azzi didn’t push, but the way her eyes narrowed said she clocked it. Said she knew. Paige grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge with her hip.

“I was thinking,” Azzi said casually, “we should go get breakfast somewhere. You hungry?”

Paige twisted the cap off and took a drink. “Yeah. Sure.”

She didn’t even ask where — she just followed Azzi out of the cabin, down the gravel drive, and into the rental SUV parked in front. Azzi drove (despite Paige’s argument) with one hand on the wheel, window cracked just enough to let in the mountain air. They went down winding forest roads until they hit a little town about fifteen minutes from the cabin — the kind of place with a population under a thousand and a diner that looked like it hadn’t been redecorated since the 60s.

The waitress seated them near a window that overlooked the tree line, handed them thick laminated menus, and filled their mugs with burnt coffee that somehow still tasted perfect up here.

Azzi stretched out in the booth, long legs tucked under the table, reading the menu like it was a race strategy brief. Paige leaned into the corner of the booth, her hoodie sleeves pushed up, chin resting in her hand as she watched the waitress refill the coffee at the next table.

“You’re weirdly relaxed right now,” Azzi said, not looking up.

Paige blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” Azzi waved a hand around vaguely. “You’ve said maybe ten words since we left the house. And you’re just… chill.”

Paige smiled slightly, eyes flicking out the window. “It’s nice knowing I don’t have to do anything real for a while.”

Azzi nodded slowly, like she understood that all too well.

When their food came — some gross omelete for Azzi, eggs and toast for Paige — they ate in a kind of easy silence, broken up only by the occasional clink of cutlery and the slow hum of conversation from the rest of the diner.

After a while, Azzi spoke again. “We should go out to Denver today.”

Paige looked up. “Denver?”

“Yeah. I dunno. Just go do something. A museum, a movie, maybe dinner. Not talk about cars for once.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth. “And how exactly are we getting to Denver and back?”

Azzi shrugged, totally unfazed. “I’ve got a guy. We’ll get a driver.”

Paige blinked. “You’ve got a guy?”

Azzi gave her a pointed look. “You’re so new to being a millionaire.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have an entire concierge of guys yet,” Paige said, mock-offended.

“You will,” Azzi said, sipping her coffee. “You’re gonna start flying private next. You’ll see.”

Paige laughed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Right. Because nothing screams grounded like flying private to go see the Denver Art Museum.”

Azzi grinned. “Grounded is overrated.”

“Oh, is it now? Says the woman who’s lived in Monaco and a penthouse in New York and owns three watches more expensive than my car.”

“I only own two,” Azzi corrected. “The third one was a gift.”

Paige tilted her head. “From a sponsor or a girlfriend?”

Azzi raised a brow. “I’d really hope I didn’t have a girlfriend right now.”

Paige just smirked, biting into her toast.

The banter came easy. That was the thing about Azzi — for all her intensity behind the wheel, she had a lightness to her when she wanted to. When it was just them, away from cameras, sponsors, race engineers… she was sharp and funny and dry, but never mean. And Paige could relax around that.

They lingered at the table long after they were done eating, refilling their coffee a few times, watching the town wake up around them. It was easy in a way that most things in Paige’s life weren’t. She liked that.

She liked this.

When the bill came, Paige snatched it up before Azzi could even reach for it.

“You drove. I’m paying,” she said.

“Oh, that’s the rule now?” Azzi grinned.

“It is in my world.”

And just like that, breakfast was over. But the ease of it lingered, carrying them out the door and into the rest of the day, into Denver, into something that wasn’t quite work but wasn’t quite just friendship either.

And Paige — headache or not — felt a little more like herself than she had in weeks.

–

Denver was better than she expected.

It started light — wandering through streets dotted with summer crowds, grabbing overpriced iced coffees from a place Azzi had seen on some list, dipping into a museum exhibit that Paige only half cared about but still liked, because Azzi was so into it. There was something nice about seeing her like that — interested, curious, less like a world champion and more like a normal person who actually knew what to do on a day off.

They ended up at Coors Field almost on accident. Azzi saw the crowd in Rockies hats on the street, checked the schedule, and turned to Paige like it was already decided. “We’re going.”

Paige hadn’t been to a baseball game since high school. She forgot how much she liked the atmosphere — the smell of food, the rhythm of the innings, the way everyone cheered for something simple. It wasn’t like Formula 1. No political storm behind every strategy call, no media fire waiting in the paddock. Just home runs and foam fingers.

They ate nachos out of a helmet-shaped bowl and split a soda. Azzi refused to wear team merch, claiming she wasn’t loyal to anyone in the MLB, but still stood up and clapped for a double in the sixth inning like she’d been a Rockies fan her whole life. Paige just laughed and went along with it. She liked seeing Azzi like that — not serious, not calculating. Just happy.

By the time they made it back to the cabin, the sky had long faded to dusk. The pines outside the windows had gone dark, shadows stretching out into the night. Paige kicked off her shoes at the door and sank into the couch without really thinking. She was tired, but not in the usual way. This was a good tired. A full day, nothing on her calendar, and the altitude giving everything a slow, comfortable haze.

Azzi turned on the TV — something dumb, one of those shows with too much color and nothing to follow. She curled up on the other end of the couch, remote in hand, barefoot and quiet.

Paige’s head was starting to throb again.

It wasn’t sharp. Just that dull, pulsing reminder that something still wasn’t right. She winced and touched her temple, like that might help. It didn’t.

Azzi glanced over and saw the motion. Said nothing at first. Then she opened her arms slightly and tilted her head.

“Come here.”

Paige looked over, brow furrowed.

“Seriously,” Azzi said softly. “Just — head in my lap. C’mon.”

Paige hesitated, then slowly shifted across the couch and lay down, cheek resting against the softness of Azzi’s thigh. The world quieted a little. Azzi’s fingers found her hair without ceremony, combing through it gently, and Paige let her eyes fall shut.

They sat like that for a while, saying nothing. The TV babbled on, ignored. Azzi’s touch stayed light, never too much.

Then, without being asked, Paige said, “Spa didn’t even look that bad, right? From the outside?”

Azzi paused her motion. “You mean the crash?”

“Yeah.”

Her voice was quiet. The kind of voice she didn’t use in media rooms or team meetings. She didn’t sound like the girl who’d taken pole at Hungary, or the kid whose name was all over every motorsport podcast now. She just sounded twenty-two.

“It didn’t look small either,” Azzi said gently.

Paige nodded. “I’ve never… I never wrecked before. Not once. Not in F3. Not in F2. Not with Sauber. Not even in the sim that often.”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her fingers kept moving, slow and steady.

“I saw it coming,” Paige said. “And I couldn’t do anything. I hit the brakes and I knew I was too late, and it just — the wall came up fast. I thought I’d bounced, but apparently the car spun after. I… I don’t remember it too well honestly..”

She swallowed. Her voice didn’t shake, but something else was trembling. Something inside her that she hadn’t let out before now.

“I wasn’t scared until after. Like, once I knew I was okay. Once the medics were there and I could breathe again. Then it hit me. How easy it could’ve been worse. If the angle was different. If the car rolled. If someone was behind me and didn’t slow down in time.”

Azzi’s hand stilled for just a moment, then resumed.

“Spa’s fast,” she said softly. “You go off there and it’s never small.”

Paige nodded, not opening her eyes.

“I haven’t said that out loud,” she added, more to herself than anything. “Not even to Liao.”

“You don’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to,” Azzi said. “But if you ever do… this is fine too.”

There was a pause. Then Azzi added, “The headaches go away eventually. At least until you crash again.”

Paige smiled faintly at that. “Great. Super comforting.”

Azzi chuckled, low and dry. “I’ve crashed three times. I still get twitchy in the wet.”

“You?”

Azzi shrugged, her fingers never stopping. “Austria ’22, Monza last year, Suzuka my rookie year in the rain. You don’t forget the ones that hurt.”

Another long silence stretched between them, but it didn’t feel heavy. It felt… honest. Like they were both holding something in the air, careful not to drop it.

“Is it dumb,” Paige murmured, “that I didn’t feel like a real driver until it happened?”

Azzi looked down at her. “No. That’s real.”

Paige shifted a little, eyes still closed, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s leg like it made her feel steadier. It did.

“Thanks,” she said, barely audible.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just brushed a thumb lightly against Paige’s temple.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said. “You already are.”

And somehow — headache still humming low, mind still sorting through the wreckage of Spa — Paige believed her.

–

Paige didn’t want to move.

The couch was warm. Azzi’s lap was warm. Her headache, dull and low-grade now, made everything feel slower, heavier, like she was underwater but didn’t really mind. She might’ve fallen asleep right there if Azzi hadn’t shifted slightly and tapped her shoulder.

“Come on,” Azzi said, voice soft but leaving no room for debate.

Paige blinked up at her. “What?”

Azzi was already standing, stretching a little, offering her hand. Paige took it out of instinct — she always did — and let herself get pulled to her feet. She wobbled slightly with how fast she was upright, but Azzi caught her with a steadying grip on her hip.

“You should shower,” Azzi said simply. “It’ll help your headache.”

Paige yawned, already half convinced. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

But Azzi didn’t let go of her. She just started steering her through the cabin, up the stairs, like this was something that had been decided hours ago. Paige stumbled along, still heavy-limbed and slow to catch on.

It wasn’t until they crossed into Azzi’s room that Paige hesitated.

“Uh,” Paige said, glancing around, realizing. “This is your room.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, unbothered. “Good job, P.”

Paige opened her mouth, unsure what she was supposed to say to that, but Azzi just kept tugging her gently toward the en suite bathroom.

And then, when they reached the door, Azzi turned, gave her a look — one of those looks, the kind that always short-circuited Paige’s brain — and said, “P.”

Paige blinked at her, caught off guard. “What?”

Azzi smiled — slow, a little dangerous — and dropped her voice. “I didn’t bring you in here to use my shower by yourself.”

Paige’s brain stalled so hard she actually felt it happen.

She opened her mouth again — to say what, she had no idea — but no sound came out. Instead she just kind of stood there, floundering, as Azzi shook her head fondly like she always did. With a hand firm on the back of Paige’s neck, Azzi guided her into the bathroom.

The lights were low, the big walk-in shower already misty from earlier. The room smelled like Azzi — clean, expensive, just a little bit sharp like something citrusy in her shampoo. Paige’s heart was suddenly hammering behind her ribs, not in a bad way, just in a very aware way.

It wasn’t like Paige had never seen Azzi naked. They changed in front of each other every race weekend — motorhomes, locker rooms, ice baths. It wasn’t new.

But it was new. Here, now, outside of the context of work. Outside of the frantic schedules and sports bras and ice packs. There was no rush. No excuses. No barriers.

Azzi reached for the hem of her t-shirt, pulling it up over her head in one smooth motion. Her sports bra followed — casual, like she was shedding armor — and she dropped them both into a hamper by the wall.

Paige stared, because what else was she supposed to do, because Azzi looked — well. She looked like Azzi. Strong and soft all at once, angles and curves and that effortless kind of beauty that Paige had always noticed and never, ever said out loud.

She realized she was staring too long when Azzi cocked her head and said, amused, “Eyes up here, babe.”

Paige snapped her gaze up so fast her neck twinged.

“Sorry,” she blurted, mortified, like she was thirteen again.

Azzi just laughed, low and affectionate. She stepped closer, letting her fingertips trail lightly along Paige’s arm, nothing pushy, just enough to make every nerve ending on Paige’s skin light up.

“You’re cute.,” Azzi murmured, like it was a private joke.

Paige opened her mouth again — again, no words. Just a hot rush of blood to her face.

Azzi shook her head and reached for the band of Paige’s hoodie. “Come on. Headache’s not gonna fix itself.”

Paige lifted her arms in a daze, letting Azzi pull the hoodie off. She shivered a little at the loss of warmth, but Azzi’s hands were already sliding lower, tugging gently at the hem of her t-shirt next.

It was slow, almost reverent. Not like earlier that year where the alcohol made everything a blur. Not like the locker rooms where nobody cared because it was all just routine. This was… different.

Intimate.

Paige let her head tip forward a little, letting Azzi work. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room — flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the nervous way her hands twisted together at her stomach.

Azzi caught that too, apparently, because she kissed Paige’s forehead, gentle and grounding.

“It’s just me, P.”

Paige exhaled shakily, trying to steady herself.

Yeah. It was just Azzi.

Azzi who looked at her like she was someone worth taking care of. Azzi who had pulled her through more days than she could count this year. Azzi who was now guiding her, quietly and confidently, into the steam of the shower.

It was just Azzi.

And somehow, that made it all a little less terrifying — and a whole lot more inevitable.

The steam filled the bathroom quickly, making the edges of the mirror blur out until it was just soft light and warm, damp air. Paige stepped into the shower first, blinking through the mist, feeling the instant prick of heat against her skin. She leaned into it instinctively, letting the water cascade over her shoulders, washing away some of the tension that had been coiled there for months.

Azzi stepped in after her — confident, unhurried, like this wasn’t even a thing to be nervous about. Like they took showers together every day.

Paige snorted quietly under her breath.

Yeah. Definitely not normal.

She leaned against the cool tile wall and closed her eyes for a second, just letting the water drum against her scalp, against her back. It felt good — better than she wanted to admit. Her headache was still there, a low simmer, but it had eased just a little, like the water was massaging it away.

Still, after a moment, she cracked one eye open and glanced over at Azzi.

“I don’t really know how this is supposed to fix my headache,” Paige said, voice roughened by the humidity.

Azzi just hummed under her breath — that maddening little noise she always made when she was thinking something she wasn’t going to share. She didn’t answer, just moved closer, standing so close now that Paige could see the rivulets of water sliding down her skin.

Paige dragged her gaze upward sharply, catching herself before she got caught again staring at the wrong things.

Azzi noticed anyway. She always noticed.

The smirk that bloomed across her face was infuriatingly smug.

Paige squinted at her. “Bruh,” she said, deadpan. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Azzi tilted her head, like she was considering whether or not to be merciful.

She wasn’t.

“Why not, P?” she said, low and amused, stepping in even closer. “You don’t like it?”

Paige’s jaw tensed, trying to hold onto her cool, but it was crumbling by the second.

Because the truth was, she did like it. She liked it way too much. Her body was betraying her entirely — heart thudding under her ribs, stomach flipping, hands itching to touch but frozen in place like if she moved first, she’d lose whatever fake control she had left.

Paige straightened a little, forcing herself into the role she knew how to play — cool, unbothered, in charge. It was fake, but it was the only thing she had right now.

“You’re lucky I’m nice,” Paige said, managing to get the words out steady even if her heart was doing somersaults.

Azzi just smiled again, slow and knowing. Like she knew exactly how much Paige was lying to herself.

Water beaded on Azzi’s eyelashes, made her look almost unreal. Paige hated how pretty she was — hated how much it scrambled her brain.

“You’re lucky I’m patient,” Azzi murmured back.

The water roared around them, filling up the silence, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the electric crackle of tension in the tiny space between their bodies.

Azzi’s hands — slow, unthreatening — came up to Paige’s waist, fingertips featherlight at first. Like she was giving Paige every chance to pull away.

Paige didn’t move.

Couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to.

Her breath hitched, caught painfully in her throat, but she stayed right there — leaning back against the wall, letting Azzi crowd into her space, pretending she wasn’t losing her entire mind.

Azzi leaned up, close enough to brush her mouth lightly along the line of Paige’s jaw — not quite a kiss, just a promise — and Paige had to shut her eyes again, had to tilt her head back to keep from just grabbing her right there.

It was funny, in a terrible kind of way.

On the track, Paige could hold her nerve through anything — rain, crashes, restarts, side-by-sides at 200 miles an hour.

But here, under the hot pounding water, under Azzi’s steady gaze, she was unraveling at the seams.

And Azzi — Azzi knew it.

“You’re shaking,” Azzi whispered, mouth still at her jaw.

“I’m fine,” Paige said automatically, because she was stubborn, because she had an image to protect even if nobody but Azzi was there to see it.

Azzi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, searching, serious now in a way that made Paige’s stomach twist even harder.

“You don’t have to be,” Azzi said, soft but firm. “Not with me.”

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, trying to hold it together.

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so instead she finally, finally reached out — sliding her hands up Azzi’s sides, slow and tentative at first, then firmer when she felt Azzi lean into her touch. Azzi let out a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and it went straight through Paige’s chest like a spark to dry wood.

She was supposed to be the top here — that was their silent dynamic, their unspoken understanding — but God, Azzi made it so hard. She made Paige want in a way that was dangerous, consuming.

Still — Paige tightened her grip a little, pushed Azzi back a step so she was the one leading, reclaiming some illusion of control.

Azzi smiled against her mouth as Paige finally kissed her — not messy, not desperate yet, but deep enough that Paige could feel herself start to slip into it.

And for once, she let herself.

Because yeah, maybe her head was pounding and her heart was sprinting and she had no idea how she was supposed to survive this night —but it was Azzi.

And that meant she was safe, even if she wasn’t anywhere close to calm.

–

The bedroom was mostly dark except for the soft blue glow of the television screen across from the bed — some late-night sitcom rerun playing on mute, the laugh track flickering silently behind them. The Colorado night pressed cool and crisp against the windows, but under the heavy blankets, it was warm. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel heavy or awkward, but earned — like an exhale after too many months of holding her breath.

Paige was stretched out flat on her back, one arm behind her head, staring up at the wood-paneled ceiling. Her hair was still damp from the shower, curling a little at the ends against the pillow. Her body felt loose in a way it hadn’t in a long time — not since before Belgium, if she was being honest with herself.

Next to her, Azzi was curled up under the blankets, wearing one of Paige’s hoodies that was about three sizes too big on her, sleeves swallowed up past her hands. Paige wasn’t even sure when Azzi had snagged it — she just looked over at some point and there she was, wearing it like it was hers.

Paige didn’t mind.

She liked the way it looked on her.

Azzi turned her head, resting her cheek against the pillow to look at Paige more easily. Her eyes were soft in the dark, less sharp than usual, the tough edges worn down by the same heavy exhaustion that Paige felt in her own bones.

“You feel better now?” Azzi asked, voice low and a little rough from sleep creeping up on them.

Paige let her mouth tug into a small, lazy smile. “Mhm.”

She meant it, too. The headache that had been gnawing at her for days was dulled to a distant ache, like a bruise more than a wound. Manageable. Something she could finally breathe around.

They lapsed into a loose conversation, the kind that spilled out easy when your bodies were warm and tired and there wasn’t anything else demanding your attention.

They talked about their early days — about F3, when every race felt like life and death, when nobody knew their names yet except for the real freaks who memorized junior circuit stats. They laughed about the miserable little hotels they used to stay in, the 3 a.m. flights, the terrible track food that made you sick if you so much as looked at it wrong.

“You remember Hungary?” Azzi said, grinning against the pillow. “You ate that gas station sushi like a complete dumbass and then qualified second anyway.”

Paige groaned. “Oh my God. I forgot about that. I thought I was gonna die.”

“You looked green in the paddock,” Azzi teased, poking her gently in the side.

Paige swatted at her hand, smiling despite herself. “Still beat your ass that weekend though.”

Azzi rolled her eyes dramatically. “By like half a second.”

“A win’s a win,” Paige said, smirking.

They laughed again, the kind of laughter that loosened the last stubborn knots inside Paige’s chest.

Eventually, the conversation drifted to more recent things. They talked about how absolutely terrible the Canadian Grand Prix had been earlier that season — how they’d both finished out of the points, how everything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

“I think that was the first time I’ve genuinely thought about just walking off the track and disappearing into the woods,” Paige admitted, stretching a little under the covers.

“Same,” Azzi said. “If I never see Montreal again, it’ll be too soon.”

Paige smiled faintly. “We were due for a bad one.”

“Yeah,” Azzi agreed, voice softening. “Still sucked though.”

Another silence, but not uncomfortable. Just full — heavy with memories, with things unsaid but understood.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, letting herself drift a little. She was so tired she could feel it pulling at her like a current. But she didn’t want to fall asleep yet. Not while this was happening. Not while Azzi was here, warm and real next to her, talking to her like this was just… normal.

Eventually, Azzi shifted again, propping herself up slightly on one elbow, looking down at Paige with a thoughtful expression.

“Hey,” she said, nudging Paige gently. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige cracked one eye open. “You’re gonna ask even if I say no.”

Azzi grinned a little. “True.”

Paige made a lazy ‘go ahead’ gesture with her free hand.

Azzi traced a light line across Paige’s side, just brushing over the curve of her ribcage where the ink peeked out from under the hem of her sleep shirt. It was a small tattoo — easy to miss unless you were looking. Thin black lines, elegant and understated.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times, but I’ve never asked,” Azzi said. “What’s the tattoo for?”

Paige glanced down at it, at the delicate script running along the cage of her ribs.

It read: “Be you. Be great.”

For a second, she thought about brushing it off — making some dumb joke. She was good at that. She was a professional at that.

But the look in Azzi’s eyes wasn’t teasing. It was open. Real.

Paige took a breath, turning her head to look back up at the ceiling.

“It’s something my dad would text me before every race.,” she said quietly. “I got it my first year in F3. After everything.”

Azzi didn’t say anything, just waited.

Paige swallowed, feeling the old ghosts stir a little in her chest.

“I didn’t know if I could do it back then,” she said. “Like… really didn’t know. I thought about quitting. A lot. More than I told anyone.”

Azzi’s hand was still resting lightly against her side, not pushing, not asking for more — just there.

“I felt like I was getting my ass kicked every weekend,” Paige admitted. “And not even just on track. Everything around it, too. The pressure. The travel. The expectations. It was… a lot. And I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Azzi’s thumb brushed gently against her skin, slow and grounding.

“But you didn’t quit,” Azzi said, soft.

Paige shook her head. “No. I didn’t.”

She smiled a little, wry and tired and proud all at once.

“Got the tattoo the day after the season ended.,” she said. “Just… to remind myself of what’s important.”

Azzi didn’t say anything right away. She just looked at her, something deep and fierce flickering in her eyes.

Then, quietly, she said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

The words hit Paige harder than she expected — sinking into some soft, unguarded part of her she didn’t even realize she’d left open tonight.

She blinked up at the ceiling for a second, trying to find something funny or cool to say back — but nothing came.

So instead, she just rolled onto her side, facing Azzi properly, and bumped their foreheads together lightly, a silent thank you.

Azzi smiled against her.

The television flickered in the background. The world outside the cabin kept turning.

But inside this tiny slice of it, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, everything felt still. Safe.

For the first time in a long time, Paige let herself believe that maybe she wasn’t just surviving anymore.

Maybe — finally — she was living.

–

It was rare — almost unheard of — but Paige woke up first.

For a second she just lay there, confused, expecting Azzi to be the one already half-dressed and smirking down at her. But no — the other side of the bed was warm, the blankets still tangled around a deeply asleep Azzi, her dark hair a mess against the pillow.

Paige smiled a little to herself, slipped out of bed as quietly as she could, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was still heavy with early morning quiet, the kind of silence Paige never got to enjoy during race weeks. She found a pan, cracked a few eggs into a bowl, whisked them lazily. The stove clicked to life with a small burst of blue flame. She wasn’t a world-class chef or anything — and God knew she’d had her fair share of microwave dinners — but living alone had taught her the basics. Eggs were easy enough.

She was plating them up when Azzi finally appeared, padding into the kitchen like something half-awake and mildly suspicious. She leaned against the counter, blinking at Paige.

“I’m shocked you can cook,” Azzi said, voice still hoarse with sleep.

Paige grinned and slid a plate across the counter toward her. “Yeah, well. I do live by myself,” she said. “Kinda had to figure it out.”

Azzi yawned and sat down on one of the barstools, eyeing the food suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. Then another. “Not bad,” she admitted, mouth half-full.

“High praise,” Paige said, deadpan.

They ate in companionable quiet for a little while, the sun rising higher over the trees outside. Paige leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out under the table.

“So,” Azzi said, pushing her plate away once she was finished, “what should we do today? You know. If anything.”

Paige shrugged, thinking. “I don’t know. Kinda nice not having anything I have to do.”

Azzi tilted her head, studying her. “Your head feel okay?”

Paige thought about it, gave a small nod. “Yeah. Better this morning.”

Azzi didn’t look completely convinced, but she let it go. For now.

“You got any weird pre-race rituals I don’t know about?” Azzi asked, grinning, propping her chin on her hand.

Paige snorted. “Define weird.”

“Like… I don’t know. Lucky socks? Some weird handshake with your engineer? Secretly listening to Celine Dion to hype yourself up?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “Nah. I’m pretty normal, I think. I always put my left glove on before my right one. And I always tap the outside of the car with my hand before I get in. Just… a habit.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Cute.”

“What about you?” Paige asked, elbowing her playfully. “I bet you have a whole list.”

Azzi leaned back in her seat, smirking. “Mm. You’ll have to guess.”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You definitely have something dumb, like wearing the same sports bra every race weekend.”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “Superstition’s part of the sport, babe. You’d be surprised how many world champions have a lucky sock or something even dumber.”

Paige grinned, finishing off her coffee. “Fair enough.”

There was a pause, easy and loose, before Azzi leaned forward again. “We should go shopping today.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Shopping?”

Azzi nodded seriously. “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“Why,” Paige said, deadpan. “What do you even want to buy?”

Azzi shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t know. Stuff. Maybe a new hoodie since you’re clearly trying to steal all of mine.”

Paige laughed, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Azzi grinned lazily across the table, sunlight catching the messy curls falling into her face. “You love it.”

Paige rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tugged up in a smile she couldn’t quite hide. “Fine. Shopping. But if you make me carry your bags, I’m charging you a personal assistant fee.”

“Deal,” Azzi said, already pushing her chair back like it was settled. “You take cash, card, or direct wire transfer?”

Paige just laughed again, standing up and gathering the dishes. It was stupid how easy it was with Azzi sometimes — how the world could be loud and overwhelming and everything at once, but right now, here in this cabin kitchen with eggs and dumb plans, it felt like nothing outside mattered at all.

And maybe, for once, that was exactly the point.

–

The drive into Denver was easy enough, a slow crawl through the green, rising hills until the city started to fold open in front of them. Paige had the windows down, one hand draped over the door, sunglasses sliding a little down her nose. It was warm — the kind of sticky Colorado summer day where you regretted even thinking about jeans — so she’d thrown on a long-sleeve T-shirt and a pair of black athletic shorts.

Azzi, naturally, looked like a damn model. Crop top, tiny shorts, sneakers laced up like she might sprint away at any second. She was chewing a piece of gum lazily, scrolling through something on her phone as they cruised into the city.

It was sort of a miracle they hadn’t been recognized yet. Then again, two young women dressed like that in Denver? They just looked like half the college kids wandering around on summer break. No one was expecting two Ferrari drivers — let alone a two-time world champion and the Rookie of the Year — to be shopping for dumb stuff downtown.

Paige tugged the sleeves of her shirt down as they found parking, feeling the sun hot on the backs of her legs. She didn’t complain though — it felt good to be out, to be, instead of having to constantly do.

They wandered through a few shops, Azzi clearly on a mission even if Paige couldn’t tell what it was. Paige mostly followed, hands stuffed into her pockets, trailing Azzi like some reluctant little shadow.

And yeah, maybe — maybe — she let her eyes wander once or twice. Maybe Azzi’s shorts were riding real high up her thighs. Maybe she had a strut that was just naturally infuriating. Paige caught herself looking and looked away just as fast, but not fast enough.

Azzi glanced over her shoulder with a smirk that could’ve melted concrete. “Careful, P. You’re gonna burn a hole through my ass if you keep staring like that.”

Paige made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a cough, pretending to examine a nearby rack of overpriced sunglasses. “I was not.”

“You so were,” Azzi said, laughing. She bumped her shoulder against Paige’s as she passed. “It’s okay. I’d look too if I were you.”

Paige shook her head, cheeks warming behind her sunglasses. “You’re a menace.”

Azzi just grinned like she’d won a prize.

By the time they were two hours in, Paige had somehow become Azzi’s personal shopping assistant, carrying three different branded bags looped over her arms. Not that she minded. It was almost funny, really — world-class athlete, trained to handle G-forces and hundred-degree cockpits, now hauling around luxury bags like an unpaid intern.

“Man,” Paige said, adjusting the weight of the bags, “I’m probably scaring all your hoes away.”

Azzi snorted. “Please. They probably aren’t even as good in bed as you are anyway.”

Paige froze, mid-step, mid-breath, like her brain blue-screened for a full second. She turned, wide-eyed behind her shades, and stared at Azzi like she couldn’t possibly have just said that out loud in the middle of a crowded sidewalk.

Azzi just smiled sweetly, like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

“You—” Paige started.

“What? You were good last night,” Azzi said, bumping her hip against Paige’s again before sauntering ahead toward the next store like nothing had happened.

Paige dragged a hand down her face, muttering under her breath. “Menace.”

She caught up a second later, because she didn’t really have a choice, but every so often Azzi would glance back at her with this glint in her eye — this dangerous, deliberate glint — and Paige would feel her brain short-circuit all over again.

Azzi was on one today. Full-blown menace mode, flipping through racks of clothes, holding up random things to Paige’s chest and pretending to seriously debate whether she could “pull it off.”

Paige took it like a champ. Mostly. She kept a running tally in her head of all the times she was going to make Azzi pay for this later, and the list was getting long.

By the time they finally wandered into a little café for a break, Paige was carrying so many bags that the barista actually laughed when he saw her struggling through the door. Azzi just winked at him and ordered them iced coffees like she hadn’t just been emotionally terrorizing her afternoon.

Paige sat down heavily, dropping the bags with a dramatic thud.

“You owe me so bad for this,” Paige said, stretching her legs out under the table.

Azzi took a slow, smug sip of her coffee. “Oh, babe. I plan to.”

And the worst — or maybe the best — part was Paige absolutely believed her.

–

The sun was starting to slip down behind the city skyline when they finally called it a day. Paige was stretched out on a bench outside the little boutique Azzi had insisted on hitting last, sipping the last of her iced coffee and trying not to feel like her legs were about to fall off.

She was about two seconds from asking if they could just Uber back to the cabin when Azzi appeared out of nowhere, flipping her sunglasses onto her head and grinning.

“So what do you want for the drive back?” Azzi asked casually. “Snacks? Water?”

Paige rubbed her thumb over her temple, pretending to think hard. “Milkshake.”

Azzi blinked. For a second — a real second — she looked genuinely surprised.

“You?” she said, like Paige had just announced she wanted to rob a bank. “A milkshake?”

Paige shrugged. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No, no,” Azzi said, hands up. “I’m just… shocked. You’re usually the ‘water and sadness’ type.”

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “I’m allowed to want a milkshake sometimes.”

“You are,” Azzi said, still looking at her like she was witnessing some rare animal in the wild. “It’s just… cute.”

Paige pointed a stern finger at her. “Don’t make it weird.”

Azzi only grinned wider.

They hit a drive-thru a few minutes later — Paige ordered a vanilla milkshake, simple and classic, while Azzi predictably went for some monstrosity involving peanut butter, chocolate, and possibly diabetes in a cup.

Paige had just taken her first blissful sip when she noticed the car waiting for them. Sleek, black, windows tinted almost opaque. And when they climbed inside, Paige realized with mild horror — it was nice.

Partition between them and the driver, soundproofed, plush leather seats that you could probably take a nap on if you weren’t so busy feeling vaguely intimidated.

Azzi caught the look on Paige’s face and laughed under her breath. “Told you I had a guy.”

Paige shook her head, settling back against the seat, letting her head tip back against the headrest. Her cheeks felt warm — and not just from the sun she’d soaked up all afternoon. She could see the faint pink across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her shoulders, and she knew Azzi could too.

They hadn’t even been on the highway for five minutes when Paige felt it.

A hand. Sliding lazy and slow onto her thigh.

She cracked one eye open, turning her head slightly to glance down — and yep, there it was. Azzi’s hand, warm and casual like it belonged there.

Paige shifted a little, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t.”

Azzi hummed innocently, barely glancing at her. “I’m not even doing anything. Relax.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

Azzi gave her this look — the look — the one that made it very, very clear that if anyone needed to relax, it wasn’t her. She took another slow sip of her milkshake like she had no idea what kind of chaos she was causing, and Paige wanted to throttle her and kiss her all at once.

“This is payback,” Azzi said sweetly, “for last night.”

Paige groaned under her breath, slouching lower in her seat. “You’re so annoying.”

Azzi only smiled wider.

They sat like that for a few minutes — Paige determinedly focusing on her milkshake and the blurred highway sliding by outside the window, Azzi being a quiet little menace with her hand resting just so on Paige’s thigh, thumb brushing tiny, mindless patterns against her skin.

And then — then Azzi got bold.

She let her fingers drift higher. Barely an inch. Just enough for Paige to stiffen slightly, her breath catching in her throat before she could stop it.

“Azzi,” Paige said, voice low, a warning that didn’t sound nearly as firm as she wanted it to.

Azzi turned her head lazily, all fake innocence. “What? I’m just sitting here.”

Her fingers crept higher again, slow and deliberate, and Paige felt her whole body tighten — like a live wire strung too tight.

She squeezed her thighs together instinctively, trapping Azzi’s hand for a second, but Azzi only grinned, smug and unbothered, letting Paige feel every inch of her palm pressed against her.

Paige closed her eyes for a second, willing herself not to react.

“You’re evil,” she muttered, voice raspier than she intended.

Azzi just leaned in a little closer, her breath ghosting across Paige’s ear. “You love it.”

And — god help her — Paige did.

She cracked her eyes open again, shooting a sharp look at Azzi, but her glare lacked any real heat. Azzi knew it. Smirking, she shifted her hand just a fraction higher, fingertips skating dangerously close to the hem of Paige’s shorts.

Paige sucked in a shallow breath, jaw locking tight.

“You’re such a brat,” she said under her breath.

Azzi’s smile turned lazy. “You gonna do something about it, P?”

Paige gritted her teeth, trying to focus on anything else — the road, the mountains in the distance, the milkshake rapidly melting in her hand — but Azzi’s hand was all she could feel.

A gentle pressure. A teasing touch. Like she wasn’t even trying but still had Paige unraveling inch by inch.

Every shift of Azzi’s fingers was torture. Deliberate, patient, maddening.

Paige pressed her head back harder against the seat, swallowing thickly. She wanted to shove Azzi’s hand away — or maybe she just wanted to grab it and drag her closer and kiss her until they both forgot where they were.

The partition felt too thin. The car too quiet. Her heartbeat too loud.

“You’re so annoying,” Paige said, voice low and rough.

Azzi only hummed, pretending to be fascinated by the passing scenery. “Just evening the score, babe.”

Her hand slipped higher again, fingertips dancing over the edge of Paige’s shorts — feather-light, maddening, and so careful, never crossing the line but coming close enough that Paige was practically vibrating with tension.

Paige tightened her hand around her milkshake, using it as a lifeline.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Paige muttered.

Azzi finally looked at her, tilting her head slightly, a wicked glint in her eyes. “I know.”

They sat like that the rest of the drive — Paige trying not to combust, Azzi pretending she was the picture of innocence, her hand burning a slow, deliberate imprint into Paige’s skin.

By the time they pulled up to the cabin, Paige wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss Azzi or kill her.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

–

By the time they got back to the cabin, Paige had a plan.

Simple. Effective. She was going to flip the script right back on Azzi — pay her back for every second of torture in that car, for every smug little smirk and the way her hand had crept just a little too high on Paige’s thigh, knowing exactly what it was doing.

Paige was more than ready. She was practically itching for it.

But when they stumbled through the front door, shopping bags slung over their arms, laughing a little too loud from some dumb inside joke, Azzi just tossed her keys on the counter, glanced at Paige, and said, with a slow smile, “Nah.”

Paige blinked. “Nah?” she echoed, incredulous.

Azzi shrugged, already peeling off her sneakers like she hadn’t just shattered every expectation Paige had for the evening. “You had your fun last night. Let a girl breathe.”

Paige narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “What, you scared?”

Azzi shot her a look over her shoulder — something amused and dark. “Hardly.”

Paige crossed her arms, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “What are you gonna do, then?”

Azzi let the question hang between them for a beat, long enough that Paige almost thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then, with a little huff of a laugh, Azzi stalked forward, grabbed Paige by the wrist, and started dragging her down the hall.

“You’re so fucking cocky,” Azzi muttered as they went.

Paige grinned, letting herself be pulled along easily. “Nah,” she said, all faux-casual. “Just confident.”

Azzi didn’t say anything else, just hauled her all the way into Paige’s room and kicked the door closed behind them.

Paige leaned back against it, arms crossed, watching Azzi with a lazy smirk. “Come on, Az. What you gonna do?”

Azzi stared at her for a second — and then something shifted.

It was subtle, the way her posture straightened, the way her mouth twitched into a grin that was a little meaner, a little more sure. Like she’d finally decided something.

Paige’s stomach flipped.

Without warning, Azzi stepped in, crowding her against the door, hands landing on either side of Paige’s head. She didn’t touch — not really — but she was close enough that Paige felt the heat of her body, the tension radiating off her in waves.

Paige’s smirk faltered slightly.

Azzi noticed. Of course she did.

“Funny,” Azzi murmured, tilting her head. “You talk all that shit, but now you’re real quiet.”

Paige huffed a laugh, forcing herself to keep it light. “Please. You’re not scaring me.”

Azzi smiled — slow, dangerous. “Not yet.”

And then she moved. One hand slid down, fingers curling around the front of Paige’s shirt, yanking her away from the door and pushing her backward toward the bed with easy force.

Paige stumbled but caught herself, grinning again despite the way her heart was hammering.

She let herself fall back onto the mattress, propped up on her elbows, watching Azzi stalk closer like she owned the whole damn room.

“You really think you’re still in control?” Azzi asked, voice low.

Paige opened her mouth to fire back something smart — but then Azzi was on her, straddling her hips, pinning her in place without even trying.

And maybe it was because Paige was still a little pink from the sun, maybe it was the long day, the way she was still loose and a little tired from everything — but it took shockingly little for Azzi to take the upper hand.

Paige realized it the second Azzi leaned down, her weight pressing Paige into the mattress just enough, her breath warm against Paige’s throat.

Yeah. She wasn’t fooling anyone anymore.

Azzi leaned in closer, lips brushing Paige’s ear. “God,” she murmured, almost laughing. “It took, like, nothing to get you to fold.”

Paige scowled, cheeks flushing despite herself. “Shut up.”

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, grinning wickedly. “Seriously. One little shove and you’re all soft.”

Paige groaned and covered her face with one hand. “Azzi.”

Azzi laughed, low and pleased. “It’s cute.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you’re so easy.”

Paige peeked out from between her fingers, half-glowering, half-embarrassed. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Azzi leaned down again, nipping at the side of Paige’s jaw in response. “You already said that, P.”

Paige grumbled under her breath, but she didn’t exactly push her off.

Azzi stayed there for a second, just looking at her — that kind of long, lingering look that made Paige feel seen in a way she didn’t always like.

Then, almost casually, Azzi asked, “Do you like it?”

Paige froze.

“Like what?” she asked, too quickly.

Azzi smiled knowingly. “When I push you around.”

Paige opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away, suddenly very interested in the ceiling.

Azzi laughed softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Paige’s ear. “Come on, P. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Paige shifted under her, awkward. She hated talking about shit like this — hated giving it words. But something about the way Azzi was looking at her — patient, steady, waiting — made her want to try.

“No…Yes…I don’t know,” Paige muttered finally. “It’s… easier sometimes. Not having to think. Just… letting you.”

Azzi’s face softened instantly. The teasing vanished, replaced with something quieter, more serious.

“Yeah?” she said, almost gently.

Paige nodded, staring at the ceiling.

Azzi leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. “That’s not weird, P.”

Paige let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“I mean,” Azzi said, grinning again, “it is a little funny how fast you gave up. But it’s not weird.”

Paige groaned and dragged a pillow over her face. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Paige grumbled something incoherent, but she didn’t move away when Azzi pulled the pillow off her face and kissed her properly this time — slow and easy, no pressure, no games.

They stayed like that for a while, tangled up on the bed, Azzi’s weight warm and solid over her, the afternoon sun slanting through the windows and painting everything gold.

For once, Paige didn’t feel the need to be anything but what she was — a little messy, a little unguarded, totally in love with the girl pinning her down.

And maybe — just maybe — that was the real reason she let Azzi win sometimes.

Because it wasn’t losing. Not really. Not when it was her.

[catherinekal]

I think this is just another example that the common opinion you'll see online isn't always as common as it feels like.

I have 1 IRL friend who tried to pre order it but just couldn't make it in time. She woke up early to get in on the pre orders but couldn't make it to the checkout in time because the sites were being overwhelmed.

Tons of streamers and YouTubers will for sure be getting it. A lot of people just love Nintendo and will pay whatever. Not saying that's a good thing but just how it is.

There's plenty of people who do make good money and don't care about the price because they just want to be on the ground floor on the latest Nintendo thing.

The same kind of people who can afford the most expensive and new gpus or things like that.

Look at any Nintendo direct reaction for the switch 2. People are excited and feel like they have to have it right away.

I don't see the switch 2 doing as well as the first one because of the cost but pre orders being sold out isn't surprising.

I'm content with my PC and playing weird shit I don't on steam or classics from years ago. Though that PC also cost vastly more than a switch 2 so if anything I spent far more money on gaming.

theres just no helping you morons is there

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 || 𝚊𝚣𝚣𝚒 𝚏𝚞𝚍𝚍 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which a motorcycle ride changes everything

The bar was quieter than usual. A slow Tuesday night. Jazz playing low through the speakers, old barstools creaking under the weight of regulars nursing beers, and you—leaning on the counter with your arms folded, tattoos peeking out from your sleeves as you wiped down a glass more out of habit than necessity.

That’s when she walked in.

You noticed her right away. Hood up, hands in the pocket of a UConn basketball hoodie, shoes scuffed like she’d been walking for a while. She looked...tired. Not just physically. That kind of mental exhaustion you recognized—like she was trying to outrun her own thoughts and not doing a great job of it.

You straightened a bit and offered the practiced, low-toned, easy-going smile you always saved for newcomers.

“Sit anywhere you like,” you said, voice calm.

She chose the far end of the bar, almost like she was hoping no one would notice her. But you did.

She glanced up as you approached, offering her the menu.

"Can I just get a water?" she asked, voice quiet, eyes a little distant.

"Sure thing," you nodded, filling a glass from the tap and sliding it across to her. "Rough night?"

She let out a breath, almost like she wasn’t planning to answer—but then her shoulders dropped slightly.

"Yeah. Game didn’t go the way we wanted. I needed to be alone for a bit. Just...somewhere that’s not my dorm, or the gym."

You didn’t push. You just nodded, leaning your forearms on the bar across from her. “You found a good spot for that. This place is the graveyard for bad nights.”

That got the smallest, faintest curve of a smile out of her.

“You the bartender or the therapist?” she asked.

You chuckled. “Bit of both, depends on the tip.”

She laughed softly, almost to herself, then took a sip of her water.

“I’m Azzi,” she said after a pause.

You tilted your head. “Fudd, right?”

Her eyes flicked up in surprise.

You shrugged. “I keep up with women’s hoops. You’re a legend in the making.”

Azzi exhaled, and for a second you saw her expression soften. “Not tonight.”

You tapped a knuckle gently against the bar near her glass. “Hey. Even legends have off nights. MJ missed shots. Serena had bad matches. Doesn’t mean they weren’t great.”

Azzi looked at you for a beat, like maybe she hadn’t had anyone say that to her in a while.

“You always say the right thing?” she asked.

You gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Nah. Just been in enough tough spots myself to know the wrong thing when I hear it.”

She looked down at her hands. “Feels like there’s so much pressure lately. Like...if I’m not perfect, I’m failing.”

Your voice was low, steady. “Perfection’s a moving target. You show up, you play hard, you get back up the next day. That’s what matters.”

The rest of the night unraveled in warm tones and easy conversation. She stayed for hours, talking about basketball, expectations, even music and random stories from road trips with the team. You shared some of your own too—life behind the bar, growing up, how you found peace on two wheels with wind in your face.

By the time the clock hit 1:30 a.m., the place had emptied out, and Azzi glanced at her phone.

“Crap. I should call an Uber.”

You reached for the bar towel on your shoulder, wiping your hands. “Or,” you said, “I could give you a ride.”

She blinked. “You have a car?”

“Nope.” You grabbed your keys from behind the bar and gestured toward the door with a small smirk. “I’ve got a bike.”

Azzi followed you outside, her hoodie pulled tight around her as the night air hit. Her eyes widened as you stopped next to your matte black motorcycle, sleek and shining under the streetlamp.

She stared. “That’s yours?”

You nodded.

She hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip. “I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.”

You handed her your leather jacket, noticing the way she shivered in the cold. “First time for everything.”

She looked at the jacket, then at you.

“You’re not gonna wear it?”

You smiled as you handed her your helmet. “Your safety’s more important than mine.”

Azzi looked at the helmet, then at you again, eyes scanning your calm, assured expression like she was trying to decide if you were serious.

You reached out gently, securing the strap beneath her chin.

“Trust me,” you murmured. “You’ll be safe with me.”

She took a breath, then nodded.

She climbed on behind you—tentative, unsure—until you glanced over your shoulder and said softly, “Hold on tight.”

You felt her arms wrap around your torso, and once the engine rumbled to life, you kicked up the stand and peeled away into the empty streets of the city.

The wind whipped around you both, but you could feel her holding on, warmth pressed to your back, her head against your shoulder. The ride was quiet except for the hum of the engine, the rhythm of city lights flashing by.

When you pulled up in front of her dorm, you killed the engine and turned to look at her.

She was smiling—genuine, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen earlier.

“That was…” she laughed breathlessly. “Actually amazing.”

You swung a leg off the bike, holding out your hand to help her down.

“Told you,” you said, grinning.

She pulled off the helmet, handing it back to you as her curls bounced loose.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said, voice softer now, sincere. “Really.”

“Anytime,” you replied. “You got my bar, and now you’ve got my ride. You’re basically VIP.”

She laughed again, then bit her lip. “Can I…have your number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t even have to bribe me with a tip?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, pulling out her phone. You gave her your number, watching her type it in.

“I’ll text you,” she said as she backed toward the doors of her building.

You nodded. “Looking forward to it, Azzi.”

She paused at the steps, glancing back one more time.

“Oh, and… thanks for the jacket,” she said, still wearing it, snug and oversized on her frame.

“Keep it,” you called. “Looks better on you anyway.”

Her smile stayed with you long after she disappeared inside.

Your phone buzzed between shifts.

Azzi: Still think I look better in your jacket? Because I kinda want to test that theory again.

You grinned.

You: Only one way to find out. I’ll pick you up. Hold on tight.

You picked her up again two nights later.

This time, she was waiting for you on the steps outside her dorm, your leather jacket already on. She looked...confident. A little less guarded. Like the weight she’d been carrying around was starting to loosen just a bit.

You pulled up to the curb and flipped up your visor, eyes crinkling at her.

"Ready?"

Azzi smirked, strapping on the helmet you held out for her like she’d done it a hundred times. "Let’s see if your first date game is as strong as your getaway driver skills."

You chuckled. “So we’re calling this a date, huh?”

She swung onto the back and slid her arms around your waist like it was second nature.

“Depends where we’re going,” she teased.

You revved the engine. “Guess you’ll have to trust me again.”

You didn’t take her anywhere flashy. That wasn’t your style—and she didn’t seem like she wanted glitz anyway.

Instead, you took her to a cozy rooftop spot you knew downtown—one of those semi-hidden gems with fairy lights strung overhead and mismatched tables that felt more like a backyard than a restaurant. They served fire-grilled street tacos and horchata that tasted like someone’s grandma made it, and best of all, no one bothered you there.

Azzi looked around as you parked the bike, her eyes lighting up.

“This is perfect,” she said, voice soft as she removed the helmet. “How’d you even find this place?”

You helped her off the bike and gestured toward the staircase leading up to the rooftop.

“Used to bartend up here before the owner expanded. I helped them set up the patio lights one summer. Got paid in tacos and sunburns.”

She laughed. “That’s kinda romantic.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sunburns?”

“No,” she rolled her eyes, nudging your arm. “The way you say stuff. Like you’ve lived three lives already.”

You tilted your head. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Dinner was effortless.

You sat across from each other at a small table tucked into a corner of the rooftop. Azzi pulled her knees up onto the chair halfway through the meal, laughing with her whole face, totally at ease.

You talked about everything—basketball, sure, but also your favorite songs growing up, your dream cities, worst injuries, best tattoos (she was still fascinated by the one that curled along your forearm in delicate black ink).

When the food was gone and the stars were fully out, Azzi leaned forward on her elbows.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why’d you give me your jacket that night?”

You shrugged, watching her with a steady gaze. “Because you looked cold. And because you looked like someone who needed to be reminded that people still do kind things without expecting something in return.”

Azzi stared at you for a long second. “That’s… I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you said, quiet. “You just looked like you hadn’t had someone look out for you in a while.”

Azzi’s smile faltered, but not in a bad way. It just softened. Grew more real.

And when you walked her back to the bike, she hesitated before putting on the helmet.

“You didn’t kiss me,” she said, eyes twinkling as she held your jacket a little tighter around her.

You stepped in close, tilting your head slightly. “Wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“I wouldn’t have worn this jacket again if I didn’t,” she murmured.

You smiled and leaned in, slow and deliberate, giving her every chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

The kiss was gentle, warm, and just a little bit shy—her fingers curling into your collar as yours brushed along the side of her jaw. You pulled back after a few seconds, your forehead resting against hers.

“Worth the wait,” you whispered.

Azzi nodded, breath catching. “Yeah… yeah, it was.”

Over the next few weeks, she started to post you on social media. It started small—your hands on the handle bars, a blurry shot of your body across from her on lunch dates.

But the real shift happened after a home game win. She spotted you waiting just outside the players’ tunnel.

She jogged over, sweaty and beaming, crowd still roaring behind her. You held up a Gatorade with a knowing smirk.

“You really showed out tonight,” you said, handing her the bottle.

“Guess someone inspired me,” she replied, taking a sip.

You turned to walk her toward the locker room entrance, but she stopped you.

And right there—in front of fans, teammates, media—she tugged on your arm, pulled you down slightly, and kissed you.

It wasn’t long. But it was real. Certain.

The internet broke an hour later.

You didn’t expect the attention—but Azzi? She just laughed when the team group chat exploded with heart emojis. Paige even sent a picture of a leather jacket emoji with “👀” underneath.

You texted her later that night.

You: You okay with people knowing?

She answered almost immediately.

Azzi: I don’t care what anyone thinks. You make me feel like I can breathe again.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, heart tugging at the honesty in her words.

You: You make me feel like I’m finally home.

[kyuuppi]

private server (1/?)

Pairing: Kenma x reader (she/her)

Tags: slow burn (?), internet friends to lovers, reader is a corporate slave with social anxiety, Kenma is a bit sassy and bad with feelings, lots of game references (Minecraft, DBD, Marvel Rivals, etc.), vtuber stereotypes, modern au

Words: 2.7k

Every 7pm after work, you boot up your old laptop and log onto Discord, where you begin a voice call in the private server only the two of you share. Kenma seems to have a natural sense for what you want to play just by hearing your tone when you greet him.

On your good nights, he allows you to practice duoing in the FPS games he’s known for playing. He takes on the role of support without a single complaint while you play DPS, regardless of how badly you feed. If anyone on the enemy team calls out your poor performance, Kenma makes it a point to repeatedly kill them in the most triggering ways.

On the nights you come on exhausted from a rough day at work, Kenma wordlessly boots up Stardew Valley or Minecraft, allowing the two of you to relax to the soundtrack in a comfortable silence.

Something about his quiet presence always eases your mind, and more often than not, you find yourself rambling about the things on your mind while the two of you play. The annoying habits of your coworkers, your biggest fears, the new dressing you tried on your salad at lunch–you end up eventually spilling everything to him while he quietly listens, occasionally making a soft hum or comment that lets you know he’s still there. 

In the beginning, you always worried that you were talking too much and boring this famous internet celebrity with the inconsequential details of your boring life. The moment you realized you were ranting, you’d suddenly cut yourself off with an embarrassed apology.

But that’s when Kenma would surprise you the most–rather than allowing the call to fall into the silence he seemed so comfortable with, he would ask a question so specific, and often related to a past bit of information you forgot you even told him, that it becomes clear he was listening to every word from the beginning. 

It was one of the things that made you realize you liked him more than you should. 

Kenma’s calm disposition had you confiding in him about thoughts you hadn’t even told your best friends, and he never made you feel judged or insignificant for them. Although he almost never started conversations, he always answered any questions you asked with a level of openness that surprised you, like he trusted you just as much as you trusted him. 

Even if–per the extensive searches you did on Twitter, Reddit, and even 4chan–you were 97% sure Kenma was single, you doubted he was interested in dating anyone, let alone dating someone like you who seemed to live in a completely different reality from him.

As your feelings developed, you spent more time than you’d like to admit imagining what type of partner would suit Kenma.

Of course, they would have to be someone with extensive video game knowledge who could match his own. Probably a professional gamer or maybe someone who worked in the industry. The long-haired gamer girls with high-pitched voices and hyper-pink bedrooms who frequently appear in your feed came to mind. All of them had dedicated fan bases full of men and women alike praising their good looks and fun personalities. Many were more than just pretty faces but also great gamers–certainly much better than you in nearly every metric. 

But somehow you struggled to picture Kenma–who spoke in soft low tones and wore the same black hoodie nearly every stream–dating any of them. 

You had considered some VTubers as well – you knew Kenma was mutuals with several big names and occasionally retweeted their merch drops. But that theory died after one particular conversation you had with Kenma over a casual Minecraft session. Feeling particularly insecure, you asked him about his thoughts on a trending busty bunny VTuber all your male coworkers had been chattering about over lunch, to which he responded with a deadpan, “she’s probably just another middle-aged man catfishing simps like most of them are.”  

The only remaining option you could see was some mystery person he knew in real life–perhaps a childhood friend or another streamer who mutually agreed to keep the relationship private.

In one of the rare times Kenma spoke to you about the people he knows in real life, he mentioned an “annoying” childhood friend who is always coming over to his house uninvited and an old rival from high school who now plays professional volleyball in Brazil. While you questioned the likeliness of such a long distance relationship between a professional athlete and a famous streamer, the fondness with which Kenma spoke of him made your chest feel hot with envy. For your own sake, you stopped contemplating Kenma’s romantic life after that and resigned yourself to just savoring the few hours of his time you get every night. 

The first shift in your friendship began in late April.

As a result of one of your coworkers falling sick with the flu, your supervisor assigned you to a cross-country business trip at the last minute. The abrupt shift in responsibilities from you background role in information management to direct client contact overwhelmed you and your usual routine with your internet crush was the last thing on your mind as you raced to pack an overnight suitcase and research clients you had never dealt with before. 

For the first time since you began talking to Kenma three months ago, you missed a gaming session without so much as a message. 

The trip ended up being busier than you had expected even with the support of your coworker who patiently led you through some of the more complicated business etiquette.

By the time you reached your hotel room late that first night, you were exhausted. Still, you had attempted to install the Discord app on your phone to at least give Kenma an apology for your absence. Discord was the only way contact information the two of you had of each other and up until now you had even preferred it that way, You were very intentional in keeping your Twitter where you retweet rather spicy anime fanart and K-pop idol abs top secret from him–not that his verified account with 300k followers would ever follow you back in the first place. 

However, the spotty hotel WiFi proved incompatible with Discord’s large file size, and you gave up after half an hour, stuck at 3% downloaded.  As you closed your heavy eyelids for the night, you mentally assured yourself that Kenma would understand your sudden absence–he is incredibly busy most of the day with his own business and recently complained about an upcoming collaboration with a famous clothing brand that has been demanding a large chunk of his time. He might be so busy himself that he doesn’t even notice you’re gone.

With that thought in mind, you drift out of consciousness to get a few hours of rest before your morning meetings. 

Three days later–two days longer than planned due to a misplaced thumbdrive and storm weather delaying flights–you find yourself finally on the familiar last train back to your apartment.

You twist your ankle restlessly in your work shoes, heels aching from being on your feet for the better part of the week. You utilize the half hour of freetime to finally check your socials. Several unopened emails from online shop subscriptions sat at the top of your personal email inbox, a few life updates from your friends in your texts, and an upcoming world tour from your favorite idols on Twitter. You make a mental note to respond to a group chat about everyone’s availability for the next “charcuterie board night” tomorrow morning. 

The last app you check is Instagram, expecting the usual posts from your college friends on vacations abroad or getting engaged that usually fill you with a sense of envy you don’t like to dwell on. You’re slightly surprised to see the note of a follow request and subsequent new message request in your DMs. You expect the usual influencer scam or sugar daddy bot expressing “interest in your page”. Instead, you see a very brief set of messages from a profile with no picture.

19:42 @ kodzu_ken2: hey this is kenma from discord

Your heart flutters despite yourself as you keep reading.

19:43 @ kodzu_ken2: u havent been online in a while…r u ok?

20:01 @ kodzu_ken2: we dont have to play ofc, we can just talk if ur tired

20:06 @ kodzu_ken2: or if u dnt wanna talk we can just b quiet in call

Kodzuken does not have an official Instagram–you know that for a fact because it was one of the first places you tried to follow him when a clip of his streams first came across your feed. And even if he did, you never shared your own Instagram handle with him so there was no way for him to follow you as your Discord name was completely different.

You tap on the default grey profile picture to his page and it is empty as expected. His bio and name are both left blank with 0 posts, 0 followers, and 0 following–evidence of a brand new profile.

In any other circumstance you would think it was a scam–perhaps one of the thousands of unofficial “kodzuken” pages on Instagram posting fanart and meme edits of the man. But the way of typing–from the shorthand to the word choice are so clearly the Kenma you’ve spent the past 3 months talking to. Moreover, your absence from your regular game sessions is something only Kenma would know about–not even your closest friends know that you’ve secretly been hanging out with a famous steamer. 

You’re typing back a reply before you realize it. 

22:46 @ yn_tofu: Hi Ken!! Sorry I didn’t message you sooner, I got forced into a business trip last minute at work 😵‍💫 I just got back to Tokyo a few hours ago

You nearly drop your phone when the message status immediately changes to “Read.”

@ kodzu_ken2 is typing…

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: its ok 

You chuckle quietly at how Kenma his brief response is. An elderly man seated across from you shoots you an odd look before going back to his novel. 

22:47 @ kodzu_ken2: do u wanna play tonight?

Startled, you glance up at the information panel above the train door.  Five more stops until your station–then the trek to your apartment with a suitcase–even if you speed walk it’ll take at least another half hour until you’re seated in front of your computer. Your sessions with Kenma are usually well over by then–you finishing your night routine to prepare for bed then work the next day and Kenma starting his regular nighttime streaming session. Your chest clenches in preemptive disappointment.

22:49 @ yn_tofu: I would love to but I won’t be home for another 30 min 😭 

22:49 @ kodzu_ken2: thats ok. ill wait for u

You barely muffle a frustrated screech at how your heart skips a beat over the last sentence. The old man pointedly shoots you a glare before standing as the train comes to a stop. He shuffles off and the train doors shutter closed behind him as you clumsily type your reply. 

22:50 @ yn_tofu: Are you sure??? Don’t you start streaming around that time? I don’t wanna make you late or anything… ;;

22:51 @ kodzu_ken2: my stream is cancelled today

Cancelled? You feel your brows knit in concern as the train jolts to a start. It is rare that Kodzuken cancels a stream–in fact you can’t recall a single instance since you’ve known him. He generally plans his schedules several weeks in advance, posting the upcoming month’s schedule on the last Friday of the month without fail. When he takes vacations–like the time he told you he was going to Brazil to see his friend’s volleyball tournament, your brain mercilessly reminds you–he still streams for at least an hour from his temporary lodging.

22:51 @ yn_tofu: Oh no, did something happen? :( 

22:52 @ yn_tofu: I thought this week you’re playing that new Marvel Rivals game everyone requested…

As the train rolls to another stop you absently realize he’s taking a little longer to reply now. That’s fine of course–you’re just one of his many fans, maybe a casual Discord friend at best. He’s under no obligation to reply right away. 

22:56 @ kodzu_ken2: no, just dnt feel like it today. ill make up for it tomorrow

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Oh yeah? How do you plan to do that?

22:57 @ yn_tofu: Are you gonna finally do that Nagi from Blue Lock cosplay all your fans have been begging for? :p 

22:57 @ kodzu_ken2: ew no way in hell

22:58 @ kodzu_ken2: ill just spam that venom twerking emote in lobby. pretty sure thts the only reason ppl wanted me to stream tht game anyway 😐

You laugh out loud at both Kenma’s rare use of emoji and the mental image of him, blank-faced, spamming the infamous twerking emote in a stream while his chat goes crazy. 

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Idk kinda sus that was your first thought, Ken 🤨

22:58 @ yn_tofu: Its okay to admit you like Venom’s ass, this is a safe space 🫶

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: i just gagged

22:59 @ kodzu_ken2: im not like u, i dont buy dlc just to stare at charas asses all game

23:00 @ yn_tofu: Omg I told you I did NOT buy Pyramid Head for his ass!! He is actually a really good killer…

23:00 @ kodzu_ken2: idk kinda sus that he was your first thought 🤨

23:00 @ yn_tofu: I hope you remember this convo when I’m kicking your ass in Smash in 20 min >:(

“Now arriving at Asakusabashi Station. The doors on the right side will open.”

The call of your station on the speakers jolts you out of your conversation and you scramble to gather your bags as the train doors open. 

Even rolling a stuffed suitcase and wearing heels you reach your apartment in record time, eager to hear Kenma’s voice for the first time in three days. Stripping off the top layers of your business suit, you don’t bother unpacking anything and just leave your bags, blazer, and shoes in a pile at the front door before taking the three steps to get to the desk next to your bed. 

You tap your bare foot impatiently while the fans of your ancient laptop loudly whirl to life. For once Discord seems not to require an update to open and you click the call button next to Kenma’s name without hesitation. 

He picks up in the first ring. 

“Hi,” you greet into your headset. You aren’t sure if it's from the excitement of talking to Kenma or the three flights of stairs you just hiked up but your voice sounds embarrassingly breathy to your own ears. 

“Hey,” he replies as coolly as usual. The familiar sounds of buttons click faintly in his background. Your chest feels warm and a tension you didn’t know you had leaves your shoulders as you relax into your swivel chair. 

“On my trip I saw some really cool architecture–Kyushu kinda looks like how I imagine Germany–anyway, I was thinking we can make a little cathedral for that empty space in our minecraft world we were talking about last week–”

“We can do that later.”

You bite your tongue, caught off guard by the abrupt dismissal. Wasn’t he the one who asked you to play with him tonight? Did you misunderstand something?

“Is your Switch charged?” He asks.

Said device sits conveniently plugged in at the corner of your desk when you glance over. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Hurry up and log on then. I heard someone is planning to ‘kick my ass in Smash’ tonight and there’s a new Robin combo I’ve been wanting to test out,” Kenma drawls.

You can practically feel the smirk in his voice and you loudly groan as you reach for your Switch and mentally prepare for the inevitable slaughter.

a/n: Thank you for reading!! This is the first thing I've written in like a year ?? so ik its prob not great. :,,) When I start writing I usually just start with one scene and see where it goes then think of what character would fit the writing best but it almost always ends up being Kenma LOL. I fear he is truly my default.