#so leaving it at a point like an “end of a chapter” i think its perfect

[chongoblog]

[Blocked] for Your Sanity Analysis

In light of Deltarune today, I thought I'd look back on a mashup I made when Chapter 2 dropped, that being [Blocked] For Your Sanity.

So if we don't count the backing track of BIG SHOT, this song uses 12 different audio sources. Thats roughly 1 new sample every 12 seconds (a pretty good pace. Side note: I'm gonna have to look into the mashup rates of some of my other mashups, just because I love Numbers)

Of these 12 samples, I can cite specific reasons for adding almost every single one of them! The only one I can't think of is "Mambo No. 5", which I think ended up being added because the melodic rhythm lined up well (similar to HHGregg in Mad Rat Purgatory).

So first, we can clear a lot of these in one, because this mashup is actually a direct sequel! If you didn't know, I mad a mashup with "NOWS YOUR CHANCE TO BE A" called "[Blocked] For Your Safety". And every song that was used in Safety is reused here. Those songs being "I Want You", "Mo' Money, Mo' Problems", "Wannabe", and "Macarena". All of those were chosen because all four of them were on the Billboard Year-End Top 100 List for [[1997]].

So that's 4 songs out of the way! We can eliminate a few more by looking back at previous mashups, mostly at Behindtale. "You Spin Me Right Round" and HHGregg were included as a reference to THE JAM REVOLVING (with HHGregg getting special attention due to this coming out a few months after Mad Rat Monday). Some people in the comments speculated that it was some kind of reference to Spamton's character and how it's not too dissimilar to Mad Rat's in a way, and while that wasn't the intent, it's a fascinating perspective. THIS is the kind of shit that makes me love what I do. I plant the seed that you can analyze mashups for a deeper meaning. Then you have people who see that deeper meaning, even where you didn't intend to, giving them a deeper and sometimes even more personal connection to the music. FUCK I love creating. Anyway, "The Hero!!" and "Anthropology" were added as references to Pony! and Power of a Punch from Behindtale, since the motifs from Undertale re-emerge in this theme.

And on this note I want to take a moment to say that I'm frothing at the mouth to one day make a Deltarune album. Because Toby's use of motifs gels REALLY well with my style of mashups. I'm not sure when I would do it or how I would arrange it all, but I wanna make it happen (along with all the other stuff I wanna do aaaaaaaaa)

So that leaves 3 more songs, which are meant to reflect Spamton specifically, and his feeling of being trapped. "I've Got No Strings" is the clearest puppet allegory I could find in a song (I know Master of Puppets exists, but a Master Spamton is not). "This is Gospel" is a song that functionally works really well in mashups because its chorus is mostly one long held word, so you don't have to worry about it making the lead vocals confusing. But for this one it works doubly well, since the lyrics heard are "LET ME GO". And finally, "Locked Out Of Heaven" is almost punishingly fitting for Spamton.

That's the reasoning out of the way. In terms of production notes, you can start to see a more remix-inspired style start to really rise up with this mashup. A lot of the audio tracks are cut down and have small bits repeated (most notably, Wannabe, Macarena, and I Want You). Someone in the comments pointed out that at 1:55 there are 4 songs playing over each other and it still works! The repetition is part of what makes this work so well! I start by looping "I need you, I want you", which is a very simple loop. Once you have that going for a couple loops, the listener gets it, and since the loop is like half a second, you're SPEEDRUNNING that familiarity. Then I do the same thing with "Mambo No. 5", which I put on top of the melody playing. This acts to sort of place Mambo No. 5 as part of the backing track.

You see, my theory with mashups is that when people generally listen to a song, they subconsciously divide it into its musicality and its lyrics. The musicality side of the brain is abstract and can absorb a good bit, especially if you build on it over time (with overlaying melodies and such). The lyrical side of your brain is less talented, because if you try to tell it two new sets of words at the same time, its a bit too much. The tradeoff is that it makes a of of this kind of analysis, so I guess it levels out. So how do you make it so that you can play a bunch of songs at once without the lyric side going into a fit? That's where the repetition comes in! If you can get a phrase to repeat enough, then the lyric side of your brain sorta goes "okay, yeah I got that. There's not much by new information to worry about" and it sort of moves it over to the musicality half of the brain to process. At that point it doesn't process what it's saying, but it doesn't need to. You already know. And the best part is that musicality half LOVES it when you can seamlessly put familiar stuff with other familiar stuff (it's why mashups are so fun in the first place). That way you can add lyrics bit by bit, and suddenly you have three people singing at once, but you can still make sense of it!

I'll probably share some finer technical tips for how to do that stuff in a future post, but this one's gone on for quite a bit already

[strryspace]

oh boy so i watched the sixties lotf movie, and everything was good, it was mostly true to the book

and then i watched the nineties one, and i think its actually WORSE than everyones making it out to be, there's so many inaccuracies i don't even know where to start

first off, them starting in the water made me giggle a lil, but then.. ralph i think?? goes down to save an adult.. by the HAIR. HELP?

them being from the same stupid military school is SO dumb, because theres meant to be a distinction between the choir boys and everyone else, and jack makes it a WHOLE THING that hes chapter chorister and can sing c sharp THEREFORE has the credentials to be chief

and theyre meant to be the last to show up after ralph blows the conch, which in the MOVIE, doesnt show up for a hot MINUTE

the point of the arrival of the choir is that they appear as a large black mass at first, which is foreshadowing that they themselves become the true beast later in the book, which made me mad because its one of my FAVOURITE parts in the book because its subtle but oh man it hits you on the reread

plus piggy was supposed to be the first one to stumble upon ralph, it was the whole point of their argument later, 'i was with him before anyone else was', but there isnt even an argument in the movie because EVERYONE goes to explore the island 🥀🥀

AND WHY ARE THERE GLOW STICKS?

they got rid of the parachutist too, and instead of the parachutist appearing on the island by the fire, the adult they saved earlier basically jumpscares a boy in a cave and then the boy stabs him with the spear, which is NOT THE EQUIVALENT TO THE PARACHUTIST ON THE MOUNTAIN!!!

the entire deal with the parachutist being on the mountain is that they then couldn't go back up to where their signal fire was, rendering it useless and rescue borderline impossible

they dont even address it cuz then they just put the fire on the beach anyway?

the parachutist was also to show that whats happening on the island is just a smaller scale of the real world events and the nuance of the world outside the island, to show that the boys wouldnt be safer back home in england like they think, how adults are as bad + WAY WORSE in general

and samneric dont even get captured, they straight up leave WAY earlier than theyre supposed to

+ the adult is just straight up knocked out from his injuries and he goes off wandering and thats how he ends up in the cave

ANOTHER THING!! if movie ralph is colonel, there shouldnt have even BEEN an election, because at the end of the day he literally has superiority over the other cadets, who gaf is jack is older, CUZ HE ISNT THE COLONEL IS HE???

jack wasnt even mad he was like 'i guess you won 🔥', the characterization is so sad and takes away from what theyre all meant to represent

and since there isnt even a choir, simon is basically just some cadet that has a lizard for barely a minute in the movie, in getting rid of the choir you just erase his religious characteristics, and in turn, RUIN HIS CHARACTER ENTIRELY

the SWEARING takes away from so many moments that are meant to be big and contemplative, and so much iconic dialogue was missing, they threw like five lines similar to the book and decided to call it a day

'im sick of your shit and sos my gang!' jack ate this line up though i cant even lie, i had a good chuckle but obviously its still not WHAT HE ACTUALLY SAID

not to mention.. they all help build the shelters, which in the book is one of the biggest problems cuz nobodys helping with the huts and its one of the reasons ralph calls an assembly

speaking of assembly, jack doesnt call one EVER like he does once in the book, and he doesnt even condescend ralph or mention any qualities about him to get the others to dislike him, he also doesnt attempt to redo the count so he can be chief, and its supposed to be a tense scene (at least i imagine it to be) but jack is just like 'okay bye whoever wants to come can come also fuck you ralph'

and people just IMMEDIATELY follow after him rather than slowly disappearing when theyre building the fire on the beach like in the book

also they just put in a random storm i guess for the dramatics but it doesnt fit because in the book the storm was used for simons death to indicate the climax of savagery and violence. yes, there is a storm when they kill simon, but its not as impactful because theres already been a storm and we've witnessed it

the mention of the beastie from the mulberry boy in the beginning aint even there, and they dont call it the beast (which it is LITERALLY ALWAYS KNOWN AS), they call it a monster.

that's another thing, a beast could be anything, it has a more animalistic quality to it, a monster just sounds fake entirely and it doesnt give it the feel of realisticness that the word 'beast' has

we dont see simon go off into his sanctuary at all, another core part of his religious character, and he also doesnt faint a single time

roger and simon get whitewashed but whos really surprised with that one anymore

when they hunt for the 'beast' ralph isnt even there and there wasnt even an assembly

theres also no slight confrontation between jack and roger after piggys death, taking away from his intimidating behaviour and overall character once again

when ralph goes back to castle rock and sees samneric, they just say 'you arent supposed to be here, blah blah blah roger sharpened a stick at both ends' ralph literally goes 'you need to stand up to him or youll just be another one of his slaves!!' and then scurries off, never let this guy do a pep talk ever

there is an assembly where ralph addresses the fact that everyone is horsing around, but due to the lack of BEAST it is basically useless because part of the assembly was addressing the nonsensical fear that reigned over the island, which meant simon didnt get to say his ICONIC LINES and also ONCE AGAIN takes away from their characters as a whole

jack doesnt even say 'bollocks to the rules' 🥀🥀 literally one of his silliest but genuine lines and they took it away from him

also they need to stop making jack blonde because hes described to be a redhead with a shit ton of freckles

and what do you know they made simon simply STARE at the pig's head, which the other movie does too but at least they could afford a few inaccurate things here and there because they mostly stayed on track

the events of the movie are simply ALL over the place and pretty much contradicts everything the book was trying to say and do, because by taking away certain things like the choir and the beginning with piggy and ralph, youre just saying 'what if there was an island. what if we put boys on it' AND THEN FILMED IT AND ATTACHED IT TO LORD OF THE FLIES' NAME

in the beginning, jack doesnt really make much of an effort to try to kill the piglet and plus the piglet wasnt even trapped so once again, there was very little tension and emphasis on it, which is unfortunate because its one of jacks important scenes, it shows his lingering innocence and the civilized part of him that's still in there despite his crude nature

if theres any more i can think of, ill edit this and add it

overall, im unimpressed and disappointed, i heard it was bad, but god i didnt know it was THIS bad

[kirietown]

Charmless Morning | Ch. III

Pairing: mark grayson x f!reader

Summary: you were a pretty good hero, but it just seems as though some folks need more persuasion than others.

Content: violence, hive antics, minor body horror.

18+

[chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three]

Word Count: 3.4K

a/n: took longer than expected to get this chapter out but im happy to continue the mystery of the hive! also i promise things will get more confusing until they start to make sense lol

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. It was already a miracle that they could do it, so the fact that your insect wings (around the length of your forearm, and width of your thigh when you sat down) could take you across cities in minutes meant that science really needed to catch up to bees. 

You were currently flying towards downtown Chicago after having seen a bunch of live streams on TikTok of civilians videotaping some sort of villain attack,— to which it seemed the current Guardians were getting their asses kicked by. 

This is our chance. The GDA has been watching us for some time now so we’ve already caught Cecil Stedman’s eye. Now all that’s left is to show how we’d be an asset to them.

You didn’t feel like much of an asset due to the fact that you were flying with your eyes shut, relying on The Hive to guide you through the air. It was your fault really, you’d always assumed that superheroes just had lenses on their masks for the aesthetic. But unfortunately you had to learn the hard way that they served an actual purpose. 

What’s the deal with this villain anyway? You asked mentally, as you also had to learn the hard way that talking whilst flying super fast was next to impossible. 

The bees say he calls himself Mastermind. He seems to use some sort of auditory related ability to control mass amounts of people. It looks like he’s got nearly every Guardian of the Globe, how embarrassing. 

Mastermind? What a dumb name… 

Stop here. 

You halted mid-air, thankful that the journey had ended. You hovered, and opened your eyes to see you stopped directly above what should have been a busy intersection full of cars. Instead it was full of dancing people, swaying to awful trap music. 

The music cannot hurt us. We are The Hive. We cannot be controlled. 

“Cool,” you said. You scanned the crowd and noticed a few costumed figures dancing along to the music. You recognized a few of them such as Black Samson and the Immortal. You looked over again and realized the villain, Mastermind was standing atop a fountain, and circling around it eagerly as he took in his crowd of followers. He wore a tacky orange and white suit, and appeared to be a dark skin dreadhead. If he wasn’t so evil you’d think he was pretty cute. 

Focus. We should determine how to do this. Maybe something flashy to stand o— 

It was very rare that you were able to take The Hive by surprise because of the whole hive mind thing. So over the years you had mastered the technique of not thinking and although you suspect that it didn’t actually work, it didn’t stop you from attempting to annoy The Hive. 

Before The Hive could finish its talking, you soared down until you were a few feet away from Mastermind and yelled, “Hey! Can you change the song?” The villain in question only glared at you, but before he could even lift a finger you acted. You raised your arm, all five fingers pointed toward him, and watched as two stingers shot right out of your index and middle. A painless process for you, though you had to bring your hand to your face and lick those two fingers in a subtle manner. You had always imagined healing factors as this cool thing; yours made you feel like a wounded cat. At the contact of your saliva, the skin of your fingers immediately sealed up leaving you with nothing but the sensation of light tickling. 

“What the—?” He hissed at the pins in his face, and raised his gloved hand as if to inspect them before he instead fell to his knees and crashed onto the ground below him. 

Not very flashy. 

“We’re here to impress the GDA,” you mumbled quietly. “Something tells me they value efficiency over flashiness.” You watched as Mastermind slept peacefully against the pavement, only wincing when you realized his collision seemingly caused a head injury. Blood seeped out of his hairline, pooling slightly against the ground. Before you could float down to check up on him, a voice above whistled as if impressed. 

You turned to look above, seeing none other than Invincible with a brick in his hand. 

“You handled that pretty well,” he said. You were stunned as you had not expected his appearance at all. 

Did you know he was back from space? The Hive did not reply. 

“Uh,” you said. “Thanks, what’s with the suspicious brick?” You flew up to meet him at eye level, still maintaining a sizeable gap of distance between the two of you. A few bees had joined you, who had likely came from a nearby park and grew curious by your presence. They hovered around the air, a few rubbing against your skin, but you paid it no mind. Invincible didn’t seem to either, but you couldn’t tell from the lenses of his mask.

“Well,” he said. “I didn’t wanna risk the whole mind manipulation thingy, so I was planning on just dropping this brick on his head from way up above.” He blushed as he spoke the words as though he was only just now realizing how silly his plan was. 

You giggled, smiling a bit at his revelation. 

“Seriously? That literally could have killed him,” you said with a raised brow though all it did was cause your mask to slip a bit. You readjusted it awkwardly, hoping he didn’t notice your fumble. 

“Well I didn’t really have many options, other than punching my way through things. What was that you used? Stingers? I’ve never really seen anything like that before.” Your eyes widened in shock at the realization that Invincible was seemingly geeking out over you. You had honestly expected the opposite to happen, but nonetheless you were very pleased. 

“Um yeah,” you cursed yourself for your casualness but hoped you came off as nonchalant. “I can shoot stingers; they grow out of my fingers, not my nails. One is enough to knock out the average person, two or three for superpowered folks, but four or five is deadly.” He nodded his head, and some part of you felt compelled to spill more. After all, it’s only been a few days since you unlocked all your new powers according to The Hive. The stingers were the most painful, more painful than the wings but now felt as though they were always a part of you. 

“I also talk to bees and can do some other weird stuff.” You tried to be cool, but frankly you felt pretty overpowered. The only set back was you definitely did not have the super strength to match, but the stingers helped with close range contact. You had gotten your ass whooped enough during the first few weeks of your superhero career to realize you needed to rely heavily on your stingers if you wanted to make it out with your butt intact. 

“You can talk to bees?! God, I hate to risk sounding lame but—“ Invincible wasn’t able to get his thoughts out as suddenly another individual joined you in the sky. 

You turned at the sound of the wind shifting and saw Immortal facing you. For some reason, his presence spooked you more than Invincible’s likely due to his strict demeanour. 

“You’re the Immortal,” you said stupidly and immediately wanted to shoot your own stinger into your skull. “You’re like… the guy.”

Let us stop talking. 

“Indeed,” he replied. “And you are the one who rescued my team from Mastermind. I think we could use talents such as yours on the Guardians of the Globe, if you’d be willing to speak with our superior at the GDA.” Your brain scrambled for a minute to process what he had just told you. 

That easy? 

It would appear so. We saw how they struggled. This team needs us now more than ever. 

“I… I would love to join you,” you finally replied hoping that you didn’t sound as winded as you felt. You almost spoke again until you sensed Invincible shift from his spot. You turned to face him, noting an unreadable expression on his face. 

“I gotta jet now,” he said. 

“Invincible,” the Immortal spoke. “I hadn’t realized you returned from space.”

”Yeah, I just got back and realized I have a lot of things to do and catch up on. Anyway,” he turned to face you. “It was nice to meet you, your name was?” 

You hesitated for a moment because you realized you hadn’t thought much of anything regarding a superhero alias aside from the obvious bee theme. 

“The Hive,” you said finally. You waited for its voice to scold you in your head but heard nothing. “You can call me The Hive.” He smiled in return, before saying a quick goodbye and flying away. You held back a frown, wondering when you’d get the opportunity to see him again. 

…

All your fantasies about how cool it would be to work with a superhero team like the Guardians of the Globe were quickly shot down the moment you sat in their shuttle plane and found yourself face to face with Rex Splode. 

“Y’know that whole creepy crawly thing isn’t really that heroic,” he said with a wave of his fingers. You narrowed your eyes at him, and felt the bees tense in mid-air (about five of them hovered around you, as they were anxious for you to be riding a plane). 

“Creepy crawlies? Bees are like… fucking awesome.” You wanted to die in a hole for how lame you sounded. To be frank, this was probably your longest conversation with anyone for a long time. The Hive always thought it best that you kept to yourself and you agreed. That sentiment was quick to bite you in the ass however because you were slowly beginning to realize just how stunted your social skills were. 

Rex only scoffed in return. “Bees and butterflies just have pretty privilege. Same applies to you, if you were some basement dweller with roach powers, do you think Immortal would’ve invited you here?” You weren’t sure if this was all some sort of bit, or if Rex Splode was genuinely a weird hater. Perhaps his sentiments about the Immortal may have been true judging by the hostile glare you were currently receiving from Dupli-Kate. But shitting on bees was inexcusable. 

“Bees do a ton for the environment,” you said calmly. You opened your palm and let one nuzzle against your thumb, its soft fur rubbing against your skin. “I’m not here to educate you, but if you keep talking shit I may have to teach you a lesson.” 

“Did you guys hear that?” He groaned. “New girl just threatened me! You guys gonna let that slide?” 

“Maybe if you weren’t antagonizing her, it wouldn’t have had to come to that, Rex,” Black Samson spoke up from his spot in the shuttle. “Besides you have some nerve treating The Hive so hostile after she just saved all our asses.” 

“Yeah you need to cool off for real,” Bulletproof chimed in. 

Rex only rolled his eyes. “Listen,” he said. “Most of us had to audition for a spot on this team, one rescue doesn’t make you a Guardian.” He spoke to the entire group, earning a few scoffs and a groan of frustration from Monster Girl. “So don’t you go thinking that just because you’re hot that you get an easy path to the A-list.”

”Do superhero teams have an HR department?” You asked genuinely, a few chuckles were returned in response. Rex aside, you could get used to the team. 

…

You had definitely spoken too soon. You had realized that the moment you stepped off the shuttle and found yourself greeted by the presence of a half dozen government agents. You really realized it when you found yourself in Cecil Stedman’s office after the gentlemen escorted you. Your bees, all but one that hid in your boot, all having been shooed away the moment the plane landed in the pentagon headquarters.

What got to you was the fact he was silent. No greeting, no acknowledgment of your presence, just a cold hard stare. 

“I’m… The Hive,” you said finally after a few minutes of awkward silence. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he spoke finally. He was leaned back in his chair, his elbow rested on its armrest and his fist pressed smoothly against his scarred cheek. His posture would have looked lazy on anyone else, but instead he looked focused. You felt that he was a man ready for anything. 

“Y-you have?” You had already known that, thanks to The Hive’s intel. But you knew it was best to pretend to be shocked than anything else. 

“You know, despite how it may seem, the whole superhero thing is very formulaic.” He sat up, his eyes never losing focus. “There’s always a catalyst or some type of explanation. Tell me what was it; shady experiment or did you have some type of bee related accident?” 

A giggle, a smile, shaky knees, and your sister’s hand reaching close, too close. 

“I can’t say that I know,” you replied honestly. “I’ve just always had a connection to bees ever since I was young.” Your reply was honest. Although you knew that the day your sister disappeared meant the beginning of your connection to The Hive, you felt unsure. It made your stomach turn to think of a time before The Hive; it felt impossible. 

Cecil hummed in response. “I know you had gone missing as a toddler, your sister was never found. It took the search party 15 days to find you— and do you know what the report said about you?” 

Your breath stilled at his words. 15 days? It had only been a few hours, you were sure of it. 

Does it matter? We were safe. 

If you were worried about seeming unnerved before, you face now definitely sealed the deal. “What… What did it say?” 

“It said you had survived by living off of honey that whole time. A toddler, all alone, and yet somehow you had been completely unharmed and in perfect health. Isn’t that something?” 

You wondered if he was building up to a point or something. Did he suspect something off about you? 

“I’m curious about you,” he said. “I can admit that, but I’ll leave that on hold for now. To be frank, I’m not in the position right now to figure out the mechanics of every superhero who comes by. Instead I’d like to propose an offer.” 

“I’m listening,” you said softly. 

“I’d like you to join Fight Force,” he said finally. 

Absolutely not. 

You held back a wince at The Hive’s angry intrusion. Fight Force? They were practically a joke. As if reading your thoughts, Cecil spoke again. 

“Although you show promising talent, and the Guardians could use more flyers on the team, I’d like you to join Fight Force because of your more close range nature. Works for villains like Mastermind, but I’m not sure how much help you could be in outer space; that seems to be the trajectory nowadays for a team like the Guardians.”

”The Guardians were almost wiped out by Mastermind if not for me—“

”Invincible would’ve intervened had you not interrupted.” Intervened? His idea was to drop a brick on Mastermind’s head. 

He doesn’t trust us. The Hive’s voice was clear as day in your head, it grounded you in place. The Immortal was a known (and televised) crash out, and Invincible was a nepo baby who’s been swung around like a baseball bat by practically every villain he’s come into contact with. But you were only Fight Force material? 

We should cut Invincible some slack. You tried not to scoff at The Hive’s weird favouritism for the guy, or else you’d risk losing more ground with Cecil. 

“Frankly I think you’ve underestimated me,” you said finally. Cecil didn’t move a muscle at first, his shoulder stiff before he suddenly relaxed in his chair. 

“Listen kid, I get that you’re overeager; that’s nice to see, especially now. But you’re gonna have to earn being able to play with the big dogs…” You lost focus as he spoke, your mind focused on the one bee that had been hiding near the top of your boot. You never went anywhere without one hovering near you, even if GDA scum tried to force you to leave them behind. 

We mustn’t. 

Why, because he gives you the ick? 

The Hive did not reply, and so you took matters into your own hands. You tried to focus your attention solely on Cecil’s face despite knowing that the bee was now crawling under his desk. 

“What does earning a spot entail? After all, I just saved all their asses, and prevented Mastermind from a possibly fatal head injury that would have been caused by a hero on your payroll.” If Cecil was amused, then he certainly showed it by the way his lip quirked up. 

“Well,” he said. The bee now hovered behind him, silently observing him, and you willed yourself to focus only on his eyes. “That’s for me to decide.” 

“No,” you said with a smile. “I think it’s for us to decide.” It plunged into his ear, his eyes widened for a moment, and you stilled as you watched his expressions shift from shock to anger until suddenly a look of calm filled his eyes. 

“I see,” he said finally. “I think I misjudged you— it looks like we have similar goals.” You furrowed your brows for a moment before it all hit you; Cecil’s experiences, at least the ones he wanted to share, and his thoughts. 

The Hive was intrusive, but it never took; it was always up to the host to give. It didn’t make sense sometimes, but some were more open than others. You couldn’t say what they saw once the bee burrowed its way into their skulls, but you knew they eventually reached an understanding with The Hive. The Hive liked to say the host saw everything too, but you knew that was a lie. Even you couldn’t see everything, but it didn’t matter, as The Hive knew best. It was odd to know however, that this powerful man in front of you could now feel everything you felt even if diluted and only if he focused on it. 

“I’m sorry it came to this,” you said. “I see that you do understand now.” The bee fluttered out of his other ear, dislodging his ear piece; it was never meant to stay— just to show. It was a risk, a big risk that you had even tried this. But it worked, for now at least, as you didn’t know if Cecil would suddenly change his mind now that you removed the bee and let him keep his memories of the experience. He could very well decide to have the GDA kill you in your sleep. But his mind hadn’t displayed that, and all you had seen was fragments that showed trust and everything he knew about the Viltrumite race. 

“That chip in Mark Grayson’s ear might prove bothersome to The Hive’s objectives,” you said finally. “But I’m guessing it can’t be removed without him finding out and likely turning hostile toward you?” You knew more about Mark now, and through Cecil’s eyes saw a boy who was as hot headed as he was naive. 

Before Cecil could reply, a buzzing sound emitted from the ear piece that had fallen on his desk. He hesitated before placing it back on his ear and listened for a moment before he let out a deep sigh. 

“Kid’s not gonna like this,” he said before he pressed a button to end the call. You stared for a moment as his attention refocused on you. “You talked about proving yourself as a member of the Guardians? Well you’re in luck, they’re needed in space right now— along with Invincible.” 

This is very good. Despite The Hive’s optimism, you felt anxious nerves suddenly flood your stomach. 

[masterchef901]

Theory Time

We got 2 new chapters of info, and that means it's time for some rampant fucking speculation on the future of Deltarune and its mysteries. Spoilers ahead, obviously.

I have a LOT to think about, but the thing I'm most certain of is this:

THERE ARE MULTIPLE CULPRITS

Kris is obviously collaborating with one, but most likely several, other people around town; I doubt that any single one of them is able to comprehensively explain everything that's suspicious. The biggest point that stands out to me is the keypad on the shelter: there's space for 3 codes, indicating that it's only meant to be accessed via collaboration between 3 different individuals.

The Badge: Obvious indicator of the Police. We know Undyne is clueless, given her initial interaction with the knight, and I'll swallow a horse before I believe Napstablook is a criminal mastermind. This leaves Asgore, an ex-cop, as the likely holder of this code. Given the suspiciously large door that Kris refuses to open in the church at the end of chapter 4, as well as assorted other suspicious activity from earlier chapters, his involvement with some part of this seems obvious to me, especially since he'd be the most likely person to actually spot Kris acting weird, and begin collaborating with them against us/the Soul (Toriel had a similar chance to spot that something was 'off', but is obviously in the dark). However, given his body type (and the fact that we HAVE an impression of what armed-for-combat Asgore would look like from Undertale) I doubt he's The Roaring Knight, so there would have to be at least one additional Lightner involved.

The Delta Rune: With its symbolic and religious implications, I would take this rune to indicate the involvement of a member of the clergy, and I think signs point to Father Alvin. The biggest thing being that he kept Gerson's hammer; a book you can read in the librarby notes that monster funeral rites typically consist of putting a monster's dust on an item they loved, and burying that. I highly doubt that Alvin keeping Gerson's remains is anything as innocent as keeping a loved one's ashes in an urn instead of burying them, both because of Susie's reaction and because Gerson has a gravestone outside the church. He's supposed to be buried. Finding his remains in Alvin's office strikes me as the equivalent of finding a human skull hidden in that desk - no way that's there unless that desk's owner was knowingly trying to get up to some shit with it - possibly using Dark Worlds as a form of Necromancy.

(And in this light also consider: Asgore is noted to attend Church too, but typically at night. Ostensibly this might just be to avoid awkward encounters with Toriel, but it may be that he's using this time to discuss these Dark matters with Alvin)

The Tree: The characters deduce (and I agree) that this most likely represents a member of the Holiday family, which seems sensible enough as they're clearly wealthy and politically influential in Hometown. One or more of them is involved, and I think the answer to that is connected to the next big question:

WHO IS THE KNIGHT?

Knowing that only Lightners can open fountains, it stands to reason that The Knight must be a lightner. From there, my attention is drawn to the Knight's horns - which really look more like antlers. On that basis alone, I'm willing to believe that they're a member of the Holiday family - and besides, they're too intricately woven into the story for none of them to be implicated. Which one is it?

Points regarding each:

December: Missing for an indeterminate amount of time, referenced and known amongst Dark Worlds (a door code in chapter 3 was "1225", the same code we get cut off from reading in the guitar in chapter 4, because of course it's fucking Christmas). We know she has some strange presence hidden in the game files, and it seems reasonable that extended dark-world exposure can cause someone to look and/or act like that.

Carol: Openly antagonistic towards nearly everyone, and most likely to be aware of the true nature of things behind the scenes due to her position as Mayor. Also, "You are welcome here any time," spoken seemingly to Kris specifically. We know Kris contacted someone to come to the Holiday residence, but given their timing that could have been either Asgore or Carol. Honestly, I actually think she's too overtly antagonistic. Her being The Bad Guy feels like a red herring, like it's too obvious. As an obvervation-which-could-mean-nothing, we hear a reference to her using a katana in Town Hall, and we can see said katana in her room during the Heart sequence; it's obviously her favored weapon. The Knight's weapon of choice might be interpreted as a katana, but it strikes me as more of a scimitar, and their projectile swords seem more western in design.

Noelle: We can dismiss this pretty much out of hand, but to review for good measure: Openly in denial about dark worlds across all timelines we see her in. Likely not faking it, because the Snowgrave route shows her personality changing as she "becomes strong". If she were the mega-powerful knight from the beginning, there'd be no need for this. Also, if she were the knight, I'd expect her to be aware of Kris as a separate entity from their soul - an aspect which the Weird Route repeatedly shows her NOT to be aware of.

Rudy: This is where it gets interesting, because the more I think about it the more sense it would make for him to be a culprit. We know via Gerson that a Dark World can manifest a monster according to some vestige of their spirit, regardless of whether they're alive in the flesh - a fact that would make Dark Fountains an appealing option to a man who's clearly struggling against a terminal illness. This fact also means he'd be physically capable of being the knight as we see it, regardless of his actual health. He's close with Asgore, which might make it possible for him to access Asgore's code without his even knowing, though Asgore's other suspicious behavior makes it seem more likely to me that their closeness simply made it easier for them to start acting as accomplices. As Dess's father, he'd naturally have desperately searched for her, plausibly learning about Dark Worlds in the process, and/or coming to think that he might be able to use them to save his daughter (Carol technically shares this position, but strikes me as too narrow-minded to entertain Dark Magics as a concept).

Also we see him at Church, which doesn't really say much but does show he can be up and about at least enough to make it to where we've seen Dark Fountains formed, and stab a knife into the ground. Furthermore, he is the only person we know of who's in regular contact with Alvin, Asgore, and Kris - nobody else is as "central" as a contact among the other likely conspirators. He strikes me as a good option for a plot twist given how amicable he is toward us, and in this light, his insistence that he'll be there at the festival tomorrow takes on a more ominous tone. As another thought-that-could-mean-nothing, if his lungs are messed up so bad that he can't stop coughing in the real world, perhaps that would manifest as roaring when put through a dark world lens. Probably not, but maybe.

IN SUMMATION

I believe that the mysterious events in Hometown are the work of a conspiracy involving Kris, Asgore, Father Alvin, and one (or both!) of Rudy and Dess. Each one, I think, is acting for their own reason - for example it may be that Asgore is trying to save Kris, Rudy to save Dess, Alvin to 'save' Gerson.

This all also is only focusing on Lightners around Hometown - it of course ignores the obvious involvement of Gaster, who may well be pulling strings and manipulating them toward darker goals, and Ralsei, who is still trying to send the soul away to catch private words with Kris. Their goals remain mysterious as ever to me.

[qoldenskies]

What would you say are your greatest goals as an author? :>

overall? i think i'd just like to make something good, and get it published. ive got a long way to go when it comes to my skill, but i have a lot of stories that i would love to make fully realized one day.

in fandom specifically? i think one day i'd love to make something worthy of being The fic in a fandom, not rottmnt specifically just in general. the idea of someone being invested in my work enough to want to make an animatic of it like that is something ive found myself daydreaming about,,, im always so excited when i see discussion about my work that i'm not facilitating already! :3 and i am admittedly a bit of a raging egotist, but this isnt news

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[perexcri]

happy one year to her and one of my better opening lines for a fic <3

now, because i'm curious:

[waywardsalt]

tbh i might go ahead and put dungeons in as a part of the bellum x linebeck fic's plot since like. 1) struggling to actually figure out a main plot and having dungeons as sort of bit points to hit and be little bits of fitting exploration and bonding and 2) i do kinda want to do dungeons. i like thinking of them and again i do think its fitting.

[satoruxx]

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 9k words

✧ SUMMARY: this fic has always been 18+ but now especially I MEAN IT mdni, toji gets horny fr this time (like 2.5k words of just that), masturbation, toji gets turned on by love idk, rut/heat cycles, basically abo/hybrid mating tendencies, idk let me write my porn sigh, misogyny, um stalking, more hybrid mistreatment, talks of murder, the typical blood as a metaphor for love :/

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: lol okay i'm vv sorry for the six month absence.. had to get that degree :33 but hopefully this chapter being 9k words and having horny toji makes up for it.. however pls do heed the warnings! i yap a lot about mating and other abo things so if that's not your thing pls scroll TT.. anyways i'm thanking you all so much for your patience !! hope you enjoy <33

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"pause."

toji's form stops abruptly, and you bite back a chuckle when he turns to glare at you over his shoulder. "what?"

you grin, rocking back on your heels even as the rest of the street continues bustling around you. "i'm hungry."

the street's lights reflect over toji's facial features, and the way his jaw drops looks extra comical. "already? we just had dinner."

you frown, affronted. "that was like an hour ago."

toji snorts, rolling his eyes, though it comes off fonder than you expected it to. "so you want dessert?"

you nod eagerly, and a muted chuckle escapes the wolf as you catch up to his side. his jade eyes scan the lively streets critically, before falling on you again. "well, go crazy."

you immediately grab his wrist and tug him along, peering at different stalls and stores despite his protests. toji ends up just crossing his arms as he waits for you to buy your dessert (ice cream, you've decided. on a cone). he watches you grin as you pay and then hurry over to him, both of your hands full.

"here," you chirp, shoving a cone into his hand. a few melted drops stain his skin, still cold to the touch. "for you!"

he huffs. "kid, i told you i don't like sweets that much."

"that's what you say at first." you point your finger at him as you lick up the dripping sides of your own cone, gaze all too knowing. "but then you try it and realize you can't get enough."

toji rolls his eyes, but still obediently takes a lick. the flavor of chocolates and some other sweet confections burst across his tongue. it's strong, almost unbearably so, but then it settles on his palate and leaves a satisfaction in its wake. he can't help the subtle twitch of his lips, almost pleased, and you give him a smug smile.

(it seems like he will always be doomed when it comes to sweet things.)

you both walk home in relative silence, save for the occasional bit of chatter when you remember something you haven't told him. the streets are still bright and bustling with people trying to enjoy their saturday night, and toji feels a little more comfortable because it's so easy to blend in.

"are you sure you don't want me to hold those?" you ask pointedly, peering at all the shopping bags he's balancing on his arms. "aren't they heavy?"

he gives you a sidelong glance—affronted. "seriously? how weak do you think i am?"

you raise your free hand in surrender, biting back a laugh as you look at him with that same spark of a challenge in your eyes. "don't you sleep with a nightlight?"

toji's glare is boiling when it settles on you. "shut up and eat your ice cream."

you chortle, nudging his side with your elbow, and he groans under his breath. his fingers itch. it would be so fucking easy to just grab your free hand that's swinging listlessly at your side. the lines of his large, rough palm pressed against your smaller, gentle one. his fingers would curl around yours so gratefully, sweet and soft and yet still keeping you attached to him.

(he can't elaborate on how pleased the thought makes him. keeping you at his side, where he can always see you. where you can always see him.)

but all he can do is clench his fist, internally reprimanding himself for taking such liberties with you to begin with—even if it's just in his own head.

when you both make it back home, you hop in the shower quick and then toji takes his turn, so used to the mundane routine. he heads into the bathroom, not before making a sarcastic jab at your choice of pajamas for the night (doughnuts, printed in all shapes and colors), to which you just punch his arm as he cackles.

toji enjoys the feeling of the searing hot water burning into his skin. psychopathic maybe, but it feels comforting. it's not like he was given the luxury of hot water back when he was underground.

(that being said, even once he'd started living with you, it's not like he took hot showers often. in fact, he'd sometimes find himself relying on cold showers. especially when you were around him. a fleeting touch here, a meaningful glance there, and he'd find himself under pelting ice, breathing heavily through his nose until he's finally got himself under control.)

even now he tries not to think too deeply about that, focusing on enjoying his warm shower. he feels a little guilty when he stops to consider that you probably have no idea that his thoughts about you are so fucking depraved.

(poor thing. you don't deserve something so unhinged breathing down your neck.)

and unfortunately that's all he truly is. unhinged. an animal that lacks self control. and you are nothing of the sort. sweetness and good all bundled up into a human being. night and day, dark and light, sun and storm.

good and evil.

toji knows this well. knows that he has no right to let his claws tear into your perfect flesh and rip you to pieces. only monsters ruin perfection after all.

and perfection you were. he knows you don't really see yourself that way, but it's hard for him not to. reminds him of statue deities the old artists left behind to stand in museums under heavy spotlights. for people to flock to, eager and awestruck as they marvel at beauty like they've never seen it before. and he'd bow front of you, knees digging into rough earth, bloody and bruised as he reaches for your marbled fingers. letting stone gently tickle the sharp curve of his jaw, trace the scar cutting over his lips. maybe when he finally looks up at you he'll only remember your smile immortalized into the stone.

but toji is selfish. he doesn't want to worship a statue. he'd rather have you as is, life thrumming through your veins the way blood does. warmth bursting from under your skin and seeping into his own. and there's a part of him that knows you'd touch him so eagerly, ready to please and give him everything that he's ever wanted. you've already been so generous—giving and giving and giving some more. if he asked to let him take you apart, would you dare say no? would you let him sort through sinew and muscle until he's found your very core? would you let him hold your beating heart in his claws no matter how many times they nick the flesh and make you bleed?

you would, with stars in your eyes. in fact, there's a greedy part of him that thinks you'd do the same in return. tear him apart piece by piece with careful fingers until he's nothing but laid bare in front of you. press your flesh against ragged scars and bruised skin, rough with use and danger. if he focuses a little harder, he can feel your touch linger on those scars. your lips will follow, pressing deep against his blood, staining you wine red. but you'll just smile, light bursting behind your silhouette (angelic; awe-inspiring), and he'll once again be speechless in front of you.

(powerless in every sense of the word.)

this is followed by yet another dangerous thought—just how much of an animal would you let him be?

it would be easy to cage you between his arms, close enough that he can count every eyelash and see every shade in your skin. it would be easy to hook his claws around the waistband of the fabric that hid you away, press a searing kiss into the stripe left by the elastic. it would be easy to reduce you to a shaking mess, quiet whimpers escaping into the space only he shares with you.

it's ridiculous, how quickly his obsession bleeds into arousal. a thin line, his toes dancing over it. but he doesn't have it in him to dwell on the shame behind it. it's instantaneous, how heat starts thrumming through his veins at the thought of you, alighting every expanse of flesh and breaking through skin.

toji bristles, tail flexing even under the weight of the water.

you have to know what you're doing. weren't you ever warned about dangers like him? wasn't it common sense not to dangle prey in front of a predator's eyes?

(though, if he's being honest, toji doesn't feel like much of predator. if anything, you're the predator, circling him with attentive eyes that makes his hair stand on end. makes him want to expose his underbelly and let you pounce.)

it doesn't make sense to him, how his mind relates someone as sweet as you to a role so unflinchingly unkind. in reality, the only one who's fucked enough to take on that role is him. the true animal—unhinged, reckless, cruel.

the only one who'd dig his fangs into your flesh and tear you apart with no hesitation. let sweet blood drip from his lips, lapping away until not a drop is left. reverent—because he knows how valuable it is.

the problem is you'd let him.

welcoming, with open arms and a warm smile that makes him want to take even more. more and more until nothing is left.

(would you enjoy it? his claws encircling your fragile wrists and pressing them into sheets. heavy body weighing yours down, scarred muscle meeting soft flesh. fanged teeth digging into the tender meat of your lips. perhaps you'd tell him as much, quietly sighing into his mouth, singing his praises and whispering a sweet combination of toji please, more.)

blood rushes south, his cock hardening so quick it's almost humiliating. this had been an ongoing issue for months now. toji never thought anyone would have the ability to drive him up the walls like this. not that you had gone around deliberately trying to give him a hard time (no pun intended), but it'd become more difficult to ignore. even just noticing little things—like the texture of your fingertips against his skin or the way your scent bleeds into the walls of the house. or the way his height towers over you and forces you to look up at him in a way that is so easy to imagine in certain other scenarios. in between his legs, gentle hands on his knees, eyes peering through lashes, and swollen lips wrapped around his—

fuck.

he's rock hard now. thick and aching in a way that makes him feel almost ashamed because there's no reason he should be acting like a whelpling who's just been thrown into a rut for the first time. no, he'd been an adult for a long time. one that had gotten through a lot worse than this.

(it's seared into his brain, the way the faceless doctor from the underground would hand him suppressant pills a couple weeks before a rut was due to hit, eyeing him to make sure they were swallowed without any issues. his body remembers scratching at the stone ground of a cell as he snarled through the pain of one of his most natural instincts being manipulated through a drug.

it was normal for them. every hybrid there had experienced being put aside for a day or two, labeled "out of commission" for a fake sick period while they rode out their cycles with no help or relief.

what would've normally been a couple weeks of rut was cruelly suppressed into two short days. in that time, toji was confined to a special cell with no outside contact. no fights, no interactions with any other hybrid.

all he had was the time to get increasingly more feral and frustratingly turned on. and no way to deal with it but ruthlessly fucking his own fist until he was exhausted.

exhausted, but never satiated. never satisfied.

after all, the suppressant pills couldn't erase the nature of his instincts. the part of him that craved not for a simple release, but for the experience of sharing a rut with someone. craved forming a connection with another being who could not only provide relief through it, but also take every bit of devotion he had to offer. the pills were effective in dulling down the intensity of ruts and heats, and shortened the length of them tremendously. but even after all that, they were still animals—there was no denying it. no, none of it could be erased; the instinctual craving for a fucking mate.)

all of those years under suppressants had made toji forget what a real rut felt like. but if it's anything close to the way he'd been feeling lately, he was definitely screwed. his mind had become increasingly more creative, able to conjure up the most inappropriate images of his most shameful fantasies. and this issue could only be fixed by jacking off until cum was dripping between his fingers and he felt even more ashamed than he did before.

which is exactly what he's being pushed to right now.

it seems almost instantaneous the way his fist wraps around his cock, throbbing flesh hot and angry. he bites back a hiss at the sensitivity, the hot water doing nothing to help his already searing flesh.

toji knew to start expecting flare ups of arousal. after all it was just a part of his nature, but a headache all the same. unfortunately, when escaping that hellhole he called a home, he didn't think about what would happen to his body now that those bastards weren't pumping his body full of suppressants.

sukuna had once said that it was their way of stripping them of their natural instructs, domesticating hybrids without them even knowing. the thought had pissed both of them off, but the tiger was right. nothing inherently natural about controlling such a significant facet of their bodies.

if he had more time to prepare his escape, he would've broken into the medical wing and stolen a few years' worth of suppressants for himself.

hindsight. instead, now he has to deal with these admittedly intense pangs of carnal desire. he knows why. how long had it been since he'd had a natural rut? definitely not since eighteen, because that's when he'd given up his freedom and they started feeding him suppressants (after all, can't have a feral wolf in rut running free throughout the barracks; bad for business; too dangerous to control). it makes sense that his body is working on overdrive now that it's finally tasted freedom.

(finally tasted a sweet scent and warm smile.)

toji isn't sure what he'll do when his rut really hits. he had thought that maybe he could get away with lying to you, passing it off as some contagious sickness and locking himself in his room for a few days until it passed. but then he got nervous thinking about just how bad this rut might be, and he figured he probably wouldn't be able to keep it from you even with the walls acting as a barrier.

there was also the option of telling you the truth. you'd probably be so accepting about it; after all, you've been nothing but understanding. and it seems like you know more about hybrids than your fellow humans, so he's sure you wouldn't judge him for something he can't really control. and yet despite all that, the thought of telling you feels strangely nerve wracking. some strange implication behind admitting just how vulnerable he'd truly be (and some sick thrill at the unspoken boundary that could end up being crossed).

a boundary line that he had scratched into the floor over and over again. so intent on denying the thought of ever being that close to you.

and yet he can't deny it. can't deny that the idea of trailing his tongue over the swells and divots of your body doesn't make him salivate. like the thought of your lips pressing into the ridges of his neck doesn't make his ribcage jump.

(like the thought of you saying yes to him doesn't make him want to lay the entire galaxy at your feet. because saying yes to him means something more than you'll ever realize. means bonding yourself to him for a lifetime. souls intertwined, the way only a mate can be—)

toji's presses his forehead against the damp tiled wall, exhaling shakily. there's a reddish pink shade crawling up his skin, spreading like liquid gold. his fist feels like nothing special, but it still offers a semblance of relief from that stupid aching feeling. the warmth of the water and the remnants of soap makes it easy for his fist to slide back and forth, and god he's so fucking hard. he's starting off fast, but he doesn't really care. all he knows is that it feels good, and it's utterly humiliating to be jacking off in the shower when you're just across the hall, so he just wants to get it over with.

but his brain? his brain lingers, cruel in its torture.

if he closes his eyes, toji can picture you doing it instead. your hand's a lot smaller, but it's softer than his—not rough with scars and callouses and danger. maybe you'd touch him slower, not as stupidly fast as he is, not with the mission to just get off and be done. no, you'd probably touch him with intention, eager to take him apart. he'd be glad to let you do as you please, so pathetically ready for whatever you want from him.

his fangs dig into the scar cutting over his lip, almost hard enough to taste blood. he thinks about sinking those fangs into the open canvas of your neck, and his dick twitches in response, eager and swollen. he tightens his grip and twists his wrist in the same way he's always done, knowing it'll get him there quick.

toji's head presses harder into the tiled walls, and he blinks the water away from his eyes as he tries to focus. his brain conjures up a strikingly detailed image of you pressing your lips against his dick, and that itself shoots a searing hot flash of arousal up his spine. but that's not all. he imagines that you'd be a lot more generous with your touches than he is. you'd touch him all over, gentle fingers tracing over the curve of his jaw and over the slopes of his cheeks. down over the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abs. gentle, the way only a lover's caress could be. chills run over his skin, the shiver so pleasurable it makes his breath hitch.

his high creeps up frighteningly fast, tingles shooting up the nerves in his body like he's never touched himself before. the muscles in his arm strain as heat pools in his lower belly, licking at his insides like an uncontrollable flame. the sound of the soapy water each time his hand moves is embarrassingly inappropriate, and he's briefly struck with the filthy thought of the type of sounds he'd be able to pull from your body if you just gave him the chance.

he wonders where to touch you to make you sing. where you'd be the most sensitive. what spots would have your voice catching on a strangled moan or have a breathy whimper escaping your throat. maybe you'd beg him for more, or perhaps you'd demand it from him. maybe you'd give in finally tell him what he's been dying to hear. in that same sweet voice, quietly sighing an earnest toji, i love y—

ropes of cum splatter between his fingers, and he's thankful that his muffled grunts are drowned out by the shower. his hips twitch, instinctual, and his dick pulses with every spurt, pelvic muscles contracting with effort. and throughout all of it, all he can think of is you.

(horrible, he is. so dirty, filthy.)

"ah fuck—" he feels messy, and hypersensitive. he stands there for a minute, catching his breath and doing his best to quell the mess in his head. it takes all but a minute to wash away the evidence of his crimes, but the thoughts of you still linger—infectious and deep.

(he thinks maybe he'll never be rid of you. you've latched onto him the way he has to you—parasitic and flesh deep. some part of him really likes that; a sick and twisted part.)

the wolf huffs out a tired sigh, standing under the pelting water like some kind of mindless idiot. what kind of freak was he? you offer him a place in your home and here he was jerking off in your shower with nothing but filth in his head. he's terrible; a dirty animal.

and yet, he feels good. feels good in the same way he feels when he sees you smile. or when you finally come back home. or when you grin at him from across the dining table as you watch him dig into his food. or when you accidentally fall asleep while watching some stupid movie.

his brain is foggy, and there's still a few aftershocks of pleasure tickling his nerves. but his guilt is smothered by that good feeling, pressed down into the deep recesses of his subconscious as he focuses on how you seem to have such an influence on his emotions.

(powerful, sneaky little thing.)

"hey toji?"

your muffled voice cuts through the pleasant haze in his head, and the panic is instant. he flinches so hard his elbow thuds against the shower wall, eliciting a yelp that he tries hard to recover from.

"y-yeah?!" he winces at the voice crack (trying to pretend he didn't just bust to the thought of you not a minute earlier), and clears his throat.

"i'm running low on period stuff so i'm gonna run down the street and grab some pads."

"i can go grab em if you want?" he replies, scrubbing his skin with a quickening pace, but then you chuckle and wave him off.

"no no it's fine. enjoy your shower. it's like two streets over, i'll be back soon."

"well…" he hesitates, but then nods even though you can't see him. "fine. be careful, y'hear?"

"yeah yeah…" your voice fades away as you head down the hall, and toji's shoulders relax. for a second he thought you might've somehow heard his less than appropriate little session, but instead you're just updating him on something he probably wouldn't have cared about many months ago. but here he is, ultimately caring so deeply.

hot water streams between toji's eyes, and he pushes his wet hair back with a tired huff. his ears fold under his palms, muffling all noises and for a second, the raging thoughts in his head subside.

(if it were up to him, he'd stay in this peaceful bubble for as long as he could. hoping, dreaming, praying that you'd join him in the space with no protests. comfort, chaos, and everything in between.)

****

the streets are a lot more deserted than they were a few hours prior, back when you were dragging toji to eat ice cream. now there's only faint chatter, the occasional squeals of laughter and excitement permeating the sounds of your slippers against pavement. normally you would've dragged toji out with you, especially so late on a saturday night, but since this is barely a 15 minute walk and you've been here countless times before, you decided not to bother him.

after all, you would grant toji as much peace as you could give him (god knows he deserved it and more).

there's some faint song playing over the speakers when you enter the store, instantly fading into muted background noise as you smile at the elderly man behind the counter. he recognizes you, a local frequenter, and smiles back before going back to the paper he was reading. your steps take you to the feminine products quickly, memorized route guiding your feet, and then you're scanning the shelves for familiar colors and brands.

the store is almost completely deserted, save for a few other likeminded individuals who needed a late night run. your fingers drift over boxes until you finally find the brand you like.

"excuse me? can you help me with this?"

the flinch that comes from you is almost embarrassing, but you're genuinely impressed by how quietly this guy seems to have snuck up on you. you glance over your shoulder carefully.

dyed blonde hair, dark roots, narrowed beady eyes. and yet a sheepish, awkward smile that makes your shoulders drop when you notice the box of pads in his head. you tilt your head questioningly, quirking a brow. he raises the box. "my girlfriend sent me out to get supplies but i have no clue what to pick for her…"

the helpless smile that crawls onto your face feels natural. at least he was trying, that in and of itself was a lot to ask for these days. "well do you know if she has a heavy flow or a light one?"

"heavy i think?" his brows furrow thoughtfully. "she says she bleeds a lot…"

"well then this is probably better for her than that." you reach for a different box on the shelf, one that's specifically labeled for handling heavy bleeding. "they're better for heavier flow. and they're longer so that should help her out."

he takes the box from you carefully, before smiling. something shines in his dark eyes. "thank you so much. i'm clueless when it comes to this stuff."

you chuckle, shaking your head. "no it's okay. at least you're trying."

"i would've been lost without your help. i'm naoya by the way." his smile gets a little more pointed, that gleam in his gaze brighter. he sticks his palm out expectantly.

warning bells start ringing in your head, but you don't know why.

"oh uh, nice to meet you…" you trail off, cautiously taking his hand. you're sure he's being polite, but you don't really understand why he's telling you his name. maybe it's paranoia, but you bite your tongue and hold off on giving him yours, something telling you that maybe you shouldn't be sharing that information.

the blonde doesn't comment on your lack of forthcoming, but something feels off. he looks like he knows something, like he's dissecting you on a surgical table. you let go of his hand, and awkwardly smile, before turning back to the shelf. his voice gets a little louder. "naoya zenin."

you freeze. the name washes over you, a brief sense of warmth, before it bleeds into something cold and jarring. you know this name well—heard it murmured from scarred lips a few times (in a voice that was filled with nothing but distaste.)

now if you think back, you can remember the same blonde hair and dark eyes being in the background of pictures you've seen on the internet. random news articles of what the head of one of the biggest companies in the country did that day. you don't know why you couldn't remember it earlier. maybe you just weren't expecting to see naoya zenin at your tiny little store so late at night. but he looks calm, as though it's all intentional, as though you should've expected to bump in to him like this.

the warning bells ring louder.

"so!" the blonde claps his hands together, brightly smiling as though he's catching up with an old friend. "how is he?"

you feel your tongue grow numb. an image of a moody scowl and twitching ears flashes behind your eyes, and you finally realize that warning bells had nothing to do with your own safety.

(too preoccupied with dedicating your care to someone else. someone who's probably patiently waiting for you back home.)

"who?" you're playing dumb, and you're sure he knows it because he just laughs and quirks his brow knowingly.

"you know who." he pins you with a level stare. "toji of course. my precious cousin."

you remain quiet, mind spinning. you're not sure if you should lie or continue playing dumb or just run and hope he isn't fast enough to follow. but naoya just continues on without a care in the world.

"let's stop beating around the bush." the blonde's smile drops, voice going serious in the same way you've seen it go on those television interviews. "i don't know how or why you're connected to him but i'm sure you know what he is by now."

"ah yes the wolf ears and tail really gave it away," you reply sarcastically, not even bothering to keep the bite out of your tone. naoya grins predatorily, making a show of leering at your blatant hostility.

"well yes, the poor beast was unfortunately born that way." naoya waves offhandedly, before his expression sours. "just my luck, he had to be born into my fucking family."

you snort out a scornful laugh, crossing your arms. "well it makes sense. i mean he might be the wolf, but it's pretty clear that dogs run in the family."

naoya pauses, before his smile returns. this time, it is icy, and yet there is spark of malice flickering in his eyes. "hah! you're more interesting than i thought. you look so boring from afar, you know?"

you glare at him irritably.

"but! you're much more entertaining than i expected. maybe that's why toji's hanging around you." naoya glances down at his fingernails with feigned interest, his voice dropping. "it's a shame he didn't teach you any manners though."

his hand drops to his side, and his expression darkens so fast it makes your head spin. "if it were up to me, i'd cut your tongue out and deliver it to him, you know?"

your bravado shatters, blood going cold. naoya seems to catch the change, so he just smiles again with that fake politeness. "but father says we should be nice and talk it out. so that's what i'm doing! i had no clue how i was going to find the time to chat with you, but i'm glad i caught you today."

you swallow, fingers creasing into the sleeves of your sweater.

"you know, when i told father i saw toji with you today, he was surprised. that freak doesn't seem like the type to get help from others, let alone humans like you and me." the blonde hums, amused. "but seems like he liked something about you. that, or you had something pretty valuable to offer."

you almost roll your eyes. clearly this asshole liked to hear himself talk.

"i mean i'm kinda surprised that you got close to that freak. don't you have any survival instincts?" he tuts, exaggeratedly pouting at you like you're nothing but a dumb child. the blood in your veins grows hot with indignation.

"he's not dangerous." your voice is resolute, stating a fact rather than an opinion. naoya observes you with mild interest. he hums thoughtfully, and you shift your weight not knowing what to do.

"you know, i saw you both being all cute on your little shopping trip." naoya's expression turns bored, almost like he's disgusted. he leans against the shelves haphazardly. "it's a shame i lost you both in the crowd as you left though. i would've stopped by at your house otherwise."

the threat is not lost on you. and something churns in your gut when you think about this man being anywhere near your house. near toji.

"i don't understand," you say, raising your head. you have no clue how you manage to keep your voice steady when your heart is beating so fast, but you'd rather not look too deep into that. "what exactly is it that you want from me?"

"you have…influence," naoya grins, peering at you. his expression is mocking. you think you might vomit. "i'm sure you can bat your eyes and convince my dear cousin."

when you swallow, it feels like rocks are sliding down your throat. "convince him to what?"

naoya's grin drops, eyes narrowing dangerously. "to go back to where he belongs."

your words tumble forth before you can even stop them, hot and indignant. "and what if he doesn't want to go back there?"

a burst of laughter escapes his throat, though it is sharp and unamused. "don't you get it? he doesn't have a choice. that's all he was born to do anyway."

you glare at him, teeth digging into your tongue so hard it hurts painfully. naoya's expression turns bright, a very dramatic flare of sick amusement filling his tone. "ohh i finally get it!"

he leans closer to you, smirking. "who would've thought my dear cousin went and found himself a girl!"

the traitor organ sitting in your ribcage gives an eager jump, getting distracted by its original threat. you steel your expression. "what are you even talking about?"

"no need to play coy. i understand!" he raises his arms like he means no harm, a greasy smile still splitting his face. "that just means you really should be able to influence him."

"you don't even know what you're saying." you roll your eyes, turning away from him, though you still keep his figure in your peripheral. "it's not even like that. we're barely even friends. the most i would say is acquaintances."

the lie bleeds through your teeth easily, molten lava. worth it if it means keeping him safe. away from the treacherous vines that seem so intent on chasing him and pinning him down.

"oh sure." the blonde chuckles, looking at you with a sharp mockery in his gaze. it's obvious he doesn't believe you, especially with how quickly his tone turns chilling. "i don't really give a damn who you are to him. let him know what he needs to do, or we're gonna have a problem."

"and if i can't convince him?"

naoya shrugs casually, but then he pins you with a stare that makes you feel like your bone marrow is turning to lead.

"well then, we'll just have to see what happens, won't we?" he says nothing more, but the implication is very clear. the blonde then glances down at the pads in his hands. his expression goes disgusted once more, and he haphazardly chucks the box back onto the shelf. "ew…" he mutters, dusting his hand over his coat. his eyes find you again, and then that same smile appears once more. "anyways, i'll definitely see you around! get home safe!"

your pulse is thudding wildly as you watch him leave, a heavy onset of nausea making your stomach churn like never before. the hidden threats were so carefully placed, but not obscure enough for you to miss, and that scares you even more because it says that this guy is just that confident. you stand in the aisle for another two mins, mind running in a thousand different directions. suddenly you feel strangely exposed, like you've been placed into a glass box for someone to observe your every movement.

(suddenly, you feel completely and utterly alone. scared and vulnerable and in real danger. suddenly, all you can think about is the brooding wolf you've left at home, and how seeing him is the only solution to making these feelings go away.)

you're out the door before you even realize it. your legs carry you back in the direction of your home, but your paranoia leads you to take as many convoluted turns that you can think of (because you can't shake the feeling of those beady brown eyes digging into your shoulder blades).

naoya zenin. you don't know how he shares blood with toji. if you squint hard enough you can maybe find some similarities in features. but still, you cannot understand how someone so outwardly horrible can be related to someone like toji. toji is not warm, not inherently sweet. but he is good, and that much is obvious to you. the same way you know this naoya is bad, with nothing but negative intentions.

when you finally reach your doorstep, you keep your head down and slip inside. your fingers double check every lock, every window. your mouth feels dry and there's too many weaknesses and he's definitely still out there and—

"hey."

the voice makes you jump, and when you look up, toji is staring at you—confused. his brow quirks as he peers at you through his wet hair. "well that was dramatic."

you sigh, quelling the thundering of your heartbeat. sweat beads on the skin of your palms, and you drag them over the fabric of your pants. "you just scared me."

"oh yeah, i'm so fucking terrifying." he sits on the couch, aggressively drying his wet hair with a towel. you snort, grinning as your eyes trail over the way his pointed ears fold under the weight of the fabric.

"shaking in my boots." toji rolls his eyes at your reply, and you pull off your coat with a quiet chuckle.

(honestly a little jarring how easy it is for you to relax in his presence. how easy it is to start smiling again.)

"i thought you went to get supplies?"

you freeze, glancing over your shoulder. "w-what?"

he motions to your empty hands. "you didn't get anything?"

your stomach drops. "oh um…" you clear your throat. "they were closed. so i came back."

it's almost laughable how quick the lie slips from your mouth; sickening, really, because it shouldn't be quite so easy to lie to someone who obviously trusted you. you've felt guilty before, but not like this. this goes past the dull surface ache and settles as a deep stinging, fraying your nerve endings. maybe it's because you know that you have no right to keep this from him; after all, it's his family. but something about the gleam in naoya's eyes makes your hair stand on end. if it were up to you, you'd stand in front of toji with a smile even with knives raining down your back.

the way toji's brow arches tells you that he's a little confused, maybe a little skeptical, but he shrugs and turns back to the tv, turning it on with a flick of his finger. "well okay then. i can grab some tomorrow on my way back home."

you inhale through your nose, forcing a smile. there's really no point stressing. naoya can't do much to you to begin with, not without starting something potentially dangerous with toji. so you just push it to the back of your mind and take a seat next to the grumpy wolf you realize you would do anything for.

(even lie.)

"thank you, toji," you say earnestly. the wolf gives you a sidelong glance, ears twitching at the sound of your voice, and he scoffs.

"whatever. it's not like i haven't done it before. quit bein' dramatic."

you grin, watching him cross his arms and sulk like an overgrown puppy. for some reason, his expression settles the chaos in your chest and you decide that whatever problem it is, you'll do anything it takes to keep it from him.

(perhaps it's silly, thinking that you could easily stand in front of a hybrid capable of tearing you to pieces and expect to be able to protect him. but you know he would do the same for you, and that's why it feels all too natural. easy.)

you think you will always be willing to offer him whatever space you have left. comfort, chaos, and everything in between.

****

toji doesn't consider himself a very intelligent person. not to say that he's dumb. no, he thinks he excels at street smarts. after all, no one survives a life like his without a brain.

but in terms of emotional intelligence.. well he doesn't feel all that confident. yet another area where he feels like you're a lot better than he is.

it scares him a little, how fast you can read him. how you can pick apart his every expression and behavior like it comes naturally to you. and then how you're able to to adapt and give him exactly the response he needs. whether it's sweet comfort or rational courses of action—it's perfect.

(you're perfect.)

but he's not like you. he cannot pick people apart, can't look at them and figure out what they're thinking. cannot read them like an open book the way you can.

but right now, he feels like something is wrong.

it's been almost a week since he's noticed this change in behavior. you've been looking over your shoulder like you're in some kind of horror movie. eyes constantly scanning your surroundings, fingers fiddling with the window locks. even peering outside through the gaps in your curtains.

you're nervous, he realizes. paranoid, like something's chasing you. whatever it is, toji understands that he doesn't like the way worry looks on you. in fact, he hates it. hates the way his ears can pick up your increased heartrate. hates the way he can smell the spikes of anxiousness in your scent.

he's trying to be a good housemate and respect your boundaries. trying not to be nosy and let you deal with your own issues like an adult. but then his mind wonders if there's something really wrong, if someone's giving you a hard time or stressing you out, and then he just gets angry.

(don't you know that he adores you? don't you know that you need only say the word and he'd kill a man for you? don't you know the amount of power you have over him?)

regardless, he's still trying to be a good housemate and respect your boundaries. but it's becoming increasingly more difficult to watch you come home everyday like there's someone chasing after you. even now, he watches you double check the door locks before you hurry over to your windows. double check the locks, tug the curtains shut, peer outside through the gaps.

only when you're done do your shoulders relax, and when you turn around, you jump when you notice him standing there staring at you. the surprise bleeds into a quick, barely there smile. "oh hey! how was your day?"

you don't even wait for his answer before you're turning around to hang your coat up, and that's enough to make him crack.

"alright what the fuck is wrong with you?" toji's voice cuts through the silence like ice, and you internally wince. defensive walls rise quickly, and then you're turning on him with fire in your eyes.

"excuse me?"

toji's bulky arms flex as he crosses them, staring down his nose at you completely unfazed. "you've been hiding something."

"i—"

"—and don't even bother tryin' to deny it. it's written all over your face."

the wolf watches you inhale heavily, and the crease in between your brows makes his fingers twitch (eager to reach out and smooth them down carefully).

you sigh, defeated. "remember last week when i went to the store that one night?"

toji nods.

"i, um, bumped into someone there." your fingers rub over your arms in an attempt to be soothing, and toji's frown deepens in tandem.

"who?"

you glance at him. guilt gnaws its way up your esophagus. "um, naoya zenin."

toji's reaction almost makes you vomit. his ears stand up straight, tail going rigid, and the anger that contorts his expression makes you shiver. "what?!"

his voice has taken on a timbre you haven't heard before, an inherently primal growl ripping through his vocal cords in a way that sounds almost painful. you wince, trying to placate by backtracking.

"i was gonna tell you—"

"what the fuck did he say to you?!—"

"he just—"

"that fucking creep i swear to god—"

"toji." your palms find his forearms in this strangely natural way that makes his stomach churn. steadying, stable, everything that he lacks. "please. can we just relax and sit down?"

his ears droop slightly, but he still maintains his heated glare. not that he's necessarily angry at you. but his palms feel too sweaty and his heartbeat feels too fast and his stomach feels too heavy. still, he forces himself to breathe deep through his nose, quelling the instinctual rise of feral panic that seems to want to burst from his veins. he lets your hands, barely able to fit around the width of his arms, maneuver him to the couch.

when you take a seat next to him, he can smell the nerves.

(spiked; hints of bitterness hiding between layers of sugary sweet.)

more so, you look guilty. it briefly strikes him that perhaps you feel bad about keeping this from him. he's then struck with a similar feeling when he realizes he's kept something from you too. this is all followed by a searing streak of anger when he remembers the reason why you both have been hiding things from one another.

(maybe it wouldn't be so bad to live up to their expectations of him. be the real curse of the zenin bloodline. they always said he was an uncontrollable animal. maybe it would be okay to finally prove them right. have his family's life force dripping red rivulets through his pointed claws. taste its metallic tinge between his sharpened teeth.)

"he came up to me at the store," you start, wiping down your palms on your thighs. "he already knew that i knew you. said he saw us walking around that night shopping."

toji's claws dig into the flesh of his palm painfully. the memory is now tinged with something poisonous. always breathing down his neck.

"he was talking about how his father was surprised that you were even interacting with another human. and then he said it was a shame he lost us in the crowd because otherwise he'd come to our house for a visit."

you watch the wolf next to you clench his fists, and your lips slant.

"what else did he say?" toji tries to keep his voice even, but it comes out strange. your teeth dig into the flesh of your bottom lip painfully.

"he… he said that since i was clearly c-close to you, i should convince you to do something."

"and what's that?"

you pause, before letting the bitter words spill. "convince you that's it's time to go back where they want you to be."

"that fucking asshole!" toji's voice is akin to a roar, and you wince as you watch him stand and snarl like he's been beaten. he pushes his claws into his hair and grits his teeth. "how fucking dare they even—"

another pained growl rips from his throat. the sound makes your stomach coil, and before you can stop yourself, you're reaching out to grab his arm. his head whips around at the contact, baring his teeth with a snarl as he ears point upright. but then he sees your expression, sad and tired, and his shoulders drop immediately.

"you know that i don't want you to go, right?" you ask him quietly. toji stares at you, long and hard. his jade eyes are bright with anger, but there's a hint of fear in there that makes you want to cry.

"… you sure?" his voice is so quiet you almost have to strain to hear it. your fingers tighten around his forearm. even with the way he is standing over you, you think he looks smaller. like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"i'm sure." your voice is resolute, like it's always been when it comes to him. his exhales slowly, and you smile at him in this tragic way that makes him want to rip his eyes out.

(you're too good. too trusting. too confident in the fact that he won't lead to your downfall.)

"kid," he calls out, voice strained.

"hm?"

"i gotta tell you somethin' too."

you frown, but then you're pulling him back to the couch (right next to you; close enough that your scent wraps around him once more—warm, blanket-like), and then you're looking at him earnestly. "what is it?"

he tells you all about his run in with naobito zenin. details the angry confrontation in which his stupid uncle had warned him to go back to where he belonged, tired of the wolf's running game. how the old man had been close to calling his men to come get him before toji had resorted to nearly crushing his windpipe in retaliation. how naobito had warned toji that hurting him was a punishable offense that would lead to him being locked up again. and how, at the end of it all, toji had told him that it would be worth it if it meant being rid of the stupid zenins once and for all.

and then he finishes by telling you that his uncle was so convinced toji would end up back there on his own anyway, because he was nothing more than a mindless animal.

(he carefully leaves out the threat naobito made about putting him down. and he also leaves out how none of that scared him more than the idea of his family's clutches ultimately reaching you.)

you sit there and listen with an expression that bleeds horror. the divot in your brow is so deep toji worries it may become permanent, and your eyes shine with a sadness he's never seen before. when he's done speaking, you exhale shakily.

"kid, i'm never gonna be rid of them," he says quietly. "they're always gonna be breathing down my neck. which means they're always gonna be breathing down yours too."

you nod slowly, eyes distant as you stare at the edge of the coffee table like it's got all the answers in the world.

"there's nothing i can really do." he finishes with that final statement.

you chew on your bottom lip quietly. something is working behind your eyes, calculating, evaluating. "you threatened him?"

toji scoffs. "of course i fucking did. threatened to kill him and his brat son."

you turn to him, eyes alight. "would you?"

toji's heart leaps into his throat. he will never deny the amount of times he's thought about it. since the day he was old enough to realize his own brute strength. every day he was thrown into that damn cell. every fight where he would scratch and claw just to live another day. and every day since the old man stopped him in the streets.

the thought has lingered in the back of his mind, poisonous. rotting. because he knows that it is the only way. he knows that they deserve it. he knows that it is the one path that could lead him to peace.

(that could lead to him wiping the worry from your eyes.)

it's always been there. and now you…

"you can't be serious?"

"toji, answer the question. would you do it or not?"

"of course i would!" he fires back quickly, before taking a steadying breath. "you don't get it, kid. i got no love for them. been dreaming about ripping those bastards apart since the day i was smart enough to realize they only saw me as an animal."

you nod slowly, still chewing on your lip. something settles behind your eyes, and the thrill it sends up toji's spine is almost sadistic. your voice is flat when you speak, but it does not waver. "toji… if there was something that came into my life that was threatening me and my loved ones. our livelihood, our safety, our security… i wouldn't really be thinking about morals anymore."

toji stares at you mutely, and you continue. "so… if there's an unwelcome guest showing up at the door, and we've asked them—no, begged them—to leave us alone and they haven't listened… then maybe the only thing left to do is force them to leave."

his mouth runs dry, and simultaneously, his ribcage jumps. you're looking at him with all the conviction in the world, and something in his deep complicated web of feelings for you shifts on its axis.

(you are sweet. you are peace and comfort and good. you are innocent and untouched by the horrors of the world in the best way. you are completely humane and understanding and you give nothing but kindness. you've offered him the world and he's gratefully cradled it in his palms. which is why this deeply root loyalty, this protectiveness, this affection—it has all come so naturally to him.

he would show mercy if you wanted him to. he would rip apart limbs if you wanted him to. he would dig a knife into his own intestines if you wanted him to.

but this. this is something he's wanted; dreamed about for as long as he can remember. cursed himself for thinking about because it makes him evil and wrong and horrible. but here you are—giving him support. telling him that you want it too.

this utterly wrong and animalistic thing that makes him the monster.

maybe you aren't all that pure. maybe he's the one who corrupted you. but then he thinks back to the fire in your eyes, that same resolute determination in your tone. and then he thinks that it couldn't have been him. it had to have come from within you, this desperate and complicated decision.

and then toji realizes that the reason it appeared is because you value him so highly. because on your moral scale, it is worth it to sin if it means keeping him safe. it is worth it to be animalistic if it means having him by your side.

he wants to envelop you in his arms. find your lips and breathe his own soul into you because he knows you'd keep it safe. knows you're willing to do whatever it takes for him.

the same way he is for you.

he loves you, he thinks. it's just that simple.)

and that's all the confirmation he needs.

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[icemankazansky]

A Simple Guide to Not Being Afraid to Write Comments to Fic You Read

I've seen a lot of posts about the current state of fanfiction comments. Writers, especially writers who have been in fandom for a decade or more, are frustrated by the lack of comments, and have noticed a definite decline in comments (and all other forms of reader interaction) in the past ten years or so. Many readers feel daunted by the expectation of leaving comments, afraid they'll do something wrong. As a fandom old maid, the latter confused me for a while, until I realized that most of the people who feel that way probably have not been taught this form of communication.

But your loving fandom elders are here for you. Come along as your auntie tumblr user icemankazansky makes this shit easy.

The easiest way to think of fanfiction comment etiquette is to compare it to something you likely already know: Gift Receiving Etiquette.

Fanfiction began as largely a gift economy. And a lot of it still is! You'll see authors participate in exchanges like Yuletide and Id Pro Quo; those are ficswaps in which authors write for a specific person to specific prompts. And even outside that, fanfiction is not written for money; authors write and post it simply for the joy of creation and community with fellow fans. Fic is posted free for anyone to enjoy. Is that not a gift?

So. When you as a reader finish the chapter or story you're reading and you are faced with the comment box, try to follow the same etiquette you would when receiving a gift. (And even if you didn't love this gift and it's not your favorite gift ever, we already know that it's more useful than the products from your cousin's MLM that they're passing off as gifts, because you read the story. At the very least, it entertained you for the time you took to read it.)

The big rule of gift receiving etiquette is not to insult the person who gave you the gift, either directly or indirectly. That's it. Full stop.

I've been seeing a lot of comments lately that are just along the lines of, "Thank you for writing this story and sharing it with us." A+, top of the class, full marks, you're doing amazing. If you don't feel comfortable commenting on the story itself, that is perfect feedback. And that's the most basic way you respond to a gift, yes? Thank you for the gift. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for sharing.

Does this rule mean that you cannot say anything at all that might be negative about anything? No, absolutely not. What you want to avoid is saying something that is, at its core, a negative evaluation of the author or their work. Let's do some examples.

Character A's obliviousness about Character B's MASSIVE crush on them made me so frustrated! I was tearing my hair out internally screaming, "JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU."

✔️ Excellent comment! You're allowed to have all sorts of feelings about things that happen in the story, and in fact authors LOVE to hear about any emotions they made you feel. Yes, frustration is not a positive emotion, but the thing you are expressing frustration about is not the author themselves or their shortcomings.

Contrast that to:

I was really frustrated that it took you so long to post this chapter. The cliffhanger at the end of the previous chapter had me tearing my hair out, and then you just left us hanging FOREVER!

❌ Nope! Here what you are expressing is frustration with the author and how fast they come out with new chapters. Imagine your sister buys you a gift for your birthday, but she isn't able to give it to you until the next week, and you respond with: "What took you so long?" I think Emily Post would frown on that.

Reframing

The way you say something and the point of view from which you give feedback can have a HUGE impact on the message you're sending. Let's take the last comment (the one about wanting an update) and see what happens when we reframe the same sentiment as a positive:

I was SO EXCITED to see that you updated this story! I have really been looking forward to seeing what happened after the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

✔️ Now it's not an insult. The author will be happy to know that you are happy to see new work from them.

This idea extends beyond the story itself: to the fandom, the characters, the pairing, the tropes, etc. Let's do some examples.

I looooove reading about these sexy boys SO IN LOVE even though the movie you're writing about is SOOOOO problematic.

❌ Nope! Assume that the author enjoys the canon, characters, pairing, etc. in the stories they write. This comment is insulting to the author because it basically says, "That thing you love is not great, and you should probably feel bad for liking it." Imagine your aunt gifts you a sweater from a popular retailer, and you respond with, "This is so cute, I love it! It's a shame that it was made in a sweatshop." Do you have a valid point about the canon or the retailer's business practices? You very well might. Is this the proper time and place to talk about it? Absolutely not.

Let's do a reframing exercise. You should be very careful about how you approach commenting negatively on anything in the story that appears in the tags list, but you can make it a compliment and good feedback if you have the right perspective. See the difference with these two approaches:

I kind of think frottage is disgusting, but I liked it in this story.

❌ Nope! You just told the author you think their kink is disgusting. That's like telling your poor aunt who is just trying to keep you warm this winter that she has awful taste in knitwear. Try again.

Frottage normally isn't my kink, but I love your other stories with this pairing, so I decided to give it a try, and I'm SOOOOO GLAD that I did! This story was 🔥🔥🔥

✔️ "This normally isn't my thing, but you made me expand my horizons!" Authors love to hear that. That's like telling your aunt, "I never thought this color looked good on me, but I look so cute in this sweater! I'm so glad you helped me step outside my comfort zone, because I'm the better for it."

thank u, next

The last thing I want to address is this new trend I've seen in commenting lately: placing an order. If your mom surprises you with new headphones, you don't respond with, "I wanted the white ones 🙁," or, "You should get me a new phone, too." It's easy to see why that isn't appropriate in a gifting situation, and it's also not appropriate when commenting on fanfiction.

Let's do some examples:

This fic was soooo cute, but it would have been a million times better if Character A had been with Character C instead of Character B.

❌ There are a few things going on here. Number one, you're telling your mom you wanted the white headphones, not the ones she actually bought you. You're also disparaging the A/B pairing that the author chose to write about, and as we discussed, we can assume that the author wrote the pairing because they liked it. Even if it's not their favorite and/or they also write A/C, they made a choice for this story to be A/B, and the comments section of a fic is not the place to question choices the author made in their own work.

You should write a story where Character Z who is not even in this story does [thing that is vaguely referenced in the B plot].

❌ "You should get me a new phone, too."

I want a sequel. 😞

❌ "Thank you, next!"

You can reframe this kind of sentiment if you are careful about it, and it's not all you say.

I really loved this story. I would be so interested to see these ideas explored further if you ever decide to write more in this universe.

✔️ Not "gimme." Not "more." This is, "If you build it, I will come." It is a HUGE difference.

You already know how to do this. You know how to graciously accept a gift; just use that same etiquette, and boom! Now you know how to fearlessly write a comment to fic you read. You're doing amazing. Go forth and comment.

[sketchtastrophee]

more old art!! featuring theo and my human harley fan design!! RUN THEODORE RUN (he's cooked)

im gonna talk about chapter 4 under here so only click if ur ok with spoilers! also its a huge yapfest. like HUUGE. i just want to voice my opinions about prototype because i've seen ppl sort of miss the point of what happened at the end of the chapter

I LOVED CHAPTER 4! IT WAS SO COOL!! i was sooo worried but im glad it turned out good. rip pianosaurus tho..

tldr (for the bunch of paragraphs where I talk abt prototype)

prototype being ollie is deranged because it means he was terrorizing the toys of safe haven on purpose for the fun of it when he could have killed them at any time. he also created an extremely close emotional bond with poppy for OVER A DECADE just to tear it all away from her at the end and tell her it was meaningless (he then proceeds to taunt her over the phone abt it). bro is LITERALLY TROLLING

you cant tell me that final scene w the "ive got something special in mind. i prepared it just for you, and this time you'll never want to leave." isnt some tom and jerry shit

ABT PROTOTYPE REVEALING HIMSELF AS OLLIE... (the long explanation)

we ALL knew he was ollie, but i don't think people are seeing the point of this reveal. it wasn't about revealing himself to us the player, it's about the implications that arise from it. he had been playing both sides for 10+ YEARS. that's deranged enough but not even CLOSE to the end of it

as ollie he had emotionally supported poppy in her lowest moments (as heard in the ollie and poppy tape). this tape also insinuates that (at least around the time it was recorded) the two of them called frequently, possibly every night. he wasn't just pretending to be everyone's ally, he was PRETENDING TO BE THEIR CLOSEST FRIEND THAT THEY COULD VENT TO 😭 he heard this poor girl sob into the phone and tell him about how she felt her humanity being taken from her, AND HE KEPT UP THE CHARADE AND COMFORTED HER, KNOWING THIS PATH HAD BAD INTENTIONS

what's worse than all of that, though, is that him being ollie means that at any time in the last 10 years he could have used the persona to force his way into safe haven. AT ANY TIME HE COULD HAVE KILLED THEM ALL. HE COULD SIMPLY USE THE OLLIE VOICE AND ASK THEM TO OPEN THE DOOR. why is this worse, you ask? because HE WAS LITERALLY TERRORIZING THEM ON PURPOSE.

think about the note in the cart/cave area. a toy from safe haven writes that prototype was right outside the door the night before, he'd gotten past the traps and was just tapping on the wall and staring. they said after he was gone they still felt they could hear it. HE IS LITERALLY BEING SCARY ON PURPOSE???? LEGIT TRAUMATIZING THEM AND FOR NO REASON. HE COULD GET IN THERE, HE'S SIMPLY CHOOSING TO MAKE THEIR LIVES HELL

so thats crazy.. BUT ALSO THE ENDING? in the poppy and ollie tape he says "im right here, poppy. for you. i'll always be here." AND AT THE END OF THE GAME, WHEN POPPY ASKS WHAT HE DID WITH OLLIE, HE SAYS THAT. you know what that means? that means he said that shit to her ALL THE TIME. clearly only the two of them would be familiar with the phrase which is why after he said it, she immediately knew he was ollie the whole time

i feel bad for poppy. she ran off but she was valid for that. all her friends from safe haven are dead, the only ones left are the player, kissy and ollie, but she soon realizes that ollie is WORSE than dead. he is LITERALLY HER ENEMY. the thousands of conversations they had, probably hundreds of times she vented and told him her plans and discussed her life with him? ALL FOR NOTHING. any time she thought she was winning the past 10 years was a lie, she was ALWAYS LOSING because he was GETTING ALL THE INFO FROM THEM. she genuinely never had a chance and i think she realized that

in her dialogue you can tell she's grieving ollie (obviously he IS prototype, but i think she's grieving the thought of him). saying "you lied to me" to the prototype of all people is absurd (considering he's done far worse than lie) but when you think about how she feels, it makes sense.

also the part where she said "this isn't right". again, a weird thing to say to him of all people, but if you put yourself in her shoes she's grieving the friend she thought she had, and she's struggling to grapple with the fact that it all meant nothing. somewhere in her mind she believes "ollie" as a personality is there somewhere, because how could someone be that close with you and mean none of it? she thinks that voicing this pain he's inflicted will change his mind, but it won't. and that's why it's genuinely really sad. that's why she asks if there was ever an ollie. i don't think she meant it literally, and i don't think his answer was literal either. she didn't mean "were you a mf named ollie once" she meant it like "was our friendship ever genuine?" which makes his response both heartbreaking and interesting.

so not only is her world shattered now, most of her friends are dead and the one who wasn't turned out to be her opp, but now he's TAUNTING HER OVER THE PHONE AND THREATENING HER. nice one... (loved the quip after she ran off btw. that shit was hilarious. like bro u made her crash out and went "some friend, huh?" YOU CANT SAY THAT BRO)

anyway think of it from her perspective: everyone you knew is gone, and soon the only 2 people that remain will be too. you can't run, or hide, or do anything. he WILL find you, and when he does he'll lock you away FOREVER where NOBODY WILL BE LEFT TO SAVE YOU. I WOULD RUN TOO.............. plus her running off probably led him away so.. she saved us sorta.

ALL THAT TO SAY THAT I REALLY LIKE THE OLLIE REVEAL FOR REASONS FAR BEYOND A SIMPLE TWIST. him being ollie for over a decade raises many many questions, and suggests very dark things.

hes crazy and the fact he did a monologue means he knows he won. he wouldn't have spilled the beans otherwise...

[marvelseries19]

RETURN TO YOU

Chapter Four - Castaway

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter Four | Chapter five |

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x female agent reader

Genre: Angst

Summary: You’re finally found. After years lost and alone, a faint signal is enough to bring someone to your island. You're brought home, weak, scared, and unsure if it’s real.

A/N: Finally, the moment you've been waiting for. I'm not entirely sure if this should be the end. I kinda have more ideas to tell, but maybe I'll post those as like one-shots or something. I wanted to thank you guys for letting me know that you liked it. I don't think I've ever had this much engagement on my fics. I really appreciate the love this one has had.

On another note, in the last chapter, I asked if you read this, and by this, I meant these messages, I leave here, not the chapter. So, once more, do you guys read these messages?? Also, as always, any questions, requests, ideas, and feedback are all welcome. Enjoy :)

Warnings: +18, descriptions of injuries and such.

Word count: 4.4k+

[You do not have permission to repost or translate any of my stories or claim them as yours.]

The low hum of the SHIELD operations room barely registered as Maria Hill leaned over the dim console. The soft, rhythmic blinking on the screen in front of her was steady, consistent — unmistakable. A signal. Faint, primitive, but deliberate. Her fingers flew across the keys as she opened a secure channel.

"Get me Director Fury," she said, her voice low but urgent.

The line crackled before his voice came through, rough and clipped. "What have you got?"

Maria didn’t look away from the screen. "A signal. Old-school. Someone stripped a Quinjet transponder and spliced it into basic field tech. It’s broadcasting on an early SHIELD frequency — nothing sophisticated, but it’s clean. Repeating."

"That’s a long shot," Fury replied.

"Not if it’s her," Maria said, and there was something unshakable in her tone. "And I believe it is."

There was a pause. She could almost hear him weighing it in silence. Her eyes stayed on the blinking pattern, steady as a heartbeat.

"It’s the captain."

Fury’s silence stretched again — longer this time, heavier.

"You always did trust her instincts more than anyone else," he said eventually.

"She earned that trust," Maria murmured. And she remembered — the smoke, the fire, the chaos.

Kandahar.

—

The sky was dust-streaked and orange, gunfire painting the air in bursts. Agents scattered, wounded, shouting. No one had orders. The comms were fried. And then you appeared — ash-streaked, limping, blood on her sleeve, and calm in her eyes.

“We lost comms!” someone had yelled. “Do we pull back?! Where’s the fallback point?!”

Maria remembered how you didn’t hesitate. She remembered the way you moved — forward, always forward — as if gravity bent toward your conviction.

"With me," you said. That was all.

Two words.

And twenty agents followed you without looking back.

Maria hadn’t said it aloud that day — but someone else had. A younger recruit, clutching his rifle and running to keep up: “Captain’s got us.”

The name stuck.

—

Maria exhaled softly, her eyes never leaving the console. "She pulled twenty agents out that night. Half of them wouldn’t be here without her," she said quietly.

"Is she still alive, Hill?" Fury asked.

"She sent that signal," Maria replied. "I know it's her, and that’s all I need to know."

"Take a team," Fury ordered. "Get her back."

Maria was already on her feet. "Already working on it."

She shut the console off, leaving the weak, blinking signal behind — but only for a moment.

She would follow it. All the way to the end.

—

The quinjet dipped below the clouds like a shadow cutting through the sky, its engines whisper-quiet over the dense canopy below. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting streaks of gold and fire across the endless stretch of green.

Maria stood near the loading ramp, arms crossed, eyes scanning the horizon as if she could will the trees to part and reveal a miracle.

She’d barely slept on the flight over, fingers tight around the datapad that showed the narrowing coordinates. Each pass of the satellite brought them closer. Each sweep of the low-band signal narrowed the window.

Still, it felt like a dream.

Three years.

Three years with no trace.

Three years of dead ends, quiet funerals, and trying to help Natasha through a grief Maria shared but didn’t dare speak aloud.

And now this.

A single echo. A half-broken signal from a beacon no one was supposed to remember how to use.

She hadn’t told Natasha. Couldn't. Not yet.

Hope, Maria had learned, was dangerous when it burned too bright. And she wouldn’t be the one to light it unless she was sure. She had seen firsthand what it did to her friend , how it tore her apart each time a lead turned out to be false. Maria needed more than a faint signal to give Natasha false hope.

The quinjet hovered over the narrowed location, nestled between cliffs and jungle, and the team fast-roped down in practiced silence. Maria followed, landing with a solid thud against the uneven earth.

It was still. Too still. But the readings didn’t lie. Someone was here.

She signaled for the group to split. “Fan out. Sweep the perimeter. Eyes sharp. Weapons down unless you see a threat.”

A chorus of affirmatives crackled through comms.

They moved.

Not far away, tucked in the hollow between two rocks and overgrowth, you stirred.

The sound had been faint — a low thrum, like distant thunder.

It came again, closer this time.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting every movement. Your limbs ached. Your head spun. Your skin had taken on the leathery feel of too much sun and too little water. The weakened body you lived in now barely resembled the one that once trained at SHIELD’s academy. The one that flew the quinjet with quiet confidence. The one that could disappear without leaving a trace.

You had survived.

But barely.

You blinked hard, pressing your fingers to your ears.

Voices.

Were those voices?

You crouched low, instinct taking over even as your knees buckled beneath you. The sound of boots brushing leaves. A sharp rustle of brush being moved aside. You bit the inside of your cheek.

It’s nothing. You’ve imagined things before. You’d seen shadows become people. Branches become outstretched hands.

But the voices were growing louder now. Clearer.

“Check the cliffside—Hill’s got east.”

“There’s a trail here—looks like something’s been walking through.”

“Signal strength increasing. It’s close.”

No. No, that was real. That wasn’t just your mind trying to comfort you again. That was real.

Still, your body didn’t move. Not yet.

You sat frozen, heart pounding, as footsteps closed in.

And then—

“Hey!” a voice called. Not a hallucination. Sharp. Solid. Commanding. “I’ve got something—!”

Then another voice. Lower. Familiar. Too familiar.

“Stand down, it’s her—God—” The foliage parted, and there she was.

Maria.

Your mind couldn’t process it all at once. She was wearing tactical black, hair pulled back, eyes scanning like she didn’t dare believe what she was seeing.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything—but nothing came out.

Maria dropped to her knees, her voice thick and trembling. “Hey, hey—it's okay. It's me. I’ve got you.”

You blinked again, too weak to flinch as her hands gently framed your face.

Her breath caught. “Jesus… you’re really here.”

You tried to speak, lips cracked, throat dry. Only a rasp escaped.

Maria shook her head, a soft curse under her breath. She slipped an arm around your shoulders, guiding a canteen to your lips. “Don’t talk. Just drink.”

The water stung going down, but you drank like you hadn’t in days.

Because you hadn't. Rainwater could only last for so long.

Maria kept holding you, one hand steadying the canteen, the other pressed lightly against your back as if reassuring herself that you were solid. Real. Not another ghost.

And then she whispered, almost like she didn’t want anyone else to hear, "I'm so sorry it took this long.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not yet. Not when it felt like the moment could vanish if you blinked.

But Maria didn’t rush. She stayed there with you in the dirt, surrounded by jungle, brushing a hand gently through your tangled hair.

“You’re safe now,” she said softly. “We’re taking you home. I’m gonna make sure of that. And I’ll tell her—I’ll tell Natasha.”

You didn’t know if it was the relief or her voice, but that’s when the sob broke free.

And Maria, strong as ever, just held you tighter.

The team moved quickly once they found her.

You were conscious, your body trembling with exhaustion and adrenaline as they guided you through the undergrowth. The sight of the quinjet waiting on the shore hit you harder than expected.

Your steps faltered.

The air caught in your throat.

It looked almost exactly like yours—the one that went down in flames, the one that left you stranded and alone. Your chest tightened, breath hitching, muscles locking up as memories flashed behind your eyes. Fire. Smoke. The sound of metal tearing. The impact.

You stopped walking.

“Hey,” Maria’s voice was calm and soft. She stepped in front of you, eyes steady, hand gentle on your shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. We’re taking you home.”

You shook your head weakly, barely audible when you said, “I can’t… I can’t get on that thing. I know it’s stupid, but—”

“It’s not stupid,” Maria cut in, her voice rough with emotion. “After what you’ve been through, it makes perfect sense.”

Your eyes were glassy, full of apology and fear you couldn’t quite name. “I want to go. I just… I can’t.”

Maria glanced at the medic nearby, nodding once.

“We’ll help you sleep through the ride, okay?” she said, already crouching down with her. “No pain. No panic. You’ll wake up at the medical facility. Safe. I promise.”

You gave her the faintest nod, your fingers still gripping Maria’s sleeve like an anchor.

Maria stayed close as the medic prepped the injection, gently brushing damp hair back from your forehead. “You did so good, alright? You held on. We’ve got you now.”

The sedative took hold quickly, easing your breathing as your eyes fluttered shut. Maria caught you carefully as she slumped forward, guiding her into the medic’s arms and onto the stretcher.

And as the engines spun up and the quinjet lifted into the sky, Maria sat beside you, phone already in her hand, staring down at Natasha’s name on the screen.

It was time.

The quinjet hummed around her, steady and familiar. Maria sat strapped in beside the stretcher, her eyes drifting to you every few seconds — as if making sure she was still there, still breathing, still real.

You looked so small.

So fragile.

And it shook Maria more than she wanted to admit. This woman, who once sparred with her until both of them limped off the mat laughing… This woman who had stood beside her through firefights and missions no one else could have survived… Now she lies wrapped in blankets, sedated, ribs visible under her skin, lips cracked from dehydration.

Maria swallowed hard. She stared at the screen for a long second before finally pressing the contact.

The call connected after two rings.

“Maria?” Natasha’s voice came out sharp, tight. Tired. Like she’d been running or not sleeping again. “Is something wrong?”

Maria’s breath caught. “Natasha…”

Something in her tone made Natasha go completely still on the other end.

“We found her,” Maria said softly.

Silence.

“I need you to meet me at the SHIELD medical facility in New York. We’re bringing her in now. She's alive, Nat. She's—she's not in good shape, but she’s alive.”

Natasha didn’t answer at first. Just a breath — hitched, broken — and then, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I’ve got her right here with me.” Maria looked over again, lowering her voice instinctively. “She held on. Three years, and she never gave up.”

There was a long pause. When Natasha spoke again, her voice cracked.

“I’ll be there.”

—

The city blurred past the tinted windows of the SUV, but Natasha barely saw any of it.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Every red light felt like a personal attack. Every second that passed without her at that facility made her heart pound harder in her chest.

You were alive.

Alive.

It didn’t feel real.

She had imagined this moment too many times — always in dreams, in cruel fantasies her mind would conjure when sleep finally took her. But this wasn’t a dream. Maria had called her. Maria had sounded shaken. That never happened.

Alive.

Natasha’s breath caught again, her throat tight with something she couldn’t name — hope, disbelief, fear. She didn’t even realize tears had started to run down her cheeks until they hit her jaw. She didn’t wipe them away.

Three years.

Three years of not knowing. Of waking up and reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Of closing her eyes and hearing your laugh, only for silence to greet her. Of rage. Of grief so heavy it felt like a second skin.

And now… you were back.

But at what cost?

She kept replaying Maria’s voice in her head. Not in good shape. Those four words sliced deeper than anything else. Natasha had seen the aftermath of war. She had seen what being stranded did to a person, physically and mentally.

What if you didn’t remember her? What if the pain of those years had buried the part of you that knew her name? What if the reunion she’d dreamed of — clung to — was nothing like the reality waiting for her?

The driver turned sharply, and Natasha gritted her teeth, leaning forward.

“How much longer?”

“Five minutes, ma’am.”

Not fast enough.

She closed her eyes. Forced herself to breathe. One hand unconsciously reached for the ring still looped through the chain around her neck — your ring — warm now from her skin.

She didn’t know what she’d find when she walked into that facility.

But for the first time in three years… she had something to walk toward.

You.

—

The quinjet touched down with a soft thud on the rooftop pad of the SHIELD medical facility.

Before the engines had fully powered down, the med team was already waiting — gurney prepped, portable monitors ready, gloved hands reaching for the ramp before it even dropped.

Maria stood to the side, out of the way but not detached. Her jaw was clenched, arms crossed tightly over her chest, as if holding herself together. She hadn’t said much since the sedation. Only that she’d call Natasha again once they landed. But she didn’t need to. The call had already been made. Natasha would be here soon. She knew it.

The second the hatch opened, the team surged forward.

You were still unconscious — sedated, peaceful in the worst way. Your skin looked pale under the harsh facility lights, your body far too light as they transferred you to the gurney. The bruises, the cuts, the ribs pressing too close to the surface — it was all too visible now.

Monitors were clipped to your finger, an oxygen mask gently pressed to your face, and soft commands echoing between the medics:

“Get her on fluids, stat.”

“We need a CBC and a full metabolic panel.”

“Chest X-ray, abdominal ultrasound.”

“She’s dehydrated; start with normal saline, keep it slow.”

The medics disappeared down the hall with you, swift and practiced, the sound of their shoes a controlled blur of movement.

Natasha had just stepped into the hallway when she saw them roll the gurney past.

She stopped mid-step.

Time halted.

You.

There. Real.

But not awake. Not smiling. Not whole.

Her hand went to the wall to steady herself. Her breath left her in a sharp, silent exhale. She couldn’t move.

Maria stepped in beside her, watching the hallway where the doors had just swung closed behind the gurney. “She’s stable. Vitals are holding. They’ll take care of her.”

Natasha didn’t speak. Her eyes hadn’t moved from that door.

A nurse came around the corner holding something small and delicate in a gloved hand. She looked between them before gently addressing Natasha.

“She was wearing this,” she said softly, offering the chain.

Natasha reached out slowly, her hand trembling as she took it.

Your ring. Still looped through the chain she gave you three years ago.

She held it tightly in her fist, pressing it to her lips like a prayer.

Maria watched her quietly. “She survived,” she whispered, more to herself than to Natasha. “She actually survived.”

Natasha’s voice cracked when she finally spoke, low and hoarse. “She wasn’t supposed to.”

Down the hallway, machines beeped. Doors swung. A medical team did everything they could to stabilize you — rehydrate, monitor, and evaluate. You didn’t stir, but you were alive.

That was all that mattered.

For now.

It felt like hours.

The sterile hallway never changed, but Natasha hadn't moved from that same spot. She leaned forward in the plastic chair, elbows on her knees, fingers still curled around the chain holding your ring. The weight of it was nothing — and everything.

Maria had stayed close, pacing occasionally, making a few quiet calls, but mostly giving Natasha space. There were no words left to say.

Finally, a doctor emerged from behind the double doors. He looked tired but calm.

“She’s stable. Fluids are working, and her bloodwork came back cleaner than we expected. Malnourished, yes. Exhausted, definitely. But no infection, no internal injuries beyond the obvious bruising, and a few injuries that didn't heal properly, but nothing to worry about. We sedated her gently. She might wake up soon.”

Natasha stood the moment the doctor nodded toward the room. “Can I see her?”

“Yes. Just for a few minutes, and keep it quiet. She’s been through a lot.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She was already moving.

—

The room was dim and quiet, the steady beep of the heart monitor the only sound. You were there, lying so still under the soft white sheets, a faint oxygen tube at your nose, IVs at your side.

Natasha stopped at the foot of the bed. She wasn’t ready. She’d pictured this moment a hundred different ways over the past three years. None of them came close.

You looked like you and not like you — thinner, paler, yet tanned, your hair longer and tangled in places, and skin marked with sun and wear. But it was you.

Carefully, Natasha stepped closer, lowering herself into the chair beside your bed. She didn’t speak. She just watched. Studied your face. Every part of her wanted to reach out — but she couldn’t bring herself to disturb the fragile stillness.

She opened her hand. The ring glinted dully in the light.

“I never stopped wearing it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Never took it off. Not once.”

Her fingers curled gently around your hand, the one not bound by tape and tubing. You were warm. Not cold. Not gone.

“I should’ve been with you,” she whispered. “I should’ve—”

But she couldn’t finish.

Her breath caught, and for the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff let her shoulders fall and her head bow beside the woman she never stopped loving.

She stayed like that. Until the rhythm of your heart monitor seemed to slow into something steadier. Familiar.

Until maybe — just maybe — she felt your fingers twitch beneath her own.

Natasha’s eyes remained fixed on you, but her mind had drifted. She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting there, nor how many times she had muttered those quiet, broken words — promises, apologies, confessions — to the room, to the air, to you.

The weight of everything she hadn’t said was finally crashing down on her, more than she could have prepared for. The years without you, the months of pretending she could go on without even knowing where you were, the guilt that had gnawed at her every waking moment, the hopelessness she buried deeper each day. It had always felt like she was waiting for something — waiting for the call, the news, anything that would bring you back into her world. She couldn’t breathe without the thought of you, couldn’t focus on anything with your absence hanging like a shadow.

But here you were, lying in front of her, fragile and yet still alive.

Alive.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the ring, the very symbol of everything she’d almost lost forever. The years had worn away at its luster, but it still gleamed, faintly — a promise. She had thought she’d never see you again. She thought she’d have to carry this unfulfilled promise forever.

And yet, here you were.

Her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. She wasn’t going to cry. She couldn’t. Not here, not now, when you needed her more than ever.

"I promised you I’d come for you," she whispered, her voice rough. "I promised."

She held the ring in her hand as if it could reach you — as if it could bridge the gap between her pain and your absence. She was scared, more than she cared to admit. Scared of how you might feel when you woke up. Scared of what you might remember. Scared of how fragile this moment was — of how fragile you were.

Her hand moved slowly to the side of your bed. She didn’t want to disturb you, but she couldn’t stop herself. The need to be close to you was overwhelming. The need to feel that connection — that spark of life that had once been so familiar, so undeniable between you.

“I couldn’t live without you,” Natasha whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “I won’t let you go again.”

For a moment, she simply sat there, eyes closed, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. The world outside the room seemed distant and cold — nothing mattered except the space between her and you, the fragile space that had once been filled with shared laughter, quiet mornings, and stolen moments.

The steady beep of the heart monitor seemed to echo in her mind, a reminder that you were here, that you were real, that you were alive. But what was left for the two of you now? Could things be the same after all that had happened? Natasha didn’t know. All she knew was that she couldn't—wouldn't— let you slip away again.

The door creaked softly, and Maria stepped in, her expression quiet but understanding. Natasha didn’t look up. She didn’t want anyone else in this moment, but Maria’s presence was a grounding force — a reminder that Natasha hadn’t been completely alone through all of this.

“She’s going to be okay,” Maria said, her voice gentle but firm. “She’s a fighter, Nat.”

Natasha didn’t respond, her eyes never leaving you. She wasn’t ready for anyone’s reassurance. Not yet.

Maria waited for a moment, then sighed softly. “I’ll give you some time. Just… don’t do this alone. Not again.”

But Natasha didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She didn’t know how to explain the ache in her chest, the heaviness that had been there for years. There was no way to put it into words.

She only nodded silently, her gaze never wavering from your sleeping form. And in that silence, Natasha finally let herself hope again. Not just for your safety, but for something more. Something she had almost forgotten how to believe in.

She wasn’t alone anymore. Neither of them was.

—

The first thing you felt was the weight of your own body. The heaviness of skin and bone sinking into the sterile softness of hospital sheets. The dull ache beneath the surface of everything. But more than that, it was the quiet hum of machines, the faint beeping of a heart monitor, and the sterile scent of antiseptic that confirmed it — you weren’t on the island anymore.

You were safe.

That realization alone felt unreal.

Your eyelids fluttered, the light above muted through lashes you struggled to lift. The world came back to you in pieces — sound, then shape, then color. The sharp clarity of a cold IV line in your hand. The warmth of a blanket pulled up to your chest. The dull echo of a familiar voice.

It was the last one that made your heart stutter.

Natasha.

She was sitting beside you. Tired. Still. Her posture held together by force alone, like she hadn’t moved in hours — maybe longer. Her hands were folded in her lap, but her entire body leaned ever so slightly toward you, as if afraid you’d vanish if she didn’t stay close.

You blinked slowly, and her eyes found yours in an instant.

The breath she let out was shaky. You saw it — the moment she shattered just a little more but also held herself together just enough to stay strong for you.

“…hey,” she whispered. Her voice was raw, barely a sound at all. But her eyes were full — of grief, of relief, of everything she hadn’t dared let herself feel until now. “You’re here.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. You tried again — your voice rasped and cracked, dry and weak.

“…Hi,” you whispered.

Tears welled up in her eyes immediately. Natasha leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, her hand brushing your arm like she needed to touch you to believe this was real. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Weeks. Maybe years.

“I didn’t think…” you started, the words struggling to form.

“I know,” she said, voice tight. “Me neither.”

Your eyes darted around, and that’s when you saw it — sitting on the table beside a vase of white flowers, looking oddly solemn in the sterile light — was Red. Your Red. The coconut you once talked to when you were losing hope, when your voice was the only one on that island. Someone had even propped it up with a little folded towel beneath it like a throne.

You stared at it, blinking again, and then let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob.

“Red made it?”

“Maria made sure of it,” Natasha said with a hint of a smile, though her voice was still breaking. “Said she’d have murdered her entire team if they left him behind. Apparently you muttered its name after they sedated you.”

Your throat burned. Everything hurt. But Natasha’s presence eased something inside of you that had been coiled tight for years. She looked at you like she was scared you’d disappear if she blinked. And you looked at her like she was the first warmth you’d felt in forever.

You reached for her hand, slowly, shakily. She took it before your fingers even fully stretched toward her.

“You waited,” you said softly.

“I would’ve waited forever,” Natasha whispered back.

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full — of all the words you didn’t need to say, of the pain that was finally beginning to thaw, of the bond between you that had never broken, even after everything.

Even after all this time.

You closed your eyes again, not to sleep — just to rest. Just to breathe. Just to be.

With her hand in yours and Red by your side, for the first time in a long time… you believed everything might be okay.

----

TAGLIST: @womenarehotsstuff @seventeen-x @ctrlaltedits @ciaoooooo111 @unexpected-character @redroomgraduate @natsaffection @cheekysnake @viosblog112 @riyaexee @lilyeyama @idontliketoread2127 @ima-gi--na-tion @sunny-poe @artemisarroxvolkov @hotcocoandonuts @scarletsstarlets @splatashaswife

[nefastnefertiti]

WHY CHAPTER 431 OF MY HERO ACADEMIA SCREAMS CENSORSHIP

First let's start by the "afterword", the note Horikoshi left after 430 and before the extras, chapter 431.

Original japanese for those who understand.

The best traslation I found and most people are agreeing with.

Key sentences are:

1.The real final chapter is 429, 430 is more like a curtain call.

2. PS: For chapter 431, I turn off the cameras and free the characters from their dramas.

This note being left after 430 and before the extras is so important. . The clarification of "the real final chapter is 429" and 430 is the curtain call is screaming: the show has ended here. This is further stated by "i turn the cameras off" by the man who use to refer himself as the camera man, I leave you with an example.

(They're talking about Vol 37 cover)

And back to point number 2: "and free the characters from their dramas", which could perfectly be understood as "the characters are no longer tied to their previous plots and drama" no longer connected to the main story.

It may seem like a reach until here, we're just trying to convince ourselves that's not canon, right? They´re delusions, right?

The problem is how far away everything about 431 antagonizes the whole story, the characters doesn't feel like themselves, they even regress back all their development, the drawing style looks totally different and there are many irregularities that call for our attention.

Dabi, 431 and by Horikoshi

Toga and Ochaco in 431:

Toga and Ochaco by Horikoshi:

All Might's signature for Katsuki (Horikoshi would never mess this up):

Kirishima with 6 fingers lol, Horikoshi loves drawing hands, he would never.

Katsuki's odd teeth what the fuck. (His hand looks good to me)

Ochaco and Shoto just look, weird. It's clearly not Horikoshi's art style.

And this awful background (center) was the main giveaway.

Horikoshi's backgrounds are so professional:

At this point I'm getting tired since the difference is astounding, don't believe me, just check the manga.

I don't think Horikoshi would've allowed those mistakes had he have a role in the making, maybe he did, there's no saying about that, but clearly if he did his involvement was very low.

Character's development wise now.

Seriously? "Deku"? And Katsuki complaining for picking him up. He cried his eyes out when Izuku lost his quirk and now he's back at season 1?

Izuku would never in a million years turn down that offer. And if he did, it would never be like this, so devoid of emotion and empathy.

430 showed us an Izuku aiming for his dreams again and at 431 this Izuku ¿? It's okay with being a teacher? Ok. And if that's not the problem, why he outright rejects Katsuki out of nowhere? When their rivalry was one of the main points of the plots for 430 chapters and now just um over? Without justification? Ok.

Ok.

Now specifically about that ship canonization and bkdk.

Horikoshi has been doing this for 10 years. The choices he took the whole manga were incredibly intentional, all those romantic tropes given to bkdk, his interviews, all stand in direct opposition to what happened in this last chapter.

I, myself, don't know much about Jump but what I've heard is they end lot of shonens with the same heterosexual formula. I don't think all of this is a coincidence.

Something really important that needs to be adressed to is what happened back in June (I think), when suddenly MHA announced it was ending in 5 chapters could've something to do with this. The manga was suddenly rushed to its ends with unsatisfying resolutions and as if that was not enough, one month later (at most) the same happened to JJK and all of this came accompanied by a switch of one of the heads of Jump.

About 431 again though.

I was just thinking what would I do if I was pressured to write something that ruins the biggest project of my life and goes against everything I was hoping for? Refuse. Tell them to write it themselves. If I can't do anything to stop it and it'll be there, alright, but I WON'T DO IT.

And I think this could be Horikoshi's case.

I've never seen a shonen manga come so close to implying his male protagonist and his male deuteragonist are in love before. Yes, it was not EXPLICIT but it was so fucking clear if you knew how to read, all the way up to 430. All those cliches tropes he gave them, he knew, we know.

I thought I'll die trying to explaineverything that seems wrong with this with nothing to back me up but the fact that he added that note is clear for me. I'm surprised they allowed him to publish it, I thought we wouldn't even have that.

PS:

It's interesting this being posted the same day 431 comes out. Also "heroaca is pretty dark, huh?"

I'll not go into this anyways because it's kind of a reach but the conclusion is: I think it's a "soft" censorship and Horikoshi did his best to relay his message given what he had.

Thanks for reading!

[lavilavs]

୨୧ ── Starts with a cliché, ends with a cliché

› Pairing: Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

› Scenario: Life is full of clichés, no? It just so happens that its favorite is Damian and the stuck-up rich heiress that he met on his first day of school. He can't stand being your shojo-manga-made love guru (that sucks, sadly) anymore if you keep on having angst as your genre.

› Warnings: Light cursing and light KMS jokes

› Notes: English is not my first language + Reblogs and likes are very appreciated! + Is it obvious I like friends-to-lovers? + 80% backstory, 20% present time (jk) .. 4k words

A sigh leaves his lips. It was difficult to finish one chapter without you popping inside his mind. You've been dancing around in his train of thought the whole day. Memories of the past have resurfaced without reason.

Perhaps he misses you that much.

Damian sets the first manga you've lent him with care by the side. The bustling street across his windows entice him to stand up. It's time to do something else other than read. Apparently, reading manga fuels his desire to visit you after a week of no communication.

You've been silent since you've fought with your first normal boyfriend.

Through his window, he noticed the old bookstore a few streets down to the west was now gone. Damian watches the cranes and construction workers build something new on top of it. That store had sentimental value for both of you. You used to sneak with him there after class to recommend some manga.

His reflection on the mirror adds another thought to his head. He's changed so much. Damian was taller and mature than he was before. Everything has changed since he went to Gotham. Even when he wasn't born, everything has changed.

Change is the only thing permanent in the world. Everyone knows that. Humans have lived and gone through change that nobody could disagree with. Damian learned and accepted change at a young age, believing that it is the only thing constant in a world that is different every day.

That's what he used to believe—until he met your annoying, spoiled ass one random Monday at school.

"You're handsome. I like you, you're mine now."

"What did you just say?"

"You're mine."

And it ends up being one of the famous last words of a spoiled heiress who just got thrown onto the floor by a boy who grew up being trained since he first learned how to walk.

You pointed at him and declared that with no warnings whatsoever; how couldn't he react harshly? If you expected him to drop down on his knees to solemnly pledge his love for you like the stories your nanny told you before bedtime, you were dead wrong.

In fact, your nanny was wrong about everything! Not all men who look like a prince act like one. Even the Beast would be put to shame if they cast this little twerp as his younger brother with rabies, if he had one. Sadly, he'll be scouted as a dog in romcoms who bites nuts instead. Because he for sure looks like he will when prompted to.

To think that a fresh 14-year-old Damian Wayne would be the one to forcefully push you out of your Disney princess phase and into your typical teenage girl fixations phase. Puberty held their hands up and slowly walked away on having their job stolen away.

"Hmph." 

He scoffed when he saw tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you dusted and straightened your blouse and skirt. The women in the League of Assassins was obviously much stronger and tougher than you, but it didn't make his disappointment any less.

Being surrounded with people who had a 'kill or be killed' mindset and then thrown into a normal society where safety is a given with all these superheroes protecting them... It's throwing him off.

It was apparent that you were one of those stuck-up rich kids with the way you acted. Judging with the book of cliches in mind, you'll cry about this to your parents later and have him arrested and put into a life behind bars for eternity. 

Good luck with that when he has Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul as his parents. Although, he can easily break out by himself.

But there was one mistake. One that cost him a life's worth of embarrassment in school. After all, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth." That arrogance of his cost him his family jewels getting kicked by you. 

He missed the other cliché—crying makes you stronger.

Oh, and this backstory? Yeah, totally not related to the first paragraph. It's just Damian reminiscing back to the old days because he's appalled that you're still a hopeless romantic that makes him doubt that change is permanent. 

Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is sitting here listening to your girl problems. Not just any girl problem—it's your love problem! A recurring yet still difficult topic for both of you.

And how is it difficult, you may ask? Simple—the boyfriends you pick certainly aren't the brightest or the kindest, so even the logical Damian Wayne is troubled by how your boyfriend of the week is acting.

The use of their intelligence surpasses even his, and not in a positive way. How can he even begin to comprehend that one time when a guy who almost took you out on a date unhingedly recommended you not to search him up?

You must've thought, "Holy shit, is he a celebrity from another country?" and that would've been ideal if he weren't included in the local wanted list! That gorgeous specimen had charges of multiple felonies, arson, theft, and a lot more.

When you cried about it to him, you were more concerned about the fact that he specifically told you not to search him up. Like—just be quiet, bro. You didn't have to say all that. And the fact that he didn't even use a fake name? clever. Wow, Einstein would be turning in his grave from having his title of world's smartest man stolen.

With that pretty face of his, you wouldn't even think he'd do all of that, to be honest. But pretty privilege doesn't work on Damian. No matter who they were, they deserved a background check. Or perhaps a Google check would be fitting given the circumstances. Thank God he did. What could he have done when something happened to you?

Another funny, ironic cliché has happened to poor, little Damian. Fate rolled his dice of cliché, and it somehow ended up being the "the more you hate, the more you love" cliché that happens to characters that start off sour but end up falling in love with each other.

Only that it was one-sided—at the moment!—on his part.

His confession ended up being a total failure when he realized you didn't like him anymore like you once said you did. Damian still thought you did because of your words—those words of declaration you did 6 years ago, that is.

The flowers in his hand wilted downwards, saddened by the surprising rejection of their buyer.

"You told me I was yours?"

"Did I? I don't remember."

That stupid look on your face almost made him crash out.

"Do you even remember how we first met?" He groans, threading his fingers through his hair.

"What? You didn't just spawn in my life?!"

It was a miracle Damian didn't go berserk, Damian couldn't find the energy to be furious when that surprise in your voice was genuine. Did he throw you too hard, perhaps? If he did, he wanted to go back in time just to give you your own kick to the nuts. Not that you had one! Just figuratively speaking.

Damian dreads the thought of hurting you again. But if you were going to turn out less of a stuck-up rich kid and his friend? It was a small sacrifice to be made. But also... with a little hint of revenge 'cause that shit still hurts his pride.

Oh—so many conclusions in his mind that he's starting to laugh slowly like a maniac.

"None of that matters anyway! We're friends, Dami. This confession is the worst that could happen to us." You laugh at his face while having him in a headlock.

That chippy smile on your face looked so annoying to see, and yet, it also served as his tranquilizer.

How could he be mad when you already looked so happy to have him in your life? It slowly dawned on him that it wasn't that bad to be just your friend. 

Only until you went on a spree with love interests that were...

1.) Had the brain of a rock

Whether emotional or plain intelligence, the contenders could never have both. Having both was only a myth. A story you would only hear from your other girlfriends. It was amazing that they were blessed in the boyfriend department. Guess God really makes all of us equal with situations like this.

And the worst of the worst,

2.) Criminals

It's self-explanatory. If that's not enough to hear, Damian swears he wants to bash his head every time you tell him about your villain hear-me-outs. In exhibit A we had Poison Ivy and Arkham Knight. It was understandable at some point. When he asked you what part of them is attractive, he wasn't ready to hear your answer.

"First of all, are you too busy fighting for your life that you can't see Poison Ivy's gorgeous face? Dude, every stolen picture of her is totally hot! She's so photogenic."

"I could hear you out on Ivy, but Arkham Knight? Please, elaborate." He was so done with your bullshit. The way you even prepare yourself into that pose before you speak into an imaginary mic has him dumbfounded.

"I can't see his face."

"Pardon?"

"All aura. No face. Very hear-me-out material." You nod in agreement at yourself whilst the boy shakes his head sideways.

And then we have Exhibit B... Yeah, no. Not elaborating.

"Hear me out on Psimon."

Before Damian could process what you said, you had already passed by him with your friends. It wasn't of importance, just another hear me out. Then it clicked.

"The big-brained midget?!"

If only he wasn't in school, he would've yelled that with all of his might. The best he could do was whisper-shout with a disgusted look. It was just too shocking for him to not say it out loud. That information was something that needed to be spat out.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, his ears perking up at that custom notification sound he set up for you.

: As if you aren't? :p

Damian suddenly felt cold. Have you developed super hearing all this time? How long have you had those powers? Oh, shit—if you have super hearing, then all the compliments he whispered into the air, you heard all of that? Okay, no need to linger on it any further, Damian! What matters is that she didn't understand the compliments you said in Arabic.

With the secret out, he typed back.

: Super hearing... That's impressive.

Within a few seconds he already got your reply.

: Do I look like Superman's secret love child? My parents are the blandest and most boring people here in Gotham, dude. How can I have powers?

: Besides, this goes to show that I know you well enough to know what you're thinking. <3

He erupts into steam, his eyebrows furrowing at the small heart at the end of the message. The warmth in his ears teases him, a reminder of his feelings for you. It wasn't even intended that way, and he still finds it cute.

Ah, where were we?

Right, going back to your dating history—it was either academically and emotionally challenged ones or plain criminals.

Have you dated the mentioned criminals above?

No, you didn't. It was just crushes.

Ask Damian about it, and he'll tell you that exhibit A and exhibit B would be far better than the criminals you actually date. Because they actually have brains that the exhibit C of criminals—don't! The Google guy about 46 paragraphs ago is one of the prime examples of exhibit C.

Either way, Damian Wayne is still your best friend through and through, even if you are... questionable. You're one of the first to have broken down his walls.

You didn't soften the devil child with love. It wasn't that you saved him from a dire moment either because let's be honest with ourselves—who'd win in a fight? A sheltered heiress who rebels or a child born from a lineage of assassins and skilled crime fighters? It was such a coughing baby vs. hydrogen bomb question. 

Everything started when you started reading shojo mangas after the incident with Damian on the first day of school. You were too preoccupied by your manga that you bumped shoulders with him making you drop it onto his feet.

Damian already recognized you as the girl who kicked his nuts. A grimace on his face when he looked at the book that was once in your hands.

He picked up what you were reading and was immediately entranced by the wonderful colors the panel had. The romantic dialouge that was written with heart and soul was speaking to him so poetically. There's no context or any understanding about the story and yet he felt every word in this new profound piece of literature.

"If you want one, go ask your mommy or daddy to buy you one, because I am not sharing with the likes of you." 

You really have a way of annoying him. 

The confident strut you have in your walk annoys him further. It has arrogance like his. The others weren't important as long as you had fun and remained yourself. Even so, he's drawn in. He made sure to find you in recess. 

Damian finds you alone in the center with that book up in your face. It was no smiling matter but he was glad there was less people around you. Guess people can't keep with your stuck-up attitude too, huh. His own attitude falters with each step he takes towards you, it was getting hard to approach you after all that planning inside his head.

Was he shy? No way! Damian Wayne Al Ghul can't be shy now. Especially not to a girl who has her head up high in the clouds. He's just here for those books of yours. 

He smoothly sits down across you, eyes meeting anything but yours. And when it does, you're both surprised at the softness it held. Your mouth wants to say something. Something mean, something sassy, anything to push him away.

"Why are you here?" Your mind wants him to stay. 

Otherwise, you wouldn't have questioned him.

"What's that book you're reading?" He stretches himself to get a closer look at the manga.

A big smile adorns your face. You repeatedly slap the seat beside you, getting him to stand up.

"I'm glad you asked! And correction, it's called a manga." Damian doesn't find your eye rolls annoying now that he knows there's a humorous undertone to it.

He receives the manga with a smile when you held it out for him. 

"I'm Damian Wayne. You are?"

And that was just the start of Damian Wayne learning more about romance. With the help of mangas and his family, he learned to care about others and that there was different kinds of love. There was no denying that you were a big factor in creating who he is now. Thanks to you and your 'weird' interests.

It's just ironic that the knowledge he got from it is now used as reference for your bestie therapy. Damian wants to joke that you might've gotten him hooked on shojo's to make him your own love guru. 

And let's face it—even if Damian was helping you by comforting and giving advice... his only experience with love was the time he liked you and prior knowledge about how couples act from shojo manga alone.

To put it simply, he wasn't the best love guru you could've picked.

Still, he tries his best for you. Damian still had you in his heart. No hard feelings if he was only your friend. All that he wants now is for you to finally find your match here in Gotham.

He once recommended you to try long distance relationships. The men in Gotham aren't exactly romancable when they have a chance of having a criminal record. And as your best friend and love guru, candidates involved in crime is a no-go.

But you refused, you only wanted a man from Gotham. 

"I mean, you and Dick are from Gotham, you're both decent. Along with Bruce... I guess. So, there's hope!"

When you finally found a decent boyfriend who graduated college and has no criminal record, it was as if the heavens have heard both of your prayers to find you a man in Gotham who lives like a saint.

And yet, you're here. Crying in Damian's arms more than ever. 

You clearly loved this guy more than everyone you dated. He was just a guy. And that's why you love him. And because he was just a guy, he had the balls to cheat—cheat on you of all people!

"Saint my ass, the only thing blessed about him is his looks. If he didn't have that, he would be nothing! Can you imagine waking up early in the morning to go to gym, go home, doomscroll, eat, and sleep? God, I'd kill myself."

He knows he shouldn't laugh.

"It's okay to laugh, that's how I get through knowing my roster of ex lovers." You show him a sarcastic laugh that slowly makes him cease. He puts his hands up in mock defeat with an apologetic smile on his face.

"I'm sorry. Just... still not used to your words like that. It cracks me up." He laughs again. Yes, this is your emergency contact as well by the way.

"I'd seriously kill myself if I lived like that, Dami. Imagine a life like that—imagine it was completely opposite to the one you have now—you'd kill yourself too, right?!" You were so adamant with your words that he can't stop laughing. That dead serious stare was too much.

Damian ceases his laughter for your sake, having enough of clowning the situation and focusing on the real issue at hand.

"I get that this is your coping, beloved, but you'll have to tell me everything that happened for me to help you." His soft voice almost makes you cry again. Damian's gaze has you melting beneath his sight, full of affection for you to handle just yet. You nod slowly.

"Okay, okay, but let's do that."

"We'll do that, don't worry."

Damian plops you down on his bed, shutting his blinds and locking the door before you felt the bed dip beside you from his weight. The blanket flies up in the air and landed on both of you. His scent on the fabric surrounded you, basking you more with his warmth.

It was too dark to see, just like you wanted it. He wouldn't see your face, you wouldn't see his. It was perfect to say everything without worrying about the other.

His hands search for your face, cupping it gently. As you felt his arms cage your body close to his, it was your sign to start talking. 

"I don't understand how he could betray me like that. How they all could betray me. I've thought about it a lot. I can't seem to find any reason for them to leave." You notice your words and Damian could already feel how nervous you are with your slip up.

"Not that I say that in a negative way, I just—" 

"I know. I know you. You've changed."

You haven't and Damian prays you won't ever change. 

He feels your hold tighten around him. You're scared to lose him too.

"I say that there shouldn't be any reason for them to leave because I know our boundaries, I support them whatever and whenever I can, I give them assurance, I earn their trust, and I love them with all of my heart." Damian pats your head as you ramble. 

You were tearing up, making a stain on his shoulder. He hears your hiccups beside him, struggling to contain it any longer. 

"Do I have a quality that I can't see that makes people leave? Is it that unlovable and hideous? Dami, can you see it? If you do... tell me why I'm so hard to love."

The silence is agonizing for you. Damian can't even speak about it. You're overthinking that maybe you do have a bad quality that's unnoticeable to you. Is he thinking how to sugarcoat it? That only makes it worse. What's the point of doing this if he'll turn back on the agreement of saying nothing but the truth?

"Before I answer you—may I ask you a question, beloved?" 

Happiness swells in your heart when you hear his voice. He smiles when he feels your nod against his chest.

"Do you think they know your worth if they treated you like that?"

You feel his eyes stare at you through the darkness. You'd know it was him based on the warmth it radiates. So intense... and it was all directed at you. He shifts you closer before speaking again.

"Even a real diamond loses its worth if its seen as a fake' heard that before, beloved? And I'm sure you've noticed the way they treated you." Damian's anger was evident in his last sentence. He was pissed that they let you think you were below them. 

"If it was up to me, I'd treat you right. Even better than them."

He feels your head snap at his words, gazing back at him in the darkness. This wasn't the usual advice he gives. It doesn't sound like it came from a manga. It wouldn't have been if it came directly from Damian's heart. 

He had no mangas to help you today, no mangas with wisdom to share about your predicament, no cheesy quotes to relieve you off your stress... just his heart. It was words written by his heart long ago. The unsent letters it wrote inside of him was about to be delivered by his mouth unrelentlessly.

"I'd love you right, until you're reminded of your 'worth'." Fuck, how you wish you could see him right now. You want to see his face as he tells you everything that will cure your anxiety. 

The horrible dating history has left you with fear that if you let Damian in, he'll also notice that bad quality of yours that makes everyone leave. It terrifies you to even think of it. You can't handle getting your first love and friend taken away from you too. People just leave when they get to know you... or after they get something from you.

You seclude yourself to avoid that pain again. Damian understood that overtime. He also failed to see who you really were beneath that persona you created for yourself. But now that he's gotten to know you a lot better. Best believe that he'll make you feel that the 'worth' you fret so much about is as high as his inhertitance combined.

"But, do not base yourself on that metaphor. You are no diamond with an unstable 'worth'. You are you; a person worth loving." He sounds apologetic for bringing that diamond thing in the first place, but surely, you must've understood his intentions behind it... hopefully.

"And...—" A sudden bright headlight seeps through his blinds, giving you a clear view of his warm face staring at you as if you were the most precious person he's ever laid eyes on. It was quick to disappear as it was to appear, the dark room had nothing but both of you in Damian's bed having a second chance with confessions.

Has your name sounded this angelic with his tongue before? Yes, many times.

His big hand clasps with yours, the other pushes a strand back in your ear.

"I'll have various words to replace the word 'hard' in the words 'You aren't hard to love'. Be it difficult, punishing, strenous, heavy, tough, tiring, hellish, complicated—and a lot more, but shit, how can it be when its so easy for me to love you?" 

Ah—don't cry, don't cry, don't cry! 

Too late, you're sobbing.

He chuckles while wiping your tears away.

"Love has different forms, right? I was content having a platonic one that made loving you a dream. But if the men who can't even dream of loving you like me can have you—then, stay by my side instead." As if that wasn't making you cry, Damian wasn't done.

"I'm not difficult to love as well. I'm happy alone with the thought that the woman who taught me how to love—has learned to love me back after all these years."

His body melts at your touch, gently caressing his face with the warmth he longed for.

"Dumbass. I learned that years ago." 

How cliché can this be? You've loved him all this time.

extra scene - 01

It felt right for everything to end and start this way. If only your taste in men wasn't questionable enough to make you question yourself if you're lovable, you would have been snuggling like this with Damian years ago.

He hears you grumble about it.

"We've always done this before, beloved?"

"Platonically we did!"

Okay, ouch?

Damian stays silent, trying to mask his laughter with fake cries. You feel a pang in your chest, feeling bad for what you said.

Damian doesn't stop with his noise that it starts to feel fake.

You know he couldn't see your deadpan face but he can hear you.

"Are you finished?"

The doors shoot wide open revealing Dick and Jason with their feet up high. Of course they're the ones busting down doors but why?!

At the far back, there was Alfred holding a sign that said—WHAT THE FUCK?

"Say no to teenage pregnancy, say no to teenage pregnancy!" Jason and Dick chant by the door until they walked and surrounded both sides of the bed. They both apprehended you. Dick easily held your hands behind your back with his own and Jason had to pull out ropes to keep Damian contained.

"What is this about?!" Damian tries breaking free.

"Master Dick said something about the curfew of having a girl in your room, Master Damian."

"We weren't even doing anything."

Dick flashes out a big, bright flashlight from his pants. You both look at him confused.

"I saw you both through the blinds. And Damian, your eyes... they never lie." The eldest brother gives him a questionable look.

Through the blinds? Damian's eyes? What is he saying—then the flashlight seemed oddly familiar. Damian figured it out before you.

"I thought it was just a truck."

"You don't know what it is 'til it hits you, kid." Dick smugly grins at him.

"You climbed up until the 3rd floor?"

"That's not the issue here, beloved..."

Damian groans. "I am not that type of guy anyways."

Jason laughs at his younger brother then goes silent in a flash.

"I know what you read." Damian gulps.

"What is it?" You pop in. "No—Todd, wait—"

"Best friends to lovers, 20k words, slow burn, romance, fluff, misunderstandings, light angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, and eventual smu—"

"TODD!"

[violetszn]

one

summary ✩ you found it hard to believe that it could actually be this hard finding a roommate. when you take up your boss’s offer and end up letting his daughter move in, you find it even harder believe that a match could be this perfect.

warnings ✩ 5.3k ✩ swearing and drinking but that’s pretty much it for this chapter. also one little innuendo towards the end.

notes ✩ so this one is around 5k words but i haven't decided yet if i wanna leave the rest of the chapters around this length or if they'd be better longer. definitely let me know what you're feeling about the length !! <3

chapters ⇨

The Last Drop hummed with its usual late-night energy, laughter and low conversations falling over the clink of glasses and the occasional small argument among friends. You wiped down the counter, only half listening to a group of regulars argue over a card game while keeping an eye on the random drunkard who always underestimated his tolerance.

“I don’t need to slow down, I can handle my alcohol — I’m a grown man alright? Back off!”

Vander leaned against the bar beside you, arms crossed, surveying the crowd like a guard dog. His presence was grounding and authoritative. The kind that made people behave without him ever having to say much.

“You look tired,” he noted, his voice carrying over the noise.

You exhaled, pressing your hands against the cool surface of the bar. “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with a headache of a situation. Trying to find a decent roommate is way harder than I thought it’d be. Way harder. The last guy that sent in an application actually asked if he could have a pet puma, for ‘future references’.”

Vander raised a brow. “Sounds… rough to say the least. You put up a flyer?”

You gestured toward the message board near the entrance. “Couple days ago. I’ve had some applications, but nothing promising. Another guy asked if he could keep his pet tortoise in the bathtub.”

Vander let out a deep chuckle. “That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, so unless you know someone who won’t bring in a wild animal or hog my bathroom, I think I’m out of luck.”

Vander tilted his head slightly, considering something. 

“Actually… I do know someone.”

You glanced at him, intrigued.

“Vi.”

You hesitated. The name was familiar. You’d heard plenty about her from Vander and Powder, seen quick glimpses of her on Vander’s lockscreen or when Powder was excitedly showing off pictures. And yet, despite how often she supposedly came to the Last Drop, you’d never actually run into her. Just bad timing, you guessed.

“Your… daughter?”

“Yeah. She’s looking for a place closer to campus,” Vander continued, reaching for a clean glass and absentmindedly polishing it. “She’s responsible, keeps to herself most of the time. She can be a bit of trouble sometimes but I promise she’s got a good heart. Knows how to throw a punch if you ever need backup.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Why would I need backup?”

Vander gives you a raised brow in return. In a place like Zaun, that was a rhetorical question. 

You mulled it over. Vi was somewhat of a mystery to you, but if Vander recommended her, that meant something. Plus, finding a roommate was proving to be a nightmare. At this point, you’d take a mystery over a guy who collects wild animals.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, tossing the rag over your shoulder. “but it sounds promising.” 

Vander smirked. “I’ll let her know.”

And with that, the conversation shifted, but something told you your search for a roommate might be over sooner than you thought.

The steady hum of the city outside your window was almost comforting, a distant reminder that the world kept moving even as you buried yourself in coursework. You sat at your desk, fingers hovering over your keyboard, eyes blurring slightly from staring at the same paragraph for too long.

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Just as you were about to force yourself to focus, your phone buzzed beside you.

A new email.

You grabbed your phone and squinted at the screen. 

Subject: Roommate Application – Vi

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. That was fast. You hadn’t expected Vi to actually apply so soon — hell, you weren’t even sure she’d be interested. But Vander must have mentioned it to her right away. You couldn’t help but wonder if he talked you up the way he did her.

Curious, you opened the email.

The application itself was pretty straightforward. 

Name: Violet. Preferred Name: Vi. Occupation: Student. Side gigs: Boxing instructor, part-time fighter. Hobbies: Same as my side gigs. 

You huffed a quiet laugh. At least she was honest.

Scrolling further, you skimmed through the standard details; her budget, preferred move-in date, and emergency contact which, unsurprisingly, was Vander. But what really caught your attention was the attached photo.

It wasn’t anything posed, just a casual shot, probably something Powder had taken. Vi sat at a gym bench, hands wrapped, sweaty and mid-laugh, her pink hair a little messy. Even through the screen, there was an energy to her, something sharp but effortless.

You sat back, tapping your fingers against your desk.

So, this was Vi.

Technically, you’d seen her before, but this was the first time you were really looking at her. And now, she might be your new roommate.

“Well,” you muttered to yourself, “could be worse, I guess.”

You were just about to close the email when something at the bottom caught your eye.

Socials: @ CherrybombVi

Your eyes flickered back to your assignment, then back to the email. You hesitated, then scoffed at yourself. It wasn’t even a question, you were obviously going to look. If she included it, that meant she didn’t care if you saw. And honestly? You needed to know what kind of person you’d be living with.

Tapping the link, you landed on her Instagram profile. The username fit, CherrybombVi. Bold, confident, and straight to the point. Her bio was just as simple: 🥊

Most of her posts were fight clips, training footage, or gym shots, but even those had an effortless appeal. One video showed her in the ring, body fluid and sharp as she dodged a punch before delivering a brutal counter. Some seemed to be borderline thirst traps but something tells you it isn’t even intentional - she just looks like that.

Then there were the more casual posts; Vi leaning against the ropes, smirking at the camera, a candid of her laughing with Powder, a rare mirror selfie that showed off her tattoos, muscles, and sweat-slicked skin in a way that had your brain misfiring.

Your face felt hot.

This was your potential new roommate? You had only ever caught glimpses of her in photos before, never enough to form a real impression, and yet somehow you hadn’t expected… this. Before you could spiral too much, your finger moved on autopilot and hit Follow.

You set your phone down, exhaling sharply, only for it to buzz almost immediately.

New DM from CherrybombVi.

Your stomach flipped as you opened the message.

CherrybombVi so ur the one vander’s been hyping up?

Your breath hitched slightly. She followed you back that fast? Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you tried to come up with a response that didn’t make you sound completely unhinged.

You depends what exactly has he been saying?

A typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

CherrybombVi that ur looking for a roommate that ur not an asshole and that u can make a decent drink

You huffed a quiet laugh.

You i mean yeah he’s not wrong

CherrybombVi cool so when do we meet?

Your stomach did another stupid little flip.

You how’s tomorrow?

CherrybombVi works for me Last Drop?

You figured you’d say that

CherrybombVi best place in town. vander pays me to say that

You does he?

CherrybombVi nah, but he should

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

You alright, Last Drop tomorrow. we’ll talk, see if this’ll work

CherrybombVi sounds good hope ur not easily scared off ;)

You bit your lip.

You guess we’ll see.

As soon as you hit send, you set your phone down again and let your head fall back against the chair. Why did that make your heart race?

The Last Drop was busy tonight, the usual crowd packed into their favorite corners, drinks in hand, conversations rolling over the music playing from the old speakers overhead. You were behind the bar, moving on autopilot as you poured drinks and exchanged easy banter with the regulars.

Despite keeping yourself busy, there was a part of you that kept one eye on the door. You weren’t nervous exactly, just… anticipating. When the door finally swung open and she walked in, you knew immediately.

Even without the pink hair, Vi carried herself in a way that made her stand out. She was relaxed but sure-footed, like she belonged in every room she stepped into. She was dressed casually, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, eyes scanning the room until they landed on you.

Your stomach did something weird.

Vander, who had been stacking glasses nearby, glanced up and grinned. “Right on time.”

You barely had time to react before he clapped a hand on your shoulder. “Go on, take a break. I got the bar.”

You blinked. “You sure? It’s busy.”

“I’ve handled worse,” Vander said easily, already moving to take your spot. “Vi’s here to see you. Go talk.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. After drying your hands on a towel, you stepped out from behind the bar and made your way over to where Vi had already claimed a booth near the back.

Up close, she was... yeah. The photos hadn’t lied. Sharp jawline, freckled skin, toned arms resting on the table as she leaned back in her seat like she had all the time in the world.

“Hey,” she greeted, smirking just slightly. “Guess you’re real after all.”

You raised an eyebrow as you slid into the seat across from her. “Did you think I was fake?”

“Wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing I’ve seen on the internet,” she said, shrugging.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Fair enough.”

Vi leaned forward slightly, resting her arms on the table. “So. Roommates.”

“Roommates,” you echoed, feeling a little caught off guard by how direct she was. Not in a bad way, just… unexpected.

Vi tilted her head. “I’ll be real with you. I don’t make a mess, I always cover my share of the rent, and I don’t bring random women over. Schedule-wise, I’m out a lot for training and classes, but I’m usually home at night. I crash early when I can.”

That last part caught your attention. Not because it was weird, just that Vander made it sound like she was always busy.

“You sleep early?” you asked, more curious than anything.

Vi nodded easily. “Not super early. At a regular time, really. I get up early for workouts often. Kinda have to if I don’t wanna get my ass handed to me.” That made sense. If she was constantly training, she’d need the rest.

You nodded. “Vander did say you keep busy.”

Vi smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”

You leaned back in your seat, studying her. She was easy to talk to, even with how little you actually knew about her. It made the whole thing feel… simple. Like this might actually work.

“What about you?” Vi asked, tipping her head toward you. “Vander said you’re not an asshole, but that’s a pretty low bar.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m clean, I don’t throw parties, and I pay on time. Only real downside is I have early mornings sometimes, so if you’re planning on sneaking in at sunrise, try not to slam the door.”

Vi grinned. “Deal.”

You looked at her for a moment, then exhaled. “This might actually work.”

Vi smirked. “Guess we’ll find out.”

And just like that, it was decided.

You and Vi shook on it, sealing the deal with a firm grip. Her handshake was just what you expected: strong, confident, and steady.

"Guess that makes it official," Vi said, smirking as she leaned back in her seat.

"Looks like it," you replied, mirroring her expression.

By the time your break was over, you had worked out the details; rent, move-in date, all the necessary logistics. Vi would be moving in the following week, giving you time to clear the spare room and make space for her things.

That night, you wasted no time. As soon as you got home, you started rearranging—cleaning out the closet, dusting off the shelves, and making sure everything was ready. You even sent her a quick message:

You room’s all set whenever ur ready

Vi’s reply came fast.

CherrybombVi damn ur quick i’ll be there next week

You stared at the message a little longer than necessary before shaking your head and setting your phone down. This could be good. It'll be nice sharing the burden of rent and livening up the quiet apartment a bit.

The knock at your door was solid, deliberate. You took a steadying breath before opening it, and there she was, duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a couple of boxes stacked neatly at her feet.

"Hey, roomie," Vi greeted, smirking slightly.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted at the casual way she said that. "Hey. You, uh… you travel light."

Vi glanced at her stuff and shrugged. "Don’t need much."

You nodded, stepping aside so she could come in. As Vi walked past, you could feel the presence she carried, like she was used to taking up space without trying.

Clearing your throat, you motioned down the hall. "Your room’s this way." Vi followed as you led her to the spare bedroom, pushing open the door to reveal the space you had cleared for her.

"It’s not much, but, uh…" You shifted slightly, tucking your hands into your pockets. "You can do whatever you want with it. Move stuff around, redecorate, it doesn’t really matter to me."

Vi stepped inside, scanning the room with a thoughtful nod. "Yeah, this works. Thanks."

You exhaled, relieved that she seemed satisfied. "Cool." For a beat, neither of you said anything. Then, remembering something, you added, "Oh, uh, Powder wants to come over for dinner later. Hope that’s okay."

Vi turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. "Powder?"

You nodded. "Yeah, she, um, she said she wants to throw you a welcome dinner where 'I do all the cooking and her presence is enough' or whatever it was she said."

Vi studied you for a moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest. "You and Powder are close?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. We met a couple of years ago in an art class."

Vi’s brows lifted slightly in surprise. "She never mentioned that."

You smiled a little. "She probably doesn’t think it’s a big deal. She sat next to me the first day, and we just kinda clicked. She’s the one who told me about the job at the Last Drop, actually. Said Vander needed someone and that I should give it a shot."

Vi huffed a quiet laugh. "Figures. She always did like pulling people into her world."

You nodded, shifting on your feet. "So… dinner?"

Vi smirked. "Yeah, alright. Could be nice."

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. "Cool. I’ll start dinner in a little while."

Vi gave you a long look, something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she nodded. "Sounds like a plan, cupcake."

You tried not to think too hard about how that word made your heart do something weird.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of garlic, tomatoes, and seared chicken as you finished up dinner. You’d gone with something comforting; pasta, creamy and packed with flavor, with garlic bread crisping up in the oven.

Powder arrived first, waltzing in like she lived there. "Damn, something smells amazing."

Vi followed behind, empty boxes in tow from her unpacking earlier. "Wait—you actually cooked?"

You glanced over your shoulder, stirring the sauce. "What, did you think I was bluffing?"

Vi smirked. "No, I just figured I was gonna be living off instant noodles and bar food."

"You still might, jury's not out yet," you teased. Powder snickered as she stole a piece of garlic bread straight off the pan.

Once everything was plated, the three of you gathered around the small dining table, Powder practically vibrating with excitement as she took her first bite.

"Okay, what the hell," she mumbled through a mouthful. "You made this? Like, from scratch?"

"That’s usually how cooking works, Pow." Vi grins, watching as you tease her sister in a similar fashion to the way she does.

Vi took a bite, pausing for a second before nodding approvingly. "Alright, yeah. I’m impressed."

You smirked as you grabbed the bottle of wine you’d set aside for you and Vi, pouring a glass for each of you. Powder gave you both a pointed look, crossing her arms.

"I feel like I’m missing out," she said.

"You are," Vi said, taking a sip.

Powder huffed dramatically before refocusing on her food.

The conversation flowed easily after that, mostly Powder bouncing between ridiculous stories from their childhood and Vi occasionally cutting in to correct the details.

"And then she—" Powder pointed at Vi with her fork, "—convinced Mylo that licking a frozen pipe wouldn’t actually make his tongue stick."

Vi grinned, unbothered. "To be fair, I thought he’d be fine."

"He had to drink hot water through a straw for a week!"

"Okay, but I was the one who got yelled at, so really, haven’t I suffered enough?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Sounds like you two were menaces."

"We were," Vi confirmed, smirking. "What about you? Chaotic too?"

You shook your head. "Not really. I was pretty quiet. Spent most of my time drawing, painting, reading, or writing."

Vi tilted her head. "Writing, huh? What kind of stuff?"

"Just little things," you said, suddenly self-conscious. "Short stories and stuff—whatever came to mind."

Vi nodded, looking genuinely interested. "That’s cool. And what do you read?"

"Mystery, horror, romance – stuff like that."

Vi’s brows lifted. "That’s a mix."

You smirked. "I like a little balance."

"So you’ll read about a guy getting murdered in one book and then flip to people making out in the next?"

"Pretty much."

Vi huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Alright, yeah. You’re an interesting one."

The night stretched on like that — easy conversation, laughter, and shared stories over empty plates. By the time you realized how late it had gotten, the food was long gone, Powder was curled up on the couch half-asleep, and the wine bottle between you and Vi was completely empty.

Vi stretched, rolling her shoulders as she leaned back in her chair. "Alright, now it feels official. I’m moved in."

You exhaled, smiling. "Yeah. Guess so."

She glanced at you, something unreadable in her expression before she smirked. "Not bad, roomie."

"Not bad yourself," you said, and for the first time since you’d started looking for a roommate, you actually felt relieved.

Maybe this was going to work out after all.

The night wound down slowly, the energy in the apartment settling into something quieter, warmer. Powder stretched out with a yawn, rubbing at her eyes before glancing at her phone.

"Alright, Ekko’s on his way to pick me up," she announced, pushing herself up from the couch.

Vi smirked. "Finally getting rid of you? Thought we’d have to drag you out."

Powder scoffed. "Please, I’m leaving before you two start acting all old and responsible." She turned to you. "You better keep her in check."

You let out a soft laugh, the wine making everything feel pleasantly hazy. "I’ll do my best."

Powder slung her bag over her shoulder, then pointed at Vi. "Don’t scare off your new roommate yet."

Vi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

The night had settled into a comfortable quiet after Powder left, leaving just you and Vi in the kitchen as you worked together to clean up. The occasional clatter of dishes and the sound of running water filled the space, but neither of you seemed in any hurry to finish.

Vi leaned casually against the counter, drying off the last plate as she watched you with an amused smirk. "Gotta say, didn’t expect my new roommate to be such a responsible drunk."

You huffed a laugh, placing the last dish in the drying rack. "Yeah, well… unfortunately, I have class pretty damn early tomorrow, so I should head to sleep. Hopefully, I can sleep off this wine."

Vi pushed off the counter, stepping into your space just enough to make you notice. "Shame. You’re kinda fun when you’re a little tipsy."

Your stomach did a weird little flip at that. "Oh, so I’m not fun when I’m sober?"

Vi smirked, tilting her head like she was sizing you up. "Didn’t say that. Just means I’ll have to stick around to find out."

You swallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of how close she was. The buzz from the wine definitely wasn’t helping.

Vi’s smirk deepened like she could tell. "You should drink plenty of water before bed. Wouldn’t want you waking up miserable."

You cleared your throat, ignoring the warmth creeping up your neck. "Yeah. Good idea."

Vi stepped back, giving you an easy grin. "Goodnight, then."

You hesitated for a second before nodding. "Goodnight, Vi."

And with that, you slipped into your room, shutting the door behind you. You were so in trouble.

Sure enough, you wake up at six with a pounding headache and the overwhelming regret of past decisions. The wine from last night lingers unpleasantly, a dull throb at your temples that makes you groan as you drag yourself out of bed.

You quickly pop some Tylenol and chug a glass of water, wincing at the way your stomach protests. The apartment is quiet. Vi’s still asleep, and you do your best to move through the space as quietly as possible, getting ready with slow, deliberate motions.

By the time you step out the door, the worst of the headache has dulled, but you’re still exhausted. And with your schedule ahead of you, you don’t have time to recover.

Mondays are always brutal. Between the early morning classes, tutoring sessions, and art class, you barely have a second to breathe. The hangover becomes background noise, something you push through as you move from one thing to the next. By the time you finally head home, you feel like you’re running on fumes.

When you step into the apartment, Vi is in the living room, dropping effortlessly into a set of push-ups. She looks up as you shut the door behind you, barely even out of breath.

"Damn," she grins. "You just getting home? Thought you might’ve died out there."

You groan, dropping your bag by the door. "Yeah, my Mondays are usually packed. It’s when I have my earliest classes as well as my art class. On top of that, of course, I had tutoring scheduled for this afternoon. I’m beat."

You rub your hands over your face, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in your bones.

Vi pushes herself up to sit back on her heels, resting her forearms on her knees. "Sounds like a lot."

"You have no idea," you mumble, kicking off your shoes.

She watches you for a second, then smirks. "You survive the hangover at least?"

"Barely," you mutter. "Didn’t really have time to deal with it."

Vi chuckles, shaking her head. "Damn. And here I was thinking I was the overachiever."

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small, tired smile that creeps onto your lips.

Vi stands up from the floor, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She’s dressed in just a sports bra and a pair of sweats, her toned muscles catching the dim afternoon light.

"You look beat," she remarks, stepping closer, her gaze flicking over you like she’s assessing just how exhausted you really are.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "Long day."

"Yeah, no kidding." Vi tilts her head. "Why don’t you sit down for a bit? I’ll make you some tea or coffee — whichever gets you back to life."

She steps closer still, reaching out to touch your arm. It’s just a light, fleeting thing, but it’s enough to make you pause. "Seriously," she says, her voice softer now, edged with something almost… considerate. "You should take it easy tonight."

You exhale slowly, your body already sinking into the pull of exhaustion. "Some tea sounds nice… thanks, Vi."

She just nods and heads to the kitchen. You collapse onto the couch, your limbs aching as you listen to the quiet, rhythmic sounds of her moving around. Soon enough, she’s pressing a warm mug into your hands before settling beside you. The tea is perfect — soothing, the heat seeping into your fingers as you take slow sips.

Vi doesn’t rush you. She just sits there, the hum of the television filling the silence as you drink. Her presence is steady, grounding in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

Once you set the empty mug down, Vi stretches, then stands, shaking her head with a smirk. "Alright, time for you to crash."

You groan but make no move to get up. "I should probably—"

"Not push yourself until you pass out on the couch?" Vi interrupts, nudging your arm. "Yeah. Let’s not do that."

You sigh, dragging yourself upright. "Fine, fine. You win."

"Damn right I do," she quips, watching as you shuffle toward your room. "Drink more water before you knock out."

You mumble something unintelligible as you push open the door, already peeling off your clothes in favor of pajamas. The second your head hits the pillow, I’m you’re out.

You don’t hear Vi moving around the apartment.

You don’t hear the quiet stretch of tape wrapping around her knuckles, the slight pop of her joints as she shakes out her limbs in preparation.

You don’t hear the door unlatch or the way it clicks shut behind her as she slips out into the night, her steps light and deliberate, leading her toward the only place that gets her heart pounding the way she craves.

The underground pit calls to her, as it always does. The roar of a nameless crowd, the thrill of a fight that doesn't come with rules or restraints. It’s a part of her she refuses to let go of.

By the time you wake up the next morning, groggy and still half-buried in sleep, Vi’s already at the kitchen table, scrolling through her phone like it’s just another normal day.

She looks the same. Same easy smirk when she glances up at you, same casual posture.

But when you step closer, you notice the fresh bruises on her knuckles, the faint swell of her lip. Injuries that definitely weren’t there yesterday.

And yet, she doesn’t say a word about them. And, for some reason, you don’t ask.

After about a month of living together you pick up on Vi’s… personality. She’s a flirt through and through and honestly? A fucking menace. Guess you see where Powder gets it from.

You’re trying to read. Really, you are. But in your defense, it’s incredibly difficult when Vi has decided that the living room is her personal gym and you have a front-row seat to the show.

She’s in the middle of her workout, wearing nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that hang low on her hips. Her abs flex with every movement, her arms tense and defined as she pushes through another set of sit-ups. She’s completely in the zone, brow furrowed in concentration, jaw tight, strands of pink hair falling onto her face.

And you, despite trying your hardest not to, are watching.

It’s not your fault. Vi is just… really fucking distracting. It’s an effortless kind of attractive. Like she isn’t even trying, like she has no idea how good she looks. But she has to know, right? There’s no way she doesn’t know.

You drag your eyes back down to your book, determined to focus. It works for all of ten seconds before Vi shifts into a plank position, muscles taut, posture flawless.

Shit.

You must be staring harder than you thought because, without even looking at you, Vi smirks.

“See something you like?”

Your entire body tenses up.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing your gaze back to the page in front of you. “I’m reading.”

“Uh-huh.” Her tone is full of amusement. “Didn’t realize your book was in my direction.”

You clench your jaw, refusing to take the bait. “It’s not.”

She finishes her set, stretching her arms over her head as she sits back.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, rolling out her shoulders. “You’ve been staring for, like, five minutes. I’m flattered, really.”

You huff, sinking further into the couch, arms crossed over your chest. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re a bad liar.” Vi grins, leaning back on her hands. “But hey, it’s fine. I like looking at you too.”

Your brain practically short-circuits. Vi says it so easily, so casually, like she’s not making your stomach do flips. She’s so smug about it. Meanwhile, your stomach does something inconvenient, and you have to force yourself to maintain an expression that doesn’t immediately give you away.

You clear your throat, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel. “You’re messing with me.”

She tilts her head, all innocence. “Am I?”

You narrow your eyes at her, but she just smirks. Desperate to change the mood, you pick up the nearest pillow and chuck it at her. She catches it effortlessly, laughing.

“Shut up.”

“No shame in it.” She tosses the pillow back onto the couch before stretching her arms over her head again, arching her back slightly as she groans from the stretch. You force yourself to look away, determined not to give her the satisfaction of catching you again.

But even as you turn back to your book, you can still feel her watching you, like she’s just as entertained by your reaction as she is by the workout itself.

“So,” she starts, casually leaning back on her hands, “since you were so obviously checking me out, what’s the verdict?”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “The verdict?”

“Yeah. On me.” She smirks, flexing her arm like some over-the-top gym bro. “Do I pass inspection?”

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile. “Oh, absolutely. Five stars. Would ogle again.”

Vi laughs, tilting her head as if considering. “Only five?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Vi. I wasn’t checking you out, alright?”

“Come on… I feel like I deserve at least a six.”

You finally set your book aside, leaning forward with a feigned serious expression. “Sorry, but I don’t go higher than five. Gotta keep my ratings fair and unbiased.”

Vi grins, clearly enjoying herself. “Unbiased, huh?” She shifts forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “So if I were, say, a random dude at the gym, you’d still rate me the same?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Well, no, because if you were a random dude at the gym, I wouldn’t be—” You stop short, realizing too late where that sentence is going.

Vi’s smirk widens. “Wouldn’t be what?”

Your face burns. “Nothing.”

“Oh no, that sounded important.” She leans in, elbows on her knees, like she’s trying to coax the answer out of you. “You wouldn’t be… checking me out? So I am your type, hmm? Good to know.”

You groan, pushing your hands against your face. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

Vi chuckles, shifting to sit cross-legged on the mat. “You love me.”

You peek at her through your fingers. “Bold assumption.”

She winks. “I’m a bold girl.”

You shake your head with a dramatic sigh. “I’m moving out.”

Vi gasps in mock horror, pressing a hand to her chest. “No, don’t go! Who else will stare at me while I work out?”

That finally pulls a laugh from you, and Vi grins like she’s just won something.

“Alright, alright,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “I’ll stop messing with you… for now.” She grabs her water bottle, taking a long sip before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and shooting you a lazy grin. “But hey, next time you wanna watch, you could always just join me.”

You scoff playfully. “In your dreams.”

She throws you a look as she walks past, heading toward the kitchen. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Your heart does something foreign in your chest. You turn back to your book, pretending to read, but the words are still a blur. How are you meant to put up with her if she acts like this?

tags ✩ @jupitism @fungalinfectionyeast @mk-a-1 @rhian88 @baylegend6 @lovely-wisteria @antobooh @arahiraaai @eriiwaii @elliesngirl @avalovesmus1c @pryncess123

[hereforuconnwbb]

The Study of Us - CHAPTER 9

paige x azzi (pazzi)

au fic!

word count: 6.3k

warning: language

heyheyheyyyyy here's chap 9 !!! once again its not edited so there may be some errors so pls dismiss them 😭 but other than that i hope u guys enjoy this chapter !🫶🏽 ty for being patient and lmk what u think !!

‼️‼️this wasn’t edited

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azzi stepped into her dorm room, the quiet click of the door behind her grounding her again. She slipped off her shoes, set her bag down, and pulled out her phone.

Azzi: hey i made it back :)

It only took a few seconds before the reply lit up her screen.

Paige: good good

Paige: whens our next session ? 👀

Azzi smiled, thumbs tapping without much thought.

Azzi: 3 pm at the library good for u?

Paige: yep perfect

Paige: cant wait. goodnight az 💗

Azzi’s cheeks warmed.

Azzi: goodnight p 💗

She set her phone down, heart still doing little backflips, and reached into the front pocket of her bag. Her fingers closed around the 2 polaroids.

1 of Paige, mid-game and the other of them cheesing together.

Azzi crossed the room to the combo board that hung above her desk. Without thinking, she grabbed 2 push pins and pinned the polaroids neatly on the cork side of the board, side by side.

She stood there fora moment, arms loosely crossed over her chest, eyes fixed on the photos. A gentle warmth spread through her.

Her lips curved into a small, hopeful smile as she whispered softly, almost breathless,

“Please let this be real…”

—--------------------------------------

It was now just after 8 am when Paige stepped in through the side door of the facility, jacket half-zipped, airpods in, and hair slightly frizzed from rushing across campus. She was early, but only by a few minutes. Not that it mattered.

Before she could take 2 full steps toward her locker, KK and Ice appeared out of nowhere, cutting her off like they had been waiting for this moment all morning.

“Long night, Bueckers ?” Ice asked, grinning way too wide.

Paige groaned, tugging an airpod out. “You two are relentless.”

KK bumped her shoulder. “Cmon. We gave you gold last night. Eye contact. Laugh at her jokes. Casual touch. Compliments. Look at her lips. The basics. Don’t leave us hanging. Did you use any of them ?”

Paige side-eyed them, but her expression gave her away before she even opened her mouth.

“…all of them,” she mumbled.

Ice nearly choked. “All ?”

KK grabbed her arm like they’d won a bet. “You did every single one ? P you can’t just run the full playbook and not give us a highlight reel.”

Paige leaned against the locker wall, dropping her bag with a soft thud. “It was jus easy with her. I didn’t have to think about it too much. It was fun.”

That earned a knowing look from both of them.

Ice tilted her head. “So howd it go ?”

Paige hesitated. A little smile crept in. “Good. Real good.”

KK raised both brows. “What typa good we talking ?”

“The ‘I kinda didn’t want her to leave’ good.”

They stared at her, mouths opening a little, but before either could tease her again, Caroline and Aubrey walked in, water bottles in hand, catching the end of the convo.

“Did we just hear that right ?” Caroline asked, walking up and grinning. “Paige didn’t want her to leave ? ‘Her’ as in the one and only Azzi Fudd ?”

Paige groaned, dragging the hood of her jacket over her face for a second. “Why does everyone have such good timing ?”

Aubrey grinned. “Because watching you spiral is my favourite form of entertainment.”

Caroline leaned against the locker next to hers, raising an eyebrow. “So what did happen ?”

“Nothing dramatic,” Paige said, lowering her voice a bit. “We just studied. Talked. Hung out. That’s it.”

“But you liked it,” Aubrey pointed out.

Paige nodded slowly. “Yea. I like how she is with me. She doesn’t treat me like I’m the Paige Bueckers—some big deal or whatever. With her, I just feel like… me. And I don’t think I realized how rare that was until last night.”

That quieted the group for a beat.

Caroline smiled, soft and knowing. “That’s kinda sweet, not gonna lie.”

KK nudged her. “Told you she was gone.”

Aubrey nodded. “It’s been obvious for a min.”

Paige just shook her head with a small, helpless laugh.

Caroline reached into her bag, pulling out a few loose pages. “Well, I’m dropping these notes off to Azzi after practice. She let me borrow them. You want me to say anything for ya?”

Paige flushed a little. “Nono, it’s fine. I’ll see her later anyway.”

KK perked up. “Wait—when’s your next session?”

“Today,” Paige said, checking her phone. “around 3.”

Ice clapped once. “She’s not wasting time.”

Paige couldn’t stop smiling. The teasing didn’t bother her today. Not when it all felt kind of good. Kind of easy. Kind of like something real was starting.

She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and grabbed her shoes from the bottom of her bag, already counting down the hours until she’d see Azzi again.

—--------------------------------------

Practice had ended. The gym was half-empty now, just a few balls bouncing and sneakers squeaking as some of the girls wrapped up their drills or lingered in conversations. Paige had already slipped out with Ice and KK to head to their dorm.

Meanwhile, Caroline spped walked across campus, cutting through the wind until she reached Azzi’s dorm. Her bag thudded lightly against her back as she climbed the stairs, then knocked once on Azzi’s door before nudging it open.

Azzi looked up from her desk, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway to her elbows, a pencil tucked behind one ear. Her head tilted in surprise. “Oh hey. Didn’t expect you.”

Caroline girnned, holding up a few papers. “Returning what’s rightfully yours. Thanks for the notes. I owe you one.”

Azzi stood and took them, giving a warm smile. “No worries Carol.”

Caroline’s eyes wandered for a second as she walked in a little further and then landed on the polaroids pinned neatly on Azzi’s board. She blinked, stepping closer. “Woahhhh wait. Hold up…”

Azzi followed her gaze. “What ?”

Caroline leaned in, pointing. “Are these from last night ?”

Azzi’s ears immediately flushed pink. “Oh yea. We kinda messed around with my camera for a bit.”

Caroline turned, brows raised like she was seeing a plot twist in real time. “Paige didn’t say anything about polaroids at practice today !”

Azzi furrowed her brow. “Huh ? What do you mean ?”

“We were talking about last night. She got all flustered.” Caroline said, laughing. “It was actually kinda adorable.”

Azzi bit her lip to hide a smile. “She was ?”

“Yep.” Caroline pointed back at the photos. “I mean—look at tehse. You guys lowkey look like a couple.”

Azzi laughed softly under her breath, rubbing the back of her neck. “Funny. That’s… actually what she said.”

Caroline froze. “Shut up. For real ?”

Azzi nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yea. We were looking at one of them, and she kinda said it without thinking. I think she was surprised I didn’t freak out.”

Caroline sat herself on the edge of Azzi’s bed, pulling her legs up. “Ok, and how did you feel about it ?”

Azzi hesitated. Her eyes dropped to the desk, then back to the photos. “Honestly ? I liked it. Last night was… different. But in a really good way. I didn’t think I’d ever feel like that with someone. Not this soon. Not with her.”

Caroline’s expression softened. “You like her, right ?”

Azzi’s voice dropped. “Yea. I really do. I just didn’t plan for any of this. But she’s just… Paige. And when it’s just the two of us, she’s so real. Funny. Thoughtful. She doesn’t hide anything from me.”

“You don’t need to plan this kind of stuff,” Caroline said gently. “You’re already doing it. And for what it’s worth ? Paige likes you. A lot.”

Azzi’s brows lifted, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “She said that?”

“Not in so many words,” Caroline grinned. “But trust me. She was practically glowing this morning. She talked about how easy it felt. That you made her feel like herself. That’s big for Paige.”

Azzi exhaled, heart tightening in that warm, nervous way. “I don’t even know what to do next.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Caroline said simply. “Just keep being you. Let it happen naturally. You guys already have something good. When the time’s right, it’ll grow into whatever it’s meant to be.”

Azzi nodded, quietly taking that in. Her eyes flicked again to the polaroids.

She smiled, almost shyly. “Yea. Ok.”

And for the first time in a long time, that thought didn’t scare her either.

—--------------------------------------

Caroline had left a while ago.

Azzi hadn’t moved much since. She just sat quietly on the edge of her bed, her eyes drifting every so often to the board and those polaroids. The room felt still, like it was holding space for something she wasn’t ready to name out loud yet.

She replayed Caroline’s words in her head again and again.

She likes you. A lot.

Just keep being you.

Let it happen naturally.

Azzi’s lips curved into a soft smile as she pulled her knees in and rested her chin on them. When her phone buzzed, she glanced at the screen and the name that appeared made something in her chest ease, like a little calm she hadn’t known she’d needed.

Paige: heyyyy az

Paige: im bored asf

Azzi bit back a grin and shifted, stretching out her legs before replying.

Azzi: hi bored asf

Azzi: im azzi

Paige: bro 😑

Paige: dont start

Paige: that was the worst dad joke ive ever walked into

Azzi: u literally walked into it

Azzi: i js opened the door

Paige: nah u held the door open nd smiled like a menace😔

Azzi chuckled softly, typing slower this time.

Azzi: maybe i js like seeing you flustered 🙃

There was a pause. She stared at her phone, suddenly second-guessing. Then:

Paige: …ok wait

Paige: that was lwk flirty 

Paige: r u flirting w me right now ??😏

Azzi: i mean

Azzi: if i was, would u flirt back ?

Another pause. Then:

Paige: hmmmmmm depends

Paige: how good are u at it ???

Azzi: guess u will have to find out ;)

Azzi stared at the screen, heart racing. She hadn’t even meant to say that—it just came out. But she didn’t want to take it back either. Paige’s response came a moment later.

Paige: damn ok smooth az 😮‍💨

Paige: i see u

Paige: ngl that kinda caught me off guard BAHSHHASHAHSHA

Paige: but like in a good way obv

Azzi smiled, nervous but warm. She adjusted her hoodie sleeves and sat up straighter.

Azzi: soooooooo

Azzi: i was actually gonna ask

Azzi: would u be cool if we did our session at my dorm instead of the library tdy ?

Paige: yea fs

Paige: honestly the library lighting gives me a headache

Azzi: same

Azzi: also if u r not doing anything right now u could come early

Azzi: we dont have to study right away… js hang out for a bit ?

Paige: wait fr ?

Azzi: yea

Azzi: unless u r busy being bored somewhere else

Paige: im at kk and ice’s dorm and they deadass just fell asleep mid movie

Paige: ive been laying here staring at the ceiling like a dumbass waiting for someone to save me

Azzi: welp ure in luck

Azzi: im starting to get impatient 🙄

Paige: omw now

Paige: dont do anything interesting without me

Azzi: got it

Azzi: saving all the excitement for the person arriving in aprox 10 mins

Paige: u better not be too boring by then

Paige: im sacrificing a potential prime nap time here

Azzi: no pressure or anything

Paige: ok maybe a lil pressure

Paige: but dw u will survive

Azzi covered her face with one hand, trying not to bounce her legs like a kid. She failed.

Azzi: im leaving mu door unlocked so hurry up

Azzi: or i will have to start entertaining myself again

Paige: okok 

Paige: see u soon 

—--------------------------------------

There was a soft knock, followed by the familiar creak of the door easing open.

Azzi looked up just in time to see Paige poke her head in, hair slightly tousled, jacket hanging halfway off one shoulder, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Permission to enter this fine establishment ?”

Azzi raised a brow, deadpan. “You’re already inside.”

Paige stepped all the way in, letting the door close behind her. “Just trying to be polite, sheesh.”

Azzi smiled, standing up from the bed. “Well, now that you’re here…”

Before Paige could respond, she caught a glimpse of the board in front of Azzi’s desk and her feet paused mid-step.

The polaroids from last night.

Azzi hadn’t scattered them randomly. They were pinned with care, just above where her textbooks sat.

Paige’s lips tugged into a smile. She looked down, cheeks warming. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

Azzi had already crossed to her mini freezer, pulled something out, and tossed it lightly in Paige’s direction. “Catch.”

Paige fumbled, nearly dropping it. When she looked down at what she was holding, her eyes lit up.

“Bro, is this—” she gasped, clutching the bag like it was a rare artifact. “You got tru fru again ?”

Azzi grinned. “I had a feeling you’d need a bribe.”

“I’d die for you,” Paige said. She immediately launched herself into a dramatic hug, arms tight around Azzi. “Like actually. You don’t understand. This saved my whole day.”

Azzi stumbled slightly, laughing as she hugged her back and tried not to get crushed. “It’s literally just frozen fruit. Relax.”

“No,” Paige said firmly, still swaying them side to side. “It’s love. It’s loyalty. It’s treasure.”

Azzi snorted. “You are so dramatic.”

“Correct,” Paige said, totally unashamed, letting go of Azzi before flopping onto the edge of her bed like she owned it. She popped a piece of tru fru in her mouth and raised an eyebrow. “Wanna chill here ? We could start the ‘session’ anytime,” she added with air quotes and a mischievous grin.

Azzi rolled her eyes and gave her a light slap on the arm, laughing. “Keep it classy, Paige.”

Paige just smirked. “Never been classy a day in my life.”

She leaned back, completely at home, and Azzi sat down beside her, their shoulders brushing. After a beat, Paige casually draped an arm around Azzi’s shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Azzi blinked, surprised for half a second then quietly leaned her head against Paige’s shoulder.

The moment settled between them, soft and unspoken. Paige tilted her head slightly, letting her cheek rest on top of Azzi’s head. Azzi pulled out her phone and opened tiktok without a word, scrolling slowly.

They stayed like that, tucked into each other with Paige putting pieces of tru fru in her mouth, Azzi pretending not to notice when she laughed too loud at dumv videos. Neither of them said anything about how fast their hearts were racing because they didn’t need to.

Azzi kept scrolling until she stopped on a video that made her laugh under her breath. “Ok, wait. This one’s perfect.”

Paige peeked at the screen, still munching on tru fru. “What is it ?”

“It’s this pronunciation challenge filter thingy,” Azzi said, tilting the phone toward her. On-screen, a couple was taking turns trying to pronounce words, failing miserably. “I wanna see you do it.”

Paige squinted. “You just wanna laugh at me aye”

“Yes,” Azzi said shamelessly. “absolutely.”

Paige rolled her eyes but grinned. “Fine. If I perish, scatter the flashcards around me like rose petals.”

Azzi leaned the phone back toward her and hit record.

anthropomorphism

Paige blinked. “Anthra—anthro—morphi—shit—”

Azzi was already giggling.

“Anthro…pomoroph…ism. Ism ? Fuck. Anthro-pomo-riff—this is not a word.”

Azzi wheezed. “That’s not even close.”

“Ok, your turn nerd. Let’s see it.”

Azzi smirked and cleared her throat. “Anthropomorphism.”

Paige’s jaw dropped. “Bruh, ok first of all, what the actual hell.”

“I’m sorry,” Azzi said through a smug smile. “I study, remember?”

Paige narrowed her eyes. “You’re too annoying to be smart. That should be illegal.”

Azzi just laughed as the next word appeared.

otorhinolaryngologist

Paige squinted. “What the actual fuck ? Otto-rhino—larry—goat ?”

Azzi completely lost it, falling sideways into Paige’s chest with laughter. “Larry goat ?!”

“Tell me that’s not what it says !” Paige protested. “Otto-rhino-lary-go—NOPE. Nope. I’m out. This is fake.”

Azzi pulled herself upright, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Otorhinolaryngologist,” she said effortlessly.

“I hate you,” Paige muttered, taking another tru fru like she deserved it.

Azzi rested her head back on Paige’s shoulder, still chuckling. “You’re trying your best.”

“My best peaked in high school,” Paige said solemnly. “Now I survive on muscle memory and personality alone.”

synecdoche

Paige read it aloud. “Sin-uh…sid-nuh…sick-nuh…nah. No.”

Azzi started shaking from laughing so hard.

“Cyn-eh…dookie ?” Paige tried.

Azzi doubled over. “I’m never recovering from that. Cyn-e-dookie ?!”

Paige groaned. “Ok, what the hell is that word even for ? Who says that ?”

Azzi leaned heavier against her, calming down enough to say, “It’s pronounced synecdoche.”

“Bruh, that’s not how it’s spelled.”

“English is chaos,” Azzi laughed as the next word popped up from behind.

floccinaucinihilipilification

Paige stared at the screen. “You’re fucking with me.”

Azzi burst out laughing before Paige even tried.

“Flock-sin-nock-silly-nilly…fuckification,” Paige said, dead serious.

Azzi let out a laugh. “That was so wrong.”

Paige collapsed back onto the bed. “You know what, I’m done. I quit life.”

Azzi wiped her eyes. “You sounded like you were casting a spell.”

“I was,” Paige said. “Trying to summon dignity. It didn’t work.”

They were still tucked into each other, laughter slowly giving way to grins and lingering looks. Azzi was glowing, cheeks pink from laughing, eyes bright. Paige watched her quietly for a second, then leaned her cheek more firmly against the top of Azzi’s head.

“I can’t pronounce a single word on earth,” she murmured. “But at least I make you laugh.”

Azzi smiled without looking up. “Yea. That’s my favorite part.”

—--------------------------------------

Their laughter eventually faded into soft giggles and breathless sighs, the kind that left their cheeks aching in the best way. 

There was a moment where they didn’t speak. Just shared air and that subtle electricity that always seemed to crackle in the quiet between them. Paige shifted onto her side with a sigh, cheek resting against the soft blanket. Her fingers brushed Azzi’s knee without really thinking.

“Hey,” she mumbled.

Azzi glanced down, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yea ?”

“You ever think about… like, what kind of person you’d actually want to end up with ?” Paige asked, voice casual in that forced kind of way.

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “Hmmmmm” She stretched out her legs and shifted slightly, pressing the side of her phone to turn off. “Yea. Sometimes.”

Her eyes flicked up to Azzi’s. “What kind of person is that ?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She looked thoughtful, lips pursed slightly, gaze drifting up toward the ceiling.

“I guess…” She drew in a soft breath. “Someone who’s honest. Not just, like, truth-telling honest. But the kind of honest where they know who they are. Or at least want to. Someone who’s real, even when it’s messy.”

Paige was quiet, eyes soft as she watched her.

Azzi smiled faintly, a little embarrassed. “I don’t really care if they’re loud or quiet or funny or shy. Just… someone who shows up. Who stays even when things aren’t perfect.”

“That’s pre rare,” Paige said, her voice quieter now.

“Yea,” Azzi agreed. “But I think that’s kind of the point.”

Paige shifted again, carefully until her head was resting on Azzi’s thigh. She didn’t say anything about it, and Azzi didn’t either. She just adjusted a little, curling her fingers absently into Paige’s hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“What about you ?” Azzi asked eventually, her voice low, almost hesitant. “What kind of person do you look for ?”

Paige closed her eyes for a beat, not because she was tired but because the question felt heavier when it came from Azzi.

“I used to think I had a type,” she said. “Like… people who were cool, confident, maybe a little bold. People who didn’t hesitate.”

Azzi hummed, fingers threading gently through blonde strands.

“But now I think I just want someone who makes me feel safe. Like I can be the loudest version of myself or the quietest, and they’d still get me. Someone I can be stupid around without feeling stupid. Someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m always supposed to be this… thing.”

Azzi’s hand slowed for a second, but she didn’t stop.

Paige gave a small shrug against her leg. “I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Azzi said softly. “A lot.”

There was another pause.

Paige’s voice turned playful again, trying to lighten the mood. “Ok, well. What are your red flags ? Gimme the deets.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “Alright. Ummmmmm… people who lie just to avoid hard stuff. Or people who pretend to care but actually just want something from you. That thing where someone’s really charming but mean to strangers? That’s a no.”

Azzi glanced down at her. “What about you ?”

“People who want me for what I do, not who I am,” Paige said immediately. “Or people who make me feel like I have to tone it down just to be liked. Like I have to shrink.”

Azzi nodded, her touch soft. “Yea.”

“And people who act like love means ownership,” Paige said after a moment, her voice quieter. “Like you stop being your own person just because someone’s with you. I can’t stand that.”

Azzi’s fingers slowed again, brushing more gently through Paige’s hair. “Yea… like love should never make you feel caged.”

Paige gave a small nod, eyes still on the ceiling. “Exactly. I wanna feel chosen. Not claimed.”

Azzi was quiet for a beat, her fingertips still moving, a little more careful now. “Chosen,” she echoed softly. “That’s a good word for it.”

Another beat passed. Paige let out a long sigh, sinking a little deeper into the softness beneath her. “Ok, green flags. Go.”

Azzi smiled. “Patience. I think that’s underrated. People who actually listen. People who aren’t trying to win the conversation, just be in it. You ?”

Paige smiled to herself, eyes still closed. “People who laugh with you, not at you.”

Azzi hummed in agreement. “People who make you feel lighter just by being there.”

Paige reached up to nudge Azzi’s wrist gently with her fingers. “You’re good at this.”

Azzi smiled down at her. “So are you.”

A comfortable silence followed, stretching long and unbothered.

After a while, Azzi asked quietly, “You ever… fall for someone you never thought you would ?”

Paige’s heart skipped. She opened her eyes slowly, gaze fixed on the far wall.

“Like… someone who wasn’t on the radar at all,” Azzi added, playing it off like a passing curiosity. “But they just… I guess sneak in.”

Paige swallowed.

“Yea,” she said, voice steady even if the rest of her wasn’t. “Yea, I think that happens more than people admit.”

Azzi nodded, not saying anything else. Her fingers traced through Paige’s hair, gentle and rhythmic, like she was soothing herself just as much as she was Paige.

Eventually, the quiet settled into something warm, and Paige gave a small, reluctant sigh.

“We should probably start the sesh,” she mumbled, though she made no move to get up.

Azzi chuckled. “Yea… probably.”

Another beat passed before Paige finally sat up, slow and a little stiff from lying there so long. She rubbed at her eyes, then glanced over at Azzi with a crooked smile.

“Ok. Desk time. Let’s go.”

Azzi stretched her arms overhead, then slid off the bed, already heading toward her desk. 

Paige grabbed her notebook and laptop from her bag and followed, dragging her chair over so it was close beside Azzi’s. They both settled in, side by side, shoulders almost brushing.

They opened their laptops, flipped through notes, and began to work—quiet, focused, and still somehow wrapped up in the feeling of before.

—--------------------------------------

Hours later, the glow of Azzi’s desk lamp cast shadows across their notes, now messy with scribbles and highlighter smudges. 

Azzi leaned back in her chair, stretching until her spine cracked with a satisfying pop. “Alright, that’s probably enough brainwork for the day,” she said, closing her laptop with a soft thud. “You’ve officially survived another session.”

Paige groaned, letting her head fall dramatically onto her notebook. “Barely. I deserve a trophy or something.”

Azzi laughed, nudging Paige’s arm. “Hey… you hungry ?”

Paige blinked up at her. “Starving.”

Azzi stood and padded over to her phone. “Wanna stay for dinner? I was just gonna order pizza and, like… hot chips or something.”

Paige sat up straighter, grinning. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

Azzi opened the food app, but before she could tap anything, Paige slid over and gently nudged her arm. “Wait—my treat. You’ve been tutoring me for hours.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Paige—”

“Nope,” Paige said firmly, already pulling out her phone. “Let me do it.”

Azzi gave her a soft look, then relented with a quiet smile. “Alright. If you insist.”

“Already done,” Paige said, grinning as she hit the order button on her phone as she wandered toward the kitchen counter, still smiling to herself. She heard Azzi step in beside her, casually pulling open a cabinet.

“So,” Azzi said, with a mischievous look in her eye, “wanna bake cookies while we wait ?”

Paige’s head snapped toward her. “Seriously ?”

Azzi grinned. “Seriously. I’ve got chocolate chips and everything.”

Paige clapped once. “God, yes. This is like, elite night-in behaviour.”

What followed was pure, unfiltered chaos.

Flour dusted the counter and somehow Paige’s shirt, chocolate chips ended up in their mouths more than the bowl, and they kept bumping into each other in the cramped kitchen. Paige tried to crack an egg one-handed and got the shell everywhere. Azzi nearly dropped the hand mixer. They dissolved into laughter more than once, leaning into each other like it was second nature.

At one point, Azzi ducked back into her room and returned holding her polaroid camera. She set it on the counter beside the mixing bowl. “In case you wanna capture the mess,” she said with a shrug, a little smile curling at her lips. “Go for it.”

Paige didn’t need more encouragement.

She started snapping shots—Azzi mid-sentence with flour on her cheek, another one of her reaching for a spoon with a concentrated frown. Azzi retaliated by taking one of Paige making a face while licking batter off her finger.

“Hold still,” Azzi said through a laugh, snapping a shot of Paige trying to balance a chocolate chip on her nose.

They posed and giggled and got nothing done efficiently, but it was perfect.

Eventually, the tray of cookie dough went into the oven. Azzi set a timer and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Right then, the door buzzed.

They set up plates and pulled open the greasy box, grabbing slices and munching between easy conversation and checking on the cookies every few minutes. 

Once the timer went off, they ran to the oven.

Azzi carefully pulled out the tray, a wave of warm, sugary smell filling the kitchen.

Paige raised Azzi's camera. “Don’t move.”

Azzi looked up, surprised, just as Paige snapped a photo—Azzi smiling softly, tray in her hands, dimples deep and eyes glowing in the oven light.

“I’m keeping this one,” Paige said, holding up the developing photo with a grin.

Azzi blushed instantly, eyes flicking away. “You’re such a sap.”

“And yet,” Paige said, “you love it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes fondly and handed off the tray. “Alright, my turn. Get over there.”

Paige posed the same way, holding the warm tray, hair slightly messy, her smile big.

Azzi took the photo and looked at it as it developed. “I’m keeping this one.”

Paige tilted her head. “Yea ?”

Azzi smiled, just a little. “Yea.”

They stood there for a second, quiet and warm in the soft light.

Then Azzi held up the camera again. “Okok. One together.”

Paige’s face lit up. She grabbed 2 cookies from the tray and popped 1 halfway into her mouth. Before Azzi could react, Paige leaned in and held the other cookie up to Azzi’s mouth like she was feeding her.

Azzi blinked, surprised, then grinned and took a bite as she pressed the button.

Click.

The flash went off, catching both of them laughing closely with the cookies in their mouth.

They looked at each other after, still smiling.

—--------------------------------------

The hours slipped by unnoticed.

Now the sky outside was dark. Inside, the kitchen was quiet again, save for the soft clink of plates being set aside and the occasional crunch of a chip being stolen from the half-empty box between them.

Azzi and Paige had migrated to the couch—Azzi first, flopping sideways with a sigh, and Paige soon after, carrying the wire rack of cookies like treasure and dropping beside her.

The pizza box sat open on the table, 2 untouched slices left, the rest devoured. The cookies were cooling now, golden and cracked just right on top, their smell still warm in the air. The camera sat beside them, a handful of photos scattered like little frozen memories. Paige glanced at them occasionally, unable to stop smiling.

Azzi’s feet were tucked under her, a throw blanket crumpled around her hips. Paige had taken one of the couch cushions hostage, hugging it to her chest, shoulder nearly brushing Azzi’s. The soft lamplight behind them painted everything gold and slow and safe.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Just sat there, full and relaxed, letting the quiet settle around them like a shared breath.

Then Azzi broke it, her voice soft. “This was fun.”

Paige looked over. “Yea. Like… surprisingly fun. You know, for a tutoring session turned flour explosion.”

Azzi smiled to herself, staring at the wire rack. “I don’t usually do stuff like this with people.”

That made Paige pause. “Like baking ?”

“Like… all of it,” Azzi said, a little quieter. “Letting someone in. Being goofy. Relaxing. I don’t know. I just… don’t usually feel like I can.”

Paige let her head fall back against the couch. “Yea. I get that.”

She didn’t elaborate right away. She didn’t need to. Azzi turned slightly toward her, knees drawing up a little.

“I guess,” Paige continued, after a second, “people always expect me to be a certain way. Like I’m supposed to always have it together. Be chill. Be… unbothered, or whatever. Even when I’m completely the opposite.” She huffed a breath. “It’s exhausting.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I know what that’s like. Except for me, it’s not about being chill. It’s more like… people see me as the ‘smart girl’ or whatever. The student-tutor. The reliable one. Always thinking. Always calm. And I am, most of the time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get overwhelmed. Or lonely.”

That word—lonely—hung in the air between them.

Paige blinked at it, quiet.

“…Me too,” she admitted.

Azzi didn’t look surprised. Just sad in a quiet, understanding way. She shifted, angling her body more toward Paige, their knees almost touching now.

“I think that’s why I like being around you,” Azzi said after a moment. “It doesn’t feel like I have to be anything. I can just… exist.”

Paige turned her head, eyes meeting hers. “Yea,” she said, voice soft. “Same. With you, I don’t feel like I have to perform. Or make everything a joke. You make me feel—” She cut off, pressing her lips together, trying to get the next part right. “You make me feel like I’m enough. Even when I’m kind of a mess.”

Azzi’s face softened, her expression unreadable for a second. “You are enough, Paige.”

The words landed somewhere deep.

Paige exhaled slowly. Her hand, resting on the couch cushion between them, was close to Azzi’s. Their pinkies were a breath apart. Paige glanced down.

And then, without really thinking she let her pinky shift.

It brushed against Azzi’s. Barely.

Azzi stilled.

Neither of them moved. Just that single point of contact, impossibly light. Almost shy.

Then Paige curled her pinky around Azzi’s. Gently. A hook. A question.

Azzi didn’t pull away.

Instead, she let her pinky curl back, a subtle mirror. A yes.

They didn’t look at each other right away. It was like they both knew if they did, something might tip over. Something that neither of them was ready to name.

Instead, Paige stared at their hands. Their pinkies, linked like a secret.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I think you might be my favorite person.”

Azzi looked at her then. Not with surprise. With something warmer. Deeper. A soft exhale. “You’re mine too,” she said, no hesitation.

And that was it.

Just quiet.

Paige let out a quiet breath, her gaze still lingering on their linked pinkies before she shifted it to Azzi’s face. “You know, I really like the way you explain things. Like… with the basketball terms. It makes all the… complicated stuff feel way less scary.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I figured if I couldn’t make it fun, you’d never survive.”

Paige laughed softly, eyes bright. “No, seriously. You break it down like it’s a game plan—step by step, play by play. Makes it easier for me to follow.”

“That’s the whole point,” Azzi said, her voice warm and steady.

Paige glanced at the clock on the wall and blinked. “Wow. It’s late. I should probably head out in, like, ten mins.” She sat up a little straighter but didn’t pull away; their pinkies were still hooked, small but significant.

Azzi’s eyes flicked to the clock, then back to Paige with a soft, knowing look. “Ten minutes, huh ?”

“Yea,” Paige said with a small smile. “Just enough time to get comfortable before I go.”

Without breaking eye contact, Paige let her hand slide slowly from the couch cushion up to Azzi’s back, fingers brushing lightly beneath the blanket. Azzi’s breath caught softly, and she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Paige’s waist.

The linked pinkies parted as Paige’s hand traced gentle circles on Azzi’s back. Their bodies pressed closer together, and Paige leaned her cheek against Azzi’s temple, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric.

Azzi’s ears picked up the quickening rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat, thumping steadily against her side.

A small smile played on Azzi’s lips, quiet and unspoken.

Paige felt the subtle curve of Azzi’s smile against her and it made her chest tighten.

Her mind flickered with hesitation, the voice of reason pushing to pull away. But instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, then tilted her head just slightly and pressed a lingering, tender kiss to Azzi’s temple.

Azzi didn’t say anything but just held her a little tighter.

And Paige could feel the soft warmth of her smile, a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the night.

—--------------------------------------

The ten minutes passed too quickly.

Paige didn’t move at first. She stayed curled into Azzi’s side, fingers still tracing gentle paths beneath the blanket. But the clock ticked forward and eventually she sighed, a low, reluctant sound that stirred the silence.

“I should go,” she murmued, though her body made no effort to follow through.

Azzi gave the smallest nod, her arm still looped around Paige’s waist, thumb brushing there absentmindedly. “Yea,” she said quietly. “Ok.”

They both moved slowly, like the moment might disappear if they rushed it. Paige sat up first, her body reluctant to leave the warmth they’d built. Azzi followed, blanket sliding down her lap. Paige reached over the table and picked up 2 polaroids she’d taken earlier—1 of Azzi holding the tray of cookies and another of flour streaked across Azzi's cheek.

Paige stared at them for a beat, her lips twitching into a quiet smile. 

Azzi leaned in to glance at them, her shoulder brushing Paige’s. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look perfect,” Paige said before she could stop herself, then added quickly, “In, like… a photogenic kind of way.”

Azzi’s smile turned shy but pleased, and she ducked her head a little.

They walked to the door together, neither speaking. The hallway light was dimmer, the air cooler, but neither of them noticed much. At the door, Paige turned to face Azzi again, her bag slung over her shoulder, the polaroids tucked safely inside.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “I know it was supposed to be mainly tutoring, but… it turned into something better.”

Azzi didn’t respond with words. She just stepped in and wrapped her arms around Paige, slow and certain.

Paige inhaled softly at the contact, then melted into it, arms slipping around Azzi’s waist. 1 hand settled flat on her back, the other rising instinctively to curl around her side. Azzi’s face tucked into the crook of Paige’s neck, and they stood there like that, holding each other, the hug stretching long and full of things neither of them quite knew how to say.

Paige’s fingers brushed gently along Azzi’s spine, slow and reverent. Her cheek pressed against Azzi’s hair. Azzi’s hands found the back of Paige’s neck, fingertips warm and grounding.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Paige dipped her head and kissed Azzi’s temple again.

No hesitation this time. Just a soft, lingering press of lips to skin—familiar now, like a promise.

Azzi’s hands tightened slightly in response, her breath catching just enough to be felt, not heard.

When they finally pulled back, it was slow. Careful. Like neither of them really wanted to.

“Goodnight Az” Paige said, a little breathless, eyes lingering on Azzi’s.

“Goodnight P” Azzi replied, her voice just as quiet.

They were both blushing—neither bothering to hide it. Just standing there, in the soft hush of the hallway, hearts full, cheeks warm, something new and real unfolding between them.

Paige gave one last small smile as she walked out into the hallway.

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