#the problem is its all there is in my brain

[onedollopofsourcream]

EMERGENCY 1/21/25

0/57 please keep sharing an please keep d*nating especially for derek, my bro who has bad mental problems stemming mainly from a birth resulting in brain damage but + hes autistic and schizophrenic as well, who has to take insulin to live its not optional he's been out for nearly a day

We have nothing for the kids or anybody to eat Our cupboard is empty I'm not asking for much but I'm feeding 7 as Liu is out of school till January. If ppl could donate or reblog, I need any and all help, cause I've given up. One dollar helps us so much just so u know every single bit helps.

p3ypal: avatarerin

v3nmo: skiesofperiwinkle

ko-fi: onedollopofsourcream

c3sh app: $avatarpyler

[ms-spkhd]

Part one

Admittedly, Eddie feels really fucking stupid about it in retrospect. Jeff tells him, in that soft and placating way he tells him anything, that he should stop worrying about his hindsight bias. Yeah, right. Hindsight bias doesn't apply for Steve Harrington dangling himself in front of Eddie's face like the metaphorical carrot on a stick.

It feels like a kick in the head, if anything. One that rattles his brain against his skull like the ricochet of a bullet. Or a maraca with a single, tiny bead in it, if he wants to be more technical about it.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Steve Harrington is, like, into Eddie--which definitely throws all of his preconceived notions about boy wonder with serial monogamy problems of the heterosexual variety out of the fucking window and past the goalpost--and Eddie's been farting around for the past few months twiddling his fucking thumbs about it.

Well, it's not definitive.

The more that Eddie ruminates on it--and he spends several nights ruminating on it--Jeff's theory that Steve might be tipping the Kinsey scale sounds like...well. A theory.

It's the doubt that comes rearing its head that stops Eddie in his tracks from actually doing anything.

("Wow," Jeff grumbles as they hotbox in the back of Jeff's hand-me-down olive green Pinto a week after their stunning revelation, "trust Virgin Supreme to self-sabotage when someone is begging for you to climb on his lap and--"

"I told you that in confidence," Eddie spits as he digs through the glove compartment for a cassette to replace the oft-abused Kill 'Em All tape that's been blaring on repeat for the past two hours. "You're really mean when you're high, you know that, right?"

Jeff shrugs and takes a hit of the blunt they've been sharing. "I'm releasing my inhibitions. You can't silence me.")

Eddie trusts Steve. Of course he'd lay down his life for the man that dragged him out of hell without a single look behind like a preppy fucking Orpheus. But there's always the lingering thought that, despite everything they've gone through together, Eddie loving Steve would be the tipping point that ruins everything.

He finds himself balancing the line of keeping it in, too scared of the risk his heart will pose on their friendship, and fully committing to the pipe dream of Steve Harrington possibly wanting him back.

And, in Jeff's wise words, Biblically.

"Hey, Bird," Eddie asks Robin one night at the drive-in theater when Steve's out buying their snacks--medium popcorn loaded with cheddar powder and butter for Eddie, since he just popped a Lactaid ten minutes beforehand, and Milk Duds for Robin--"What would you do, hypothetically, if you think someone is really into you--"

"Here we go," Robin sighs, leaning back in the passenger seat. Eddie can't help but feel miffed at her dismissive attitude, but he knows for a fact that she's all ears.

"--And you, hypothetically, really like them back, but you don't know for sure if they actually, hypothetically, want you, or if it's just wishful thinking on your part?"

"Any you mean this totally hypothetically?" Robin says as she turns to face the rear seats where he's sitting and chewing at his cuticles.

"Yeah. This is a theoretical situation that I want your input in. Think of it like a...thought experiment."

Robin nods with narrowed eyes, like she sees through the bullshit with an all-seeing eye. "Right. Thought experiment. Is this hypothetical person a queer or not?"

"It never crossed your mind," Eddie confirms. "She looks like the posterchild of suburban heterosexuality, but she's gotten very invested in your very gay sex life out of the blue recently."

"So which one of you is the man invested or tell me about what eating out is like invested?"

"Tell me what eating out is like invested."

Robin hums in thought, tapping her index finger against her chin like the situation is really vexing her. "That sounds pretty gay, Eddie."

She is right, that does sound pretty gay. But it doesn't help him in his predicament at all, since Steve seemed to back off about the 'so do you play rock paper scissors to find out who gets it?' questions after Eddie frustratedly admitted that 'DnD club president and metalhead virgin at almost twenty' wasn't exactly a hot item in Indianapolis, much less Hawkins.

"Okay, new layer," Eddie says, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "What if, say, instead of asking you out--which you think is her next move--she starts trying to set you up with a bunch of girls you don't know."

There's muffled chatter from outside the Beemer's windows. Cars rev in the distance as they pull into the lot. Eddie watches Robin in contemplative silence as she thinks through her answer.

"That is difficult," she concedes, and Eddie is feeling more desperate than ever. "Can't imagine that ever happening to me."

Eddie mumbles, "Thank God it's a hypothetical."

"But if you think about it, it's either some misguided attempt to put me out there, or it's a Hail Mary to get me to realize I like her."

"Okay, well. Both options seem pretty hard to differentiate when you don't know what the fucking context behind the action is."

"For what it's worth," Robin says, her expression softening ever-so-slightly, "I think it's the Hail Mary. It's not my place to tell, but you should really give up the idea that it's wishful thinking and give it a shot."

Eddie's a millisecond away from asking, is it that obvious? before there's a sharp knock against his window. He yelps, head whipping around to find Steve with that sly grin slapped on his stupid, handsome face.

Eddie rolls down the window and tries to school his expression. He doesn't need to, really, because Steve shoves the popcorn into his hands and declares, "A medium sized popcorn with cheddar powder and lots of fucking butter for you, my friend. Bone of a teeth."

"Just fucking say it regularly," Robin groans as he yanks open the drivers seat door and tosses her a box of Milk Duds. "I know you can, you jackass!"

Steve laughs, full and hearty, as he turns to look at Eddie in the rear seats. He's like bottled-up sunshine contained into the shape of an American heartthrob. He's like Venus as a boy.

Eddie feels like he's staring down the barrel of a gun.

Another week of ruminating goes by, this time with Robin's words echoing in his head like a reverb pedal, and Eddie keeps that yellow pick near his heart the entire time. It's a real push and pull type situation, he realizes. His heart goes one way, his brain goes the other, which is fucking typical.

He doesn't talk to Jeff about it, because he knows he'll get the same answer, and he doesn't dare talk to Robin about it again. He feels she knows too much, and he has know idea how much she's accidentally telepathically transferred to Steve.

Eddie is about halfway through debating shaving his hair off as a way of regaining control when he finds Steve standing on his doorstep like a fucking Mormon.

"Eddie, man," Steve says with zero preamble, "my cousin's boyfriend has a roommate that I think you'd like."

"Nice weather we're having," Eddie responds blankly. Frankly, with the way things are going, he's getting sick of it.

But he can't help the way that Steve still looks beautiful as his eyebrows bunch together and pretty pink lips pinch into a thin line.

"Come on, man. I think this'll be a good start for you. I think he's into the same bands as you. I think Kathy said he was a Skid Row roadie, or something like that."

"I'm not that big of a Hair Metal guy," Eddie admits, and Steve deflates a bit.

"Well, if it helps, he kind of looks like me.' Jesus Christ. "Devastatingly handsome and all."

Eddie's damn near about to snap like a worn-out Stretch Armstrong being mauled by two pitbulls. He feels like he's about to blow a fucking gasket in front of the guy he's been holding very ill-advised affection towards since his sophomore year of high school. The very same guy who's been trying to set Eddie up with literally everyone with a functioning penis with exception of himself, the only guy Eddie has wanted. Ever.

There's no way Steve is that dense, right?

Eddie knows that the guy's smart, despite everyone telling him otherwise. Steve can definitely do mental math better than Eddie can dream of doing--since Frankie Gershwin passed down the sacred Hellfire DM calculator once Eddie took over Hellfire after he graduated--and he actually graduated on time, unlike yours truly.

But Eddie doesn't fucking get it.

"Steve," Eddie blurts, rather unceremoniously, "what are you doing?"

Steve blinks. His smile wanes dangerously low. "...I'm setting you up with a handsome dude."

"I don't understand why you're doing this though. Are you fucking with me, or something?"

"No, dude, I just..." Steve's expression shifts. His shoulders sag and he rakes a hand through his hair. He looks devastatingly earnest. "I just want to see you happy."

"If you want me to be happy," Eddie snaps, "then just ask me out yourself, since I've fucking been in love with you since April."

Steve freezes, hazelnut eyes like full moons on dinnerplates.

Eddie's hand flexes on the doorknob as he resists the white-hot urge to slam the door shut on Steve's shocked face. Maybe he should take a vacation down south to Mexico. Perhaps change his name and never come back. Hopefully there'll be sweet and earnest boys with olive skin and luscious hair waiting for him on the beaches of Cancun. Holy shit this is a fucking disaster.

"Oh," Steve says.

"Yeah, oh."

"You love me?" Steve asks, eyes sparkling like the rural sky. He draws closer to Eddie, raising a hand that begs to touch him.

"When have I not?" Eddie admits as leans into Steve's touch against his shoulder and laces their fingers together.

I guess I was, uh. I wasn't expecting it." Steve smiles softly and gazes at their intertwined hands.

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Love me too?"

"Oh God." It's like Eddie's staring straight into the sun, with the ways Steve's smile grows more intense with each second. He wants to have it burned into his retinas. "Of course I do. It feels so stupid how much I'm obsessed with you."

"You know, you have a weird way of putting it, what with all the setting me up with guys I don't know," Eddie chirps. Steve chuffs and shakes his head like a guilty dog.

"I guess I wasn't expecting you to want me back. I wasn't sure you'd go for guys like me."

For jocks hangs heavy and silent in the air between them, as if Steve hasn't quite jumped over that hurtle of guilt over the person he was in high school. Sure, he was king of the letter crowd, but he's nothing like the douchebag from '83. Steve would never shove him into a locker or be a general chest-beating moron around Eddie, because he's not a moron. He's sweet and dorky and a little misguided, sometimes, but he has the heart of the size of a mack truck and a kindness to show it.

The thought of Steve talking Eddie's ear off about Sportsketball and the works sends an excited little shiver down his spine.

"I would," Eddie says, completely and utterly honestly. "God, I would for you."

He brings Steve's hand to his lips and smacks a wet kiss over the soft skin. "And the necklace..."

"That was my Hail Mary," Steve admits with a bashful shrug of his shoulders.

"I haven't taken it off since you've given it to me."

Steve releases his grip from Eddie's spindly hand and brushes his fingertips against Eddie's collarbone, tugging at the chain of the necklace until it untucks itself from underneath Eddie's shirt. Eddie watches the way that Steve lights up like a fucking electrical surge at the hint of sunshine yellow against his pale skin. It makes Eddie flush a bright red.

And when Steve's palm flattens against Eddie's chest and pushes him inside Eddie's new government loaned trailer, he lets himself be pushed against the wall and kissed.

And kissed, and kissed, and kissed.

Sufficed to say, when Eddie wakes up the next morning with Steve drooling against the back of his neck and his warm hand splayed against the skin of his naked chest, Eddie vows to always take Jeff's word for it.

____________

holy shit i was not expecting for part one to get that much fanfare. to be honest, i was totally intending for it to be a one and done to explore eddie and jeff's friendship, and believe me, my heart is so warmed by the reception it got. i recently have gotten myself out of a months long slump and have been swamped with college work, so i apologize for my writing being so few and far between. thank you all and i hope this is the resolution you were waiting so patiently for! :)

@grtwdsmwhr @eyehartart @bananahoneycomb @notasmoothman @colidamae

[glasspalacesstoneshop]

Honestly because the map is smaller and more linear it feels more fleshed out. like there's a lot of detail and care in these spaces. And while you do repeatedly return to the same spaces they're completely recontextualized with new mechanics and drastic environmental changes. Day Skyloft and Night Skyloft are two different environments in the same place. When you get a new weapon/tool you get new aspects of a space that completely change how you play it.

Faron Woods gets FLOODED. I think this works better than just a water dungeon because you see real physical impacts of the story on the environment. Now you need to save the forest not just for abstract game reasons, but because the woodland creatures are suffering. It makes a much denser world.

The time mechanics of the Lanayru robots rank as one of my favorite game mechanics of all time--and are a great example of how well the game uses its space and how the environments really feel like they have a history outside of Link. It's also such an interesting way to do a time travel mechanic and I haven't found anything like it in any other story. It really makes me think of the impermanence of civilizations. The robots are dead and gone and you cannot save them. Link may be the chosen one of this world, but this world exists independently of him. He's the main character to the audience, but he's not the main character of the NPCs. A lot of other Zelda games feel like the NPCs aren't actually people, just props.

In a lot of Zelda games you can explore as a mechanic but there's not much to really discover. BOTW has a big world, but it doesn't really have a dense world. Story beats are just separated by grassland. I think EoW is much better in this open-ish world aspect, because even if there's not as much to look at, they use all the space to create different environments and civilizations. Plus with Zelda's unique echo mechanic, exploration felt like a challenge to see if I could outsmart the game and get somewhere without the mechanic I was supposed to use. Meanwhile, BOTW doesn't really have that to its exploration, because you know Link's abilities. And the environments flow better together than Just Put Grass Between Them. WW doesn't solve this problem, but the fact that everything is literal islands is at least very honest. And because your brain is told to treat it as dead space, actually encountering stuff in the ocean feels like a genuine surprise. Wind Waker is also good at the environment telling a story, because they put stuff underwater.

I also really like the watercolor look of the game. I think the stylized worlds of SS and WW have aged a lot better than TP's graphics, which were very on trend at the time, but kinda look like they just have a muck filter over everything. Color is Good and My Friend please don't make everything brown

which is your favourite LoZ game and why is it Twilight Princess?

wrong, skyward sword. but twilight princess is really good too

[twistedpink]

Mc Inserts x TWST characters pt.3 pt.2 pt.1

Al-Asim!Mc x Riddle Rosehearts @/kyokills

UGH the one of many kids x only child dynamic is to die for!!! You’re his light, the only person who could be so contradictory to him, while understanding his circumstances fully. He fixes your hair when you mess it up, and you give him the confidence for what his “letting loose” is. It is total balance. The two of you make small talk over tea and biscuits a little too often to just be friendly, but you guys haven’t crossed that line yet- It drives everyone you know insane.

“Why are you here? I swore you were aware of study hall this evening..”

“Ah! Do you have room for one more? I wanted to see you in action! Pew pew”

Pomefiore!Mc x Ace Trappola (Anon suggestion!)

The two of you are bad people in very different ways, so the only solution is to suck together! SDC is the perfect opportunity, too bad both of you are terrible roommates. You’re a judgy little whiner, and he’s a skeezy prick- AKA a match made in heaven <3 The crux of the problem is your assholeish behaviour only multiples when you hang out. Everyone else hates you, so you supplement the lacking connection by getting ever closer,, Soon enough you’ll get the message and hook up. Just not yet.

“Ace! What did I tell you about taking my serums from the fridge??”

“Do I look like I listened? Ow!”

Savanaclaw!Mc x Jade Leech (Anon suggestion!)

Ahhh,, Those enhanced senses, fluffy tail, and downright violent demeaner makes you the perfect lab rat. So many possibilities from taste testing to psychology! Too bad you hate Jade’s guts, he’ll wear you down eventually :) His little test subject was only defending their friend against the big-bad housewarden, and as the nurturing vice, how could he ever turn a blind eye to your struggle? He tries to be magnanimous with you- if only you’d taken his deal in the first place,,, With his stalking loving badgering, in a few short weeks you’re practically domesticated! Those days where you threatened to “swallow him whole” are water under the bridge! Now what is he to do with his new pet?

“My, aren’t your canines impressive?”

“Well you don’t have to say it like that,,”

Civilian!Mc x Silver Vanrouge (Anon suggestion!)

Your poor, neglected (unofficial!) delivery boy being stuck in the rain is not something you want to watch all weekend, no matter how good he looks soaked. Your parents go out around this time anyways, and over the years of cozy meetups he wears down your walls with sweet smiles and even sweeter kisses <3 Silver is the perfect boyfriend, and while getting whisked away to briar valley makes you nervous, he’s worth it. Of course all the sneaking around right now hurts your feelings a bit, but doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?

“Aren’t you just darling! Are you sure I can’t keep you til’ dinner?”

“You’ll just have to get by with my jacket, I’ll be back next weekend :)”

Ignihyde!Mc x Sebek Zigvolt @/fidenciocryptidcreechur

Sure, your dorm’s not known for its diplomacy, and maybe you’re a little stunted by it, but you’ll be damned if you fail art. Anything taught by Crewel is a nightmare for the introverts of ignihyde, and for your information it does suck to suck! Self proclaimed “EASIEST” elective your butt (that you fully suck at btw! You really need this freaking credit!) newsflash, nothing about art is easy! It’s all in the interpretation, and the practice, and the reference, and- holy moly is that a muscular extrovert on a HORSE? It’s time to put your big boy pants on, and pay a fifteen year old for their time. + biceps. #lockedin

“MC! I’M READY TO BE DRAWN!”

“alright! Hold that pose..”

Vice president!Mc x Rollo Flamme

Every mysterious hero needs their roguishly annoying best friend, just guess which one you are! You hover around your pampered wittle boss for a couple hours a day in exchange for the elusive office wifi. Rollo insists magicam is rotting your brain. You just respond by his spamming his ancient phone with couple’s challenges, despite being immediately rejected on a daily basis. The student body says you’re “odd” on the best of days, but your office crush hasn’t kicked you out yet- so you must be doing something right! Right?

“Woah, that guy is beautiful!”

“I’d like to assume you aren’t referring to Malleus Draconia, but it seems all your romantic conquests are an effort to “bug” me.”

“I live to serve, sir :)”

[strawberrychampagneglass]

Roses pt 2 - A Fragment of our Pasts

masterlist

part 1 WC: 6k

C/W: angst, pining, some fluff ig, swearing, alcohol, a man, mentions of violence, mentions of substance some sexual references but not smut, read at your own discretion but it's really not too too much I promise

A/N: SO SORRY FOR THE LATE AND VERY LONG AWAITED UPDATE I PROMISE FUTURE ONES WILL NOT BE THIS MUCH WAITING, GOOD NIGHT AND TAKE CARE YALL CUS I NEED TO SLEEP LOL I love u guys sm

October 20th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

I’m not a cheater.

The word that Paige almost spit out haunts her. The looks that her teammates gave her haunt her. 

Buried in her hotel bed with a wet towel hanging around her forehead, Azzi shivers despite the fire that has set her body ablaze. It’s nearly noon, yet she still feels sleepy; her body is worn out from the migraine that sinks its claws into her head. Her throat feels raw and her cheeks feel sticky from the dry hotel air clinging to the tears she shed last night. But, Azzi knows she isn’t allowed to feel like this. She knows it’s unfair, but she can’t help herself.

“Azzi?” Cam’s voice is muffled but lighthearted. When she opens her eyes, the blonde stands above her with a look of genuine concern across her face. “I had to bribe the receptionist for a key, but I think I overpaid. She gave me a mint too.” The amusement in Cam’s eyes loosen a shackle around Azzi’s turbulent heart. 

“Hi Cam,” she rasps. She opens her mouth again when the two stare blankly at each other. “I’m so sor-”

“She hasn’t been doing great since she heard that you were coming to LA. I put her on alcohol probation because I knew she would do something stupid if she were drunk, and thankfully, that didn’t happen.” Cam shakes her head before plastering on a pitiful look when she inspects the shivering brunette. 

“Has she been drinking a lot?” The words escape Azzi’s mouth before her brain fully processes them. The taller blonde standing before her winces but masks it with a feigned, but thoughtful look.

“Um… not really, no.” She stammers, averting her gaze from Azzi. “What happened to you though? Where’s your fiancé?” Her stormy blue eyes scan the room until they rest on her shattered phone. Azzi swallows nervously when Cam crouches next to the debris.“Oh my goodness. Azzi, where is he?” the taller woman breathes while hunched over, inspecting the remaining pieces of her phone. 

“I don’t know,” she breathes. “We got into an argument and he…he left.” 

“Azzi…”

April 17th, 2020

Arlington, Virginia

Paige has a problem. 

She’s slowly sinking into the Fudds’ sofa with one of Azzi’s books in her lap as she “subtly” looks at her best friend, admiring how she moves, how she blinks, and even how her face contorts into a scowl around her brothers as they swarm her while waving their dirty socks in her face. Unfortunately, Paige isn’t very good at stealing glances at her best friend. Her blue eyes catch Azzi’s warm, brown ones that are narrowed at her.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Azzi sighs while plopping down on the other side of the couch. Paige’s heart drops when she sees the distance at which the other girl is sitting: away from her. 

“Sorry,” she mutters slowly while returning to the book. She can’t focus though, the constant train of Azzi, Azzi infiltrates her brain. The brunette has been off since their plane ride back from Belarus almost 2 years ago. When she woke up in the morning, a searing pain scorched through her head and throat. Her vision was blurry and all her senses were disoriented. However, the feeling of her left hand latched onto her best friend’s waist underneath her hoodie and her right hand tangled in the mess of her best friend’s soft curls seemed to cure her hangover. She suddenly became aware of Azzi’s head resting on Paige’s chest as she snored softly, sending vibrations up her spine. 

Rather than reveling in the comforting and warm feeling provided by the other body, she detached herself in a hurry as a familiar feeling of panic surged through her veins. One that only existed when the lines of their friendship began to crack. Their conversation at breakfast and on the plane was extraordinarily uncomfortable, and the tension was palpable; it felt heavy on Paige’s shoulders when they stiffly and very hesitantly hugged goodbye after landing in Minnesota.

It was a silent and mutual agreement to ignore the “incident” and continue with their friendship even though the strict lines of their friendship were now permanently impaired. The once-familiar norms of their friendship and well-established boundaries were now blurred. Neither of them wanted to admit it though, so they pretended. They pretended everything was alright. By the time the State Fair rolled around that year, they found a sense of near normalcy. Near. Normalcy. To say that Paige wasn’t hurt by it was an understatement, but Azzi had to pretend. If she didn’t pretend, everything would crumble. 

After wishing Azzi’s family good night, the two start their unbearably slow trek to Azzi’s room. There was discord between the two girls; it became excess weight that the girls dragged along, making the usually quick journey feel strenuous and even longer than normally perceived. As she plops down on her side of the pillow barrier that had been put in place since Paige arrived in Virginia, Azzi grabs the TV remote and jams a few buttons until Frozen appears on the screen.

“Do you ever get tired of this movie? Like damn, Elsa making a castle of ice to seclude herself from everything else seems kinda emo.” Paige’s snide comment earns a punch from her best friend on the other side of the pillow wall. 

“Shut up, Paige. You’ve just never been able to put yourself in Anna’s shoes,” Azzi retorts. Paige doesn’t miss the soft chords of her laughter hidden amongst the playful banter. “Isn’t it symbolic how she goes from one love to another?”

“Bro, this shit-” Her words are cut off when Azzi sticks a finger in her face. Groaning, she slumps into her pillow and closes her eyes. After a few minutes, the obnoxiously loud music is abruptly cut off. Paige’s eyes fly open as she sits up before meeting Azzi’s eyes. Her dark eyes glow in the dark and she sees every little detail of her brown irises and dilated pupils.

“I got bored.” She states before whipping out her phone. 

“You never get bored of Frozen.”

“Well, I guess you kind of got to me.” 

“Az, what’s wrong? Talk to me, c’mon. You’ve been off this whole time that I’ve been here.” 

Azzi sighs and puts her phone down against her chest. “I don’t know. Good night, Paige. I’m gonna sleep.” Instead of a verbal response, she is smothered under a cushioned weight. “Ow, what the f-” 

“Azzi. What’s. Wrong?” Paige’s face is contorted in a scowl but her voice is soft and reassuring. The brunette picks at her fingers, refusing to meet her best friend’s gaze. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” She turns so that her back faces Paige. The air weighs down on them, heavy from the exasperated breaths that have escaped the mouths of the two girls. Paige chews on her lip as she watches the other girl scroll through a myriad of Instagram stories when she sees a particularly provocative story that makes her blood boil: a close-friends story with a picture of Azzi and a guy sitting at a cafe together with the caption “sniped.”

“Is this about the night in Belarus?” Azzi’s blood runs cold and she brings her phone to her chest before turning to Paige. She closes her eyes before letting out a silent groan. “We can’t ignore it forever. It’s causing a rift between us, and we’re gonna have to address it at one point.”

“That night was a fucking mistake.” Paige flinches and whips her head in the other direction, away from Azzi. She isn’t sure if it’s the blonde’s relentless jabs for information or her frustration that still lingers that prompts the harshness in her tone. 

“Az, I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I woke up hungover with you in my arms. Bonus, I guess.” When Azzi doesn’t laugh at Paige’s sarcastic quip, she sighs but continues. “Believe me, I was confused too. I guess we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but since then, you’ve been so fucking distant,” Paige clenches her jaw in frustration. When she receives silence as an answer, she slumps into her pillow and stares at the barrier. 

“You know, I went on a date the other day.” Azzi’s words break the uncomfortable silence. The blonde gapes at her before laughing awkwardly. However, the air from her lungs is sucked out of her body and she feels a force that doesn’t break through her skin or bones but shatters her heart. 

“That’s cool.” Her tone is dry even though her heart is hammering against her ribcage. “Um… how’d it go?” Her tone is dry, but she still asks. Because Azzi is her best friend, and that’s what best friends do, right?

“It was… fine. I haven’t talked to him since, though. I guess we didn’t hit it off, you know? Not like he was my type anyway.” Paige nods, averting her gaze to hide her relief. “Are you jealous?” Azzi teases, smirking shyly at the flustered blonde. “You don’t have to be. He was awkward and we didn’t have a good time. I would rather have spent the time with you.”

“Oh,” Paige murmurs while chewing on her upper lip, only half listening to Azzi. “I would’ve rather spent the time with you too. The date sounded boring.” The room becomes eerily silent and both of them begin to feel the weight of the tension on their shoulders.

“It’s just gonna be weird when you go to college.” Azzi finally mutters, burying her face into her pillow and releasing a heavy sigh. 

“We’ll still FaceTime every night, it’ll even be easier because we’ll be in the same time zone.” 

“You’ll have rigorous practices because you’re a student-athlete, Paige. You also have homework and I’m sure the college workload is a lot heavier than high school.” The blonde swallows and runs her hands through her messy hair. She hadn’t thought about that.

“Well…we can make it work, I mean, we always have,” she sputters, looking everywhere but at Azzi. “I won’t forget about you, I promise. You’re still my best friend, and you’ll always be.” Her voice grows quiet and she picks at her fingers. Azzi doesn’t miss the way Paige’s eyes seem a little too turbulent, even under the dim light provided by the glow of their phones. 

Instead of acknowledging their feelings, she raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. “Sure. You won’t forget me, right? I swear that after we saw each other in that one AAU tournament you ghosted me for 3 weeks.”

Paige groans, “That was one time. I was busy!”

“Right,” Azzi says, smirking. “Busy becoming an Instagram celebrity with 12 followers. Big league stuff.”

The corners of Paige’s mouth twitch as she remembers her Instagram posts that were specifically tailored for Azzi. “Thirteen now, thank you. And one of them might be a bot, but still, commitment.”

“Thirteen? Wow! That’s a whole basketball roster,” Azzi giggles, prodding at Paige’s ribcage. The blonde squirms away, swatting at Azzi’s hand with a yelp before she retaliates by darting at her toned stomach. “Hey, that’s not fair,” Azzi exclaims with a shaky voice before grabbing Paige’s wrists and flipping her over. Their tickle fight comes to an abrupt stop and Azzi swallows thickly. Oh. 

Suddenly, Paige is very mindful of Azzi’s hot breath that contrasts with the cool air that surrounds them. Each breath makes the skin on her neck prickle with anticipation, but she reluctantly pulls her body away. Instead, she reaches for Azzi’s cheek and caresses the soft skin, sending shivers down both of their bodies. 

“I’ll always be there for you, I promise. It’ll be us against the world, you know what I mean? Paige and Azzi, together.” Her voice is soft and wistful, yet her blue eyes sparkle with determination.

“Together,” Azzi breathes as she buries her head into the older girl’s neck, wrapping her arms around her waist and taking in her rosy scent. Paige’s hands find their way through her curls and everything feels perfect. 

“I’ll miss you. A lot.” 

October 20th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

401. 403. 

“That fucking motherfucker,” Paige snarls under her breath while sprinting down the hotel hallway. The pills in the nearly empty bottle of Ibuprofen rattle against the plastic that threatens to explode under Paige’s grip.

“Room 435. If y’all end up fucking, I don’t wanna hear about it.”

“Fuck you too, Cam.” 405. 407. 409. Paige nearly slams her knee into the sharp corner.

411. 413. 415. 417. 419.

“I’ll always be there for you, I promise.” The words she said 8 years ago just before their unspoken feelings unraveled themselves like a ribbon awaiting a very eager child on the morning of Christmas Day replay in her mind. 

421. 423. 425. 427. Every step adds pressure onto her raging hangover headache. She’s almost there. Almost. 

429, 431, 433. How long is this fucking hallway?

435. Paige stops and hesitates before extending a shaky hand to scan the keycard and open the door. 

April 6th, 2025

Tampa Bay, Florida

A collective and electric feeling of euphoria lightens the air of the gym as the UConn Women’s Basketball team celebrates their hard-fought win against a 1-seed team in the Final Four. Paige weaves her way between her teammates, giving an occasional hug here and there until her eyes land on her. A pair of warm, brown doe eyes stare back at her. Azzi stands in front of her with a wide grin carved across her face. The blonde lets a contented sigh leave her lips and grins, preparing to jump into her best friend’s arms…

October 20th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

In the middle of the room on a king-sized bed lies a familiar figure in her bomber jacket buried under the thick comforter. Her eyes are red and a damp towelette clings onto her forehead. 

“Cam?” An uneasy voice rasps. When the figure lifts herself off the mattress, she freezes. “Paige,” she says cooly, but there’s a hint of wistfulness. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, sorry. I’ll leave,” Paige manages to stutter out as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, turning away and heading toward the door. “I’ll leave this for you here,” she mutters as she puts the pill bottle on the bathroom counter. “Feel better soon.”

A muffed, yet broken sob escapes Azzi’s mouth. “Stay, please. I don’t have anyone.” 

That’s all it takes for Paige to open the doors to her heart again. She cautiously walks over while refusing to meet the pair of warm brown eyes that wander over her body. The two sit in silence before it’s broken by another strangled breath that comes out of the brunette. “Shit, Az…zi,” Paige begins to panic, staring at the other woman who has broken into a frenzy of sobs. Reflexively, her hand extends, but it stops, just before reaching her face.

“I don’t get why you’re here,” Azzi chokes out between gasps of air. 

“I…I made a promise.” Paige replies curtly. Her fingers move on their own accord as they begin to caress the tears away. Inside of her head, everything is ringing, telling her that this is wrong. But Paige decides to ignore it and she hopes that this time will be different from every other time. “I’ll always be here for you. Cam told me you weren’t doing great so I came over with Ibuprofen. Paige looks around the room nervously. The alarm bells in her head have been going off for too long. “Look, I think I should go, but it was nice to-” 

To her shock, Azzi cusps her cheeks and pulls her in for a searing kiss. There’s hunger in it as they move their mouths in tandem, neither of them pulling away. Azzi lets her tongue slip as Paige lets her hands move down her torso until they reach her waist. Her fingertips dance along the smooth ridges of her skin where they etch the words “I love you.” She grips firmly, pulling the brunette off the bed and pressing her flush against her own body. “Fuck,” the younger woman moans against Paige’s lips, sending a shiver through the older woman’s body. Azzi starts to tangle her hands through Paige’s hair until-

Her eyes fly open. 

April 6th, 2025

Tampa Bay, Florida

…Until her best friend is whisked away by a mysterious man with olive skin and brown curls. Paige’s heart plummets into her stomach when his firm hand grasps Azzi’s waist. She turns away, throws herself into KK’s eager arms, and plasters a smile onto her face. 

Because it’s okay, and Paige will be okay. 

We’re not exclusive. 

October 20th, 2028

Los Angeles, California

The room is dark and empty except for the sound of familiar, anguished coughs. The pungent scent of weed smoke fills the air and Azzi stifles a gag. She lets her eyes flutter open. When she does, she catches a glimpse of shimmering blonde hair. It makes her heart beat erratically. It’s been 3 years. 3 years of separation from each other, yet she knows it’s Paige Bueckers. 

“Who the fuck are you?” The blonde whips around, startled by an unfamiliar harsh voice. 

As an olive-skinned man slides through the door of the hotel room, Paige is harshly reminded of the diamond ring that sits on her Azzi’s ring finger. “Charles.” Paige extends a hand to the man. His bloodshot eyes flicker down to her hand, devoid of any jewelry, before they meet Paige’s again. After a heartbeat, their hands clasp firmly in a brief handshake–his grip firm, too firm. Her pulse quickens, yet she refuses to flinch and meets his gaze with equal intensity. 

“Paige. Hi.”

Behind him, Paige notices three things. First, the putrid stench of weed hits her in waves. Second, she sees a pile of a white, powdery substance on the bathroom counter. Third, she sees a flushed Azzi, who lies alone in an otherwise untouched bed. The sight of Azzi in a vulnerable position sends 

Charles studies her with curiosity and a very noticeable sniffle. “Do you… need anything? Why are you here?”

Every nerve in her body begs her to stay and push the lame excuse of a man out of the way. Most of all, the only thing she wants to do is cradle the younger woman in her arms and tell her that everything will be okay. But Paige sighs and hands Charles the pill bottle before turning away. “No, Cam told me to drop this off. I’ll be heading out, but take care.” She feels a pair of brown doe eyes engraving themselves onto the back of her head, but she can’t. She walks away. 

Paige Bueckers, you’re such an idiot.

***

Three days later, Paige and the rest of her teammates are huddled around a secluded table at a local bar. It’s in a secluded part of the city, giving the team privacy despite the energy in the air. Rickea Jackson had organized the meet-up impulsively after hearing about Azzi’s plans to return to New York for the next two weeks in preparation to officially move to Los Angeles. 

The team is decently buzzed, having ordered 2 rounds of shots already. They’re ready to let loose tonight; most people had plans to visit their families in the upcoming weeks. 

As for Paige, it’s evident that she has consumed several drinks already. She needs an escape from the labyrinth of her thoughts that trap and corner her. She’s spiraling, and she doesn’t have the energy to fight against it. Cam, Rickea, and even Dearica insisted that Paige should stay sober tonight, but Paige was drowning. She was adamant about drinking after the events that occurred earlier in the week. Cam and Dearica did their best to distract her, taking her to lifts, pickup games, and even shopping after her birthday. And while it worked beautifully for a few days, the effects of the distraction were completely worn off by tonight. 

Paige sits in a secluded corner of the bar, trying to separate herself from the rest of her team. The sight of Azzi sitting across from her amplifies Paige’s heightened anxiety. Her eyes are trained on Azura Stevens, who is animatedly telling her about the children she worked with the other day while nursing a drink at the same time. Although partially disengaged, Azzi stays polite and friendly. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it, a small part of Paige’s heart flutters at the sight of Azzi assimilating well with the Sparks. 

“Paige, were you even listening to me?” Next to her, an exasperated Cam stands up and walks up to the shorter woman. Her hand rubs soothing circles on Paige’s back; a simple gesture that causes her waterline to prickle and prompts tears to form. Azzi’s eyes flicker over to Paige, noticing the dark circles around her eyes. Her blue irises have lost their luster, and her shoulders are slumped forward. The blonde glances at Azzi and offers a weak nod of acknowledgment. The friendly act sends static electricity through her body.

She doesn’t know how their relationship, or the remnants of it, got to the point where even the simplest friendly gesture seldomly happens. Azzi tries to ignore the heavy pit of if only things were different that knots itself into her stomach. But she fails and it simmers with the turbulent sea of her emotions. 

“Yo, Az!” Odyssey Sim’s booming voice catches Azzi off guard and causes her to flinch. A flicker of concern flashes over Paige’s face but it is quickly masked with a guarded scowl. It’s an emotion only Azzi can discern; the two women spent years carving themselves into each other’s skin, etching marks of unspoken promises in every crevice. They were each other’s mosaics; they spent years meticulously putting every intricate piece together. Azzi learned the meaning behind the faintest, yet most intentional quivers of Paige’s muscles from their years together. 

But now, everything about Paige seems foreign. 

If Odyssey and Paige notice how Azzi flinches at the loud voice, they ignore it. At least, Paige does. “Az, come join us,” Odyssey’s voice is softer, with tones of empathy laced under each syllable. “Truth or drink, team tradition.” Reluctantly, she hoists herself from her seat to walk over to Odyssey and the flock of basketball players passing a bottle of Devil’s Spring around. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Azzi mutters to Azura who laughs and ruffles her hair playfully. “Azura, I can’t play truth or drink. We’re adults, not carefree college students,” she glances at Paige who is animatedly arguing with Odyssey about getting a virgin shot. 

“Odyssey, that’s not fair. I’on even drink that much anymore,” Paige whines, throwing her hands over her head. Odyssey frowns and pours the blonde a shot of vodka, not wanting to argue with her. Paige grins triumphantly and Cam rolls her eyes from across the table. 

Azura snickers and turns to Azzi. “You’ll be fine kiddo. Team tradition.” 

Azzi groans, letting her head drop into her hands. She did not want to share too much information with her teammates, and she did not want to be completely shitfaced in front of her new teammates. After all, that’s more Paige’s fashion than hers, but not wanting to fight with her teammates, she allows Azura to pour her a shot. 

Or two.

Or three. 

Paige watches her, amused by the uncertainty painted across her face as she warily inspects the three nearly overflowing shot glasses. Azzi glances up at her, an unreadable expression flashing across her face before she turns away, her jaw tightening. Paige knows it’s unfair, but she flinches at the hostility swarming the warm brown eyes she’s grown to know and love.  

***

The bar buzzes with a faint hum of music and laughter, the kind that borders being too loud but also keeping everyone grounded in the moment. The occasional boisterous cheers after a teammate opts to throw a drink back instead of answering personal questions about their sex lives that emanate from the table earn occasional glares from bystanders.

“Alright, alright. We gotta save some questions for our princess,” Odyssey announces, cutting through the chatter as she leans forward across the table, flipping through a messy notebook full of questions. “Fudd, you’re up.” 

Azzi swallows, feeling the intense gazes of all of her teammates scouring her body as if their stares could rip all her secrets apart. She stiffens when a dark gleam enters Odyssey’s gaze as she scribbles something on a slip of paper and hands it to her. When she opens the note, she stiffens, a cold bead of sweat dribbling down her neck. 

“Have you ever ruined someone else’s relationship?” Azzi reads aloud, her voice hesitant. The table erupts with laughter and a bunch of “oohs” and “ahhs.” From across the table, Paige pretends to seem unfazed but her subtle nail-biting reveals her uneasy demeanor, but there’s a hint of a silent challenge that enters her eyes. 

“Damn, Sims. You really went for the throat for our little newbie,” Cam chuckles, earning a glare from Azzi. Azura leans back in her seat, sipping from her drink while giving Azzi an encouraging nod. 

“Team tradition,” Odyssey grins unapologetically while twirling the ballpoint pen in between her fingers. “Gotta make it memorable for our first-timer, right?” 

Azzi flips her off before glancing at the paper slip again, debating whether she should throw the shot of vodka back that sits next to her. The weight of the question settles over her like a heavy cloak. It’s not an easy one to avoid–if she drinks, her teammates will know that she’s hiding something from them. However, if she answers, she knows she will regret it tonight. Before she can let herself decide, she opens her mouth, and a single syllable rolls off her tongue.

“Yeah.” Paige’s eyebrows shoot up before furrowing as she leans forward ever so slightly. The table falls silent for a moment, a silence louder than the music and laughter in the bar. The weight of the curiosity of her teammates settles down on her, drowning and suffocating her. Cam and Paige share a knowing look with each other and cough awkwardly. 

“Well… do you regret it?” Odyssey asks, her gaze flickering knowingly between Paige and Azzi. Azzi’s fingers tighten around the shot glass, her knuckles whitening. Paige savors the way the muscles in her fingers flex for a split second before swallowing and glancing at Azzi expectantly.

“It’s complicated…” she finally mutters, desperately looking around at her teammates. Paige scoffs silently, turning away to sip from her drink. When Azzi risks a glance at Paige, guilt pools in her stomach as she notices the hurt and anger that flickers in her eyes. The tension between them is palpable, their unspoken history hanging between them like a storm cloud. 

Eventually, when it’s Paige's turn, she leans back in her chair, basking in the attention of her teammates. “Guess it’s my turn,” she mutters. 

“Alright, superstar,” Odyssey mocks while sticking her tongue out at the blonde. She scribbles down a question and slides it across the table. Paige picks it up, silently inspecting it before letting out a dry laugh. 

“What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made?” she reads aloud, her voice tinged with irony. The table falls into an uncomfortable silence again. Paige doesn’t hesitate and picks up her shot glass and downs the vodka in one smooth motion. Azzi traces a loose droplet that dribbles down her neck before clinging to her toned collarbone exposed by the simple tank top that frames Paige’s tall figure. The tightness in her chest grows. She knows Paige’s avoidance isn’t about the question, but more about her. The blonde slams the shot glass on the table and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes fixed on Azzi. 

“Guess you’ll never know,” Paige says with a hollow smile, her voice piercing Azzi’s skin like daggers. The game continues, but the once-exuberant laughter begins to settle down. The tension between the two basketball players lingers and the unspoken words and old wounds simmer beneath the surface. She knows the night is far from over, but she’d rather be anywhere other than her hotel room. 

***

As her teammates began to leave their seats and move to the dance floor, Azzi and Paige were involuntarily sitting next to each other. The distance between them was only several feet, but it felt like miles of separation with their unspoken past. Surprisingly, a soft and familiar voice addresses her.

“I’m sorry ‘bout the other night,” Paige murmurs hesitantly, staring at her feet. The knot in Azzi’s chest is tightened and she feels suffocated by Paige’s words, soft but genuine. The once-vibrant atmosphere of the bar feels muted, with the steady bass of the music fading into the background. Azzi doesn’t respond immediately, her fingers curling around the rim of her shot glass as if it could anchor her. The apology hangs between them, fragile yet heavy, and Azzi can only hear the erratic drumming of her own heart. 

“What are you sorry for, Paige?” her voice is quiet but laced with sharpness. Her eyes drift to the pair of blue eyes, once so lively and full of a sparkle that has dulled out and left an almost deserted shell. 

Paige flinches at her tone, but she presses on, her voice soft and cautious. “For, well, everything,” she mutters under her breath, a lonely tear sliding down her smooth cheek. Azzi instinctively reaches over to caress the tear off of her face. At first, Paige flinches at the feeling of her warm hand but leans into her touch. The blonde finally lifts her gaze, meeting the brunette’s. The expression in her eyes–equal parts regret and vulnerability–knocks the wind out of Azzi. It was once the expression that was used to unravel the thread that tied Azzi’s defenses to her heart together, but it’s now the one that feels like a knife twisting in an old wound. 

The silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating as Azzi retracts her hand, her fingers tingling with the familiar warmth of Paige’s skin. She hadn’t meant for her defenses to slip, but the sight of Paige’s tear stirred something she thought she’d buried.

“Azzi?”

“Yeah, Paige?”

“Does he treat you well?” Azzi’s eyes widen and her body stiffens before she can nurse her expressions into a feigned happiness. Paige doesn’t miss the way her body reacts and her gaze softens with a knowing expression. The question is simple with no ill intention, but Paige’s gentle gaze stays locked to hers.

“Of course, he does,” her voice too light, too practiced. Paige’s eyebrows raise slightly in suspicion, but she doesn’t say anything. 

Paige tilts her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Good to you,” she repeats softly, almost as if she’s testing the words. There’s no accusation, only quiet observation, but it feels like she’s shining a spotlight on all of Azzi’s cracks. 

Azzi shifts in her seat. “Why do you care, Paige?” she finally asks, her voice harsher than intended. She meets Paige’s eyes, and the question lingers in the space between them; jagged, heavy, and raw. 

Paige doesn’t flinch and instead holds Azzi’s gaze, her blue eyes shimmering with raw emotion that she doesn’t bother to hide. “Because I care about you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “And, I know you, Az. I know when you’re lying.” Azzi feels her throat tighten, and she swallows hard. The urge to protect herself flares up, but she forces it down. She stares at the amber liquid in her glass instead as if it holds the answers that she doesn’t want to face. 

When she lifts her head up, Paige leans in closer, bridging the distance between them. “You deserve better. You deserve to be happy.” Azzi’s chest aches as she opens her mouth, but no words come out. 

Just then, the bell of the bar door rings aggressively. All eyes in the bar turn to the olive-skinned man with unruly hair and red eyes standing in the doorway. 

“Azzi, where are you?” Charles slurs while scanning the area like a predator hunting for its prey. Next to Paige, Azzi’s breathing slows and her body goes rigid. She glances at Paige, panic in her eyes. “Azzi…” Before he can continue, Paige steps firmly between them. “She doesn’t want to talk to you right now,” Paige says sharply, her tone slicing through the tense air. Charles lets out a dry and humorless laugh, his lips curling into a sinister sneer. “And who the hell are you to tell me that? Her ex? Thought you’d be out of the picture by now.” When Paige’s jaw tightens, he knows he’s struck a nerve. He moves closer to her, jabbing a shaky finger into her chest. “She never fucking cared about you. Drop it.” 

Azzi sucks in a sharp breath and sinks her teeth into her upper lip as she closes her eyes. Fuck, she really didn’t want this. Paige’s jaw tightened and her hands clenched into fists by her sides. She knows she’s strong enough to take him on. “I’m someone who actually gives a damn about your fucking fiancée,” she sneers.

Charles chuckles mockingly, staggering forward until his booze-heavy breath fanned over Paige’s face. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know enough,” Paige snapped. Azzi’s head swam as she watched the confrontation unfold, her body frozen between the two people pulling her in opposite directions. Charles glances at the brunette, scowling. “Why don’t you back off, princess? This is gonna get messy real fast.”

Before Azzi could respond, a sickening crunch split the thick air between Charles and Paige. Startled, Azzi sits up and lets out a shriek. A silhouette of olive skin and blood stumbles and falls backward. Paige stands at the door, unscathed. Relief courses through Azzi’s veins until she notices the tears streaking down the blonde’s cheeks and her uneasy breathing. 

“Agh, fuck!” Charles screams, grabbing his nose. “Fuck, you’re a fucking maniac!” 

Azzi doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s suddenly hit by the warm, humid air of the Los Angeles night as she’s being dragged by Paige’s cool, but secure grip on her wrist. The noise of the bar fades into a distant hum, and she’s only half aware of the world around her as she’s pulled into the quiet of the night. 

Her feet stumble to keep up with Paige’s determined stride, her brain still trying to process the whirlwind of emotions. The feeling of Paige’s hand around her wrist is grounding, a tether in the uncertainty of her future. They don’t stop walking until they reach the car, the cool metal clicking open. Azzi doesn’t protest; she lets herself be guided into the passenger seat where Paige’s familiar rosy scent envelopes her. 

Paige doesn’t say anything at first while she slides into the driver’s seat as they ride in an unusual silence. It’s not suffocating, but raw and uncertain. Azzi finally glances at Paige, her shoulders slumped as she grips the wheel so hard that her knuckles are white and bleeding from the encounter in the bar. 

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige glances at her, her face soft yet unreadable. “I care about you, Az. I won’t let you keep pretending everything is fine.” Azzi doesn’t respond right away as she lets the words settle in her chest. They stir up the guilt that lingers from their last encounter 3 years ago. But she lets herself relax in the quiet of the night as the city lights flicker past.

For the first time since she got to the city, Azzi lets herself breathe. 

[cripplecharacters]

I’m working on a robot character, and I wanted to know if it’s at all inappropriate to have the character (named Blip, uses he/it pronouns) have the “robot equivalent” of a traumatic brain injury and acquired facial differences, if that makes sense?

As it’s planned right now, he has one broken “eye” (kind of a camera lens) that no longer processes visual input, a damaged antenna and internal processor that sometimes misreads incoming signals leading to confusion, and a staticky slur to his speech (its voice would otherwise sound like a generic Siri-type thing, but it occasionally breaks into static). It also has visible damage to the side of its face with the broken eye. (Not a dented-in head, though, because I have a feeling that would conjure up ableist caricatures of brain injuries and I want to avoid that).

I just want to check if any of that sounds offensive, or if you have input on how to represent these features better. Thank you!

Hey! I'll answer for the part related to the facial difference and leave the brain injury to other mods.

Honestly this sounds fine to me. Just on the basis of this being a robot character named Blip, which seems quite silly (positive) and I enjoy seeing characters with FDs who aren't dead-serious and joyless all the time. The fact that he's not human (or even too humanoid, from the description) also helps since a lot of the negative tropes specifically affect how real humans are seen, if you're portraying an anthropomorphized computer then that's just very different. I don't think anyone would see a real person without an eye and think of a robot which avoids the entire "ableds think it's normal to compare a burn survivor they saw in the grocery store to Freddy Krueger" problem, even if you do end up falling into a trope with this character.

Definitely a good call in avoiding the indented skull* since the way it's generally used is a caricature and a borderline dogwhistle at this point. If you want to show that there was some sort of injury on the side of Blip's head, you could give him a different colored-metal plate there (or whatever else it's made out of), or give it a shiny texture to contrast with the rest of him being matte, make the damaged part thicker, etc. If his eye was damaged and is camera-like, you could have the shutter not close, or not move, or otherwise work differently from the other one (that's how my own ptosis would translate into a robot character... I think).

*Craniotomy, craniectomy, congenital cranial conditions, these are all real things that real people have and live with, so this isn't to say that this is always a no-go, because it's not. However, one needs to be very careful and sensitive to represent it respectfully due to what I originally mentioned. I'd strongly advise going with a sensitivity reader if that's something anyone reading this would want to include in their writing or art, and this aspect should be taken under consideration from the starting concept of the character.

For last advice, I'd try to not describe him "broken" as a whole if you're trying to represent him as disabled, since the whole "disabled people are broken". Not that it's wrong to refer to a body part like a leg or an eye as broken if one wants to do that; I mean referring like that to the entire person (or robot). I mention it since it's a common thing when it comes to robot fiction etc. but might come off weird in the context of an obviously disabled one.

I hope this helps,

mod Sasza

Hello,

As the human brain is basically a computer and our brain injuries are basically damage to that computer that changes how to computer functions, having a robot character with a TBI is a fairly easy thing to do. Damage to a human's sensory cortex (part of the cerebrum, one of three main parts of the brain) can cause sensory symptoms like the ones you're describing. This damage would be in his equivalent of the parietal lobe, which uses the information provided by external senses to navigate and have spacial sense, the temporal lobe, which has the auditory cortex and also helps with processing visual input and doing things like speech and reading, or the optical lobe, which is responsible for visual processing. If you'd like your character to have a more human brain in structure, you can look into other abilities that might be affected. But you can also just design his brain however you want it to be designed and that works, too, since he has a reason for his brain not being accurate to a human's brain.

Slurred speech is definitely a symptom that can come of a traumatic brain injury, especially a brain injury to the temporal lobe, and what he has also kind of sounds like a stutter or maybe him trailing off, which can also be issues we get.

And yes, I agree with Sasza about the dented head, definitely a good thing to avoid. If you want, you could incorporate a metal plate implanted on his "skull," which is a medical treatment for certain types of skull injuries to prevent complications and also to give the skull a more normal shape, which is called a cranioplasty.

Everything sounds good on the traumatic brain injury front

Mod Aaron

[max1461]

One thing I will say, now that I've had direct experience with my mental meat severely malfunctioning: drugs are broad-spectrum, and personal exercise of... I won't say "virtue", but choice, can be targeted. I'm not saying that drug addicts can just choose not to be addicted or something, I'm not that naive. What I'm saying is: what are the full mental knock-on affects of dampening one's cravings? If opiate addiction is ruining your life this might be the least of your concerns, but if you're conceptualizing these GLP-1 agonists or any putatively similar drugs as some kind of general purpose "self-control booster", this is might be something you want to think about.

I often get a craving-like-feeling to do math, I'll have this moment where I'm like "you know what would be good right now? One of those group theory problems where you have the orders of a bunch subgroups and you have to deduce the order of the group" and then I'll go look for one online or whatever and solve it. This is, in fact, one of my more consistent motivators to do math, and if those cravings were less frequent I would probably know a lot less. A core part of romantic attraction for me is a craving-like-feeling for my partner; not just in a brute sexual sense but in a more abstract one. To have that lessened would be, from my perspective, essentially my capacity for romantic love being dampened along one of its axes. Would I want that?

When I was a kid, I played a lot of video games. Sometimes I'd play for hours a day. And I really cared about the medium; at that point in my life my ambition was to become a video game designer. When I turned about 16, I abruptly lost the immediate-term desire to actually play video games. I still cared about the medium just as much, I still had lots of thoughts on games and game design, but in a moment-to-moment sense actually playing games was no longer something I wanted to do very often. It ceased to be something I desired in a raw hedonistic sense. It was work. I would sit down to play a game because I was interested in it intellectually, but after 20 minutes I'd get burned out and have to stop. This shift probably altered the course of my life in a huge way—it reshaped something fundamentally about who I was and who I was becoming. I still care a lot about games as a medium, and I'm not in any way torn up that I didn't go down the path of trying to become a game designer. But it does disappoint me sometimes that I can't have anything like the relationship to games that I used to, because my brain has decided they aren't "fun" in that purely hedonic sense anymore.

Actually, this was part of a larger shift in my personality that occurred when I was a teenager, in which I became fairly anhedonic in most areas of life, and as a result shifted away from most simplistically pleasurable activities and towards endeavors that provided a more diffuse, harder to quantify form of gratification. Not because I'm virtuous—but because I'm meat, and the simplistic sources of gratification largely stopped working!

What I'm trying to articulate is something like... yeah, you're made of meat, which means in particular: you are made of meat. When you take a drug that alters your meat, there is a sense in which you become somebody else. And this also happens all the time for reasons you don't control. But that doesn't mean it's good or acceptable in the general case. Sometimes, often, it's bad! Or it's good and bad in ways that are hard to tally. The brain is complex, and, like I said, medications are broad-spectrum. They don't differentiate between the neurons that make you crave a burger and the neurons that make you love your wife, they modulate all the neurotransmitters the same. Actually the bodybuilder Mike Israetel specifically says in an interview somewhere that when he's on steroids, he loves his wife less. It's just physiological. And I believe him.

In the past few months I've had to take lamotrigine for seizures. Lamotrigine is also a mood stabilizer. I don't need my mood stabilized, in fact I rather like my usual array of moods. One of the things lamotrigine evidently does is induce a positive bias in processing of faces—response to angry and fearful faces is lessened, while response to happy faces is unaffected. Sounds great, right? But the visceral response to fearful faces is an important component of affective empathy. You don't want to hurt someone, in part it seems, because your brain has a visceral reaction to the real or imagined sight of their face in fear. Scores on the psychopathy checklist correlate with impaired ability to discern fearful faces, but no comparable impaired ability to discern faces displaying positive emotions. If you can't internalize someone else's fear or sadness, you can't empathize. I know that I don't feel like myself on lamotrigine. Now this is not to be taken as at all scientific; I've got a lot of weird brain stuff going on right now and I don't feel like myself anyway. But in any case, lamotrigine is meant to be one of the seizure medications with the fewest cognitive side effects.

You are made of matter, and messing around with the matter that makes you up can change you in unknown and unpredictable ways. Me growing up to become a linguist instead of a game designer, that reflects a really complex and multi-faceted shift in who I am and how I used my time. And it was brought on by all kinds of things, all sorts of personal development over the years, but a load-bearing component was probably the simple down-modulation of an impulse, a loss of simple hedonistic capacity that caused me to search out radically new uses of my time in my teen years. That shift was endogenous, but certainly a drug could have done it. So my point I guess is that no drug is... what word am I looking for, "apolitical"? That's not what I mean. But I'm saying something conceptually similar to what people often mean when they say no technology is apolitical. Except instead of the body politic I'm talking about the body itself, the body and mind. Uh. If you take a drug to "increase your willpower", it might turn out that you become someone you wouldn't have chosen to become, in ways you never even considered. You might be fine with that or you might not. But it's not so simple as taking the person-you-are and turning up a willpower knob, it's never that simple. I think a sort of techno-pessimism towards this notion of a miracle drug is very warranted.

Last week's WITH was about the pursuit of treatments that might do for addiction what GLP-1 agonists do for cravings for food, and the guest had an interesting point about how you can have phenomena with very complex causes (the main examples here being opiate addiction and the general rise in obesity) that do not require you to untangle or address those causes in order to procure solutions. Like, is addiction a disease, a social ill, a product of trauma, a failure of willpower, or all of these things?

It doesn't necessarily matter! It turns out that "craving stuff" is a pretty basic neurological feedback loop and it may be tractable to pharmaceutical intervention. Heck, GLP-1 agonists may be that intervention: people have reported (and clinical trials are being conducted to study) that these drugs, among their many effects, simply blunt cravings, to the point where people have as a side effect of taking them for diabetes or weight loss also found they helped cut down on drinking, or gambling, or using other drugs.

So even if GLP-1 agonists don't have all the miraculous effects reported (there are some reports they may be effective as an Alzheimer's treatment!), it would be crazy if we have discovered a drug that allows us to better marshal our faculties to decide which cravings to give in to, a drug that simply imbues us with self-control. And I think that's really interesting, because it's an outright clash between two ways of seeing the world: a moralistic one in which virtues are the product of individual decisions, and in which taking a drug to achieve some outcome that "ought" to be a product of virtue might be seen as cheating, and one that reminds us that, for better or worse, we are meat, and all our complex behaviors arise as the result of the state of the meat that we are--and from which view, refusing to acknowledge the mutability of your meat in aid of achieving your goals, or even broader social benefit (addiction is really bad and there very few good options to treat it), is simply goofy.

But a lot of people's reaction to the existence of GLP-1 agonists--or for that matter any medical intervention for things which are moralized as willpower problems--includes contempt founded on being wedded to that moralizing framework. I think a lot of moralism develops as a response to conditions of existence being imposed on us that are objectively pretty miserable, and that when we discover the occasional intervention that liberates us from that pretty restrictive framework, our attitude should be one of jubilation: hear, O ye people, that what was long believed to be an implacable trade-off of human existence is no more. But I think a lot of people's reaction is to double down: I had to suffer, or someone I know had to suffer, therefore you ought to suffer as well, or else our suffering has no meaning.

[expelliarmus444]

If texting were a thing in the 1890s pt 9

Sebastian: i need you to be really honest with me about something Sebastian: you are the only person i trust to tell me the truth about this Ominis: saying that after threatening to duel me is sick work, but alright Sebastian: okay Sebastain: do you think i have a big butt Ominis: are you serious rn Ominis: im so sick of ur shit Sebastian: no pls im serious Sebastian: MC keeps telling me i have a bubble butt. i asked her what that meant and she said its nice and big for a guy Sebastian: im not sure if that's good or bad Sebastian: well is it Ominis: how would i know Ominis: i've never seen it Sebastian: how??? Sebastian: wait nvm Sebastian: ok wait where r u Ominis: library Sebastian: come to the room Sebastian: i need you to feel it and then tell me Ominis: absolutely the fuck not wtf Ominis: you're mentally deranged fr Sebastian: no this is so serious to me pls Sebastian: i feel like a cow with a big fat behind. i need to know if its too big or adequately sized Ominis: im blocking u Ominis: Sebastian just asked me to feel his posterior Ominis: i think im gonna lose it MC: LMAO WHAT Ominis: he said you call him bubble butt and now he feels like an obese cow Ominis: i told him that i wouldn't know bc yk, useless eyes. and then he told me i need to feel it so i can honestly tell him if its too big MC: HAHA IM CRYING SORRY MC: omg that's soooooo funny MC: HAHAHAAHA Ominis: u two really do belong together huh Ominis: laughing at my suffering MC: sorry sorry i will hush it MC: idk why he thinks it's offensive??? i told him its cute and i love it Ominis: well apparently he heard "hey fatty, you with the cow shaped ass, you're big as fuck" Ominis: idk something to that effect MC: lol Ominis i'm crying at the potions table rn MC: he's so dramatic haha, as if that'd be a problem MC: even if he were plump all around, i'd still love him Ominis: yeah yeah yeah whatever enough of the love stuff ew Ominis: well when you learn the recipe for a potion that will help me completely erase the memory of my best friend asking me to grab his ass from my brain, send it my way

[jaggedamethyst]

circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part five)

tutor!jayce talis x reader, ekko x reader college au

content: after what happened, jayce is committed to helping you learn the physics material. even if it means daily sessions and spreading himself extremely thin.

harsh language (cursing, off-hand kms jokes), jayce mom angst, actual physics but I hope it makes sense…I swear I chose relatively simple concepts!! (If you need more context for the graph Jayce made, legit just google physics electron progression 1s 1p and a chart with arrows should come up on google) 

notes: might fuck around and post the next part asap because its that good

word count: 1.9k

series master list

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆　　 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Somehow the next week was even more stressful than the last few. With the looming stress of this week’s quiz and the strenuous schedule Jayce had you on—you were beginning to wonder if these study sessions were even going to pay off. 

He agreed to meet at your place. He’d show up every day, on the dot, supplies in hand. The happy expression on his face made you feel optimistic at first. You were ready to take on physics with a new level of confidence.

That was Monday.

By Wednesday, Jayce’s upbeat mood and cheery outlook just drained you even more. When Thursday came around, one day before the quiz, you were sure you were at your limit. 

“Hi, Jayce.” You spoke in monotone, opening the door before he could even knock. You turned away from him, allowing him to step into your apartment and close the door himself. 

He poked at your disinterested tone. “Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Yes, well I think that I’ve consumed enough physics this week that I might be reincarnated as Bohr…but that’s fine.” You stalked to your room, “That’s assuming my brain cells aren’t stuck in their own orbits or whatever the fuck.”

“Wait,” he paused in the middle of the hall leading to your room. 

“What?” 

“You…just made a physics joke.” He pointed to you, his tone increasing in amazement. “And it actually made sense-“ 

“It should.” You turned away from him, continuing into your room. “If I have to hear about atomic structure, valence electrons, or nucleus-es any more I might kill myself.” 

“Nuclei.” 

“Huh?” You pulled out the chair at your desk, allowing space for him to sit at the chair next to yours. 

He sat beside you, grabbing your notebook. He flipped to a fresh page as he spoke, “Nuclei is the plural…for when you mean more than one nucleus.” 

“Not to be that person but I think we may have bigger fish to fry than my grammar, Jayce.” 

“You’re right.” He rubbed his hands together, “Where should we start?” 

“Well we left off with electron configuration. I understand the concept…kind of…but I can’t remember all of these damn numbers. The pattern is weird.” 

Jayce reached toward the floor, seeing some of the papers from the previous day still thrown about. He grabbed one with the electron chart—clearly marked with notes and color coordinated to help you remember. 

“I think its best we start with this…if you’re trying to remember and do the problem at the same time you won’t understand it.” He slid the paper in front of you, setting it aside from the book. He then reached for another paper he’d bought—a worksheet. “Here’s some more examples for you to work on. Why don’t you try the first one like we practiced?”

You whined a bit, “Do I have to?” 

“Do you want to get a good grade?” 

You paused, snatching the pencil from the table. “Just because you have a good point doesn’t mean I like it.” 

He remained silent, stifling a laugh. He looked over your shoulder, watching you work out the questions. Somehow you’d made an already long question exponentially longer—working through a method that seemed to work for you. It of course tacked on extra minutes to each problem, though.

“How’s this?” You looked to Jayce for approval. 

“This is…” His eyes scanned your writing. Among the many cross outs and faint eraser marks was not a correct answer, but one extremely close. “This is almost right. You just messed up at the end here.” 

“What? No way-“ You looked at his finger pointing between the chart and your work, spotting the error. “Oh…I see what I did wrong.” 

“Good…wanna try and fix it?” 

You didn’t make direct eye contact, but honed in on the paper—encouraged to get the correct answer. He lingered over your movements with a watchful eye until you were done. 

“Okay…how about now?” You held the book out to Jayce.

“Amazing.” 

“But you didn’t check-“ 

“I did—watched you do the whole thing.” 

You turned to Jayce, “Sure you did.” 

“No, really.” He pushed the notebook back to you. “In fact, I think you’re ready to do three of these.” 

“You sure?” 

He nodded, pushing the materials back in a group for you to work on. “You got this.” 

Jayce sat silently again, catching the way you’d twisted your lips in concentration. Your grip on the pencil was harsh, the wood pressing into your skin in a way he was sure should hurt. Even so, you didn’t give up. The process became longer than he expected. His vision started to blur, his focus becoming less sharp, but he stayed watching. 

Eventually, you turned to him, several minutes having passed. To both of your surprise, you did rather well. Jayce traced over your handwriting, noting the simple mistakes you needed to keep an eye out for. You nodded alongside him, physically writing down the notes he gave you. Before you continued, you decided on a quick break. 

“I’m gonna go grab something to drink, do you want anything?” 

“No,” Jayce yawned suddenly, “I’m good.” He moved to rub his eyes, sorting through some of the papers that had found their way to the floor. He turned a bit, watching you leave the room. 

You rounded the corner, beelining for the refrigerator and cabinets for a snack—you needed fuel immediately.

With an inhale, you leaned back into the kitchen countertop. Truthfully, you were feeling a bit more confident now, but if you were feeling drained you could only imagine Jayce. You made quick work of grabbing a few more snacks for him and a bottle of water before heading back to the room. 

Before crossing the threshold, you froze—the sound of light snores filled the room. 

Jayce had fallen asleep. 

A crooked smile found a way to your lips, the sight of him admittedly being very cute. Despite him being asleep, his lashes fluttered a bit. His lips parted and let out the sound of his breath. In an occurrence that should provide him comfort, intensity still lingered in his brows; they were pinched together in worry. You didn’t miss the way his lip would occasionally twitch—fighting off the pain that lived in him. 

With a quick motion, you quietly set the things you’d grabbed to the side. Making sure you stepped lightly—you swung open the closet and grabbed a blanket to lay over him. You gulped at the action, not even giving it a second thought. The thought left you just as quickly as it had appeared, your feet moving you back toward your desk and open notebook. 

Your eyes scanned over your work and the example problems pensively—immediately feeling an overwhelming sensation fill you. Your palms began to sweat, fingers and hands shaking in front of you. A slow blink and deep breath allowed you to calm yourself, enough to grab your pencil and start in on the example problems. Jayce turned then, still sleeping but fidgeting a bit. You had to try to do this—on your own. 

For a while, you worked on the problems only, afraid to crosscheck for the answers. Eventually, you’d grown confidence to check. There were a few you’d gotten wrong, circling back to check what you did incorrectly with a motivated scribble. Others, you’d gotten right, though. A warm feeling sat inside you, a pride over finally understanding the material. 

Beside you, Jayce started to stir before quickly sitting up in panic. “Fuck, when did I fall asleep?” 

You looked to your left, the clock hanging above. “Like an hour ago.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I’m supposed to be helping you.” He moved to stand, folding the blanket you’d placed over him. 

“Figured you could use the down time.” 

He moved closer to the chair, watching you lean your head up to look at him. His shoulders slumped at the optimism in your gaze. “I feel like I’m fucking this up.” He drew in a dramatic breath, “Am I a bad tutor?” 

You pushed the chair back a bit, letting him look at your self-graded work. “You tell me.” 

His eyes raked over the paper, bending over the blanket in his grasp. He took his time surveying all the written out problems. His nostrils flared when he would let out an amused chuckle at the ones you went back to fix. He leaned away, “You’re pretty smart, huh?” 

“Well,” You stood, grabbing the blanket from him. “I have a not so bad tutor.” 

Jayce folded his arms, “Right.” 

You turned to put the blanket away. When you got back to your desk, you gestured for Jayce to find his seat next to yours again. As the two of you were finally sat, Jayce spoke up. 

“So,” he cleared his throat, “How are you feeling? I mean, like mental health wise. I know it’s been a lot.” 

“I think…I’m working on it.” You nodded, “As best as I can.” 

“That’s good. You should be proud.” 

“Thank you, I try to be.” You swallowed, seeming to look off into the distance. The quietness of the room made you want to speak to fill it. “How’s your mom?” 

Jayce watched you grimace at the abrupt question, but felt grateful you asked. “She’s okay. I spend a lot of time with her—helping and doing whatever she needs to feel comfortable.” He looks down at his hands in his lap. “Think it’s just a hard time for her, feeling herself be weak in a way she’s never been before.” 

You nodded then, looking at his downturned gaze. “I get that.” 

“I’m trying really hard to be what she needs me to be, whatever that looks like.” He readjusted, “Sometimes I think that’s a good student…to keep my grades up. Other times I think it’s to just be a good son…show up every day after class. It’s exhausting trying to figure it out.” 

“I can only imagine.” 

“It’s different with you though.” He jumped a bit at the way your head snapped to him. He spoke quickly, “I just mean that…I know what my purpose is. I can physically see you improving.” He rubbed his neck, “I’m not making sense am I?” 

You shook your head, “I’m attempting to follow-“ 

“I guess I should just thank you, then.” 

“Thank me? For what?” 

“For letting me help you. For letting me have a purpose outside of just student, son, friend, whatever.” He placed a hand on the desk in front of you, closing the gap between you. He finally let his eyes meet your again, a sincere look on his face. “Thank you.” 

A tight feeling ran through you, pushing from your chest outward. You didn’t break the eye contact, though. “I think you’re giving me too much credit, Jayce.” 

“I don’t think I give you enough.” 

A breath caught in your throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the lingering look Jayce had on you. The both of you stayed there, looking between one another’s eyes. Jayce’s movement forward was almost imperceptible; you wouldn’t have noticed had you not been studying every feature on him.

His phone dinged—piercing through the palpable tension in your room. He looked away, a reluctance in his motion. You looked toward the door in a huff, pushing away the feeling that had creeped up on you so quickly. 

“Sorry, it’s Mel.” 

“Oh,” you turned to him expectantly, “Do you need to go?” 

Without missing a beat he turned his phone face down and folded his hands in front of you. “Nope…I’m good here.” 

“Okay, then.” 

He slid the book from in front of you, splitting the distance. “Let’s get a better look at this amazing work you did.” 

Your tongue pushed on the inside of your cheek, the skin puffing out and heating at the praise. 

“Alright, then.” 

taglist

@juskonutoh @sseleniaa @aerina127 @sleepysoldier @angelicmisty @1800latenitecreep @venus-in-roses @myxticmoon @rando-no-5

[novascharms]

MY STRANGE ADDICTION - RAFE CAMERON

dealer! rafe cameron x maddy perez

Maddy Perez has never been addicted to drugs—nor will she ever be. Her only addiction is the campus dealer she just can't seem to shake off and no matter how hard she tries to break free, she keeps getting pulled back into his orbit.

w.c — 3.7 c.w — mention of drugs, mention of alcohol, biting, (i guess?), they should each have a warning cause they're both kinda crazy tbh masterlist a.n — had a dream about this and couldn't sleep until i wrote it sooo ya. maddy is my favourite character in the world, i was obsessed with her when euphoria was at its peak and i think the news that they started filming s3 x ongoing rafe obsession resulted in this odd ass dream lol.

maddy catches her situationship with another girl and has a very maddy-type reaction. <3

"Press your lips together so I can get the edges," Maddy murmured, leaning in closer as she worked the lipliner over Lexi's mouth with practiced precision. The muted hum of music thumped behind the bathroom's closed door, its bassline vibrating faintly underfoot. Cassie's voice, animated and shrill, pierced through the barrier as she paced, launching into yet another rant about some guy from another university who was “totally playing hard to get.”

The chaos was palpable—music, chatter, Cassie’s dramatics—but none of it phased Maddy. She was in her element, zoning out distractions with a skill so refined it felt second nature. Her steady hand glided over Lexi’s lips, guided more by instinct than concentration. Perfecting makeup had never felt like work to her, even amid the din of college parties and frenetic energy of their friend group.

"Cass, he didn’t even see you. None of us saw him," Kat drawled, fidgeting with the zipper on her tight leather skirt. Cassie let out a dramatic whine, the kind that always managed to teeter between endearing and irritating. Maddy glanced at Lexi, and the two exchanged a knowing look, subtle smiles tugging at their lips as if they’d been through this same routine with Cassie a hundred times before.

"I should just walk up to him!" Cassie declared, spinning on her heel with a flair of determination. "I’ll make him acknowledge me. I mean, I did go down on him last week. He owes me that much!" Her kitten heels lay discarded in the corner, her bare feet padding restlessly across the tiled floor as if trying to burn off her frustration.

"Bitch, don't do that." Maddy said flatly, rolling her eyes as she reached for a tube of gloss to finish Lexi’s lips. "You’re not chasing him. Let him come to you. Show him you’re not interested—it’s the only way these guys ever learn." She stood back to inspect her work, gesturing for Lexi to press her lips together a few more times before turning to face Cassie.

"Reverse psychology? That still works?" Cassie asked, her voice cracking slightly as her frustration morphed into the beginnings of an ugly cry. Her wide eyes glistened, teetering on the edge of melodrama.

"You give them too much credit," Maddy said dryly, folding her arms as she leaned against the counter. "Most of them don’t think with anything but their dick." She smirked

Maddy would know.

Hers unfortunately did think with his brain which meant reverse psychology didn't exactly work the way she wanted it too sometimes. The problem with trying to make Rafe jealous when he pissed her off was that he was unpredictable.

Sometimes it worked, turned on his possessiveness and lead to nights where he’d scoop her up, take her home and fuck her senseless all night long with the added benefit of his frustration making the sex that much better.

Other times, it backfired spectacularly. He’d disappear, turning his attention to another girl just to prove she didn’t have the upper hand. Atleast not always.

It would never last though—any kind of distance they forced between the two of them. She'd been attending Oakland University for two years now. Her second year was coming to an end and this thing between her and Rafe started near the end of her first year. They'd never gone longer than three weeks without sleeping together since the moment she met him. He scratched an itch no one else could.

"Why does he even matter that much? Did he even go down on you?" Lexi’s dry question broke through Maddy’s thoughts, and Cassie turned to her sister with an expression of pure outrage.

"Obviously, he’s going to!" Cassie snapped, her tone implying that anything less would be unthinkable. Lexi just shook her head and turned back to the mirror, fussing with a stray curl in her hair.

"Can we just go?" Kat groaned, wiggling her empty glass. "I’m losing my buzz here." She shoved the bathroom door open, and the music hit them like a wave, the bassline pounding so hard it reverberated in Maddy’s chest. The hallway outside was hazy with cigarette smoke, the air thick and alive with the chaotic energy of the party.

The house was alive, pulsing with an electric energy that seemed to multiply in the time they’d spent in the bathroom. The hallways were packed, bodies pressed together in a chaotic blend of dancing and drunken attempts at conversation, voices raised to compete with the pounding music. The bass reverberated through the walls, a steady thrum that seemed to sync with the heartbeat of the party.

“I need a refill!” Maddy announced, weaving her way toward the bar with an easy, practiced confidence. The barman spotted her immediately, his expression lighting up with more interest than professionalism as she slid her empty glass onto the counter. She flashed him a tipsy, knowing smile, and he raised his brows, the corner of his mouth quirking into a teasing grin as he poured her another vodka cranberry.

Before she could take the first sip, a pair of arms wrapped around her from behind. She didn’t have to look to know it was Cassie. "I want shots!" Cassie squealed, her voice slicing through the music and landing directly in Maddy’s ear. Maddy winced, tilting her head to the side to escape the assault. “You heard her! Let’s do some shots!” she called, summoning the rest of their group to the bar.

The girls crowded around, each reaching for one of the freshly poured shot glasses lined up on the counter. “Okay, just down it. It’s like ripping off a bandage,” Kat coached, casting a glance at Lexi, who stared at the clear liquid as though it might rise up and attack her.

“Yeah, if the bandage is a burning throat,” Maddy quipped, earning a loud, theatrical sigh from Lexi.

“On three!” Cassie hollered, lifting her glass as the others followed suit. Maddy held her shot, but her attention was already drifting. Her gaze swept across the room, scanning the throng of partygoers until it landed on a figure that made her stomach tighten.

"One, two, three! Down it!" Cassie shouted, and the girls tilted their glasses back in unison—except for Maddy. Her hand hovered, forgotten, as her focus locked on a familiar frame descending the staircase.

Rafe. She’d know that silhouette anywhere, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way he carried himself like the world owed him something. But what snagged her attention more than his presence was the girl trailing behind him—a redhead in a short dress that clung to her like a second skin.

Maddy’s jaw tightened as she took in the signs. His shirt, slightly rumpled. His hair, a little damp with sweat. His lips, faintly swollen. And then, of course, the glaring evidence: a fresh hickey blooming on the side of his neck.

Her chest constricted as she watched him stroll into the living room, sliding effortlessly back into the fold of his friends. He sat, casual and unaffected, accepting a wad of cash from one of them as though he hadn’t just left some girl upstairs. He didn’t even glance at the redhead, who hovered for a moment before practically squeezing herself onto the couch like she had every right to be there.

Maddy’s fingers curled tightly around her glass. She could feel the heat rising in her, anger coiling in her chest like a snake ready to strike. She had a few options.

She could take the high road, pretend not to care. Let Rafe do whatever the fuck he wanted and maybe even give in to the flirtations of the bartender who’d been undressing her with his eyes all night. He was cute, sure.

Or, she could storm over there, drag the redhead off Rafe by her hair, and cause a scene so explosive it would have everyone talking for weeks. That would make Rafe the angriest. If there was one thing Rafe hated, it was public drama, especially at parties like this where his reputation mattered.

But her favorite option? The one she’d perfected over the past year? Make him jealous. Find someone else—anyone else—and put on a show right in front of him. Let him stew in his own possessiveness, watch his jaw tighten and his eyes darken. She could almost hear the messages he’d send later, each one angrier and more desperate than the last.

Her decision solidified the moment the redhead crossed a line. With a faux-casual air, the girl shifted closer, draping her leg firmly over Rafe’s, her hand trailing up his arm like she owned him. Maddy’s blood boiled, her grip tightening until the glass felt like it might shatter in her hand.

That did it, Maddy thought as she pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies and a fleeting thought crosses her mind: she almost pitied the redhead. Almost. Because if she hadn’t made that little move, Maddy might’ve just gone home with the bartender and everyone would've had a great time.

Too late now. The girl had stepped into a minefield, and Maddy was about to detonate it.

Maddy barely registered Kat’s voice calling after her, pleading for her to stop, but it was too late. The haze of fury that gripped her was deafening, and her focus had narrowed to a single point: the girl’s leg, still comfortably draped over Rafe’s like she belonged there. And Rafe, the absolute dickhead, wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

Rafe didn’t notice her at first, too absorbed in conversation with someone behind him—probably a customer. Typical. He was always “on the clock,” even at a party. But Anthony, one of his close friends and someone Maddy knew all too well, caught sight of her approach. He nudged Rafe just as she reached them.

Without hesitation, Maddy’s fingers sank into the girl’s short strawberry-red hair, yanking her upright with a swift, brutal motion. A gasp rippled through the group. “Maddy—” Rafe started, finally snapping out of his oblivion, but the sharp edge of her smile cut him off. She could tell by the look on his face that she’d pissed him off the moment he laid eyes on her. And that? That was deeply satisfying.

“Am I interrupting?” Maddy’s voice dripped with venom, loud enough to be heard over the thrum of music. Her gaze flicked between Rafe and the girl, who was now squirming under her grip like a cornered animal. “You and your girlfriend enjoying your fucked-up idea of a date?”

The girl screeched, clawing at Maddy’s wrist to free herself, but Maddy’s hold didn’t falter. She twisted her hand tighter, like a leash, and ignored her entirely.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rafe demanded, his tone sharp but controlled. She noted, with satisfaction, that he didn’t spare the redhead so much as a glance. He knew her well enough to realize that would only escalate things further.

Maddy’s eyes flashed as she stepped closer, forcing him to look down at her. “What the fuck are you doing?” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. She didn’t care that he towered over her, didn’t care that he could easily shove her aside. He wouldn’t. He never did.

“Got your dick wet?” she hissed, her hand shooting up to press her sharp nails into the hickey on his neck. “You satisfied?”

Rafe rolled his eyes and caught her wrist, his grip firm but not painful. “Let her go,” he warned, his voice dropping lower. “Don’t be fucking difficult, Maddy.”

She hummed mockingly, as though she were actually considering his request. Then, with a cruel yank, she pulled the girl closer until they were eye to eye. “Did he fuck you?” she asked coldly, ignoring Rafe’s exasperated sigh beside her.

The girl’s eyes filled with angry tears, her face contorted with frustration. Every time she tried to fight back, Maddy would twist her hair harder, forcing her to sway painfully in the direction of Maddy’s grip. “Twice,” the girl spat, her voice trembling with defiance.

For a moment, it felt like the entire room went silent. Of course, it hadn’t, but Maddy had always been good at tuning out background noise. All she could hear was the sound of her own breathing and Rafe muttering a curse under his breath.

With a shove, she released the girl, sending her stumbling backward into the crowd. The redhead didn’t matter. She never did. Maddy’s fury was directed elsewhere.

She turned to Rafe, her grin sharp and dangerous. “That good, huh? She so good you just had to hit it twice? Fucking asshole!” Her hand shot out, shoving him hard in the chest.

Rafe barely budged, but his expression darkened. “Maddy,” he started, but she didn’t let him finish. He caught her wrists to stop her, but she wrenched herself free.

“You wanna fuck other people and then act crazy when I do the same?” she shouted, her laughter incredulous and biting. “That’s how we’re gonna play this?”

“There’s a difference!” Rafe shot back, his voice rising as he stepped closer, closing the space between them. “Grinding on some guy right in front of me isn’t the same as me hooking up with someone at a party you weren’t even supposed to be at!”

Maddy scoffed, her eyes blazing. “Oh, so it’s only okay if I do it behind your back? Good to know! Fucking great! I’ve got a whole list of people I need to bang, in that case!” She tried to shove past him, but his arm shot out, barring her path.

“Don’t,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Get your fucking hands off me, Cameron!” she snapped, thrashing against his grip. She managed to scratch his forearm in the process, but if it hurt, he didn’t show it. Instead, he tightened his hold, dragging her away from the crowd.

“Let go!” she yelled, her voice cutting through the music like a blade. When he didn’t, she twisted harder, her voice dropping to a venomous snarl. “You’re such a fucking coward, Rafe.”

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening as his grip on her wrist remained firm. His sharp, icy glare never wavered as he dragged her through the hallway, ignoring her kicks and curses. She struggled with all the fire of her fury, but he didn’t falter, his focus unwavering. They reached a random bedroom, and the door slammed behind them with a resounding thud.

The moment they were inside, Maddy lunged for the door handle. “Nah,” Rafe growled, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist. “You were so fucking desperate for my attention—you’ve got it now.”

She wrenched her arm in defiance, spitting her anger. “Don’t fucking touch me! I’ll go wherever the fuck I want.” She shoved him back with all the force her frame could muster and managed to yank the door halfway open before his hands were on her again. His grip was bruising this time, dragging her back into the room. The door slammed shut with a force that rattled the walls.

“You always gotta fucking do this,” Rafe barked, his voice low and simmering with frustration. His face hovered inches from hers, his breath hot against her cheek. “Always gotta be so goddamn dramatic. What the fuck do you want, huh?”

And that was how it always started—the yelling, the chaos, the war between two people too stubborn to back down. The true definition of an immovable object and an unstoppable force. It was a constant battle of who could scream the loudest with words that cut like knives.

“You love to act brand fucking new!” Maddy spat, her hands flying to his chest to push him away, eyes blazing with unfiltered rage. “This is what the fuck I get for lowering my standards!”

This was the problem. Maddy and Rafe were both cut from the same toxic cloth—fiery, stubborn, and vicious when provoked. Even when unprovoked. And yet, neither could let go. They were magnets, drawn together by the intensity of their hatred as much as their desire.

“Ah, ofcourse,” Rafe snarled, his expression twisting with anger as he took a threatening step forward, shoving her back against the door. He loomed over her, his body crowding hers. “That’s the problem, huh? You’re too good for me? That’s why you lose your fucking mind every time you see me with someone else? Makes perfect fucking sense, Maddy.”

Her lips curled into a tight, bitter smile as she crossed her arms. “Move.” Her tone was ice, her glare fire.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, his voice still sharp but tinged with something raw beneath the anger.

“I don’t want shit from you!” she snapped, her voice rising as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Fuck you and that ugly strawberry-shortcake-looking bitch!” Her hands shot out, shoving him with all her strength.

Rafe staggered back a step, but the venom in his gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t act like you don’t know what this is,” he hissed, his voice low and biting. “I’ve never once promised to be anything more than a good fuck. You want something else? Then find it somewhere else.”

Maddy’s laugh was bitter and cutting, shaking her head as though his words were the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “You know what grates me the most about you when you start spouting this dumb shit?” Her voice softened slightly, but the venom was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. She tilted her head, her tone mocking as she continued, “It’s the fact that you lose your goddamn mind every time you see me with someone else. Remember Eddie? Eddie from Lincoln?”

The mention of the name made Rafe’s jaw clench, his eyes narrowing as he looked away, but Maddy wasn’t about to let it go. “Yeah,” she pressed, her voice rising triumphantly. “You knocked him the fuck out! Wanna talk about that, Rafe?”

He scoffed, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “He crossed a line,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.

Maddy’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned in closer, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Actually, he didn't. I never even got to fuck him because you had to go all caveman just because he grabbed my ass, huh?” Her words were sharp, relentless, designed to cut deep.

Rafe’s expression darkened further, his teeth grinding audibly. “He had the fucking nerve to do that shit in front of me,” he snapped, his voice barely above a growl. “And I punched him once. That weak-ass motherfucker went down like a light. He’s just fucking soft.”

“Oh, he’s soft?!” Maddy’s laughter rang out, sharp and derisive. “You’re so full of shit, Rafe. You’re fucking insane. You don’t want me, but no one else can have me either. That’s it, right?”

Rafe didn’t answer, his silence louder than any words.

Maddy was done. Her throat burned from yelling, and the sight of Rafe's smug, unbothered expression was grating against every raw nerve. With a huff, she turned away and reached for the door, determined to escape his orbit. But before her fingers even brushed the handle, his hands were on her. He moved quickly, crowding her space, his chest pressing against her back. His arms snaked around her, pulling her in as though the argument had only stoked his need.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered against her ear, his voice low and steady, a dark counterpoint to the chaos in her head. His hands roamed her body with incomporable ease, tracing over her hips and waist as if every curve had been etched into his memory. His touch was infuriatingly familiar, an intimacy she hated herself for craving. When his hand slid up to her throat, rough and commanding—she swore she’d walk away, her body betrayed her every single time. Rafe knew it, too. He knew exactly how to unravel her, to make her defenses crumble with nothing more than his touch.

His lips ghosted over her neck, soft and deliberate, and she struggled to contain the noises that threatened to tumble out. Every kiss sent a shiver down her spine, her resolve breaking apart with each featherlight touch. And then he turned her, one swift motion that left her facing him, her lips parting in anticipation before his mouth crashed into hers.

Maddy had come to realise that no one did anything the way Rafe did it. Rafe kissed like he was starving for her. Like he’d been holding his breath and she was the only source of air. His mouth moved with a desperation that should have made her pull away, but instead, it pulled her in. Every time they kissed, it felt like a revelation, a prayer, a reminder of why she could never fully let go. No one else kissed her like this, like she was the beginning and end of everything.

But even as the heat of his lips consumed her, jealousy lingered in the back of her mind like a toxic shadow. The thought of someone else touching him, kissing him the way they were now, sent a fresh wave of rage coursing through her. Her teeth found his bottom lip, and she bit down—hard.

“Fuck!” Rafe jerked back, blood pooling on his lip before he spit it onto the floor. His eyes flared with shock and fury as he touched the tender spot. “Maddy, what the fuck?” he roared, his voice echoing in the small room.

She straightened her dress with deliberate care, smoothing out the wrinkles he’d left in it. Her lips curved into a mocking smile, sweet and cutting all at once. “That bitch probably gave you chlamydia and herpes,” she said sweetly, venom dripping from every word. “So, no thanks. I don’t want your ran-through ass. Text me when you get tested, and maybe—maybe—I’ll give you the time of day.”

Without waiting for his response, Maddy spun on her heel and strode toward the door, her head held high.

“I fucking hate you, Perez!” Rafe shouted after her, his voice cracking with frustration.

Maddy didn’t even turn around. She simply raised her hand and flipped him off, her middle finger loud and proud as she disappeared into the party, leaving him to curse and stew in the aftermath.

[whatever----whenever]

I said my piece on gen 8 earlier (good). I do think that SWSH was lacking something with its story, the random dynamax being one thing but also the version exclusive gym leaders didn't get that much love, all the other ones had their specific moments (some more than others). They were the coolest ones IMO and they deserved so much more love, and atleast the ability to battle the others in the post-game. Also I think they should have had more characters, atleast like alt gym-leaders / type specialists (like Klara and Avery) for all the other types.

Peony was a steel gym leader in the past but the steel uniform is more befitting for someone else with the mech suit design.

I have evil hastily written ideas for how to fox some of the problems I had with the story and some plot developments. I came to the conclusion that a quest system, like a real quest system, would help spice up the game and incorporate the potential for characters underutilized or don't exist. (gay fanfiction in my brain)

The cutscenes are so nice, the characters have so much energy and personality, the one with Leon and eternatus is so freaking good.

I think the raids are fun but SV did them better. When you say dungeon raid do you mean the dynamax thing from the crown tundra? I never played it but I've heard it's fun. If you'd ever be interested in running them let me know. But not to soon I just reset my shield profile because I wanted another Urshifu and it was easier to just switch my pokemon to sword instead of spending $40.

Please send your shiny luck to me 🙏🙏 my luck in gen 8 is abysmal. I've found 2 the entire time I've played both games, a joltik and a chandelier. SV were much kinder to me (I have like 4 iron valiants)

I totally get the fresh feeling for the DLC areas, especially the first one, doing them post game makes them feel kind of easy. I know you can do the else of armor during the game but that sounds like a lot of work.

Ive decided to come here after the tiktok ban.

Funny bitches who like pokemon or Octopath hit my line PLEASE.

I will include a resume if needed

[delirious-donna]

an: angst is not usually where my brain goes but this idea… it just consumed by brain (like he has). My first ever foray into Blue Lock so please be kind!! Plus, it’s just a short lil thing. 🥺

pairing: Shoei Barou x female reader

warnings: SFW, a little angst, a little fluff, Barou isn’t great with feelings

It had been months.

Months of consistently subtle interactions that had led to this. This… unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

It was uncomfortable, and it made him grumpy when he couldn’t identify the source. Barou didn’t like to be in the dark about anything, let alone why his body was misbehaving.

Rubbing a palm over the area didn’t help in the slightest, nor did ignoring its existence.

On those nights where he would lie awake and stare at the ceiling, often the nights before an important match, he would poke at the feeling. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Barou would close his eyes and try to figure out what weighed so heavily on his conscious that his skin prickled from the discomfort. It couldn’t be nerves for his upcoming game, he was the king and the king had no worry about his prowess out on the field.

It made him even more grouchy than normal; growling and snarling at his mediocre teammates when they tried to joke with him. He was a bear with a bad head, and everyone was sick of it—most of all, him.

The realisation dawned slowly one Saturday morning.

With the heaviness in his chest following him around like there was a boulder lodged where his heart should be, he made his way to his pre-match sports massage.

There you were.

Sunshine smiles and starry eyed. The complete antithesis of himself. He knew the moment the weight lifted that you were the reason, though he refused to acknowledge it.

The discomfort melted away like ice under a heat lamp, leaving behind a tingly sensation that spread out from his heart to the tips of his fingers and toes. All of it, he ignored.

You were gentle despite how you could bring a grown ass man to his knees with the right combination of pressure points. You were friendly and inquisitive without coming across as nosy. You were soft-spoken but no nonsense at the same time. You were everything he wasn’t, and…

Barou wanted you.

“Right on time, Barou! I do love a punctual man,” you teased with a bright smile that lit up your small office.

“Shoei…” He so desperately wanted to correct you, to hear his given name roll around your mouth and trip off your pretty pink tongue. Instead, he gave a grunt and lay on the table as he had done for the past six months.

If his silence bothered you, you didn’t show it. The determination and skilful expertise of your hands eased onto his body like an old friend. His heart fluttered and his fists clenched.

He would never not be impressed by your ability to remember his every little past twinge and injury. It wasn’t like you were his personal physio, far from it since the whole team graced your office on a regular basis. Barou secretly wondered if he might be special to you, but quickly dismissed that idea with an audible grimace.

“Tender here today? Hm, that’s not normal for you.”

You had taken his reaction as a sign of pain at your manipulation of the area directly behind his left knee. He could kick himself. He was a damn idiot.

Barou grunted, “Nah, my mind was elsewhere.”

With a subtle nod, you hummed and continued to work diligently across his hamstrings which were known to give him problems. They were problems of his own making, as you liked to remind him, since he had a tendency to expect maximum exertion for a full ninety minute game.

“You’re a man not a machine!” You’d scowl him time and again.

You weren’t buying his excuse. He couldn’t blame you. He was a shitty liar. The truth was what he preferred—the blunter the better.

“Turn over,” you asked with a tap at his ankle. “Wanna talk about it? Where your mind is, I mean. It might help.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Except, he didn’t say it out loud. He couldn’t. For all his bravado of never shying away from the truth, no matter how painful… he couldn’t face his own.

He looked into your sweet face, ruby eyes bouncing between yours and dared to dream that what he saw was more than professional curiosity. The words burned his throat and turned his mouth to ash. If only he could brave the final hurdle, score the winning goal…

“Don’t go worrying about me. Tell me about your week and let me forget my problems for a bit.”

Barou was no king, not when you were the one wearing the crown.

Placed there by his hand.

His crown.

[geehollow]

I will be talking about the Eurasian magpie, since it's the bird relevant to Loki in terms of symbolism and folklore area. I'm also talking about all of Loki's iterations across mythology, comics, books and movies.

Magpies are damn clever for their brain's size, like all corvids. They're known to do stuff just for the shits and giggles, using tools, playing around, solving puzzles, bothering other animals, exchanging trinkets as currency, shit talking people and animals amongst themselves and passing the knowledge down through generations. They've proven to have some sense of morality and to ignore it on purpose. They recognise themselves in mirrors. They can organise themselves to work in teams.

Their fame about liking/stealing shiny objects comes from Rossini's play The Thieving Magpie, where a magpie is the actual culprit of some thefts, and that forever modified its common name in Italy as gazza ladra (indeed, "thieving magpie"). While they're not attracted to shiny objects, observations show that they'll move them around. So it's now assumed they actually don't like shiny stuff, and try to get rid of it somewhere less bothersome. Relocation rather than theft, but still.

And their symbolism in folklore is incredibly apt for Loki:

Another name for a group of magpies is "a mischief" due to their behaviour, which mirrors Loki's more whimsical sides

through their dual colouring of black and white, they symbolise the union of masculine and feminine, of light and darkness coexisting. It also associates them to deceit and illusion (though those are also linked to their shenanigans with shiny stuff)

scandinavian folklore says witches transformed into magpies. Roman folklore associated magpies with magic and fortune-telling

while they don't sing, their chatter is fun. It sounds a bit like laughing, and can imitate human speech–so it has an element of supernatural shapeshifting

They're associated to creativity, problem solving, the artistic union of logic and imagination opening new paths and possibilities, to loyalty, commitment, good fortune, protection from evil magic, metamorphosis and change, knowledge, language

They're considered harbingers of divine news, and a sign to take a leap of faith and change your path, to shape your own destiny. They're a sign that death, usually metaphorical, is approaching–like an ego death, and a reminder that transformation isn't about erasing one's self but getting rid of what isn't you. Spiritual guidance across books and the internet says that when faced with a magpie as a sign, you must 1) realign priorities, 2) nurture relationships that uplift you, 3) nurture self awareness. So, basically, see also: Loki, Agent of Asgard

Magpies also signal strong connections to family lineage, to honour the ancestral wisdom passed down through generations (like oral storytelling traditions)

They're considered pests when they mess with crops, and they're scavengers, so they're considered nuisances and opportunists in tandem with all the more positive meanings, carrying a duality of good and bad symbolism

Essentially, they're the tricksters of the bird world. They combine good, bad, change and magic.

(Eurasian) Magpies are one of my fundamental obsessions. I've grown up with them around. Discovering how much their folklore mirrored Loki's was delightful.

The whole Loki being like a magpie confused me for so long because I live in Australia and anyone else in Australia would know... Magpies are straight up evil. No redeeming qualities. Try living in Australia during swooping season. Ask any Australian, Magpies are MEAN.

[lucabyte]

isat doodles in the form of a silly-serious-silly sandwich

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[queercodedcowboy]

its 2025 and i still think ab my husband everyday