#I’m tired of tagging

[suneat3rr]

They’re making a homestuck show get ready for me to go crazy

Get your sharpies out 🥰

[ijustneedtosave]

If I put all the ships that have been mentioned even once in our chat, then it becomes this universe.

Draft

[otto-doctavius]

domesticated animal

[ssenza]

It is calming to see something familiar in another

inspo x x

[thebrainrotsreal]

proper explorations of my grievances AU! :D basically, Dan never comes to fruition when Danny’s ire isn’t in his ghost half, but his human half! A half that immediately tries to slaughter the former in a bout of grief stricken self loathing! Vlad know has two “sons” to soothe before they kill each other! It’s a beautiful disaster.

[unkn0wng1rly]

ryomen sukuna

cw: bf!kuna x gf!reader, grumpy kuna, lover boy on the dl, random ahh story

nobody believed sukuna had a girlfriend.

he’d mentioned it in passing once to his friends. their reactions?

“wait wait.. come again?” suguru choked on his drink, sitting up a little bit.

satoru burst into fits of laughter, clutching at his side while his childish giggles filled suguru’s basement.

across the room by the sofa toji raised his eyebrows. “what drugs did you give her to make her date you? or maybe you’re blackmailing her.”

it was the night before their first big ice hockey game of the season at their college and instead of prepping, they were drinking away and smoking pot.

all of his friends tore him a new one and teased and poked fun at him the whole rest of the evening while he growled and shouted at them to shut up.

sukuna was surprisingly not as aggressive as he normally would be about false claims which made them wonder a little bit what his girlfriend was like.

after cussing everyone out thoroughly, sukuna left a little early, going home and heading straight to bed.

the following day, sukuna and the rest of his team were on the ice, warming up by doing drills and stretching whilst the stands filled with watchers of both teams.

satoru slid his way over to sukuna, holding out his hand expecting a high five as he smirked that irritable smirk.

sukuna looked down and rolled his eyes as he sped up away from satoru, pushing harder against the ice.

“aww, you still mad about last night? y’know you don’t have to lie about having a girl, your looks are pretty much girl repellent anyway.” he snorted, suguru giggling behind his hand as he skated past them.

sukuna ignored the comments and manoeuvred the puck in-front of him with his hockey stick, practicing his handling.

his pink hair tousled underneath his helmet as he shifted on his feet, skating past a few of the players on the team they were playing against today.

he was focused on what was infront of him when his pink ears caught on to the conversation they were having.

“she’s bad as fuck, y’think if i asked for a good luck kiss she’d give me one?” the other guy laughed in the same annoying manner that satoru did.

“nah, she’s got a poster in her hands, bet she’s one of those fuckers bitch.”

sukuna’s head jerked a little but he remained zeroed in on the hockey puck. for a sliver of a moment he thought they may be talking about you, but he remembered specifically telling you not to come to his games.

it wasn’t that he didn’t want you there in the stands, but he didn’t want his teammates drooling all over you like he knew they would.

he was pacing up towards the goal, getting ready to make a shot when he heard something that made him halt aggressively, ice shavings flying around his ankles.

“sukuna!” a sweet sound he’d be able to recognise from miles away, his body reacted before he could even think, turning around, searching frantically for you.

and there you were.

his first thought was how beautiful you looked, but his second thought was why did you have to look so beautiful.

you wore a pretty little blue dress that barely covered your mid thigh, the same shade of blue as his jersey colour, your hair done up with a bow pinned at the back.

the smile that stole his heart was plastered on your face as you waved at him, a poster in your hands that read ‘go team’ in your cute bubble handwriting.

he ignored the looks of disbelief he got from just about everyone on the field, his only focus was you, skating over to the edge of the rink where you stood.

“y/n, ‘the hell are you doin here?” his voice is rough as he took his helmet off, holding it loosely in one hand as you throw yourself onto him, small frame mushed against his ridiculously large one.

instinctively, he hugged back, his buff arm slinked around your waist, taking in the smell of home, of you.

when toji brought the scene to satoru’s attention, who was still laughing about how angry sukuna was earlier, his smile fades comically and his eyes widen.

it looked so wrong. big old, tatted sukuna with a cute, soft thing like you. his aura would make people turn the opposite direction, what with those insanely coloured eyes, and then there was your vibe, frills and happiness.

“i know you told me not to come but i just really wanted to cheer you on for your first game.” pulling back from the embrace, you look up at him, showcasing the poster proudly.

he wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn’t find it in him. you looked so happy and he would rather kill himself than take that away from you.

when sukuna didn’t say anything but stare at you, you sighed and pursed your lips, your hand coming to run through his messed up helmet hair.

“i won’t come to all your other games, i promise.”

sukuna shook his head and pulled you in closer when you made a move to step back. given his silence, you thought he was ticked off at your presence.

“next time, write sukuna.” he frowned, watching the way your eyes lit up again after seeing he wasn’t mad.

you got up on your tip toes, planting a big kiss on his lips. “mwahhh” the pink gloss you wore transferred onto his mouth, the strawberry scented liquid shining on his mouth.

despite how obvious it was against his paler lips, he didn’t care. he took it as a token from his woman, he’d allow you to do all those stupid girly things to him.

even you yourself was surprised how lenient he was, but it was only because he was a fool for you, he was truly head over heels.

“and who’s this beautiful lady.”

sukuna was so caught up with you that he had forgotten he was due to play a game—with a bunch of pea brains at that.

gritting his teeth and closing his eyes, he let go of you as he turned around, facing satoru, suguru and toji, his other teammates frolicking like idiots in the back.

he opened his mouth but you spoke before he could.

“hi! i’m sukuna’s girlfriend, you guys must be his friends he’s always talking about.” you blurt out freely, making suguru raise his eyebrows.

“you talk about us at home ‘kuna?” toji drawls in a teasing manner and sukuna doesn’t hesitate to bite back. “nothing nice, don’t worry.”

satoru takes off his helmet, his hair still somehow perfect underneath that helmet as he flashed pearly whites at you, you weren’t sure if it was his attempt to try swoon you.

he was still trying to figure out how sukuna managed to bag a cutie like you and why you willingly wanted to date him.

“well, i’m satoru, if this asshole bothering you can come to me, yeah?”

sukuna’s eyes flash, and you notice it and quickly try to mediate before he got angry.

only you knew the extent of his possessiveness, and it reached out quite far. he tried to come off stand offish about things like that but his body often reacted before his mind did.

he just felt like it should be basic, common knowledge. you’re his, only his, everybody else should rip their eyeballs out in your presence

your hand curls around sukuna’s gloved one, he could feel the warmth of your touch through the thick material.

“thanks, but i think it’s the other way around, maybe you should offer him help instead of me.” you speak so sweetly it almost doesn’t register that you just rejected his attempt to smooth talk you.

suguru laughs at the way you shut down satoru in the politest way possible, the playboy who seemingly got everyone he ever wanted.

sukuna looked down at you again, feeling a sudden, childish, urge to show off to his dumb friends that you were his, that you hadn’t wanted any of them except him.

without thinking much, he grabbed your chin and gave a firm, claiming kiss on your soft, pink and glossed up lips. you were initially surprised but melted immediately into his lips.

you could tell that it was less about passion and more about making a statement, but you were happy either way.

the black haired man with a scar on his lips whistled and patted satoru on the back condescendingly.

“nice try bud.”

when he pulled away, his lips were more shinier than last time, but he still didn’t care. in fact, part of him wanted to kiss you just so he could taste that intoxicating lip gloss of yours again.

“i better hear you cheering me on.” sukuna gruffed, he was like a moody toddler who tried to pretend to be angry even when he was all giddy on the inside.

you were happier than ever, eyes creased up as you nodded. “good luck babe, good luck boys!”

a bummed out satoru skated away, suguru trying to console his ego whilst toji winked at you before leaving with sukuna, bombarding him with questions about you that he’d never answer.

this was precisely why he didn’t want you near his friends or at his games.

but knowing you were in the crowd, cheering him on, gave him a sense of comfort only you could offer him.

you were his soft spot, he knew it, you knew it, and now his friends did too.

it was also, by nobody’s surprise, that sukuna’s team won by a mile, sukuna being the mvp.

his friends teased him, saying he was showing off for you, but he didn’t even bother much to deny it, leaving them and skating up to you where you were screaming and clapping, all for him.

sukuna could barely get off the ice before you were kissing him everywhere on his face and hugging him.

although he tried to act like you were doing too much and made a pathetic effort to move away from your kisses, he had a singular thought at the back of his mind as he smirked slightly.

he could get used to this.

[bllmak]

card game

[sawasourjuice]

I…. Wait- Bdubs?? And Etho?? Drawn on MY account???? Not very likely but still happened

Also Impulse that I speedran bc I felt like it

[cyphertronix]

Distracción (Part Two)

Part One | Part Three

Shoutout to @leidostrange and @quantumshade for helping with the Spanish and Yiddish respectively!

EDIT: I realized I placed the exclamation mark on the wrong side of the Yiddish 😭

[keferon]

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

___________________ Part 2->

Magical Golem Prowl anyone? ‘,:) This story exists in the same universe as Spellbound au. and Monster hunter au and ties them together so I highly recommend you read all of them.

The fic under the cut⤵️

He seemed to be nothing.

The emptiness that infinitely defined his nonexistent self bounced off the metal plates and glinted in the droplets of still-warm energon. He was nothing, but there was so much around him that the space was like an infinite buzz of cluttered noise. The voices above him sounded excited. The metal slab beneath him was cold and hard.

“Good. Now you need to put a piece of your armor on this. Somewhere it will be in plain sight and easily reachable.”

“Oh...wouldn't it make more sense to hide it under the armor? I mean, it's an obvious weak point.”

He idly thought, his hands felt numb.

“No no, that's the whole point. You're using an artifact you haven't fully studied and you don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. If it goes crazy and becomes dangerous, you should have an easy way to destroy it. Where's the artifact by the way?”

The tinkling of metal.

The sound of a crystal clattering against armor.

Warm hands on his head.

“Here.”

“Excellent. Now. This will be the base on which the entire spell will be held, so you want to hide this artifact very well and secure it carefully so it doesn't break by mistake.”

Did he have hands too? He was nothing, why did he have hands? It didn't make sense.

Orion took a couple steps away from the table and stood pensively.

“I've done something wrong again. It's not moving.”

There was a lot of stuff spread out in front of him. Old spare parts, pieces of armor, tools. Lots of warped plates.

And his creation. A real golem. An entity woven of metal and magic.

Shockwave, hitherto distracted by an almost invisible spot on his shoulderplate, glanced leisurely over Orion's shoulder

“Golems don't need much to function. You made a good shell. The magical structure is strong as well, I see.”

Orion hesitantly pointed to the golem's forehead, decorated with a neat sharp chevron.

“I added some things that weren't in your instructions and I think I made a mistake somewhere.”

“Golem making is a complex skill, don't give up if it doesn't work right awa...you know what, actually no, you did everything right.”

Orion shrugged in frustration.

“Then why won't it move?”

Shockwave walked around the table and stopped right above the head of the figure lying on it

“ Golems exist to serve, my friend. It won't move unless you ask it to.”

Orion walked back over to the table with a quiet “oh” and nervously clutched his servos. The figure remained stone still. There was no ventilation noise, no engine sound, not even the barely audible spinning of a spark. It could just as easily have been a long-cooled dead body lying in front of him.

“Wake up.”

The emptiness that forever defined his nonexistent self stammered. He wasn't nothing. He had a purpose and that purpose shaped him, put strength into his numb limbs and molded his lack of thought into naked intent.

He wasn't nothing. He was a void, but suddenly that void had a direction, no matter how meaningless it sounded.

He stopped being just nothing. He became his purpose. And it felt so right that it was unclear how he could ever have been anything else before.

He opened his optics.

Orion, who apparently hadn't expected that the thing he'd made specifically for it to move would move, jerked back with a funny sound.

On the opposite side, Shockwave nodded proudly, returning to the spot on his armor that even in the bright lights of the workshop only he could see.

“I believed in you.”

_________

“Oh my god! How do you sneak up on me so quietly every time?”

He wasn't nothing anymore. He was a whole long list of instructions and rules. His creator sat him down at a table and meticulously listed everything he could and could not do. Handed him many books and ordered him to attend a huge number of lectures. He now knew who to bow to if he passed them in the hallway and who to avoid. He had learned hundreds of names and thousands of titles. Learned how to pretend to be a real Mech, even though he wasn't.

The world around him was complex and confusing, but he found that this complexity had its own patterns, linked together in a bizarre web of systems and sequences. It was worth pulling on the right end, and the meaningless facts organized themselves into something much more manageable.

Everything made sense. The planet revolved around a star. Mechs rejoiced when they got something that improved their quality of life. Energon burned, producing energy. Big things tended to be heavier than small things.

The world was divided into Mechs and monsters...and him.

He was inclined to be...quiet.

His creator - he'd asked to be called Orion - twitched when he found his creation standing right behind him.

He was very talented at finding Orion wherever he was. And very light compared to most things his size. Like everything else it made sense. He wasn't a Mech, he was just an empty shell. An armor summoned to life by magic. His footsteps were as quiet as a mini bot's. Whatever Orion called it, he wasn't 'sneaking' on purpose.

A few cycles later, Orion accidentally bent one of its finals when he turned around too quickly, startled by the quiet footsteps behind him.

He named him Prowl. It was...not exactly logical, but there was a certain sense to it. Prowl nodded and agreed. He always agreed with everything Orion said, even if it didn't make sense at all. Orion's opinion took a higher priority than anything else.

Until it didn't.

Until Orion gave him a focused look and told him that he should argue if he thought it was necessary.

Until Orion put the servo on his shoulder and said something along the lines of....

“You can disagree with me if you think my opinion is wrong. I'm not asking you to go against me. I'm not perfect and I can't be the one absolute point of reference for everything. You can and I'm sure will be smarter than me about many things. I want you to tell me if I'm wrong and what I should do about it.”

Like…well….like an absolute fool.

This concept was new. Prowl wasn't built to argue. He was made to obey orders and to serve a function.

Orion smiled slyly. At least it was probably a smile behind his mask that made the corners of his optics lift.

“It wouldn't be considered a disobedience of my order if I ordered you to disobey it. Don't you think?”

Prowl opened his mouth to agree out of habit, but then changed his mind mid-motion and closed it back. It...it didn't make sense. It made sense that was breaking under its own weight. It was mercilessly mixing up all of his pre-learned patterns for talking to Orion. If he agreed with that logic now, it would mean accepting its use. If he protested, it would also mean accepting it, but in a bit more embarrassing way. Just when he was thinking of simply retreating silently to the nearest shadow and banging his head against the wall, he heard a quiet chuckle and realized that Orion had been amusing himself for some time now, watching him struggle.

Prowl decided that verbal responses might be overrated and frowned his face in the most believable expression of displeasure he could portray.

Orion broke out into laughter.

________

“What exactly is my goal?”

Orion looks. Curious. He stops talking to Shockwave and leans back on the bench.

“Right now, to study these journals. I already told you.”

Prowl nods to indicate he heard him and continues

“Studying serves a future purpose. Studying for the sake of studying would be meaningless to me. What is my final goal?”

“To assist me” Orion says slightly confused. ”Within the best of your ability of course.“”

“Аh. Assist in the fulfillment of your goal.”

“Well. I'd say so, yes.”

Prowl nods

“And what is your goal?”

Shockwave, who has been sitting next to them the whole time looks like they're a couple of previously unknown to science species he's just personally discovered.

Prowl ignores him.

“I...you remember the separation between Mechs and monsters, right?” asks Orion cautiously.

“Yes.”

“Mechs...are unfair to monsters. Monsters are cruel to Mechs. It's a needlessly violent situation that I want to...try to. Fix.”

Prowl frowns to indicate that the information isn't completely clear.

“You're a member of the order of hunters. And...” he shakes his head toward the nearest window ”...you have a considerable number of hunters under your command. Your job involves destroying monsters.”

Shockwave makes some sort of quiet amused sound and props his chin up with his hand.

Prowl ignores him harder.

“My job is to bring peace.” says Orion “You don't have to kill monsters to do that. You can negotiate with them. Find a compromise. Coexist. I...I guess basically, I'm trying to make the world a little better?”

Prowl doesn't look impressed. He's actually making a special effort to not let Orion think in any way that he might be intrigued by the whole endeavor.

“You do realize that's a disproportionately large goal for just one Mech, right?”

Orion shrugs awkwardly

“That's why I made you.”

__________

Ratchet puts aside his tools and critically examines his work.

“Don't touch that and it will heal normally.”

Orion smiles gratefully

“Thank you.”

Ratchet is important to Orion. They are close and very valuable friends to each other. The two of them look peaceful now, despite the fact that Ratchet threatened Orion when he first showed up in Sick Bay, so Prowl decides it would be a socially acceptable moment to start talking

“Orion, you're wanted at the Council.”

The second half of his line is drowned helplessly in two startled exclamations at once. Orion, to his honor, calms down almost immediately, but Ratchet continues cursing for a while.

Prowl doesn't wait for him to finish. The Council meeting is earlier than usual today and Orion has already had a few occasions of misbehavior. It's in his best interest to at least show up on time this time.

“Shockwave asked me to tell you to hurry. I will add that showing up at the last minute will not be good for your reputation if you are still hoping to convince the council to let you take more units.”

Ratchet .....stares.

“Primus' rusty hinges, Orion, who's that? Did they assign a nanny to you?”

Orion twitches his finals playfully and immediately crinkles in pain, remembering that one of them should have been left to heal.

“Remember when I wanted to find an assistant? Well...”

Ratchet casts an increasingly more suspicious look at Prowl. Prowl decides that friendliness is overrated and limits his expression to a barely perceptible tilt of his head in response.

“...Shockwave recently helped me figure out how to create golems and I figured if I couldn't find anyone I could trust, I might as well...make one. So. Ratchet meet Prowl.” finishes Orion awkwardly.

Ratchet glares at Prowl for a while longer. Then he turns away and starts tidying up Sick Bay.

“I'm not buying it. I don't know where you found this guy, but you're not playing me. Nice poker face by the way.”

One of Prowl's wings twitches

“He wasn't lying.”

Ratchet snorts grumpily.

“Those...” he waves toward the next room ”...are golems.

There, behind the wall, several golems scurry around. They have medical staff symbols painted on their shoulders, and there is not a trace of thought in their eyes. Two are scrubbing the floors, another wiping the shelves and window sills clean of dust. They occasionally mumble softly under their noses or utter an inane “excuse me” every time they accidentally bump into each other. Prowl knows that if you ask any of them a question with more than one variable, they start babbling guiltily and shrugging their shoulders. They're stupid, but they themselves don't seem to care about that at all. They are their purpose. And their purpose is to keep things clean. They are pride because they are good at their job.

Prowl frowns. He's a headache. Because his "purpose" has been distracted by his conversation with Ratchet and will probably add another tardy to his list in the near future.

Orion begins (thank goodness) to move toward the door

“I've made improvements. There might have been...some not exactly allowed artifacts.”

Ratchet rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. Prowl can see that his face is already starting to wrinkle in that spot. Patient antics probably age Ratchet far more effectively than the passage of time itself.

“I...you know what...go before the Council sends a search party to look for you.”

Orion sighs and without further distraction finally walks out the door.

Prowl decides that Ratchet might be a good ally when it comes to managing Orion.

He nods politely goodbye before leaving.

______________

“I am different from them. Why?”

Orion puts down the document he's been working on and looks first at Prowl and then, over his head, at the other golems scurrying down the hallway with brooms and rags. He doesn't need to interject exactly who he thinks Prowl is different from.

“Do you want a philosophical answer or a technical one?”

Prowl reaches out and pokes somewhere in Orion's document

“ You missed a comma. Both.”

Orion obediently puts the comma in and folds up the document. His finals are twitching faintly. It could be a sign of concentration as well as distraction. Prowl has already figured out that Orion's body language is a double-bottom trap. For a Mech with this level of expressiveness, Orion is surprisingly difficult to read.

“Sometime quite a while ago during one of my expeditions, I found a unique artifact. A fascinating item, granting wisdom to anyone brave enough to use it.”

“I have a feeling a ‘but’ is coming.”

“You're right. The artifact's unique gift was also its curse. It fed so much information through the Mech's heads that it literally caused the processors of its owners to melt.”

“Oh. Good thing I don't have a processor then.”

Orion laughs quietly

“Indeed. You won't have that problem. And about the other part....Think of all the Mechs you know who are savvy enough about politics and available to work together at the moment.”

Orion gives him a moment before continuing.

“ What is the likelihood that the most trustworthy of them would betray me, for their own gain or out of fear?”

“ Twenty-eight percent,” Prowl informs.

And then hesitates a moment.

Orion is obviously a smart Mech. Not smart enough to single-handedly dominate the political arena, definitely not with his ideals and ideas of what's right. But smart enough to realize it. He knows what he wants and he also knows he can't achieve it alone.

Prowl looks at Orion, who just stands there, eyeing him, without in any way trying to continue the conversation.

Orion is idealistic, and therefore often mistaken for stupid. He isn't. Orion doesn't just know that he can't succeed alone, he knows that everyone else knows it too. He thinks this knowledge will be used against him when the opportunity arises. He's right. By Prowl's count, at least three suspiciously clever Mechs were going to sweet-talk their way into becoming Orion's assistant one way or another before... he appeared.

One of the janitor golems runs past them down the corridor. He doesn't turn around, doesn't even slow down or cast a curious glance. His only goal, his only interest is cleaning. The rest of the world might as well not exist at all.

Prowl thinks he's not that different.

Orion apparently reads the understanding from his face, because he nods contentedly and starts walking further down the hall.

“You didn't take yourself into account when you made the statistics, did you?”

Prowl follows him silently on his heels. Not close enough to be familiar, but not so far away that the conversation stops being private.

“The sampling condition was all mechs. I am not one.”

“That's true” Orion shrugs “You have no loved ones that the Council could use to influence you. You have no desires to be bought by their fulfillment. And while I cannot say with absolute certainty that you will never be capable of going against me...” Prowl starts to open his mouth to object but Orion gestures him to stop, “...no no no no, let me finish. And while I can't be sure you'll never betray me, I at least know for sure that before you met me you had no reason to do so. Do you understand?”

Prowl understands. It makes sense. He still feels the need to argue back, because it is part of his function to do that.

“I would never betray you. I'm not capable of it.”

Orion twitches his finals. Without seeing his face Prowl assumes it is a sign of doubt.

“You are a creature of intellect, Prowl. I am a Mech of ideals. Those two things don't always combine well.”

______

“Foolish and presumptuous.”

Prowl ponders that his function could be much easier if he didn't have to constantly try to balance what is right and what is right in Orion's eyes.

“If you were spotted, the Council would have good reason to assume this isn't the first time you've done something like this.”

“No one noticed,” Orion tries, but Prowl doesn't let him finish that thought

“No one has seen you, because you're lucky. You can't count on it being a permanent occurrence! You undermine your own position by giving the Council grounds for suspicion, you...”

Prowl stops, still pointing his finger accusingly somewhere on Orion's chin. Shockwave, who has witnessed the scene, makes an impressed face and steps closer.

“I swear, you're probably the most capable golem maker I've ever had the pleasure of teaching, Orion. If I hadn't seen that guy on your assembly table, I would never know.”

Prowl takes the statement as a compliment, but doesn't feel the need to show it outwardly. Shockwave, as one of the few who knows about him not being a real Mech, doesn't take offense to it in any way.

“Did I interrupt something dramatic?”

Prowl snorts, because the gesture maintains just the right amount of judgment for his situation.

“Orion is once again harboring a monster instead of killing it or letting it escape.”

This news immediately enlivens Shockwave's posture. Prowl knows he's an even bigger fan of collecting suspicious side projects than Orion. Their friendship, frankly, will one day bury either one or both of them. Prowl just hopes his presence will be enough to sway the percentages when that happens.

Orion doesn't try to deny anything.

“One of my squads encountered a ghost near the northern border. I couldn't... listen Shockwave, he's a good guy. He just needs to be given a chance to show it.”

“Can he talk?” there's almost visible stars in Shockwave's eyes..

Prowl slumps his shoulders helplessly, already knowing what's coming next. These two have done this dance a hundred times before. One of Shockwave's favorite side projects was a school for, as they called them, magically gifted and extraordinary Mechs. In fact, it was the largest den of various monsters that Prowl had ever seen. Every time Orion's hunting squads found a monster that could even remotely resemble a normal Mech, Orion would rush with happy optics to hand it over to Shockwave for care. There, the monsters were taught everything they needed to fit into the society of normal Mechs, but more importantly, they were given documents. Precious pieces of paper that granted their holders rights, freedoms, and protections as Shockwave's apprentices.

Prowl could appreciate the noble endeavor. He could also see clearly that with each addition, this school would become more and more of an inconvenient thorn in the Council's side. Just like Orion, Shockwave was happy to paint a brighter and brighter target on his own back for many cycles.

Orion, insensitive to danger that is not immediate, cheerfully begins to recite

“Can read, write, speak, even makes music.”

Shockwave nods happily

“Introduce us?”

Prowl wonders how far Shockwave can stretch the definition of “magically gifted Mech”. One day Orion will pick up a Kraken on the street and then they'll both probably have to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make it's documents. Ugh.

When Orion had asked him to calculate the probability of betrayal, the most reliable mech he was evaluating at the time was Shockwave.

Twenty-eight percent...

Prowl wonders how many students must be on the opposite side of the scale from Orion for Shockwave to choose in their favor. Speculation is actually useless. If the Council decides to nail Shockwave, they will of course use his entire school at once.

In fact, they probably won't even have to force Shockwave to choose between the school and Orion, because Orion himself will choose a bunch of monsters over himself.

This ridiculously dangerous social construct they call friendship rests entirely on their reputation as honest and honorable mechs. Prowl stares at Shockwave's back and wonders how one mech could have so much charisma, that he gets away with keeping a huge number of Council enemies right under the noses of that same Council.

_________________

Orion gently lifts the now graying shell of what was once a monster from the ground

He doesn't even turn toward Prowl.

"Did you kill him?"

Killing...it's a stretch. Does the act of helping a murderer qualify as murder? Or the lack of action that could have saved the now murdered person? In most cultures and languages, “murder” refers to the act of ending someone else's life, but the context implies a physical act. Did you put a knife in his back? Did you push him off a cliff? Did you cut him with a sword?

By those criteria. Well. Prowl never killed anyone. Nor is he likely to, for he has neither the skill nor the strength to do so.

Did he cause death? Absolutely.

Orion's always had this heroic streak that wouldn't let him just pass by the distressed and disadvantaged. Orion has always had a great spark of kindness and principles as strong as titanium alloy as to what is right and what is wrong.

In Orion's world view, murder is wrong. And murder in conditions where it was possible to solve everything by peace is immoral and unacceptable.

Prowl's worldview tells him that Orion could do much better if he stopped wasting his potential on helping those who will only drag him down in the long run. Orion's life depends entirely on the Council's opinion of him. A Council that has been watching him closely lately. Even if Orion doesn't like it, it's Prowl's job to make sure they like what they see.

Orion turns to him, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Prowl. That mech tried to escape. Past you. And now he's dead. Were you the one who killed him?"

"No," says Prowl, "he ran into one of the patrols."

That statement is missing a good half of the details. Like mentioning that the patrol wouldn't have been there in the first place if Prowl hadn't sent them an anonymous lead.

Orion doesn't need to know that. Orion lives under the idea that every life is precious and, even more inconveniently, equal.

Prowl sometimes feels like yelling at him for it. Because that shiny perfect picture is simply unsustainable outside of Orion's head. The monster, whose graying body now lies on the ground, would be of little use to society. Likely left free, he would have simply continued to attack and kill travelers.

Whereas Orion spends his life making the world a better place. This is an objective fact confirmed by numerous observations.

They are not equals. And they probably never will be. Orion's life is much. Much heavier on the imaginary scales of statistics.

Orion squints at him suspiciously. He's clearly hesitant.

"You could have just let him go instead of killing him."

The trap is honestly too obvious.

"I didn't kill him" Prowl repeats "he ran into a patrol. You can't blame the hunters for doing their job."

Orion places a hand on the dead creature's forehead in a respectful gesture of regret while simultaneously averting his gaze. It's a habit by now.

Look the other way, don't let the council know what you're doing. Sympathize but not in plain sight, help but in secret.

"They had no right to attack him.This is neutral territory. He has the right to run wherever he wants."

Prowl's mouth is twisting with the urge to argue. To say that according to existing information, this monster would have just continued the attacks if he'd stayed free.

He says nothing. Orion is clearly in no mood to argue right now, and he's already questioning Prowl's claim. It's not worth pushing any further.

Prowl only nods, showing that he's heard Orion's point of view.

__________________

He is surprisingly good at lying.

Of course the skill doesn't just come naturally, but he's been known for his straightforwardness. Mechs automatically expect him to either remain silent or tell the unpleasant truth.

All he has to do is give only certain bits and pieces instead of coherent information without changing his usual behavior in any way and the mechs won't be inclined to verify it, filling in the gaps themselves. As a golem, he can't lie, but he can get others to lie to themselves.

He exploits this a lot. Probably more often than Orion would approve, but Prowl doesn't ask him to confirm. Conversations with Orion tend to narrow down his list of options. Because Orion is a real living mech. With a spark. With feelings. And his complex moral code revolves entirely around what he feels to be right.

Prowl has no spark. Prowl has an empty armor that he considers his body and a wisdom artifact that he considers his worth. Both his and Orion's understandings of what is right...overlap...sometimes.

Not always.

______________

"I saw a demon in person for the first time today."

Prowl politely shifts his posture to show he's listening

"A …demon?"

"Demon" Orion repeats "When...when a mech commits especially terrible crimes against the will of Primus, the very magic of their spark rises up against them and turns them into a demon. And I just learned today what a...demon looks like."

Prowl remains silent, waiting for a continuation that never comes. Orion seems gone in his thoughts....

"And what does it look like?" prompts Prowl.

"Creepy. It looks creepy and unnatural and terrifying. Primus' wrath has a very ugly shape..."

"Ah...I see...what did that mech do to be met with such punishment?"

Orion frowns

"I'm not sure. But what we're doing can't go against Primus' will, right? I mean, all beings are his creations! He can't condemn us for trying to make peace between mechs and monsters..."

Prowl is familiar with the concept of punishment for wrongdoing. But something about the very idea...the idea that punishment will find you no matter how well you hide because you can’t run away from your own spark...he has to admit it's disturbing.

"I hope he doesn't."

——————————

Thoughts?👁

Ahsjfjfj

This is the first half of the fic btw because I don’t have enough time to translate the whole thing in one day. I’ll try to post the second half tomorrow🤞

[jackson-imbecille]

I actually get a bit frustrated when I see dc fans complaining about the Danny Phantom and Miraculous Ladybug crossovers on ao3 because it’s so easy to filter those out. You just go to the fandoms list and exclude em. Maybe exclude Danny and that ladybug girl and catboy as characters too.

You can’t do it that easy with the dc crossovers though.

I like Danny Phantom crossovers a lot, and that includes stuff like Teen Titans, Superman, Justice League 2001, and Young Justice. I can no longer access those without spending 10 minutes working around with the filters.

Not a fan of batfam crossovers? Just exclude Batfam. Oh? A good half of them weren’t under the batfam tag and were just under the main dc tag? Just exclude every batkid except Dick Grayson. Oh? A good chunk of them didn’t have character tags? Just search for Teen Titans specifically.

Well, turns out 10 of these are actually Batfam fics and have nothing to do with Teen Titans. And they don’t make that clear in the tags, summary, or the first 8k words of the fic since it’s all on the Danny Phantom side of things until chapter 4 when Damian Wayne comes out of fucking nowhere and calls Danny Danyal for some reason.

Please can we properly tag stuff, I can’t deal with the batfam takeover. I’m being entirely serious when I say that more than half of all Danny Phantom crossovers are batfam and there is no way to easily access other danny phantom and dc crossovers.

[cable-salamdr]

They proceeded to recreate all of motm. Geo got to dress up as the munce queen and felt very smug about it.

(We are pretending it is still Halloween for me and not past midnight since an hour. Thank you.)

[unkn0wng1rly]

ryomen sukuna

cw: bf!kuna x gf!reader, he loves your lipgloss, random ahh story, slice of life, idk!

a/n: i looked at my lipgloss and came up w this story lol

it was driving him crazy.

you were both out at there nearest shopping centre doing some errands, mainly you spoiling yourself on sukuna’s card.

sukuna was barely focused on anything, his eyes kept flickering to your lips more than usual.

why?

it was that damn lipgloss of yours. you had a variety of lip balms, shines and masks that you wore but this specific gloss did something to him.

fuck he even knew the name and shade, kiko in the colour pink magnolia. he’d bought it for you so many times so you’d never run out, so you could keep wearing it around him.

your lips looked so plump and full. the scent was so sweet it had his knees shaking. there’d be times he’d ask you to wear it while sucking him off.

something about the way it shone underneath the light, how it cast a pink tinge on your lips, the way it’d smudge against his cock.

“hellooo, are you even listening?” your voice cuts through, he was too busy watching your lips move to actually pay attention to the words coming from you.

he looked up and saw you hold up what looked like to him a piece of loose fabric.

sukuna’s eyebrows furrowed, snatching the thing from you. “fucks wrong with this shop, hanging out pieces of cloth on display.” he rubbed the material between his fingers.

“it’s a skirt, big brain. and i was just saying it would look really cute with my pink babydoll top, right?” you say, smiling up at him as he looks at you in disbelief.

you saw the confusion settle on his face as he tossed the fabric around in his hands, holding it out like some uncle and looking at the few inches of length.

“this little thing is a skirt? and what you plan on wearing this outside in public?” you snatch the skirt back from him, tutting as you toss it in the basket. “you don’t understand the vision, whatever.”

sukuna let out a low chuckle, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched you walk along the isle of clothes

“you clearly have no vision if you think that tiny dish towel is gonna cover your ass.” you slap him on the chest, mumbling something under your breath in an incredulous tone.

you reach into your jean pocket, taking out the lipgloss that sukuna had been hypnotised by not seconds ago.

his eyes are fixated on you as you take the wand out and press the applicator against your lips, rubbing it across your mouth before closing it up and smacking your lips together.

“shit i put too much, c’mere ‘kuna.” you call him over with a finger, perfectly curated nail urging him towards you.

slowly, he walks over and you grab him by the collar of his shirt, bringing him down to your level as you kiss him, quick and sweet before pulling away as soon as it started.

the excess lipgloss transferred onto his own mouth, and for a moment he short circuits before his tongue darts out to lick it, the taste making pants begin to grow uncomfortable.

he followed you with his eyes while you look in your phone camera. “perfect, thanks babe. oh, i need your card.”

his glances down at your hand which was now held out expectantly. “no damn manners.” but his hand is already moving to his wallet, pulling out the card and placing it in your hand.

sure he complained, but he’d rather die than let you pay for yourself. on top of that, it filled a weird sense of pride within him knowing you were using his card.

“it’s not my fault you spoil me so much. you reap what you sow.”

[paracosmicka]

That’s a new one

[bballesbolol]

Power Play | Chapter 1

PWHL Paige x WNBA Azzi AU

Synopsis can be found here

Warnings: Language, Alcohol

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: first of all I know the graphic is shit, I’ll make a new one when it’s not 1 in the morning (and did 😋). Second of all, I know its an hour nd a half later than I said it would be, I get extra time on tests for a reason 😝 ANYWAY here’s the hockey fic that like 100 of you guys followed me for!! I hope it’s up to your standards so far! Lmk what you think so far (Like I want a ridiculous amount of anons, I love y’all in my inbox + you’re a lot of my motivation to write in general)

_____________________________________

| WNBA Draft | 3:21 p.m. | Azzi’s POV |

She wasn’t nervous.

Not leading up to the draft at least. She put on her best face in the media. Told anyone who asked that nobody really knew who was going number one. Said she was going to be happy with any outcome, anywhere she went.

She lied, of course.

Because everybody knew the number one pick might as well have “reserved for Azzi Fudd” written all over it.

Maybe she wouldn’t have been so sure a year ago—before her senior year. But the second she hit the court, she could feel it. It was her biggest season yet. Career high nights turned into a career high year. UConn went undefeated in the regular season. Swept the big east. A national championship had always been a question before—now, it was a statement.

She’d been projected to go number one in every mock draft since she set foot on the court for her first game.

And the runners up weren’t even close.

She led the NCAA in regular season points. March madness points too. Big east MVP, Final Four MOP, National Champion—

She was confident to say the least.

She’d be going to Minnesota. McBride left in free agency at the end of their last season, so, in a desperate move that you’d probably only see late night on the Vegas strip, they went all in on getting a lottery pick for the 2025 draft. And somehow, it paid off.

All they needed was a shooting guard—ergo, Azzi Fudd to Minnesota.

But now it was actually happening. She was here, in New York, sitting in a stylists chair halfway through a silk press that she wasn’t even sure would last if she kept sweating so much.

This was real. She was going to be drafted. She had three more hours until she was employed. Until the media was on her like white on rice. Until she wasn’t just a college kid anymore.

She’d have to find an apartment—sign a lease—live, in general—all by herself.

At least she had Aubrey. She was drafted to Minnesota late in the third round last year—couldn’t play because of her knee—but she was there. She had a husky waiting for her. She was clinging onto that fact to distract her from whatever adulting spiral she’d sent herself on.

She shouldn’t worry—had no reason to, actually. This was the best night of her life. She was gonna go up on stage, get drafted number one, do the whole media thing, then get hammered and laugh at all her thirsty DM’s with Caroline. Perfect.

She just needed to focus on now. Make sure she actually made it to the after party. Let herself be taken care of while she still could.

She was confident. She was strong. She was capable of being an adult.

And she was going to look good. That was something she could be sure of.

She’d sent her stylist, Brittany, about a thousand inspo pictures, and one very carefully curated pinterest board that she’d stayed up far too late pulling together.

Azzi’s hair was nearly finished when Brittany turned the corner with a way-too-big iced coffee and a rack of dresses that looked like, collectively, they could’ve covered her whole tuition at UConn if her scholarship fell through.

She couldn’t help but gawk, “Brit. I am gonna owe you my life for this one.”

Brittany waved her off and started flipping through the dresses, brows furrowed,

“Babe, it would be a crime if you got up there and didn't look like a goddess. I’m just doing my service to the universe”

She turned back to her and handed her the coffee in her hand, which Azzi accepted with a grateful gulp.

“I don’t deserve you”

Brittany scoffed, “Girl, tonight you deserve everything. That includes looking hot as hell up on that stage tonight—I know you wanted black, so I brought plenty of options.”

Everything she tried on was nice—but one was absolutely breathtaking.

Gauzey and black, with a halter neck that seemed innocent enough from the front. Almost too conservitive—until she turned around. Her back was almost entirely bare, with swaths of fabric collecting at the small of her waist in a way that looked statuesque—and hung low enough to feel dangerous.

The skirt draped across her with intention. Each fold looked like it had been pinned to her frame, clinging in all the right places. A slit cut through it, hitting just high enough on her thigh to be slightly morally questionable.

Her necklace pulled it all together, a simple, dainty gold choker, with a chain that hung down her bare back, dotted with pearls like morning dew on a spiderweb.

Expensive. Chic. Meant to be seen.

It was jaw dropping. Literally. Her jaw was on the floor just looking at herself.

“You better not make that face on the carpet.” Brittany mused from her post beside the full length mirror Azzi was lost in.

She couldn't even attempt to fix her face, “I’m just—you really did your big one with this”

She really did. It was perfect. She looked mature, like a true professional. The type of woman you’d catch slipping out of their penthouse suite on their way to some charity gala.

Now she just needed to pull herself together.

Thank god her team was already on it. She just had to stay still long enough for them to work their magic.

There were too many hands to count. Moisturizer, foundation, concealer, eyelashes, eyeliner, lipstick—they were going all out.

The cherry on top was her hair. Pressed straight and pinned back into an elegant updo so her back was the star of the show, loose curls left out in the front to frame her face.

This was who she was. Clean. Classy. Impossible to miss.

She was the kind of girl who didn’t worry about anything. The kind whose confidence was bolder than her style. Someone who attracted eyes effortlessly.

She took a deep breath. This was her dream—what she had fought through four years of borderline boot-camp level training at UConn for. What young Azzi had stayed up countless late dreaming about.

She took a moment to stare at herself, one last time. Not in a vain way, more in an I-can’t-belive-this-is-real way. She didn't even notice when Brittany took the photo.

“Azzi. You have to post this.”

She turned around to find Brittany holding her phone with a picture of Azzi looking in the mirror, back on display, hair, face, and makeup clear in the mirror. It was candid, a little blurry and intimate—but she still looked stunning.

She cocked her head, “It’s good, but I feel like it's too early to thirst trap on main” she mumbled with uncertainty.

Brittany looked absolutely gagged, “babe—It’s draft night. Thirst trapping is supposed to be your religion for the next 24 hours.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and took the phone from her. Captioned the photo Draft Night BTS 🤭and posted it on her story—then immediately put her phone on do not disturb.

Brittany looked her up and down and smiled, “you can thank me later”

***

The nerves she’d felt were quick lived and long forgotten—replaced by a steady buzz of excitement sometime between seeing herself in that dress and finally making her way to the van with the other rookies.

“Damn girl! You look good” Saniya was waiting for her in the lobby with the rest of the rookies.

Azzi smiled, warm and sure, “You look incredible”

Georgia was next to speak, looking her up and down, “you look dangerous”

Azzi rolled her eyes and shook her head, a shy smile on her face, “everyone here looks sexy as hell, can we move on?”

That won her a laugh that trickled through the crowd of rookies.

They settled down before they filed into the van. It felt like the calm before the storm. Nervous chatter. Shaky breaths. Running over the draft order one last time—trying not to think about it too hard.

Then the storm hit. The orange carpet was a blur—all flashing lights, cameras everywhere, microphones shoved in her face before she could even process the faces behind them.

She’d been to the draft before—last year, to support Nika, Aubrey, and Aaliyah—but being on this end of it was different. Overwhelming in the best way. Her dreams coming true in front of her face, even if it came with an hour of repeating the same generic “so blessed and forever grateful" speech her publicist had drafted for her the night before.

She felt like Beyoncé. Or Princess Diana. She could barely see through camera flashes when she finally stopped on the orange carpet for pictures.

But she didn’t let that get to her. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even squint. She just tilted her chin and smiled like her future wasn’t a half an hour ahead of her.

| Paige’s POV |

Worlds were a sweep. The final was close—went all the way to overtime. But USA clutching up was inevitable. Next thing she knew, she knew the team was in the locker room popping bottles. Everything else after that was a blur.

She made it back to her hotel room the night before with her medal on, still sticky from champagne, and an american flag—origin unknown—wrapped around her like she was some kind of national superhero who had just crushed Canada Superman-style. Woke up at noon with a headache that felt vindictive and the strength of the indomitable American spirit to carry her through the hangover.

Now they were out for night two. A little calmer. A little less tequila. More respect for the version of herself who had to be back on a flight tomorrow afternoon. Still, the place was rowdy. Some hole in the wall place they’d stumbled upon about 10 minutes from their hotel with craft beer on tap and plenty of seats at the bar.

It was late. 12:30 the last time she checked. She wasn’t gone—not even close—but the night felt fuzzy around the edges. Could be a buzz, could just be a lack of sleep. She was too caught up in the noise to care.

Somewhere above the bar replays of worlds were flashing across screens—an attempt to pander to the crowd, she assumed. Nobody had watched that closely—maybe piped up occasionally at a particularly good goal, but it was far from a film-session. More of an excuse to cheer and buy another round at every highlight-level play.

The college kids were gathered around tables at the outskirts of the bar, some nursing vodka-cranberry’s, some giving up and just taking a glass of the cheapest beer on tap.

Paige was surrounded by her Frost teammates at the bar. Taylor and Grace were leaned into each other laughing, probably off in whatever world the two lived in whenever they were together. She’d jokingly told Coyne she was too old to handle the hangover, she laughed a little too hard at that—placed bets on who out of the college kids would leave in the worst shape with Lee—and quickly got tired of the conversation.

She was withdrawn. Sore. Probably ready to go home in about five minutes if the night was just gonna be more of this. She took a sip from her beer and let it go warm on her tongue before she swallowed.

She must’ve looked bored when she picked up her head to scan the room, because KK and Laila were quick to make their way over to her when she met their gaze from across the room.

They pushed through the crowd with a bounce that looked too energetic to be incidental.

“You think you could get one of the guys at the bar to change the channel?” Laila asked as she reached the bar.

Paige cocked her head. There was nothing else worth watching on—nothing that they would care about, at least.

“what’s on? NHL?”

KK and Laila exchanged glances and smirked, “No, better”

Paige sighed and leaned her elbows onto the bar.

“What.”

”WNBA Draft. Orange carpet’s starting soon—“

Paige cut them off, “Why would I care about basket—actually, why would you care about basketball?”

“We know some of the girls—remember that one live Laila and I did?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, with UConn? You talked to them, like, once. And?”

“And Minnesota has the first pick.” Laila cocked her head at Paige.

Caroline nodded and added, “You need to watch, it really is your duty as such an incredible pillar of Minnesota—“

Paige interrupted, ”I don’t care. When have I ever willingly watched basketball? I think I'd rather watch a peewee’s scrimmage at the YMCA.”

KK was quiet for a moment. Thinking, apparently.

“You get to look at a bunch of gorgeous athletes dressed to the nines—honestly they barely even talk about basketball—”

”you guys talking about basketball?” Taylor, who last time she checked was lost in conversation, was now craning her neck to look at the three of them around Grace.

Wrong person, wrong time. Taylor was probably the only other person in this bar who would care in the slightest about basketball. Grew up playing, family kept her watching it even after she chose hockey. She’d even tried to drag the team to a Lynx game—like, a non-obligatory appearence—they wouldn’t even be shown off at center court.

She sighed and turned to look at her, already accepting the inevitable, “Yeah, these two want me to ask if they’ll turn on the draft.”

“I forgot that was tonight—you should ask” Taylor made her way over, and Grace turned to face them.

KK and Laila turned back to her, smug grins across both of their faces. Paige groaned.

“Zum, you gotta have my back here,”

Grace looked at Taylor, and then back to her, “I’m with Taylor on this one”

Paige rolled her eyes, and mumbled something like are you ever not under her breath.

“It’s four-to-one, sorry P” KK patted her shoulder with mock-sympathy.

Paige took another sip of her drink, swallowing like it pained her. She blinked, slow, like she was searching for strength behind her eyelids.

She let out one last defeated sigh and asked, “What channel.”

KK and Laila squealed and Taylor grinned down at her. Her face remained flat.

The draft was on ESPN, apparently. Beat out any of the hockey games she’d much rather watch over, as far as she was concerned, the “watching paint dry” show.

She leaned over the bar and managed to ask—via a scribbled-on cocktail napkin—for him to change the channel.

She returned to her beer as soon as the TV channel flipped. Turned all of her focus on getting through enough of them for the draft to feel less like a chore and more like entertainment.

She turned and leaned back in her seat. If she was going to be forced to turn it on, she might as well watch. Out of spite, obviously. She’d look as pissed as possible the entire time.

The coverage cut from some Pat McAfee-esque pre-draft prediction to an obnoxiously bright orange carpet. Empty, apart from two interviewers giving a run down on prospects.

She checked out of whatever they were saying. Drummed her fingers against the sticky hardwood of the bar and made sure she looked thoroughly unamused.

She was about to turn and get up when someone walked into the view of the camera.

She was tall—obviously—everyone in that league tended to be. Tan skin. Dark Hair. Toned muscle peeked out underneath glowing skin.

And her dress should’ve been a crime. It looked like it was sewn straight onto her, clinging in every place that counted. Backless, high slit, enough to make the mind wander.

But her face—the confidence in her barely-there smile—told her she wasn’t Paige’s kind of girl. She didn't look easy. She looked like a challenge.

“You look intrigued"

She tore her eyes away from the screen and found Grace staring back at her, a knowing smirk on her face.

KK and Laila moved to face her too. They clocked it the second they turned around.

KK mumbled, “I told you we should’ve led with the baddies line” and Laila elbowed her hard in the ribs.

God, she should not have said yes to this.

Paige rolled her eyes, “One: heard that. Two: I didn’t even say anything”

Laila snorted, “So you thought it”

Paige placed down her beer with a little too much force to look natural.

“No—“

“Oh she was thinking alright” Grace giggled, wobbling slightly against the bar.

Paige shrugged, bracing herself against the bar, ”She’s hot—what else was I supposed to think?”

Taylor was next in on the dog pile, “I heard she’s pretty good, didn't she just get a chip?”

“Yeah, Azzi Fudd. She like, owned march—“

Azzi Fudd. She’d heard the name before—unwilling, of course—but she’d never put a face to it. But now that she had? Well she had looks that might’ve made her consider hitting the transfer portal if she was still in college.

Her teammates were still deep in conversation around her. Slowly, she slipped her phone out from her pocket. Made sure the coast was clear.

She opened instagram and typed Azzi Fudd into the search bar. Her account popped up before she could make it to the i.

She tried to click on her page, fumbled, and ended up on her story instead. A fuzzy photo of Azzi, looking at herself in the mirror, pretty obviously showing off the backless aspect of her dress. She had to have known what she was doing posting that. She liked the story, because, well, she liked it. The girl might as well know—

“Oh my god. KK. She’s on her Instagram—”

Paige whipped her head up and clicked off her phone.

“Paige, don’t try to hide it“

She pulled her phone out of her lap and dropped it face up on the bar.

“I’m not hiding it. The girl looks good—“

KK cut her off, bracing herself against the bar as she leaned in for emphasis, “The girl is projected to go number one—like, Minnesota number one.”

Paige paused for a moment.

“Deadass?”

KK nodded, “deadass”

Paige leaned back in her chair and stared up at the TV again. She wasn’t up there anymore, replaced by a red-haired girl in a suit that looked like it’d been run through a paper shredder.

She grabbed her beer and took a slow slip, “Shit.” She paused again, waiting for anyone else to speak up. No one did. She smirked, slow and deliberate.

“So, like, you think I got a chance?”

| Azzi’s POV |

She took her first breath in what felt like forever when she finally sat down at her draft table. It felt different, being at a table and not in the crowd. But it didn't feel wrong—quite the opposite, actually.

She knew she belonged here. Front page. Headline. Spotlight. She’d put in too much work in her career for it to feel unreal. No, this was concrete, and it was a culmination of all of her effort thus far in her career.

The buzz in the room died down as Cathy made her way to the podium, a small, white envelope in hand.

It was quiet enough for the flip of her opening it to be audible.

She took one last deep breath. Held it.

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA draft, the Minnesota Lynx select…Azzi Fudd”

She closed her eyes. Smiled, big and unbridled. Gave the feeling a moment to sink in. Then she stood, calm, collected, like her entire career hadn’t just led to this moment, and hugged the people around her table.

She made her way to the stage. Climbed the steps. Shook Cathy’s hand. Held up the jersey for pictures. Let the crowd cheer. The eyes linger.

She was swept off stage just as fast as she made her way up to it. Before she knew it, she was leaning in to hear whatever nonsense questions Holly Rowe decided the world needed to know.

“So Azzi, how does it feel to go number one?”

“Incredibly surreal, I’m so grateful that Minnesota was willing to take a chance on me.”

”What are you most looking forward to once you touch down?”

“I’m just ready to get to work as soon as I can. I can’t wait to see where I fit into the Lynx system”

“I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine, especially with their star player Napheesa Collier—how excited are you to play with another former husky?”

“I’m definitely looking forward to it. Phee is an incredible leader and player, I've been in contact with her since my freshman year, so I’m definitely lucky to have her as a role model on this team”

“One more question, women’s hockey has become especially big in the sports culture of Minnesota since the establishment of the PWHL. Plenty of other young superstars fresh out of college like yourself, Zummwinkle, Heise, Bueckers—Are you planning on popping out to any Frost games?

Azzi paused for a moment.

Hockey. Frost. Bueckers.

What did she know?

Why was that even a question?

She cleared her throat. Put her game face back on.

“I uh—Hockey has never really been my thing, obviously, but I’m sure a game would be fun”

Holly turned to face the camera, “Well, looks like the Frost have to get on that. Thank you so much Azzi and congratulations!"

She didn't have any more time to think. All she managed to do mumble one more thank you into the microphone before she was ushered away from the interview and back towards the queue of post-draft media that awaited her

| Paige’s POV |

“You’re disgusting”

Laila stood, arms crossed, shaking her head. The statement came out in a breathy laugh—one that usually accompanied a “you have to be kidding me”

“You know me, this shouldn’t be a shock—“

Laila spoke again. Dry. Sarcastic.

“Oh no I’m not surprised, just very, very disappointed.”

KK chimed in next, “I think she could at least try”

Laila whipped around to look at her, “Try what? To hook up with her once and then move on to the next—”

“Hey!” She protested, brows furrowed.

“What? I love you P, but unfortunately that means I know you too”

“Who said anything about getting with her? I just want to say hi, give her a taste of some Minnesota nice.”

KK shrugged, ”It wouldn’t hurt to say hello”

“Thank you KK. I might as well shoot my shot—“

“Just don't be shocked if it ends up in the stands” Laila scoffed, eyebrows raised.

KK stuck an elbow into Laila's ribs, sharp, “I think you should at least welcome her to the city. Maybe repost something and see if she responds. It’s a good PR look too.”

Taylor perked up from her spot down the bar, “Oh yeah, we could try and get the rookies to come to one of our games. It’d do numbers for both leagues”

Laila sighed, “Okay, guess we’re encouraging her. Just—try not to be horny on main”

“You think very highly of me don’t you” She mumbled, picking up her phone.

“I think very accurately of you. I couldn't even tell you if your dorm room’s door handle was gold or silver considering a sock found permanent residence on it.”

Paige smirked, “And I’m not ashamed of it”

She reloaded her instagram feed. Nothing.

Expected, she wasn't even sure if she followed the Lynx, let alone anyone else who would be posting about the Draft.

She looked up the Lynx’s page and clicked on their newest post—an image of Azzi holding up a Minnesota jersey on stage at the draft, with a caption welcoming her to the city.

She clicked ‘add to story’. Typed out Welcome to Minnie. Considered adding more, then considered the fact that this was public.

Can’t go wrong with Welcome to Minnie.

She tagged Azzi, looked over it one more time, then hit post.

| Azzi POV |

Media was never ending. She was pulled from anchor to anchor, and asked the same five questions about a million times. The price of greatness or whatever Geno said.

When she finally made it to the after party she was about an hour late, and unfortunately, dead sober.

At least she looked cute doing it. Brittany had changed her into something more informal. A short black dress, with just enough fabric for her to feel safe moving around without worrying about flashing about a thousand people.

The room smelled like a mix of designer perfume and frat basement. Bass was bumping through speakers she couldn't find, but definitely felt. Hot. Sticky. Flashing lights. Bodies bumping everywhere.

Everything she needed after a night like tonight.

She surveyed the room for her teammates. Spotted them near the back of the room, hovering near the open bar.

She didn’t make it more than two steps before some mystery shooter found its way into her hand and down her throat. She winced at the burn as it trickled down her spine.

Only bumped into about a hundred floppy drunk people on the way over to the team.

“AZZI FUDDDD”

KK ran up to her and threw her arms around her shoulders. Her breath was warm against her face, laced with tequila and something vaugley fruity.

KK pulled back, arms still resting on her shoulders, “NUMBER ONE IN THE NATION BABY”

Ice grabbed her shoulders from behind and shook her, yelling, “I KNOW THATS RIGHT” pretty much directly in her ear.

She winced and tried to fight her way out of her grasp, laughing.

Caroline was next, shot glass in one hand, lime wedge in the other. She was the one person she needed to see right now.

”you need to catch up girl” She handed Azzi the glass, which she tipped back as soon as it touched her fingertips.

She waved off Caroline’s attempt to shove the lime wedge into her mouth, grabbing her wrist and pulling her in.

“Did you see my interview?” She asked, voice low.

“Yes girl, you did amazing”

Azzi shook her head, face screwing up as the alcohol burn hit, “yeah, but why did they need to ask me about hockey?”

“Because it's Minnesota, they just won the cup-thingy—you should know—”

”Okay but she said the name. Like, ‘oh, young stars like Paige Bueckers’ like I’m gonna to get to know her the second I touch tarmac in Minnesota.”

“Yeah, she’s the young star on that team, you’re the new young star on the Lynx—“

”Yeah, I know—it makes sense why she asked. The question just caught me way off guard.”

“I think she was trying to set you two up. She knew it’d be tea. I thought you’d like it—“

”I like looking at her. Thinking about the idea of her. But like, she’s supposed to stay contained in a sexy edit somewhere deep deep in my favorites—not be a very real person in the state that I’m moving to in less than 24 hours.”

”You’ll be fine, she probably doesn’t even know who you are”

She nodded. Paused for a moment to breathe.

She’d been a little infatuated with Paige since she discovered her during her sophomore year at UConn. It was just one edit. Something stupid, like her yelling at a ref or looking stupid pissed pulling off her helmet on the bench, breathless and sweaty and unbelievably hot. It was all downhill from there

She knew nothing about hockey, but she had eyes. And she couldn't help if they were drawn to a certain 6-foot blonde with serious on-ice anger issues.

And off-ice Paige wasn't any better. She’d be hard pressed to find more than one picture of Paige with the same girl on any given night. She played the field. Sampled everywhere she went.

Apparently she thought red flags were a major turn on.

Caroline had seen the worst of the obsession. Restrained herself from blocking Azzi after receiving about a hundred thirsty edits in under a week. Helped feed her delusion that she could ever pull her. Had to hear her late night rants about what she would do for ‘just one chance’.

She thought she was over it. Or at least old enough to be cool about it.

Apparently not.

But Caroline was probably right. She didn’t know who she was. Probably hadn’t even heard the name Azzi Fudd. Definitely wouldn’t care if she heard it tonight—if she heard it tonight.

She was at the world championship anyway. At least that's what paigebueckersupdates had said this morning. Across the world, celebrating, probably asleep by now. Unaware of the draft. Unaware of her.

“Yeah, you’re right” she let out a deep sigh, “She doesn’t know me, or how unbelievably horny 20 year old me was for her, or how I probably still wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye—-“

Caroline smiled and nodded, eyes wide and definitely a little concerned. She waved over someone carrying a tray of mystery drinks, pulled one off and handed it to her.

“You’re too sober for this. Think about her once you’re drunk enough not to spiral”

Azzi took a sip. The taste hit her sharp on the tip of her tongue. Lime, tequila, regret—

Something she’d probably taste in about 5 hours leaning over a hotel toilet.

Perfect.

She just needed to be tipsy enough to focus on celebrating. She just got drafted. She was the number one pick. She had the green light to do whatever she wanted in the name of success.

She let herself melt into the noise of the night. Didn’t care what she was drinking as long as it burned going down. Danced like no one was watching. Was probably more than a little tipsy when the team finally decided it was time to leave.

Let herself sway as Caroline led her to an uber.

***

They ended up in the same bed once they got to the hotel. Not like that—just sitting together—the way drunk girls tended to huddle when the night got too loud.

Azzi slumped back into the pillows, hands above her head, still smiling like an idiot—Caroline draped across the foot of the bed, head resting on her elbow, eyes on her phone.

Comfortable silence. Quiet Bliss.

And then Caroline's head shot up. She stared at her phone like she’d just gotten a notification informing her it was blowing up in 5 seconds. She blinked. Blinked again. And then—

“Azzi. Tell me you’re calm.”

Her heart dropped straight to her stomach.

“What happened”

Caroline sat up, turning to face her.

“Um, have you checked your phone recently?”

Her mind swirled with everything she could remember doing that night. She couldn't think of a single thing she’d done that would get her in trouble—that was the problem. Her mouth went dry.

“Um…no”

Caroline took a breath and turned to her.

“Okay, don’t freak out, but I think we might have summoned Paige Bueckers, like, beetlejuice style—“

“WHAT”

Azzi lunged at the phone in her hands like a rabid animal, prying it loose and fumbling with it. The phone fell face up on the bed right in front of her.

There it was. Clear as day.

An instagram story. The picture that the Lynx had posted on their page—her holding up the jersey on stage at the draft—except, it wasn't on their page. It was on Paige Buecker’s story. Posted right after her photo with team USA after winning the goddamn ice hockey world championship. Captioned ‘Welcome to Minnie’, casually, like they’d known eachother for fucking years.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart felt like it was trying to fight its way out of her chest.

Caroline piped up again, “She knows who you are”

“Shut up—”

”Azzi you're the only thing she posted tonight. This was intentional—“

“SHUT UP” she squealed, legs kicking out like a todler having a mean temper tantrum.

“You need to find your phone. Like, right now.”

She took a shallow breath.

”I can’t. God caro I’m gonna be stupid and horny and completely embarrass myself—”

“Maybe she DM’ed you and you won't know until the morning.”

Azzi’s hands flew to her face, dragging down it like she could make herself dissapear if she tried hard enough.

”Maybe we’re both drunk and I shouldn’t be trusted near any technology until I’m sober enough to have any self respect”

Caroline grabbed her wrists, peeling her hands free from her face.

“Fuck self respect, this can’t wait”

Azzi groaned. Patted her pockets. No phone. She grabbed her purse off of the nightstand. Dug through it like a raccoon would a trashcan. Finally found her phone at the bottom under a crumpled cocktail napkin and a few soggy dollar bills.

She took a shaky breath as she typed in her password wrong once.

Blinked. Tried again.

It finally unlocked. She had hundreds of instagram notifications. Mostly likes on her story, maybe some thirsty DM’s—but three stood out to her.

paigebueckers liked your story 5h

paigebueckers followed you 4h

paigebueckers mentioned you in their story 4h

”Holy shit. Caro I’m actually gonna throw up—”

Caroline turned to her, a horrified look on her face.

“I hope your joke—“

She cut her off, “She liked my story”

Caroline went quiet. Her jaw dropped.

“THE THIRSTY ONE?” She yelped, leaning in to peek at her phone.

”THE THIRSTY ONE!” Azzi screeched. She turned her phone around and shook it in Caroline's face, who grabbed her wrist to steady it, squinting at the screen. Slowly, she looked back up to Azzi.

“Azzi. Jazlyn. Fudd. You’re a fucking menace.”

Her face was red hot with embarrassment.

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW SHE’D SEE IT?” She yelped

“YOU KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO MINNESOTA??” Caroline screeched back.

“I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW SHE PLAYED IN MINNESOTA—I JUST KNEW SHE WAS ON THE PURPLE TEAM”

Caroline shushed her. Pinched the air and dragged her hands down to her lap like a fucking yoga instructor.

”Okay, calm down. You’re Azzi Fudd. We don't chase, we attract. You aren’t posting anything tonight.”

Azzi stared at her, jaw slack, eyes wide.

”I thought you said fuck self respect?”

Caroline took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Placed a soft hand on her kneecap. Spoke to her like she was trying to gentle-parent.

“That was when I thought we were actually being delusional. The girl liked your thirst trap—before you were drafted—we are far past where I thought we were.”

She groaned and let herself flop back with a dull thud. Her head spun as it hit the pillows beneath her.

Paige Fucking Bueckers.

Sophomore Azzi would’ve dropped dead on the spot.

Professional Azzi was considering it.

Caroline rolled over and looked back at her phone, “I don't even want to know what twitter has to say about this.”

Azzi groaned, hands flying back to her face, rubbing her eyes.

”I’m not checking until I can think in a straight line”

Caroline shifted at the foot of the bed, ”probably for the best. I feel like I need to sleep to comprehend this and I don’t even like the girl—”

She felt her weight leave, heard her stand and walk to the lamp at the bedside, turning it off with a soft click.

She only had one thought in her mind before she drifted off to sleep:

Thank god for Brittany.

[stimboardboy]

littlest pet shop electronic diary