#the electricity shuts down and SHE shuts down..

[sailor-cerise]

[IDs: screenshots of Tumblr posts and tags

forperusala-person-on-the-internet The award-winning building at my uni was so bleak and depressing inside due to lack of windows that everyone knew Boyer as the depression building

#the stunning architectural masterpiece i work in has roof leaks every time in rains/has snow melt and the sewers regular flood #not generally good things but especially bad for a library lol

I think I've told this story before, but back when I was a teenager applying to college, I took one of those standard admissions office tours at MIT. When the person giving the tour got to the Frank Gehry Stata Center, she went on for a while about how much it sucks: that it has had to be repaired several times for leaking and other issues, how they kept having to sue Gehry to get him to fix the thing, how it has tons of wasted space, how the students all hate it, etc. There was definitely a sense that this rant was part of the standard tour script, or at least that it was being said with the tacit approval of the university.

thelongestrose reblogging melody-magic and nobody designs for autistic people thinking of the one building on my campus that's super loud in the lobbies and concrete slab grey in the classrooms, neither of which i like, with a terrible electrical hum. and forget about wheelchair accessibility, i don't think i've been in one single building or classroom that was competently designed for wheelchairs, old or new #and one classroom in particular that gives me vertigo half the time #ableism #architecture #ableist design #god i do not envy whoever has to do work in the fancy new tech billionaire al building when it finishes

the university where i work has this big innovative 'green' building that was the jewel in the crown of our environmental studies program and a big draw to new students. it has gardens embedded into windowed panels in the walls, the roof collects rainwater to be used in the toilets, etc the building got legionnaire's disease from all the accumulated moisture in the air ducts & other systems and had to be shut down

#anyway the 2mil specialized komodo dragon building at the zoo I worked at started rusting immediately #also putting a step to the outside exhibit...that we then had to convince 2 350+ lb tortoises to go up at the end of the day #when they do not want to come inside because they like grass and sun #it's a wonder only my manager destroyed her back tbh

I vividly remember a story told to me by an old roommate of mine who had spent time living in the Graduate Student Residence at the U of T. It was like a cold war nuclear bunker. One of his roommates at the time was an architecture student who was waxing poetic about the design and all the awards it had won. But when someone made the comment that it was miserable to live in, they replied: "Well, it wasn't made for people."

/End IDs.]

One field that badly needs to be purged of "Great Man-ism" is architecture.

[dykeriver]

⠀ fantastic. ⟨ ellie w. ⟩

❝ and i’m thinking of you while i’m up here higher than god. ❞

or ;; you and your girlfriend, ellie, decide to go a little out of her comfort zone.

wc: 3k

⠀cw + oneshot under the cut . . . !

⠀cw: sub!ellie, use of sextoys, dirty talk, exhibitionism (play in public), sub!ellie is bratty (per usual)

the car thrums to life around you, and you connect your phone. you scroll through your music for a moment before deciding to play one of your favorites, a song you’ve been addicted to for the past six months.

your girlfriend, ellie, sits in the passenger seat. per usual, fucking passenger princess, but that’s a story for another day. she fidgets a bit, always one to be moving in some sort of way. it’s a little different now, though, because you and ellie are doing some… exploring tonight.

she’d come to you with the idea a week ago, shuffling over to you nervously, eyes averted. you were immediately intrigued, immediately hooked on the idea. far out of ellie’s usual comfort zone, she had asked you to control a vibrator from your phone while you two eat at a local diner. you’re a little less than vanilla, admittedly, so the idea of controlling her pleasure… in public of all places, made electricity rush throughout your body.

to be trusted so fully, so wholly and utterly, made emotions bloom in your chest. that, however, is again, a story for another day.

“i’ll start easy on you,” you tell her, this sort of… evil glee already showing on your face.

she gives you an overexasperated — and very pink — glare, and you laugh at her. she’s so handsome, such a pretty little thing, and oh so easy to turn red. her hair sits against her neck, perpetually messy, and the eggshell colored shirt she wears sits loosely against her willowy figure. “mhm, sure you will,” ellie grumbles.

and just for that, you open a certain app on you phone and turn the vibrator to medium.

ellie yelps, slamming the door on her side and clenching her bony hands. “j-jesus you- you couldn’t even wait for me-e to close my door? fucking ruthless…”

you turn the vibrator back off and raise your eyebrows at her. “do you want to keep talking to me like that? when i have this in my hands? i’ll leave this thing on the whole car ride, ellie. don’t fucking test me.”

she sighs, tipping her head back and rolling her pale green eyes. “i get it,” she mutters.

just because you’re a little mean, you turn it up one more time. ellie’s face contorts, first in surprise and then in pleasure. her pink lips form a little ‘o’, and her spindly hands push against the console and the ridges of the passenger door. she lifts her hips a bit, thighs squeezing together.

“fuck,” she whispers, eyes jammed shut. “you h-hate me.”

“i hate you so much, yet here i sit, making you feel so good…” you nearly sing, reaching out to stroke your thumb across her cheek before pulling away to turn your device off and start the car.

ellie sinks back down into her seat after the toy calms, freckled face painted with a crimson blush. you’re excited to get her into the diner. maybe if you two get lucky you’ll find a booth in the back — somewhere slightly isolated where you can torture her.

you both spend the short ride to the diner in relative quiet, just humming along to the music, one of your hands on the wheel and the other on ellie’s thigh. not five minutes later you’re pulling into the small parking lot and walking in to take a seat at the perfect booth.

soft eighties rock plays from the red jukebox in the front. ellie’s got her back to the restaurant and yours to the wall, eyes facing the walkway. she’s shifting impatiently, eyes flicking around even though from her angle. she can’t lay eyes on anybody except you, though, and you’re the only one who can see ellie until the server comes.

ellie looks up at you, bottom lip pulled into a sulky pout.

“what?” you tease. “what’s the problem, baby?”

“when are you gonna… y’know…” she whispers, making eye contact with the wall beside her.

“when am i going to what, ellie?” you ask. you almost purr in satisfaction when she lets out a frustrated little grunt. she furrows her brows at you in annoyance. you cave and giggle, far too pleased with yourself. “go ‘head an’ tell me anytime, baby.”

“the toy, you fuckin’ asshole!” ellie whisper-yells, vexation clear in her tone. you grab her hand across the table in mock sympathy, pouting your own lip.

“oh!” you sing, pulling out the toy. you can see a waitress about to meander her way over out of the corner of your eye. “don’t worry, honey. we can play now.” you pull out your phone from out of your bag, resting it on your lap, just underneath the table. up, up, up, to the middle setting, the moment the waitress arrives.

she greets the two of them, deep red lipstick pretty and precise. “what drinks can i get you started with?”

you tell her you’ll have an iced water, and then you both turn your expectant gazes towards ellie. she’s pink again, eyes still clenched shut, hunched over the menu that’s been placed in front of her.

“…miss? what can i get you to drink?” the server tries again, a concerned and definitely confused expression on her face. she’s patient, though, and you give yourself a mental note to give the girl a nice tip.

ellie jolts, eyes opening. “um! what?” she scrambles, “oh. can i have a sprite?” she has the cutest, dumbest little face and god do you want to lean over the table and kiss her smack on the mouth, right in front of their poor server. your pink, already flustered girl.

“absolutely! i’ll go grab those for you and then i’ll be back to take your orders.” she turns and walks away, ponytail swaying as she does.

you turn your gaze away from the server and back to ellie, watching her eyes slip back in relief and her hands press against the table. you turn down the vibrator and she sags against the red booth. “okay, baby?” you ask, knowing full well what your girlfriend is about to say.

“you’re a dick,” ellie starts, “what happened to starting easy on me?”

“…oops!” you smile sweetly, not one ounce of regret evident in your voice. you reach across the table and take her hand into yours, rubbing your thumb against her knuckles soothingly and admiring the pretty tattoo on her arm. you trace your pointer finger against it, following the ink up to the moth and then back down again. “i’d apologize, but… i’m not actually sorry.”

she glares, and you raise an eyebrow. ellie sighs and leans back, rolling her eyes and glancing at the menu in front of her. she looks through it without another complaint, and by the time she pushes it to the side, you’re ready to play again.

you take your phone out again with your other hand, setting it on the table. ellie glances at it, lips pursing excitedly. she can act grumpy about this all she wants, but you know that she’s into it. possibly even more into it than you are.

“well?” you ask, tracing along her arm again. “ready?”

she nods, a bit shyly, and taps her free hand against the table, fingers drumming against the faux wood. “ready as i’ll ever be…” ellie breathes.

you open the app again, staring at the lowest possible setting. you’ve had some fun teasing her, now you’re ready to ease ellie into the craziest orgasm of her life. you can hear her breathing stutter at first, but besides that, there’s no other reaction. to this setting, at least.

the server comes over again to take their orders a few minutes later, and you lift the setting upwards. barely — you’re not even sure if ellie can feel the difference because of her lack of reaction. ellie sits there and tells the girl her order as if there isn’t a toy inside of her, vibrating against one of the most sensitive parts of her body.

“it’s not bad at all,” ellie brags after the server leaves, confident, cocky grin in tow. “i can definitely handle this.”

“okay,” you say simply, taking a sip of your water and sliding the setting up a bit higher.

ellie chokes on her sprite a bit, wiping at her nose with her sleeve and sending you an annoyed glance. “dick.”

you turn it up again, and ellie’s forehead is beginning to look damp underneath the light above the booth. every few seconds, you bring the setting up higher. she gets progressively more antsy, getting pinker and pinker, until a drip of sweat slides down her temple. ellie chokes on a barely held back whimper and swallows thickly. her face twitches, and you know that she’s making a conscious effort to hold back her expression. it gives you a wicked sort of satisfaction.

you lean towards her, bringing your voice down to a hushed whisper. “with all your little glares and remarks… don’t forget that i have all the power here, sweetheart.”

and ellie can’t hold back her reaction to this, a strained grunt, lips pulled into a taut grimace. she nods her chin out to the side, pulling at the collar of her shirt like it’s too tight around her throat. you push the setting up more, and she lets out this loud, shuddered out breath of air. your poor baby.

“okay i-” she attempts to say, but a startled little ah slips through her open lips, cutting her off.

“quiet, ells. you don’t want everyone to hear you, do you?” you lecture, having too much fun being a little mean. “don’t you want to be a good girl, honey?”

if ellie’s face wasn’t red as a stop sign already, it certainly is now. her mouth opens and shuts a few times, most definitely going to say something bratty and then thinking better of it.

yeah, that’s your good girl.

“alrighty!” the server cuts in. you both whip your heads over at her in surprise, definitely far too suspiciously. you pull your phone back down into your lap, turning the toy back off to give ellie a breather. “there’s yours…” she says looking at you, placing down your plate of food in front of you. she grabs ellie’s plate. “and for you!” she glances back and forth between them, and a weird look crosses her face for a moment before she masks it. “um, is there… anything else i can get you two?”

“nope!” you and ellie say in unison. the server walks away without saying anything else, and your girlfriend snorts out this obnoxious laugh. you can’t help but burst into giggles as well, throwing an embarrassed hand over your face and nearly snorting.

“fuck,” ellie wheezes, stabbing a fork into her pancakes (obviously drenched in sugary, delicious blueberry syrup), “she definitely knows something’s up.”

you nod solemnly, but then burst into another round of giggles. ellie smiles at you affectionately as you laugh into your hand.

“anyways…” she breathes out, nudging your foot from under the table, “do you want to eat and then… continue this at the cinema?”

the rest of dinner is spent eating in a content, fond silence. you both finish quickly, evidently a little eager to finish up and get to the cinema. the food is good, though. it’s always good there, it being your favorite for a reason.

you wait for ellie to finish in the bathroom and then grab onto her hand as you both walk through the diner’s doors, ready for a short drive a few blocks over. you almost wish it was a little longer, longing to tease her a little more before you get there. you don’t, though, choosing to give ellie a little more time before you absolutely wreck her in the back corner of the theater.

when you get there, ellie pays for your tickets to a movie of her choice. you don’t actually pay attention to what it is, knowing neither of you will be putting much focus into watching most of it.

when you walk into the small, dark theater, it’s practically empty. there are a few people here and there, mostly near the middle of the room and nobody in the back. the night couldn’t turn out any more ideal. you tug ellie to the secluded corner, taking her all the way to the last row. any other time, you’d be bitching at her to put her glasses on. you’re thinking her eyes might be closed throughout a lot of this movie, though.

nobody else comes in before the commercials start rolling, and you think it’s a perfect time to start. you tug your phone out of your pocket, watching ellie as she takes a sip of her second sprite of the night. your phone shines brightly in your hand and you rush to turn down your brightness, blinking a few times at the for some reason unexpected flash of light. ellie is nonethewiser, snickering away at some stupid ad about theater candy. you open the app on your phone and gently buzz the toy to life.

ellie side eyes you, sticking her tongue out.

“i’ll bite that,” you threaten, very seriously.

and to that, she sticks her tongue out even further. you snort at her, flicking her shoulder and then all at once turning up the toy to the middle setting.

ellie jolts, whimpering and gripping onto the armrests of her seat for dear life. from the light of the screen, you can see her face dust in a pretty pink. she bites her soft bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth in an attempt to cut herself off from making any more sounds. you rest a hand high on her thigh, gently squeezing. in your other hand, your phone still sits, app open and thumb climbing just a bit higher before you turn the vibration down to the lowest setting again. ellie sags against the reclining theater chair, breathing a big gust of air out in a sigh.

you move take your hand off of her and reach for your candy, throwing a few pieces of the chocolate covered caramels into your mouth. the movie has started by now and you turn your gaze to the screen, chewing on the candies slowly. ellie watches you with a grumpy expression on her face, taking an annoyed swig from her too-big cup of soda.

you wait a few minutes before repeating the same thing, this time turning it up a bit higher and watching her bend in on herself, shoving a hand between her legs like the desperate little thing ellie really is. she hums out this swallowed down noise, low in her throat and enough to make your clit throb. you snatch her hand away and turn the toy off, not wanting her to have any form of relief quite yet.

“nooo,” she huffs, “i… why did you…?”

you don’t respond to her, looking back towards the screen. you throw a few more pieces of candy in your mouth and you can feel ellie’s eyes staring into you as she leans back into her seat. you give her about fifteen minutes before starting again, buzzing the toy up to just under the middle setting. you watch as ellie squeezes her thighs together, jaw clamping shut as she focuses on the feeling of the toy humming against her walls.“you’re doing so well, pretty girl.” you tell her quietly, leaning over to kiss her temple. she presses into you, needy for your touch and starving for your love.

“baby,” ellie says, hurriedly, “i. please.” she’s got her eyebrows scrunched up and foot tapping against the floor. “i need more.”

“more…?” you draw out, acting like you don’t understand what she means.

“fuck, c’mon. please, baby. please. i- turn it up higher.” she finally begs, pleading look in her pretty green eyes.

“good girl,” you breathe, turning up the vibrator to almost the highest setting.

ellie’s back arches against her seat, a hand shoved over her mouth in a frantic attempt to not let the whole theater know what the two of you are doing. “m-more,” she begs through her fingers, a sweet little squeak slipping out. she hiccups, “cl-ose.”

you reach over to her, unbuttoning her loose jeans and pushing your fingers underneath the fabric of ellie’s tight boxers. you slide them lower, lower until you reach her center. she’s dripping down past the toy, making a wet mess in her underwear and all over your fingers. your chest purrs with pleasure. you find her clit, swiping against the little button over and over, knowing exactly what she needs. this time, you allow her to curl into that peak of pleasure. when she cums, it’s with a quiet sob against her hand, eyes clenched shut and back still arched.

“that’s it baby,” you murmur throughout as she rides the waves of her orgasm, “you’re such a good girl. my good girl.” and when she whimpers in overstimulation, you shut off the toy, slowing your circles against her but not fully stopping them. “one more,” you hum. “just one more, then we can go home and i’ll really fuck you stupid.”

she nods, grinding into you needily. it doesn’t take long for her to cum again, your deft fingers working her clit just how ellie likes it. her thighs squeeze shut around your hand as she reaches her peak, hips lifting and pushing into you.

you wait a moment before pulling away, giving her some time to come down before taking your hand from her pants slowly, gently, not really wanting to stop touching ellie but knowing it’s time to get your her home.

“jeez,” she says after a minute, sounding a bit dazed. “i think i was a little into this or something.”

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress

Pairing: Paige x Azzi Word Count: 3.2k

Note: Work of fiction. This was meant to be a quick one shot, but it went beyond the length I expected. So I'm splitting it into two parts. Song is The Dress by Dijon. AU of Paige never recruiting Azzi to UConn.

Part 2

__

“Well, it's official,” Nika said without looking up from her phone, “we just got the best damn shooter in the country.”

Paige turned her head slowly toward Nika, who tilted her phone just enough for her to see the screen. It was an Instagram post, bold UConn Blue letters across the top: Committed. Behind the text was a photo of a girl with curly hair styled in two french braids, she donned a Blue University of Connecticut varsity jacket over the program’s uniform. She wore a bright smile with two dimples accompanying. Azzi Fudd. Her transfer announcement had gone live, nearly a month after she’d blown up the internet by entering the portal, just a week after UCLA’s Elite Eight loss. 

“You played with her before, right?” Nika asked, chewing her gum as she leaned back against the wall. They were both sitting cross legged on the training room floor, their post practice routine.

Paige nodded, a slow smirk forming on her lips. She couldn’t help it. For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was finally aligning. The team was healthy again, anchored by three of the most dangerous juniors in the country. And Paige was right at the center of it. Now? They were adding her, the same player Steph Curry once called an ‘automatic bucket.’ They were going to bring the championship back to Storrs, a feat that the program has been chasing for over five years now.

Although, if Paige was being honest, it wasn’t the championship that had her grinning like a fool in her seat. It was Azzi. 

They’d played together for two summers on Team USA, their chemistry unmistakable and from the moment she met Azzi that first summer, she’d had a crush. Immediate. Electric. It was the way Azzi moved, fluid and fearless, every shot slipping through the net like it belonged there. She made it look effortless, like her body was made for basketball. Paige couldn’t look away, she was impressed. Maybe even addicted, not that she’d ever admit it out loud. 

And then there was the smile. God, the smile. Bright and dangerous, framed by dimples so deep they looked carved into her cheeks by some mischievous higher power, as if they were invitations for Paige she wasn’t so sure she should take. She’d never known desire to take shape of something as deceptively innocent as a smile, but with Azzi, it was right there in the curl of her lips and the light in her eyes.

Paige tried to flirt. Or, well, her awkward approximation of flirting. She teased. She poked. She pressed buttons she had no business touching, all under the guise of playful annoyance. But Azzi never flinched. She didn’t shy away or shut it down. If anything, she leaned in. Snapped back with her own witty jabs, turning every interaction into a game of verbal tug of war. There was a rhythm to it, a cadence only they seemed to understand. Push, pull. Give, take. 

They never said they wanted more. But the signs were there, quiet and consistent. The way Paige’s hand would linger on Azzi’s shoulder during a huddle, her thumb brushing lightly along the seam of her jersey. The way Azzi would find her way to Paige’s room on nights when the rest of the girls gathered in the hotel lobby, chasing gossip and late night snacks. Yet, it was fleeting. Always understood to be temporary, wrapped in the golden haze of summer. When the final buzzer of their last game sounded and Team USA disbanded for the year, they returned to their regular lives. Back to high school, back to expectations, back to reality.

They followed each other on social media, of course. Swapped numbers. Left the door cracked open, just enough to peek through from time to time. A like there. An emoji reaction there. A birthday message. A ‘Merry Christmas’ that never turned into more. It was a quiet kind of closeness. One that never asked for anything, never dared to define what they’d shared.

And then came their second year on Team USA.

Whatever simple, harmless crush Paige thought she’d had the summer before had evolved into something far less manageable. Azzi had changed. In all the right, most unfair way. She still had that same soft smile, still flashed those killer dimples like they were jokes only Paige got to understand. But now she was taller. Leaner. Stronger. More confident, both grounded and untouchable. And she had gotten better on the court, it was like watching magic refined into muscle memory. Her shots weren’t just good, they were lethal. And Paige, elite as she was, found herself staring more than she should have.

Just like that, all the fleeting, fluttering feelings Paige thought she’d neatly boxed up and shelved from the year before came crashing back with the subtlety of a freight train. No warning. No mercy.

Paige was obsessed.

And this time, she knew it. She couldn’t hide it, didn’t even try, to be honest. Not when Azzi laughed in that low, breathy way that made Paige’s chest tighten. Not when she pulled her hair back into a puff and wiped sweat off her brow mid-practice, looking entirely unbothered by the way the blonde stared at the other side of the court. Not when she threw an arm around Paige’s shoulder like it meant nothing and everything all at once.

Lines were crossed on their last night of the world cup. 

One minute, they were just talking, curled up in the dim hush of Paige’s hotel room. The glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air between them had been warm with something unspoken, humming with the energy of everything they refused to name. They talked about everything and nothing at all - inside jokes, music, the future, what home even meant when you were always on the move. In between their words, there was laughter. The kind that couldn’t exist anywhere else but inside those four walls.

Paige’s hand brushed against Azzi’s, just the slightest graze. Azzi, true to herself, didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift away, instead her fingers stayed right there, resting against Paige’s like she’d been waiting for that exact moment to happen. So Paige took it. She laced their fingers together slowly, and without thinking too hard, Paige leaned in and kissed Azzi.

Quick. Gentle. Barely more than a breath.

But it was real. 

And by cruel design of the universe, they flew home the very next day. One moment, they were curled up in the safety of each other’s silence, hands still remembering the weight of that first kiss. And the next, they were separated by thousands of miles and the divergent paths of two girls chasing greatness. Their lives, so full of promise, were equally full of obligations. Training schedules, family responsibilities and looming seasons, all conspiring to keep them apart.

But they tried. This time, they really tried.

Late night calls that stretched until one of them drifted off mid-sentence, the quiet hum of breath on the line more comforting than any lullaby. Text messages layered with longing, little confessions wrapped in emojis and inside jokes. Wish you were here sent from gyms and bedrooms, from the backseats of carpools and early morning flights. For a while, it was enough. For a while, it felt like they were still tethered by that final night.

Fall came and with it, the return to school and structure. Paige threw herself into her senior year, laser focused on getting her team their first state championship. Azzi, on the other hand, was already a legend in her own right. She led her squad to dominate the DMV circuit, her name whispered across courts and hallways with equal reverence. Their training regimens didn’t align. Their free time evaporated. Slowly, inevitably, the tether stretched thin.

Hour long conversations became missed calls. Quick replies turned into half read messages, then long gaps followed by apologetic explanations: sorry, been slammed with practice. Didn’t mean to ghost, just tired. And even though neither of them said it, both could feel the shift. A subtle, aching distance growing between them like a bruise they didn’t want to press on.

But how could they be upset? They hadn’t labeled what they were. No promises. No commitments. Just a summer and a kiss and a lingering thread of connection that neither of them had the language to define. They were temporary constants, steady for a while then they faded, slowly. Like sunlight slipping out of a room.

By the time the new year came, they’d had the conversation. It made sense, they told themselves. Best to focus on the year ahead. College, basketball, the future. There was no big heartbreak. No blowout fight. Just a quiet understanding that they were living parallel lives that couldn’t quite overlap.

Paige graduated that spring and slipped into a UConn jersey like she was born to wear it. She dove headfirst into a new world of expectation and cameras and team dynamics. Meanwhile, Azzi earned her spot on the USA U18 team for a third year, one again disappearing into the blur of red, white and blue.

They became what ifs in lives that had no choice but to embrace what is.

And Paige came to terms with it. She didn’t reach out. Didn’t push, she offered her support the only way she knew how: from a distance. She liked Azzi’s posts, watched her interviews. Caught clips of her games when she could, always with a small, private smile tugging at her lips. Azzi was thriving, just like everyone knew she would. She only grew brighter with every passing season.

It hadn’t come as a surprise when Azzi announced her commitment to UCLA for her 18th birthday. It was expected. She’d spoked about being a Bruin for as long as they’ve known each other, her dream school etched into her like gospel. The announcement had felt more like a formality than news - the rest of the world finally catching up to what Azzi had always known. She belonged out west and she made sure the entire country knew. Within weeks of stepping on campus, Azzi had the Big Ten on notice. Her name already being whispered in the same breath as legends.

Meanwhile, Paige was learning how quickly everything you love can be taken away.

The injury happened during an early pre-season game. One awkward step, one wrong pivot and her world shifted. A torn ACL. Just like that. It was cruel in its simplicity, the way her body betrayed her before her sophomore season even began. Surgery followed. Then the slow, grueling climb of recovery. She became a permanent fixture on the bench, forced to watch her teammates chase a season she couldn’t be part of.

She tried to be supportive. She cheered, clapped, smiled for the cameras. But there were nights she’d go home and cry into her pillow, the pain in her knee dull compared to the ache in her chest. She was used to leading from the court, not the sidelines. By the time she finally cleared - after months of rehab, doctor visits and mental battles - UConn’s season was already winding down. They’d fought hard. Won regionals. Took home the Big East Championship. But the goal had never been just conference titles, it had always been the Final Four and they hadn’t made it. Their battle cut short at the Sweet 16.

Now, Paige sat shoulder to shoulder with Nika on the training room floor, backs pressed to the cool wall, a silence settling between them that felt more like recovery than rest. It had only been a couple months since their season ended in heartbreak, an early exit no one had seen coming, especially not a program like UConn and yet, somehow, despite all the disappointment, all the bruised egos and quiet tears behind closed doors, they’d managed to pull off a miracle.

Paige let out a quiet huff, still a little dazed, “I honestly don’t know how we pulled that off,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Nika glanced over, arching a brow, “I’m telling you, it’s Geno and CD, voodoo magic. Mind tricks.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, shaking her head, “that, or we’ve just gotten really good at begging.”

“Speak for yourself, I’m quite the charmer,” Nika shot back, popping her gum with a grin, “but really, she’s coming. Two weeks.”

Paige didn’t hesitate, her smirk returning, “ready as I’ll ever be.”

__

Azzi’s arrival on campus was the calm before the storm. 

One minute, the whole team was crowding into her new room, helping her unpack boxes and making jokes about who would steal her snacks first. The next, they were back in the gym, running full-speed scrimmages with brand new plays. Sets tailored for a starting lineup that now included one of the most dangerous scorers in the country.

There was no easing into it. No breathers. Not when every single girl on that court knew exactly what was at stake. This season wasn’t just about redemption, it was about destiny. Everyone could feel it in their bones. But destiny didn’t come without sweat. Without bruises, arguments, late night film sessions and early morning lifts. That was the plan, grind now, win later. Work until their body ached and their chemistry became second nature. Until everything led to one singular moment: holding up that trophy, giving Geno his twelfth national title.

And giving themselves their first.

There hadn’t been a quiet moment for Paige and Azzi to officially acknowledge their reunion. No catching up beyond polite smiles and half-spoken words in between drills. They were cordial, professional, even. But the court told a different story. Their chemistry ignited the second the ball hit the hardwood. Every movement flowed like muscle memory. Every pass, every glance, every instinctive pivot fell into place with the kind of synchronicity that couldn't be taught. 

One play, in particular, turned heads.

It started with Paige dribbling near the left wing, her eyes scanning the floor like time had slowed specifically for that moment. Azzi lingered near the baseline, then took off on a sharp, lightning fast cut up the lane. The timing was perfect. Nika and Aaliyah closed in to set an elevator screen at the free throw line, bodies colliding like doors slamming shut behind her. Azzi squeezed through the seam just as Paige shifted her weight and fired a crisp chest pass to the top of the key.

Azzi caught it in rhythm, feet set and shoulders squared.

Splash.

Three points. Nothing but net. Textbook shooting form, a quick release and an arch even Steph Curry would be jealous of.

The gym erupted, not in chaos but in that stunned, respectful silence that happens when everyone recognizes perfection in motion. Even the practice players look rattled, exchanging glances like they’d just seen something unfair. 

Geno blew his whistle, but not to stop the drill. Just to nod.

“Run it again,” he barked, barely masking the satisfaction in his tone.

__

“Finally caught you,” Paige called out, her voice echoing through the mostly empty gym as she stepped inside, hair damp from a shower. Her sneakers squeaked lightly against the hardwood as she walked in, “you know we don’t hand out gold stars for being the last one in the gym, right?”

Azzi glanced over from the free throw line, her expression unreadable at first until that familiar smile crept across her face. The same one that had lived in the back of Paige’s mind far longer than she’d like to admit. “You’re acting like I’ve been hiding.”

“You have,” Paige said easily, striding toward her without breaking eye contact. On her way, she snagged a loose ball that had rolled toward the baseline and gave it a sharp bounce pass back to Azzi, “I tried to give you a ride to practice this morning and you practically dragged Caroline out of the room with the way you rushed her.”

Azzi caught the ball, but didn’t respond. Not with words, anyway. She turned back toward the line, dribbled twice, bounced the ball with a spin that landed it back in her hands and planted her feet. The gym fell quiet again, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and rhythmic creak of the old backboard as her shot sailed through the air and dropped clean the net. No rim. No hesitation. 

Swish.

Paige walked beneath the hoop, casually plucking the ball as it came down through the net. She didn’t say anything right away. Just held the ball in her hands, then bounced it back to Azzi with a soft thud that echoed in the silence between them. 

���Same routine,” Paige said, softer now.

Azzi caught the ball, effortlessly but didn’t lift it for another shot. Instead, she stood at the line, cradling it against her hip, her thumbs slowly brushing the textured grooves. Her gaze dipped toward the floor, then traced a path back up to Paige, lingering a second too long.

“How’s your knee?” she asked softly, then her eyes dropped again, trailing down Paige’s legs, “did you stick to the recovery regimen? No shortcuts?”

Paige smirked, the corner of her mouth twitching upward, “yes, mom.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it didn’t hide the flicker of concern behind them.

“I’m serious,” she said, her tone firmer now, “people cut corners all the time. Especially when they’re trying to get back to something that matters.”

Paige leaned against the padded base of the basket, arms crossed loosely over her chest, “I didn’t cheat the process, Az,” she said, drifting at the nickname that she’d used from the moment they’d met, “not once.”

They stood in silence for a beat, then Paige pushed herself off the padded base, each step toward Azzi slow and deliberate. She didn’t leave much space for the unspoken. Didn’t want to. When she reached her, she let her fingers gently trail along Azzi’s arm until they reached her hand. She let them linger there, light but present. 

“Why did you transfer, Az?” Paige asked, her voice low and quiet, she was trying to protect the moment from the rest of the world, “you were doing so good in Cali. It's not your parents, they’d fly to the other side of the world just to see you play. So what is it?”

A pause.

“Is it me?”

Azzi turned her head just slightly, “you’re giving yourself way too much credit, Paige,” she said, her voice playful.

“Want to play for the truth?” Paige asked, jerking her chin toward the hoop, her tone dipped flirtatiously, like she already knew the answer, “horse?”

Azzi quirked a brow, intrigued, “that your idea of an interrogation tactic now?”

“No,” Paige replied, already walking back toward the top of the key, “its my idea of foreplay.”

Azzi let out a laugh, but she followed, slowly walking to the free throw line, “fine,” she said, looking over at Paige with narrowed eyes and a teasing grin, “every missed shot a is a letter and a question, don’t want to answer? Another letter.”

Paige grinned, “game on.”

[bluebellhairpin]

Thomas Hewitt X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your Pa buys an old slaughter house, intent on using philanthropy to bring the ghost town of Fuller back to life. However that's where his kindness ends. When you have a nasty run in with some travellers, and your father pays no mind, the youngest of the Hewitt family rescues you. (wc.6.3k)

Warnings: MDNI 18+ (minors/ageless blogs DNI, you'll be BLOCKED). Illusions to domestic assault. Implied 'off screen' assault + rape. Canon-typical violence + gore. Blood. Cannibalism. Character death/murder. Implied reader's mum is dead. Reader is fem-body coded (referred to as she/her + called 'girl' + 'daughter') + is looked down on by Thomas (he's over 6'6, he's gonna be looking down on you probably).

Listening to: 'NFWMB' by Hozier - "If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies."

Masterlist || AO3 link

Fuller was nothing like Houston. That being said, you couldn’t say you hated it in this small run down town.

Sure, being so far away from literally everything had its downsides, but it was also so peaceful. The fact your father wanted to bring life back into the town almost made you sad. Not that you liked ghost towns, they unnerved you a little bit, it’s just Fuller had a way about it which you thought would be ruined by bringing people back in. For a ghost town, it didn’t seem so bad.

Something about how abandoned it was called to you, made you want to keep it as it was. What was wrong with wanting to keep Fuller how it was? Why did your father feel such a need to bring the city life so far out into the country?

When you moved in, there were only a handful of people still living here. In the last few weeks you’d gone slightly out of your way to try and meet them - some were more receptive to your moving in than others.

The first person you met was Mrs Luda Mae Hewitt, and very soon afterward was her son, Thomas.

There weren’t any working grocery stores in Fuller - there weren’t any working ‘anything’ in town, actually. The only place to go for anything was the gas station on the main road that by-passed the town.

You had a craving for chocolate - a contraband item in your home, thanks to daddy dearest - but the household had also run out of meat. With dinnertime approaching, you offered to do an errand run. Less than fifteen minutes later, you’d walked through the station’s front door.

An older woman sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette. She looked at you over the rim of her glasses, and you saw the tattered magazine she read shifted down. She was giving you attention.

“Afternoon,” you said, putting to practise the manners your mother had taught you all those years ago. You wanted to make a good impression, maybe make a friend, especially since your father had decided to give a negative preceding reputation. “Keeping cool?”

“Electricity circuited out. So no.” she said. You fought back the urge to cringe and wring your hands on your dress.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” you said softly.

“‘prolly be back up in a few,” she suddenly added. Her eyes looked at you like you were something to study. You probably should’ve felt on edge, but instead you just felt like you wanted to meet her standards. “My son’s having at it. He usually fixes it fast.”

“He sounds handy.” you replied, perking up and taking a tentative step toward the counter, eager to keep the conversation going.

“He has good timing.” She said, “He was bringing some meat up right before it shut off.”

“That’s right, I came for some of that,” you said, a reminder going off in your head as you turned on your heel to take in the display fridge you’d spotted on your way in. “Is it all pork? My Pa was hoping for beef.”

‘Hoping’ was a much softer word, in reality it was more like ‘demanded’.

“Tommy was bringing some beef in,” she started, then yelled “Thomas!” - the sudden yell startled you so that your heart started racing. By the time you calmed down enough to turn around and comment, there was a figure lumbering through the back door into the shop.

The sight of him stopped you in your tracks. He was huge. You’d never seen anyone like him in your life. He barely fit in the doorframe, effortlessly holding a box that was almost overflowing with packed meat, and he was looking at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you were a deer in the store rather than a human.

You probably did look out of place.

“Tommy put that down and give the girl some beef.” The woman said. “We grow it special, nothing else like it in the county.” You looked over at her to find she was giving you the same study as before - but more intently.

Thomas made his way behind the display fridge, letting the box go with a loud thump, and then dropped a medium sized parcel from the box on the top of the glass.

You reached over and grabbed the package with both hands, smoothing your fingers over the cool paper, and then smiled as you looked up at him. Now he was standing by the window, you could see his eyes were a lighter brown than you expected.

“Thank you, Thomas.” His head ducked almost shyly, and let out a small gruff grunt before starting to unpack the rest of the box. You almost mimicked him, refraining from also looking away and instead turned back around to the woman.

You fished some money out of your pocket and placed it on the counter, watching as she counted the change. “It’s nice to meet you by the way,” you said, quickly adding your introduction afterward.

“Luda Mae,” she said in reply, then looked up at you with a smile - it was the friendliest she looked since you walked in. “Everyone calls me Mama. You met Tommy.” She nodded to the man behind you.

“Yeah,” you said, breathy. Then you shifted on your feet, eyes searching around the counter but unfinding. “Um, did you have any candy bars too?”

“We only have one kind right now, delivery comes in tomorrow.” Luda Mae, Mama, said. “You could come back.” You sighed. No, you could not come back tomorrow.

“I don’t mind, whatever you have will be perfect.” you said. Then almost before you could think, a large hand slid a wrapped up chocolate bar across the counter next to the packaged meat. Thomas.

You didn’t even hear him come over.

“Thank you. Again.” After you spoke, it looked like he wanted to do something else. He didn’t. You could already guess he wasn’t much of a talker. You didn’t mind.

When you went to pull out more money, Luda Mae tutted at you.

“Don’t worry about that.” She said, “Enjoy your sweets.” You looked over at her, a smile slowly creeping onto your face.

“Thank you,” you said, stepping away and making to leave. “I’ll see you around. I’ll have to have you over for afternoon tea sometime.”

Luda Mae just nodded at you. You caught Thomas’ eye before you left.

“Bye Thomas.”

Thomas watched from the edge of the window as your car drove away. He didn’t really want you to leave, you were very pretty, and you were nice. Nicer than any other girl he’d ever known.

You smiled at him. He loved how he felt when you smiled at him, as foreign as it was.

He was glad Mama knew not to make you pay for the chocolate. He’d have given you the meat for free too if he could’ve. Maybe he’ll try to next time you came in.

“You liked her, didn’t you?” Mama said. Thomas turned to her, looking past the greasy dark hair that fell over his eyes to find her stubbing her cigarette out. “You know her daddy owns the meat factory now. It’d be nice if you could get work back there again.”

Thomas knew Mama didn’t like what they did to the people who stuck around Fuller too long. The nosey ones, the ones in trouble. He still remembered how she looked when it first happened. Thomas didn’t mind the killing and the butchering though, it kept his family safe and fed. It was keeping you fed too, you’d taken some just now - so the factory wasn’t helping you yet anyway.

Until it was working again, he’d have to keep killing to look after you too.

“If you still like her, you should have her over. She’s nice.”

Nice - and pretty. Don’t forget the pretty part. He almost reached out and touched you from how pretty he thought you were, but he didn’t want to scare you away. You didn’t seem scared of him though, people never smiled at him and they were all always afraid.

You were different.

“Better get back to the house Tommy, get the rest of your chores done.”

He grabbed the empty box, then walked out the back of the store. The road was quiet, as usual. His thoughts weren’t though. They were full of you. Maybe he might go for a wander up near the old factory soon. He might run into you there.

Thomas hoped to run into you there.

The second person - or third person really, second time meeting someone new though - was Doreen.

She was a large woman, with a kind round face, and lovely eyes - did everyone in Fuller have eyes that called to your heart, or was it just her and Thomas? In her basket she carried a small tin of tea leaves, and when you opened the door to her gentle knocking, she almost let herself in.

“I brought them so we could sit down for a cup of tea,” she’d said, petting the top of the tin, “They’re the nice kind.” Whatever she meant by that went over your head. Nevertheless you guided her toward the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

Your father was out, not that him being home for a first time visitor would’ve been a problem, you just preferred it if he wasn’t around. It was better that way.

“Do you have scones?” you asked, reaching for the tray you’d conveniently pulled from the oven a few minutes ago. “I’m meant to walk some over to my Pa at the old factory, but I can spare some. They’d go well with tea.”

“That sounds just peachy dear,” Doreen said, falling into a chair at the breakfast table. Then after a beat, “I heard you met that sweet boy Thomas.”

‘Sweet’ was a nice word for him, one you agreed with - ‘boy’ felt like a stretch though, there looked to be enough of him to be considered a man three times over.

“I did, he was very kind to me.” You thought back to the chocolate you ate on the drive back home, how it made the roof of your mouth smooth, and how the kindness of the service station employee’s made you feel warm inside. “So was his Mama.”

“Oh yes, they’re both lovely. Luda Mae raised Tommy to be a right gentleman. He looks out for all of us. He likes you, he’ll look out for you too now you know.”

“He likes me?” you asked, almost too quickly. You turned back to the scones, feeling flustered as you heard Doreen giggle to herself.

Daydreaming about Thomas helping you out because he liked you - apparently - was going to go into your day-to-day rotation of wishing for a different life, that was for sure.

As you started halving scones and spreading jam across them, and fluttering about after making the tea, Doreen kept talking. In fact she talked most of the rest of the time she was visiting you. You barely spoke besides the occasional confirmation or denial of the rumours she’d heard about you and your father previously.

By the time she was gone you felt worn out, even though you barely did a thing after making up the scones and tea - but it was a good kind of worn out. The kind that left you feeling like your cup was full.

Then you walked back into the kitchen to see the cooled leftover scones on the stove and the reminder of your father had that content feeling disappear.

Thomas hadn’t been brave enough to approach you - he knew that the days the factory looked like it was running meant your Pa was there, and that you’d come visit him there twice a day to deliver lunch and afternoon tea.

He hadn’t interrupted your walks home yet though, he planned to. When he felt brave enough.

Doreen came over one morning when he was in the basement. Often he paid those visits no mind - ignoring her was less awkward than sitting down and drinking tea with her and Mama - he didn’t fit in that picture very well. But like a trained hound he heard your name, and he slowly creeped to the top of the stairs. Eavesdropping was rude, his Mama said, but he couldn’t help it.

He wanted to know what Doreen said.

She said you liked him.

Thomas’ hands almost flew to the front of his apron, clutching the leathery fabric like a lifeline over his thumping heart. Was she right? Was he hearing things? Did she really say you could like him like he liked you?

It was hard to believe, and Thomas had given up long ago looking for hope that someone might like him. Often there wasn’t a sign of it. But for the first time in years there it was, a light of hope. He grabbed hold of it, and he’d never let it go now.

Lunchtime would be too early to try and run into you - he didn’t want to put you behind on your chores, he didn’t want to make you late for your second errand in the afternoon - so he couldn’t go find you now. Besides, he had chores too.

Yes. He turned and went back down the stairs, determined. He’d finish with his chores here, clean up a little - scrub his hands at least, just in case he got the chance to touch you, or would it be too soon to hold hands? - and then time it to run into you on your way home for the day.

It was the perfect plan.

Your ankle hurt so bad.

Each step along the hot asphalt sent a hot wave of pain up your leg. Were you even going to make it home? You hoped so. Who knows what would happen if you passed out on the road. Heaven forbid they find you again - you didn’t think you’d handle anymore of what those men did to you outside the factory.

There was some god awful throbbing in the back of your head too. You reached back, touching your hair. It was wet, a bit warm. Pulling it back, you looked down to see red blood shining on your fingers. Great. Prefect. More mess to clean up when you get home.

This day couldn’t get worse.

Then a pain shot up from between your legs. It came so sudden that you stumbled on your feet, clutching your skirt as it cramped worse and worse. A yelp broke past your lips, and the basket you were barely holding on to slipped from your fingers, rolling across the road.

What did you do to deserve this? Nothing at all - which was the worst part. You did nothing wrong except being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and those men found you. Cornered you. Used you. They broke you apart and made you bleed, and walked away laughing as if they weren’t monsters.

To hell with them.

Despite it though, the hate you felt in that moment, you started to cry. Quietly tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from your nose and cracked lip. Slowly you started limping back toward home. But you stopped as soon as you started. Swaying on weak legs, you realized you didn’t want to go home. You’d find no help there, no sympathy either if the dismissal after your father saw you earlier was anything to go by.

You didn’t want to go home.

Thomas stopped in his tracks. It was you walking on the road towards him. Walking in the wrong direction, towards his home and not yours.

Was this a sign? Were you coming to see him like he was going to see you? No, that wasn’t it. He could tell. Something was wrong.

You had to have been confused, and as you limped toward him - unnoticing of him standing on the side of the road - he didn’t need to be told why. You looked like you’d been attacked by wild animals.

It made white hot rage bubble up inside his chest and seep from between his clenched fists, but as you bumbled closer it was soon replaced with a distinct feeling of dread, which settled in his stomach. He was the first thing anyone noticed in any room, yet you still hadn’t looked at him even though you were only a few feet away now.

God, there was blood dripping onto the road. Your blood.

He decided that he would reach out and try and get your attention, try and muster all the gentleness you deserved when he did it. When his hand landed on your shoulder, you stopped walking. You winced, stepping back and almost reaching up to swat away his arm, but you looked up at him.

Your eyes told him you were scared, but then you took him in and for the first time in his life someone’s look changed from fear to relief. You were happy, not scared? To see him, of all people?

“Thomas,” you said, voice hoarse and tired.

Then, almost faster than he could react, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your legs gave way. He just managed to catch you, falling to the ground and putting his softer body between you and the hard road. You were limp in his hold. He wasn’t sure what to do. You were hurt, obviously, but he didn’t have much experience in the healing department.

Thomas wanted to help you. Taking you home would be the best thing - but then again you weren’t walking home. Did you not want to go home? He wouldn’t take you back to your home then. You’d go to his home. Mama would look after you, from personal experience he knew Mama was good at helping him feel better, she could help you too. He could even keep you safe from whoever did this to you.

He stood, effortlessly lifting you with an arm under your knees and around your shoulders. Your head lolled on top of his shoulder, and your shallow, warm breaths caressed his neck. He liked it, having you close. He decided then too that he would keep you, have you as his. Maybe it’d take you a while to settle into the idea, he didn’t mind. Even if you had to go home a few times before you felt the same, he’d wait. He was yours too.

So Thomas was going to keep you safe, and he’d kill whoever dared do this to you.

It was hot. Stuffy was probably a better word for it, like you were in a room with bad air circulation. When your eyes fluttered open, you realised it was a room - the stuffiness of the air made more sense then.

Something wet dabbed on your forehead, then slowly moved down from there to under your nose, then your chin. Someone was shushing you, cooing gently, blabbing about how everything was going to be alright now. It made a pang of hurt and longing go through your heart.

“Mama,” your voice was quiet, tired, a murmur in the dim bedroom. If you weren’t aware of your own voice, even you would’ve missed it.

“It’s okay, Mama’s here,” but that wasn’t your Ma’s voice, it was someone else. “You’re safe now. Poor thing.”

Safe? From what? Then, slowly, as you blinked away the blurriness in your eyes everything came back to you. That’s right. The factory, the men, and what they did to you. Even now, in a strange place but a place that felt safer than your own bedroom, the feelings of what happened to you crept up your spine. The fear, the disgust. The anger.

“Hey,” the woman said, grabbing your chin with the bloodied rag. You could focus now, it was Luda Mae. Did she find you somewhere? Decide to take you in and care for you?

That was nice of her.

“None of this frowning now. My boy is dealing with those monsters.” she said. “You don’t need to be upset. Your Tommy will be back soon.”

‘Your Tommy’? Thomas from the gas station? God, the thought of him being yours made your cheeks feel warm. Wait, why were you feeling all fuzzy inside over a man when you were just furiously angry at a group of them? You must’ve hit your head harder than you thought.

Luda Mae started dabbing at your face again, and you looked across at her from where you laid on the bed. Something about this was strange. Off-putting. You’re sure once you found out how you got here that the feeling would subside, but whatever it was was hard to shake.

Or perhaps the feeling, like the ache in your jaw and between your legs and over your hips, was just lingering from earlier. Oh yeah. Earlier. Your mind felt like a pinball machine, bouncing between the horror from before and the strangeness of now. You felt like you’d had a big day.

You settled back into the mattress, head resting back against the pillow, and Luda Mae hummed in approval. Eventually she set the cloth aside. Standing, she took the porcelain bowl she’d been using to clean you up, and looked down at you.

“Rest. I’ll come back up with some supper later.” She said, “Tommy will probably come see you when he comes home.”

“Where is he?” You asked before you could stop yourself. Why did it matter that he wasn’t here, home? Who knows, but you felt like it would be better if he was with you. Not nicer, but safer. Better.

Luda Mae just smiled.

“He’ll be home soon.” she said.

The first thing Thomas did when he came home was go and see you.

Well it was actually the second thing - but as soon as his hands were free that’s what he did. He didn’t care that he had blood all over his apron and up to his elbows, nor did he care that his left temple was hurting badly enough to make his eye squint. He just wanted to see you.

Thomas wanted to see that you were okay.

When he made it upstairs - ignoring any and all comments from Hoyt - he went straight to his room. It was the only place he could bear to put you down after he first brought you home. It felt like the right place to leave you too. He didn’t mind if it meant he gave up his room, he had a spot in the basement he could sleep in the meantime, for all he cared the room was all yours. As long as you stayed.

Pushing the door open to see you up against the headboard, alert and eating, made his chest swell with happiness.

Your lip was still swollen, and you looked uncomfortable where you sat, but when you looked up at him your eyes looked like they had when you saw him in the store. You weren’t scared of him. Even as he watched you take in his appearance from where he stood in the doorway, bloodied and half out of breath, you still didn’t look afraid. He didn’t know what to do.

So Thomas turned and left.

He spent hours trying to ignore it - the feeling - hacking at limbs and flesh, tearing skin from muscle, and hanging carcasses of men who’d rotted before they even died up to bleed out. He tried very hard to ignore that you were upstairs in his bed and unafraid while he was in the basement. He wondered if you’d be impressed at how easily he hauled around what remained of the men that treated you so foully.

They got what they deserved. If you didn’t understand that now, you would one day.

You guessed it was the next day, based on the amount of meals Luda Mae had brought up to you. During that time you hadn’t seen Thomas again, even though you did sort of want to.

You wanted to thank him, although you weren’t completely sure of the reason why - you just knew you wouldn’t have made it anywhere if he hadn’t brought you here, to his home. If he didn’t, you’d probably be in a ditch somewhere.

Thomas’ brother - Uncle? - Hoyt, had visited you between a toasted breakfast and a sandwich lunch. He didn’t venture further than the doorway - maybe Luda Mae had put a ban on entering the room? - and spoke at you for a while as he picked his teeth with a bone. His eyes unnerved you, but he didn’t seem less harmless than Thomas did, and to you Thomas was harmless.

Then dinner came.

The clock by your bedside read ten to six, and you really wanted to get out of your room, so you made your way downstairs. It was a slow process, painful too, but you were quiet and made your way to the kitchen without being noticed.

When Luda Mae turned around, she almost dropped her potato masher.

“Heavens above child. Make some noise next time.” she said. Then, “You’re feeling well then.” You noticed that it wasn’t a question.

“Still… sore.” you said warily, unsure of how much she knew.

“You will be until you heal up properly.” she said. Turning, you saw she now had a bowl of mashed potato in her hands, and she held it out to you. “Put that on the table in the dining room, won't you dear?”

Wordlessly you took it, but lingered near the doorway.

“You’re a quiet one,” she said, noticing your unsureness and eyeing you from where she moved a pot off the stove and onto a wooden chopping board. “Something wrong?”

“Where’s Thomas?” You asked. She smiled as if being let in on some secret.

“Tommy,” she said his name forcefully, as if you ought to call him by the nickname instead, “Is downstairs. He’ll be up in a minute for dinner. Now go.”

Downstairs, you thought as you turned and walked towards the dining room, like the basement? Maybe there was a cellar down there. Turning into the dining room, your steps faltered in the doorway.

“There she is,” Hoyt said, already sitting at the set table with the wheelchair bound, and presumably named Uncle Monty, sitting to his right. “Wobbly legs and all. The boy’s gonna be happy.”

You didn’t know how long passed as you stood there and took in the room, but you know it was a while because Hoyt’s smile changed. It was more forced now, as if his patience was running out. He was being patient though, which was more than you were used to at home.

“Sit down girl.” So, as if by muscle memory you slid the bowl of mash onto the table and sat.

Hoyt hummed at you, his smile changing back to hungry. He didn’t say anything more, just looked at you. Monty did much the same, except his stare was underlaid with traces of irritation. The air started to go thick until Luda Mae came in with a large pot.

“Oh good, y’all are ready,” she said. She sat down on your right, between you and Hoyt, then called for Thomas in such a way that it had your heart racing again just like the first time she did it in the gas station.

There was a loud grating noise from the back of the house, heavy footfalls followed after. The sound made your heart stutter, like it was something to be afraid of. You knew there was nothing to be afraid of though, not if it was Thomas. And of course it was Thomas.

You remembered seeing him earlier, yesterday maybe. He looked horrible, but he made no move toward where you rested in bed so you didn’t panic about it. It seemed like he just wanted to see you. Now he looked better. His hair was still greasy, there were still some suspicious stains on his shirt, and his apron was still shining with some kind of liquid, but in the slowly dimming Texan evening light his eyes were soft and kind.

“Sit boy,” Hoyt said. Thomas sat down across from you, next to Monty. The chair creaked beneath him, and his hands folded on the edge of the table as if waiting for a prayer.

“Say grace,” Luda Mae said, pointedly looking at you - your hands flew into the same clasped position, something about being downstairs in this room had you feeling on edge. As Luda Mae rattled off grace, you decided that no matter what happened you’d play along.

A little learnt voice inside your head told you it was safest for you if you played along.

Luda Mae finished her prayer, and the table got moving. Mash was dished out, and the pot opened to reveal a stew - the ladleful that made it to your plate looked bland, but it’s smell still made your stomach grumble. You hadn’t eaten since lunch, you didn’t realize how hungry you’d gotten.

For a while you ate and mostly kept your head down, only taking moments to look across at Thomas as he ate from his plate like a dog. You felt your head tilting in curiosity - his place had no fork, you realised he didn’t have any other way to eat. Why didn’t his family give him a fork when he was so nice?

A loud bang on the table had you jumping in your seat, dropping your fork onto the plate. You watched Thomas look up at you then look over at Hoyt. You looked toward him too, and found him smiling at you like a wolf.

“Too distracted looking at your man to hear me, girl?” he said, “He did save you I guess. Like that fairy-tale shit huh?” “No cursing at the table.” Luda Mae hissed.

“I’m sorry?” you said, voice quiet, and unsure about what exactly he was meaning.

“We had lotsa fun chasing those guys down for you.” Hoyt said, eyes tracking over your every feature. Your blood felt like it ran cold. Why would he bring this up now? You didn’t feel like eating anymore. “You’re a quiet one huh. Didn’t scream or nothing?”

You didn’t know how you made it into this situation, or how this topic came up, but you were feeling like you wanted, no, needed to run away. Fuck playing along, it wasn’t safe here.

Before you were able to work up the courage to stand and hide back in your room, Thomas sat up. The action coming from such a large man drew attention, and no one was looking at you anymore. He wasn’t looking at you either - he was looking at Hoyt, and his eyes weren’t soft or kind anymore.

“Alright, damn.”

“Hoyt, no cursing!”

“I’ll let her be.” Hoyt’s hands went up in play surrender, but you could tell he wasn’t done with you yet. Soon he was leaning back on the table and picking at your brain again. “And your daddy?”

“Didn’t help.” you mumbled, swallowing thickly, “Never does.”

“Can’t have that now, can we? Not to little Tommy’s girl.”

“That’s right,” Luda Mae said, quietly nodding in agreement.

“Don’t gotta mind those men, not even your daddy. You’re family now, see.” He then said, smiling proudly. “We know what to do with the people who mess with family.” His fork lingered around the stew. As you looked between him and the meat, you could see him watching you figure it out.

Those men were dead. You’d been eating them.

“Oh God…” you mumbled. Then chaos.

“The lord provides dear,” said Luda Mae.

“Helps those who help themselves,” Hoyt chuckled.

“No, no.” you said, head shaking back and forth.

“Girl’s freaking out,” Monty grumbled, “Tommy do something.”

“You worked her up Hoyt,” Luda Mae started, “You gotta be nicer to the poor thing!”

“Don’t blame me for her being so skittish, blame the sonsabitches who fucked her up yesterday!”

That was it.

You pushed your chair back and bolted out the door, behind you chairs scraped against the wood floor but you paid it no mind. You ran through the hallway and out the front door. Your legs barely got you down the stairs for the porch, weakly you stumbled to your knees, but pushed up from your palms to spot the driveway.

You had to get out of here.

Barely halfway down the dirt driveway you started slowing. You weren’t tired, and you weren’t regretting running. A car was coming your way, and you knew that car. It was your Pa’s silver BMW. You couldn’t do a thing except stand and watch as he pulled up to a harsh stop in front of where you stood barefoot in your nightgown.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he yelled, stepping out of the car enough to poke his head out. “You know I needed you at home, why are you here with these inbred redneck bastards?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but after you spent one last moment frozen to the spot, you snapped.

Your feet scrambled on the gravel below, and your hands thrust out ahead of you. Most notable was your scream - high pitched and banshee-like, full of rage. Your father barely had time to close the car door back on himself before you were beside him trying to open it again.

The back of your head was throbbing as you screamed insults at him, and yanked at the door handle over and over.

“I’ll kill you! You selfish asshole, I’ll kill you!”

Thomas knew how to get through the fields of wheat and maize without running into any of the tripwires or bear traps. He did set them.

He’d hoped that when you ran outside that you didn’t run though the fields like many before you had. He’d known you’d have to have been smart, and he was right. You ran up the driveway instead. That was good - you wouldn’t get hurt again, but also he could cut through the fields and catch up to you.

When he finally did, he was glad he went and grabbed his favourite toy before going after you.

You were so quiet, so kind. He’d loved you from the second he saw you because of how sweet you were. This version of you was nothing like the version that was sitting at the dinner table minutes ago.

This version of you was angry, flailing about against the strangers car so hard you’d reopened your split lip. And you were yelling. He learnt a few things from taking some seconds to listen - your vocabulary was less polite than he’d ever imagined, and this car had your daddy in it.

The man who made you walk home was in that car.

Thomas pulled at the cord of the chainsaw once, twice, then it revved to life. It was enough to make you turn and face him as he walked onto the driveway. He clocked the blood that dribbled from your mouth, and the tears down your cheeks, it was enough to make him slam the chainsaw blade down hard on the drivers side roof.

He hadn’t managed to cut through a car on the first try, too much resistance normally, but this was the closest he’d ever gotten. He kept at the door, watching as the man scrambled to the other side of the car. The chainsaw made it through the car though, and there was a sizable enough hole for Thomas to stick it and his arms through to keep chasing him.

He almost managed to get the man's arm before he burst through the passenger side door. He made to run away into the field, but you’d made it around the car and had picked up a nearby discarded fence post. You swung it at his head, and knocked the man to the ground.

Thomas was ready to finish the job when he rounded the car, but just as he was about to rev the chainsaw again you raised the stake. Though the man weakly raised his hands to protest, to beg for mercy, you drove the pointed end though his eye. The man screamed, he wasn’t dead yet.

Thomas set down the quiet chainsaw, and came up behind you. With a quiet but sure and strong arm, he lifted his fist up past your shoulder and head, and landed it on the top of the fence post. With a squelch and pop, the stake went all the way through and into the ground.

Now he was dead.

You looked up along his arm, over your shoulder and up at him. The rage and pain slowly left your face and eyes, and their softness came back as the sun started to set for real.

Slowly, as if worried that he’d run away - he never would run from you - you turned and wrapped your arms around his large middle. His hand that wasn’t on the stake came to your back, pressing you closer through the thin material of your nightdress. It was nice to have you close, this time on purpose - nicer circumstance than last time, even if this occasion did now have a corpse.

He felt you mumbled something against his apron, too quiet and muffled from him to hear. His hand shifted from your back to your shoulder, then neck, finally your jaw. He tilted it up so you could speak again more freely.

“Take me back,” you said, lip quivering with emotion, “Take me back home Tommy.”

He just nodded, grunting softly as he guided you away from the scene. He’d come back and clean it up later. After all, that was his job - you’d never have anything to do with this side of the family business ever again, Thomas would make sure of it.

Then you smiled up at him with blood stained teeth, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight when you wrapped your fingers around his thick ones. You couldn’t tell, but he was smiling behind his mask. You’d be okay here.

Your Tommy would keep you safe.

[inkievoid]

A rare morning with Bucky

Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader || Blurb || 18+

The room was quiet, air conditioning making the room something akin to a walk-in freezer as you comfortably curled up under the thick dark duvet. Face half pressed into the familiar scent of masculinity incarnate that clung to a silk pillow case.

The faintest jingle of a bell makes your ear twitch, an assault of purrs and fluff against your chin as that harsh little head knocks into you for attention. Eyes opening on a crack to be greeted by a sea of blue eyes and white fur. Trill ladylike but loud.

"Yes Alpine, I see you, baby... Good morning." Your voice is filled with rasp as you pull her under the blankets. Nails immediately pressing into your chest per usual morning routine as she relaxes into you like it's second nature. Arm snug around her as you fix the blanket back in place. Eyes drifting shut again before his voice breaks the silence.

"This is what you do when I'm not home?" Lifting your head you see Bucky in all his usual glory. Towel around his neck as he stands in the doorway, drying his hair in nothing but grey sweatpants. The glow of his recent shower still stuck to the contours of his broad chest and stomach, making you bite your lip with a stifled giggle.

"It's our usual morning routine. Jealous?" His lip quirks, fingers combing his untrimmed locks back in place. Tossing the towel to the laundry as he saunters over to the side of the bed. Knee pressing into the plush of sheets as he leans over to hover. Face inches from yours.

"Maybe just a little." His nose nudges yours before you pull back, his eyes widening in borderline offense.

"Morning breath." He huffs, smiling too bright his dimples pop under his stubble. Body flopping into his spot ungracefully as usual, pushing and pulling himself under the blankets. His skin meets your chin, fingers drawing you in closer with a faint huff.

"If you honestly think some stupid morning breath is going to keep me from kissing you, I clearly haven't been doing my job."

"You're job?" You question, watching him nod as he moves back in closer. Blue eyes burning as he looks over every detail of your face like it's the world's greatest masterpiece. His nose rubs yours in a teasing manner as your lips brush against each other.

"Showing my girl how much she's loved." Without further hesitation, your lips meet. That familiar bolt of electricity going up your spine like it always does when you kiss Bucky. The kiss was soft, caring, something that cradled the soul in the best way possible.

Until two white paws fly up, pressing into his cheeks with a squish, making him pull away to look down at Alpine. Still cradled against your chest. A laugh almost slips past your lips as you bite down, watching Alpine's eyes squint as Bucky stares her down with clear affection but also the tiniest hint of annoyance.

"Yes?" She starts to squirm, your arms loosening to let her go. Watching her wiggle out from under the blankets and stretch. Giving a shake before using his side as a launch pad to jump off the bed and onto the floor. Trotting through the door like she owned the place, even if she did to some degree.

"You disturbed her sleep, how dare you." Bucky turns his attention back to you, eyes rolling in his common sassy manner.

"God forbid I enjoy time with you." That makes you laugh, his fingers moving to rub against your cheek as he just looks at you. So adoringly, so full of love even for someone with such a grumpy exterior.

"You put the coffee on?"

"Been on since I got in the shower." His hands move, pulling you closer to his chest. Vibranium curling around your back as his arm snakes around you. Flesh rubbing over flesh as his fingers toy with the waistband of your sleep shorts. Thumb pulling ever so gently against the elastic.

"You eaten yet?" His head shakes, face moving into the side of your neck, lips pressing gently against your pulse as his stubble gently scratches your skin.

"Waited for you... Thought maybe... You could be my breakfast?" Grinning, you hand glides from his nape into dark damp tresses.

"James..." The exhale of a chuckle tickles your skin, his head lifting, one eye looking at you with an almost daring stare.

"Yes?"

"You got home late last night. Barely hanging on and now you're already at me."

"And I had the best damn night sleep I've had in weeks next to my girl. I missed you... All of you. More than I'd like to admit." That makes you smile, fingers ghosting over his cheek in a gentle caress as you look over his expression.

"You're not exhausted?"

"I don't get tired, you know that. Better than anyone actually." Your skin starts to warm, his hand wandering over your hip, grabbing your thigh to pull you in closer. Finally feeling his arousal press against your hip.

"You know what you do to me when you're being all sweet and cute." His lips meet your neck again, open mouth kisses moving up from your pulse to your jaw.

"I'm literally just laying here." His breath blows over your ear briefly. Teeth nipping right below it.

"And you look flawless while doing it." His head lifts, eyes shifting in a dark haze. You stare back, feeling the ache start to pool between your legs before your hips roll against his with a whimper. Making him smirk cockily as his body moves. Hovering over you in seconds. Arms casing you in as his hips roll against you in their usual greeting. Cock pressing between your thighs, milking out an involuntary moan from you.

"There's my good girl. Always ready to welcome me home.”

All content on this page is fictional and I do not condone the acts I enjoy in a fictional sense. I don't consent to my work being reposted or translated.

[lets-date-everything]

Oh gosh hi!! Would I be able to humbly request (if you're willing/comfortable doing so) ANYTHING involving Freddy? 😭🙏 Maybe something with cuddles, kisses even??? I'll even take angst, there's next to nothing for him and I'm DESPERATE 😭😭😭 Thank you so much!!! I hope you have an amazing day!!!

(Also I follow your sideblog and I love your writing, I'm so excited to see what you write here!!!)

Yesss, Freddy my beloved! I adore him so much it's unreal. I hope you enjoy!

Freddy Yeti x female MC

Freddy learns there’s more than one way to start the day right

Waking up and putting on the Dateviators had become the best part of her day.

When she slipped them over her eyes, the colours deepened, light sharp as cut glass on chrome. The kitchen brightened at the corners, but none of it mattered, not with Freddy standing by the island, leaning over a mixing bowl, the soft blue of his hair tumbling around his face.

His smile could light a room, and it did, spreading wide when he saw her at the kitchen doorway.

“Morning, Cool Kid,” Freddy called, grinning. “You want breakfast? I’ve got croissants proving, or I can fry up something proper: eggy bread, mushrooms, the works. You need something in you before you start your day.”

She shook her head, a soft laugh caught behind her teeth. “No, thank you. Maybe later.”

Freddy’s brows shot up. “No breakfast? Nah, you’re not getting away with that. Breakfast is important. Skipping it’s basically a crime in this house, you know.”

He stepped towards her, wiping floury hands on a tea towel, that familiar warmth radiating off him in waves. “Come on, sit yourself down. I’ll—”

She reached for him before he could finish, tugging gently at the fluffy neckline of his coat. Freddy froze, mid-ramble, eyes going wide. She pressed up on tiptoe—he was so much taller like this—then kissed him, slow and certain. It was meant to be chaste, a gentle shush, but Freddy made a soft sound, surprise melting into something else entirely.

His hands stilled, but his mouth softened, returning the kiss before he even realised he was doing it. His lips were plush, tasting faintly of coffee and vanilla. The tea towel slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the floor.

“Mm,” Freddy murmured when she drew back, his cheeks tinged an electric blue, just beneath the skin. “That’s… one way to make me forget my argument.”

She smiled, breathing just a little faster. “You were getting a bit bossy.”

Freddy huffed, but there was no heat to it. “That’s because I care. I want you fed, happy—” He caught himself, and something flickered behind his eyes. Vulnerable. “—all right, I’ll shut up, but you do know I’m going to spend all morning thinking about that, now, right? Not fair, coming in here looking like that.”

She only laughed, stepping in close again. “Looking like what?”

“Absolutely beautiful.” Freddy’s voice was lower now, quiet, almost shy. “Even in your pajamas.”

She ran her fingers down his arm, feeling the soft press of muscle beneath, the warmth radiating through his coat. “Maybe you should worry less about me, and more about what you want.”

He blinked, a slow, lazy smile curling his mouth. “Careful. Say something like that and I’ll forget about baking altogether. I’ll be absolutely useless the rest of the morning. You want to be responsible for that?”

She shrugged, helplessly fond. “I’ll risk it.”

For a moment, nothing moved. Then Freddy’s hands slid to her waist, large and careful, as if she were something breakable. He dipped his head, brushing his nose along her jaw, warm breath ghosting her cheek. “All right,” he whispered, “but you’ll let me make you breakfast after, yeah?”

Her laughter was lost against his lips, his tusks bumping against her teeth, all the warmth of home pressed close between them.

[jessesluvr]

so... can we talk about dilf jesse and milf reader? i mean it's been, i dunno, lots of years and jj is already around plus two new kids from jesse and reader (that are already 10 years or smth) and he has a beard and longer hair and he is a DILF and he is really really hot and he is really important in the council and i love him and i need dilf jesse

family like ours | jesse x reader

author's note : ahh, kind of got a lil steamy? but mostly fluff :D

summary : after twelve years together raising three kids in jackson, jesse and reader enjoy a playful family day out where their sweet, stolen kiss earns groans from their sons but an “awww” from their daughter. amidst laughter and chaos, their love feels as alive and strong as ever, grounding their busy, beautiful life.

word count : 1.6k

the house was finally quiet.

dinner had been loud, chaotic, warm. jj and noah got into a heated argument about whose patrol routes were more dangerous (jj claimed he faced a clicker on thursday, noah swore he saw a bloater near the fence). lily interrupted them both with an unsolicited story about the squirrel she named pepperoni that “followed” her around for two whole days. you had rolled your eyes fondly through it all, barely catching jesse’s amused glances from across the table while he sipped from a chipped mug of tea.

and now… silence.

the kind of silence only parents understood. earned silence. hard-fought, delicate, fleeting.

you stood at the kitchen sink, sleeves rolled up, hands deep in warm water. the last of the dishes were nearly done when you heard him behind you—felt him, really. his presence wrapped around you before he even touched you, taller frame moving in close, body heat radiating through your thin shirt. then came the weight of his hand on your hip, fingers splaying there with easy familiarity, and the scratch of his beard against your temple as he bent to kiss just below your ear.

“they’re asleep,” jesse murmured, voice low, thick, tired.

you exhaled a soft breath. “all three?”

“jj’s reading. he’ll pass out in twenty. twins are down for the count. lily’s hugging her stuffed giraffe like she just won the lottery.”

you smirked, drying your hands. “what about the laundry mountain on the couch?”

he hummed into your neck. “that’s a tomorrow problem.”

you turned slowly in his arms, resting your hands against his chest. he was still wearing his patrol clothes—shirt slightly dusty, sleeves pushed up, a faint trace of sweat at his collarbone. his longer hair was tucked behind his ears, soft waves brushing his shoulders. his beard had grown in thick, peppered with gray near his chin, and god, it suited him. you sometimes caught yourself just staring at him from across a room and thinking, i can’t believe he’s mine.

he smiled down at you, eyes warm and dark. “missed you today.”

“we talked over the radio twice.”

“doesn’t count,” he said. “missed this.”

his lips brushed yours. slow, soft, a question and a promise in one.

you melted instantly.

the kiss deepened, the kind that tasted like home and memory and something still electric. his hand moved up your back, fingers threading through your hair, and you pressed closer, chest to chest, fitting into him like puzzle pieces.

he pulled back just enough to whisper, “i want you. but we’ll have to be quiet.”

you arched an eyebrow. “you really think we’re capable of being quiet?”

jesse’s grin was lazy, crooked, the same one he used to flash you all those years ago—before the kids, before the council duties, before the town saw him as the voice of reason and calm. “then i’ll be careful. gentle.”

your breath hitched.

he kissed you again, then took your hand, leading you through the house—past jj’s cracked-open door, past the sleeping twins curled up together under a worn blanket—and into your bedroom.

the moment the door clicks shut behind you both, jesse’s hands find your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he pulls you flush against him. his breath is warm against your skin, lips trailing from your jaw down to the hollow of your neck, each kiss slow and deliberate, sending sparks trailing beneath your skin.

his beard tickles as he nuzzles closer, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. you arch into him, hands moving up to thread through his thick hair, pulling him in deeper. every inch of him is solid muscle and heat—his body molded by years of patrols and hard work, but softened in the way he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

he slides his hands down your sides, exploring curves he knows by heart but still looks at like they’re brand new. your breath hitches as his palms cup your hips, thumbs pressing tiny circles that make you melt.

jesse’s lips find yours again, this time with more urgency—hungry, possessive, desperate to remind you he’s here, he’s yours. his tongue teases yours, slow and teasing at first, then deeper, more demanding. his arms wrap around you, anchoring you to him as your bodies press together.

you feel the press of him against your center—solid and sure, the heat of his desire matching yours perfectly. your hands roam down his chest, tracing the lines of muscle, feeling the steady thump of his heart under your palms. your skin tingles where his touch lingers, and you gasp softly as his hands slide beneath your shirt, fingers warm against your bare skin.

he pulls your shirt up slowly, savoring the feel of your skin, kissing along your ribs, your stomach, his breath hot and ragged. you respond with quiet moans, arching into his touch, every nerve ending alive.

jesse’s hands are firm but gentle as they explore, his mouth following his hands—kissing, nibbling, marking you in the best way. the room fills with the sound of your breaths mingling, the soft rustle of sheets as you move together, slow and sure.

he guides you down onto the bed, never breaking contact, his eyes dark and full of something raw and tender as he cups your face and kisses you like he never wants to stop. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as the world outside fades away.

every touch, every kiss, every whispered word between you two is a promise — that no matter how hard life gets, you have this. you have each other.

when the tension finally breaks, it’s slow, warm, and everything you hoped for. you cling to each other, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync. jesse’s fingers brush your hair back, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along your skin as you rest in the afterglow—safe, loved, and utterly his.

morning light spills softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. you stir first, still tangled in jesse’s arms, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your palm grounding you. his beard brushes your cheek as he presses a sleepy kiss to your temple, breath warm and soft.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough but full of affection.

you smile, shifting slightly as the quiet is shattered by a sudden barrage of giggles and tiny feet pounding down the hallway.

“mom! dad! wake up!” jj’s voice calls out, followed by the twins’ squeals, “we’re hungry!”

jesse groans playfully, loosening his hold on you so you can sit up. within seconds, all three kids burst into the room, jumping onto the bed with bright eyes and messy hair, demanding attention like it’s their full-time job.

“jesse, get up! you promised pancakes!” the twins chant in unison.

you laugh, ruffling jj’s hair as he sprawls across your lap, and jesse finally cracks a grin, running a hand through his longer hair.

“guess i’m up,” he says, voice warm, “but only because you all made it impossible to sleep.”

he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, and the kids nestle in around both of you, their little bodies warm and safe.

“see?” jesse whispers, eyes soft on you. “family’s the best kind of chaos.”

you lean into him, heart full. no matter how many years pass, how many challenges come, this is home—this life you’ve built together, messy and beautiful and everything you ever wanted.

the sun was bright and warm as you, jesse, and the kids stepped out into the fresh morning air of jackson. the town had grown around you, but some things stayed the same — the sound of laughter, the smell of pine trees, and the quiet hum of life going on despite everything.

jj led the way, backpack slung over one shoulder, already talking a mile a minute about the supplies they wanted to check out at the market. the twins chased each other around your legs, their energy endless and contagious.

jesse slipped his hand into yours, fingers curling around yours like a promise you both knew was forever.

“ready for some trouble?” he grinned, eyes sparkling.

you laughed. “with these three? always.”

the morning was a blur of small adventures — checking out fresh fruit stands, stopping for sweet rolls at the bakery, and the kids begging for an ice cream cone each. jj was trying to act cool, licking his cone like it was a secret, while the twins had ice cream smeared across their faces and giggled nonstop.

at the park, the kids ran ahead, their voices ringing out in the warm air. jesse pulled you close, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

“you know,” he said quietly, eyes locking with yours, “after all these years, i still get butterflies.”

you smiled, your heart fluttering. “me too.”

without thinking, you leaned in, and he met you halfway. your lips pressed together in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like coming home.

suddenly, from behind a nearby tree came a chorus of groans.

“ewww, gross!” jj exclaimed, holding his nose dramatically.

“stop it, you’re embarrassing us!” noah added, cringing.

but then, from the smallest of the group, came a soft voice.

“awww, that’s so sweet,” your daughter said, her eyes shining with admiration as she watched you both smile.

jesse laughed, lifting your hand to kiss your knuckles.

“guess we’re the only ones who get it,” he teased.

you squeezed his hand, your heart full, knowing this messy, beautiful family was everything.

[anythinggoesbutme]

First Place, Last Call

F1 Driver!Jameson Hawthorne x Avery Grambs

Warnings: Drinking/bar setting, Flirty banter, Public attention/fame dynamics, Light suggestiveness, Subtle hand touching / knee nudges

Synopsis: When a chance encounter pulls Avery into the world of Formula One’s brightest star, she finds herself swept up in a night of adrenaline, laughter, and quiet moments that feel like more than they should.

Song: “Shut Up and Drive” — Rihanna

Word Count: 1,865

Avery had learned early on that the trackside bar was a different kind of battlefield. The smell of burnt rubber mixed with stale beer clung to the air, a heavy perfume that made her nose wrinkle every time she walked through the swinging doors. The roar of engines was constant — a low growl vibrating through the concrete floor, rattling the wooden bar stools and threading into the chatter of drunk fans and racing enthusiasts crowding the cramped space. It was loud, chaotic, and suffocating in the best and worst ways.

She balanced a tray laden with drinks — cold cans of soda, foamy beers, and a couple of neon green energy drinks she still didn’t understand the appeal of — weaving through a tangle of legs and shouting voices. The sweat on her palms threatened to betray her as she maneuvered around a boisterous group of fans chanting some driver’s name she didn’t care to remember.

She told herself, Just one more hour. Just until the end of qualifying, then she could go home, take a long shower, and try not to think about Formula One until the next race. But fate, apparently, had other plans.

He came in without warning. Not like the rest — not like the other drivers who arrived surrounded by their entourages and flashing cameras. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne stepped inside like the entire bar belonged to him, like every person in the room was waiting for him to make the next move.

Avery’s breath hitched, and she nearly dropped the tray.

The man was everything the tabloids promised — sharp cheekbones, a mop of unruly curls, and eyes so blue they seemed to burn through the smoky air. His racing suit hung loose on his lean frame, unzipped halfway to reveal a white shirt soaked through with sweat and the scent of motor oil. He didn’t have a smile on his face — but when his gaze caught hers, that cocky grin bloomed like a challenge.

Avery jerked her head away, blinking, forcing her fingers to steady the tray. Don’t stare. But then, in the chaos of the crowded bar, her foot caught on a loose floorboard, and the tray tipped.

Drinks spilled. The world went into slow motion. Neon green energy drink sprayed like toxic paint, hitting Jameson’s chest. A warm splash of beer soaked his race suit, and the cans clattered to the floor.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t see—”

Jameson stared down at the mess like it was a joke he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at or scowl over. Then he looked up, eyes sparkling with amusement, and laughed — a deep, genuine laugh that surprised her.

“Guess I needed to cool off,” he said, peeling the sticky glass from his chest. His wet fingers glistened in the harsh bar lights as he flicked droplets away without a care.

Avery bent down, grabbing napkins and trying desperately to mop up the damage. “I’m really sorry. I’m usually better than this.”

“Relax,” Jameson said, brushing off her apology with a lazy wave. “It’s not like you’re the first person to drench me.”

She glanced up, heart pounding, and noticed the way he was watching her — not like a celebrity being inconvenienced, but like a man genuinely interested.

“Name’s Jameson,” he said, like she didn’t already know, extending a hand.

“Avery,” she replied, tentatively shaking it.

The contact was electric. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed hers.

Without warning, Jameson smirked. “You’re coming to the race tomorrow.”

Avery’s brow furrowed. He didn’t even know her. “I don’t even— I mean, I’m working.”

“You’re off,” he said simply, voice low and commanding. “And I’m making sure of it.”

She laughed nervously. “That’s not how this works.”

Jameson’s grin widened. “Trust me, Avery. It is.”

The morning air was thick with anticipation and the smell of hot asphalt, sun-baked rubber, and exhaust fumes—a cocktail that made Avery’s pulse quicken with an odd mixture of excitement and nerves.

The grandstands around the circuit had already begun to fill with fans, their cheers and chants carrying faintly over the roar of engines warming up. Flags fluttered in the breeze, racing colors snapping sharply like the heartbeat of the day itself.

Avery stood near the edge of the pit lane, still clutching the oversized team jacket Jameson had pressed into her hands hours earlier. It hung loose on her, but somehow it made her feel like she belonged — a quiet, defiant part of this furious, dangerous world she barely understood.

The grid was a kaleidoscope of color and motion: mechanics darted back and forth, teams huddled around cars that gleamed under the high sun, and drivers adjusted helmets and suits with ritualistic precision. There was a tension here, electric and raw, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Avery’s eyes never left Jameson as he climbed into his cockpit — the sleek black-and-red Hawthorne Racing car, polished to a mirror shine, sat waiting like a wild animal ready to roar. She saw the tight set of his jaw, the focused glint in his eyes as the visor slid down, hiding the fire beneath.

The starter waved the green flag.

Engines ignited into a ferocious crescendo, a sound so loud and alive it shook Avery’s bones. Tires screamed against asphalt as the cars launched forward in a blur of speed and danger.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, mirroring the rhythm of the race — a frantic, unrelenting pulse that demanded total attention.

She followed the live screens and the crackling radio updates, but nothing compared to seeing Jameson live. His car was a sleek streak, hugging corners with razor precision, weaving through the pack like a predator. The pit crew worked in perfect choreography, swapping tires and refueling with breathtaking speed during the tense pit stops.

Every time Jameson’s car came into view, Avery caught the fierce intensity etched on his face — the concentration, the raw determination. She watched as he fought for every inch, his hands steady on the wheel despite the immense G-forces pushing against him.

Around her, the crowd’s roar surged and fell like waves — gasps at near misses, cheers at daring overtakes, and a rising crescendo as the laps dwindled.

With just a handful of laps left, Jameson was inching closer to the leader. The tension was unbearable, the atmosphere electric with possibility.

Then, with a move so sudden and perfect it stole her breath, Jameson slingshotted past his rival on the outside of the final corner, the car’s tires screeching against the tarmac.

The grandstands exploded.

Avery’s hands clenched the fabric of the jacket as the checkered flag waved, the noise of victory engulfing everything.

Jameson emerged from the cockpit, sweat and exhaustion etched across his face, but his eyes searched for her immediately.

He found her, and his smile was a wild, victorious thing — fierce and utterly unguarded.

She gulped, having to fight the urge of biting her lip.

In that moment, with the sun dipping low and the smell of victory thick in the air, Avery realized this wasn’t just a race. It was a glimpse into a world of passion, risk, and raw humanity. And somehow, she was caught in its pull.

The roar of the crowd still echoed in Avery’s ears as Jameson led her away from the track’s edge, weaving through the throng of photographers and team members congratulating him. The cool air smelled faintly of sweat and champagne, mixed with the lingering tang of burnt rubber and motor oil.

“You’re coming with us,” Jameson said, his tone firm but not unkind, like it was a favor he was insisting she accept.

Avery blinked, caught off guard. “I—I’m not part of the team.”

He shrugged with that same half-smile that made her heart flutter. “Doesn’t matter. I want you there.”

The bar they ended up in was loud, packed with fans and crew members, the air thick with spilled beer and cigarette smoke. Music thumped through the cracked speakers, a bass line that made the walls vibrate and the glasses on the tables tremble. The team had claimed a whole corner of the place — shots lining the bar top, half the mechanics already shouting over each other about the best overtake of the race.

But Jameson and Avery had peeled away from the chaos, slipping into a booth half-hidden in the back, where the lighting was low and the world felt a little softer. The red vinyl of the seat squeaked as Avery shifted, tucking one knee up, her fingers tracing the condensation on her glass.

Jameson leaned in, his elbows braced on the table, a crooked grin playing at his lips. His hair was still damp from the celebratory champagne shower, curls sticking to his forehead in wild directions. His suit jacket was gone, sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows, collar undone just enough that the chain at his throat glinted in the dim light.

“Did you expect this?” he asked, voice low to keep it just between them, as if he couldn’t care less about the noise around them. “The victory, the chaos, the drunken pit crew?”

Avery laughed, the sound surprising herself — light and unguarded. “I didn’t expect any of this. Least of all you dragging me here like I belong.”

“You do,” Jameson said, softer now, like the words carried weight. His knee nudged hers under the table, gentle but deliberate. “You do tonight, at least.”

Around them, bottles clinked, someone spilled a tray of drinks, and the team erupted in another round of laughter at some joke Avery didn’t hear. But in their little booth, it felt quiet, like the rest of the world had been turned down so she could just focus on the way Jameson’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her.

She shook her head, amused. “This isn’t real life. This is some fever dream.”

“Then let’s not wake up yet,” Jameson said, his grin softening, his thumb brushing the rim of his glass but his gaze locked on her, like he’d already decided nothing else mattered tonight.

They talked like that for what felt like hours — about everything and nothing. He asked about her favorite books, and she teased him for being shocked that she read. She made him admit he was terrible at cooking, and he confessed, in a conspiratorial whisper, that he once set fire to a toaster.

At some point, his hand found hers on the table, fingers brushing, not quite holding, just resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Neither of them noticed when the team began to stumble out, voices slurred with drink, too drunk to care about the star driver who’d disappeared into a booth with the girl no one knew.

And for once, Jameson didn’t care about the cameras that might catch them, or the headlines that might follow. All that mattered was the girl across from him, who accidentally drenched him the day previous, laughing quietly in the dim light, making him feel like himself again.

[lunarruled]

Normally this was the point where Kyleigh would either just let Magna rot in that prison all on her own or throw hands with the way she spoke to her. But after all they had been through in the short time they had been together the half lycan decided to just let it slip right by. She wasn't exactly in the best mood either, already way too hot and sweaty and pissed the hell off that she was in this situation. If only she had just found a car or house to stay in to get away from the storms! But no, she saw the prison and thought it would be the perfect spot! What a fucking jackass she was. Ignoring the rather harsh retort that played in her mind thanks to the wolf, Kyleigh took a deep breath and centered herself.

"That's what I'm trying to put together. As long as we have an exit we have something to shoot for. Right now we just need a way to get there."

She tried to say it as calmly as she could, though now that she got a second glance at those monitors she could see why it looked like it was impossible to do. There were more of those freaks in there than she originally thought, and opening up very heavy doors was a sure bet to luring them too close for comfort. "Yes, a distraction would be amazing! Maybe try to herd them all into a couple of the rooms and shut them in there." That was one way to go about it, but how would they do that from where they were now? Kyleigh knew how to get the electrical working, she didn't know what each specific button did.

Magna's words caused the half lycan to glance up at the ceiling. For fuck's sake not those damn vents again! However it seemed as if they were the safest route at the moment. Thinking over the other woman's words Kyleigh began to move around the room in search for a map. There had to be one somewhere in this place. In case repairs were needed, or someone did get up there for some other stupid reason. She opened up all the desk drawers and pushed shit around. Mostly papers, pens, the typical office supply things.

"There has to be a master map or something in this prison, one of the offices. If they had maintenance it might be there. Or the warden's place. You ever get sent there?"

If Magna knew where that was and how to get there they could try that, but they would have to go on foot and face whatever might come their way.

"All that's in here are files and reports, nothing that we can really use. I don't want to go back up in those things without some sort of direction to head in. We could always just get up there and whenever we get to one of the vents look down and see where we are. But we could be there all day so I don't think we should do that…"

Before she went into a full blown, panic ridden rant, Kyleigh stopped herself and let out a long breath. That would only lead to the both of them getting killed and she was not doing that. "Alright, just keep looking. Any kind of map will do, but if we have to we'll just have to take a guess for which direction to go in. I don't know about you but I don't want to die in here and be trapped forever as one of those things."

What seemed like an unbearable weight upon Magna's shoulders seemed to lessen upon hearing that the other woman didn't blame her. Not that it erased the guilt, but now it no longer felt as if it was taking over her senses. Being the only one alive had done things to her. Had her question whether her survival had been some cruel cosmic joke. Why had she, of all people, survived? And had it really been luck? Every time she pondered how she'd made it this far, she came to the conclusion that she must've gotten lucky. But maybe it was punishment that Magna would live long enough just to see the worst of it. Maybe the ones that had been the first ones to go had never been the unlucky ones. Never having to see the cruelty among the prisoners, the diminishing numbers of survivors and the increasing masses of the undead.

Maybe she would go out in the worst moment because of all the shit she's done.

Her heart threatened to explode as she caught sight of a few sickos tearing into the flesh of a body in one of the bathrooms, the movement of a leg being the only indicator that this person was still alive. Shit.

Had she caused this? Had she lured that survivor into a death trap because she'd triggered the alarm?

Magna didn't even have the capacity to really think this through, the thought quickly fading from her mind, but the feeling of anxiety remaining in her chest. Her attention quickly shifted to Kyleigh, pointing to the visitor room.

"We need a plan", she shot back, sharper than she intended to, but more with an edge of desperation rather than anger directed towards the woman. "Opening that electronic door is gonna make noise." She knew it did. She's heard them opening a few times, back when the main power was still on. "I don't want those dead fuckers blocking the way. Maybe we can cover the noise. Broadcast a message to another room, clear the path."

The sound of Magna's deep sigh was drowned out by the shrill alarm, as she braced herself to sneak through the vents again. Hopefully for the last time. She hoped there wouldn't be a fan again - she guessed that fan from earlier had been there to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning from the back-up generator. "If we could only figure out into which damn direction to crawl," Magna commented, expression as surly as her tone. "I'd kill so many of them for a goddamn map."

[bugisbonkerz]

some concept art for E.L.I.Z.A. girl go outside😹😹

[whateverussy]

i want to eat sand about the fucking motifs and instrumentation in epic FUCK

[confines]

my grandmother's mad at me because i told her she should call an arborist instead of the electric company over a tree but really i think she's mad because i said i didn't want to watch any other movies with her the other day because it's a rare movie we'll both like but really i think she's mad because i told her the other week that if she doesn't clear a bunch of stuff out then her house will never be clean the way that it was before she accumulated so much stuff but really i think she's mad because she thinks of me as the only family she has left because most everyone else has died and i don't live up to her expectations. idk lol! i'm putting it out of my mind!

[cc-cuttlefishculler]

on wednesday in pe ghere were mean girls asking my sorta-friend if he was "acoustic" and if he was "restarted" and i wanted to rip their fucking throats out but he kept responding entirely obliviously but he also has been on the internet at least once so im pretty sure he was just fucking with them

[tfsroleplay-arch]

"I'm terrified of thunder…” from Koa to Sylvia!

Rainy Day Sentence Starters

"Ah. Hang on, I'll close the curtains and we can turn the TV up a bit."

For once, Sylvia had the house to herself. Her father and brothers went out to run errands, she opted to stay behind and relax. She'd sent a text to Koa to see if the girl wanted to hang out while her family was gone. Sure, they could've gone somewhere else but sometimes a lazy hangout is more fun.

That, and she knows her brothers can be... a lot sometimes. So while they were gone, she and Koa wouldn't have to worry about them butting into their conversations.

"I should've checked the weather before I texted you, but on the bright side, it'll just be us til the storm stops. Haru refuses to leave any building until he's sure the storm will be over."

She closed all the curtains, though they didn't do much to block out the lightning... She handed Koa the remote so she could turn the volume up and sat back down on the couch.

[thethief1996]

700 Palestinians were killed in the last 24 hours and the airstrikes are more violent each night. Gaza's hospitals have fuel left for two more days. Israel only allowed aid into Gaza on the condition they didn't carry fuel. The Indonesian hospital has shut down already, because doctors have no supplies and no choice but to let the wounded die. They're calling it a collapse but the term doesn't do it justice.

Over a 100 incubator babies are at risk. There are 50.000 pregnant women in Gaza right now, and 5.500 due to give birth this month. Menstruating people are taking pills in order to stop their periods, because they do not have pads or water to maintain hygiene. Surgeons are operating without anesthesia. Water is not reaching Gazans because there's no electricity or fuel for water pumps.

There's no excuse for this. Israel justifies the airstrikes by saying they want to destroy Hamas infrastructure and release the hostages, but they have refused to negotiate for their release. Hamas informed Israel they wanted to release two elderly women without anything in return, and Israel refused. Netanyahu said they wouldn't take their own civilians back because it was "mendacious propaganda." When the hostages were finally released, Netanyahu prohibited the hospital from giving press releases. Yocheved Lifshitz went behind their backs and talked to the press anyway, saying she was treated very well by Hamas, but the government abandoned them. They're being used as straw men. Israel is conditioning the entry of fuel to the release of hostages and yet, according to The Wall Street Journal, when Hamas proposed to exchange 50 hostages for fuel they denied. IDF officials have said they fear the release of more hostages because that might withhold the order to their ground invasion. They do not care as long as they can use the hostages as a pretext for their slaughtering.

There's a turning tide for Palestine in public support. Support for Israel was built through decades of propaganda and we are making a dent into it. Zionists are desperate, holding zoom meetings to promote zionism, but we have to do so much more. We have to shame people in power into supporting the Palestinian cause.

Keep yourself updated and share Palestinian voices, looking to inform yourself from the sources. Palestinians have asked of us only that we share, tweet and post, over and over. Muna El-Kurd said every tweet is like a treasure to them, because their voices are repressed on social media and even on this very app. Make it your action item to share something about the Palestinian plight everyday. Here are some resources:

Al Jazeera

Anadolu Agency

Mondoweiss

Boycott Divest Sanction Movement

Palestinian Youth Movement

Mohammed El-Kurd (twitter / instagram)

Al-Shabaka (twitter / instagram)

Mariam Barghouti (twitter / instagram)

Muhammad Shehada (twitter)

Motaz Azaiza (instagram) - reporting directly from Gaza

Take action. You can participate in boycotts wherever you are in the world, through BDS guidelines. Right now, they are focusing on boycotting (don't be overwhelmed by gigantic boycott lists. Only boycott additional brands if you can):

Carrefour

HP

Puma

Sabra

Sodastream

Ahava cosmetics

Israeli fruits and vegetables

Push for a cultural boycott - pressure your favorite artist to speak out on Palestine and cancel any upcoming performances on occupied territory (Lorde cancelled her gig in Israel because of this. It works.)

If you can, participate in direct action or donate. Palestine Action works to shut down Israeli weapons factories in the UK and USA, and have successfully shut down one of their firms in London. Some of the activists are going on trial and are calling for mobilizing on court.

Call your representatives. The Labour Party in the UK had an emergency meeting after several councilors threatened to resign if they didn't condemn Israeli war crimes. Calling to show your complaints works, even more if you live in a country that funds genocide.

FOR PEOPLE IN THE USA: USCPR has developed this toolkit for calls

FOR PEOPLE IN THE UK: Friends of Al-Aqsa UK and Palestine Solidarity UK have made toolkits for calls and emails

FOR PEOPLE IN GERMANY: Here's a toolkit to contact your representatives by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN IRELAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN POLAND: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN DENMARK: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN SWEDEN: Here's a toolkit by Voices in Europe for Peace

FOR PEOPLE IN AUSTRALIA: Here's a toolkit by Stand With Palestine

FOR PEOPLE IN CANADA: Here's a toolkit by Indepent Jewish Voices for Canada

Join a protest. Here's a constantly updating list of protests:

Global calendar

USA calendar

Australia calendar

Here are upcoming events:

CANBERRA/NGUNNAWAL, AUSTRALIA – Wed Oct 25, 11 am, National Press Club. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyh1xy1BMrU/

OXFORD, ENGLAND – Wed Oct 25, 12:15 pm, Cornmarket. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CykroKeInz3/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

SMITH COLLEGE (US) – Wed Oct 25, 12 pm, Chapin Lawn. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CymT8f5vnHN/?img_index=1

ST CATHERINES, ON ( CANADA) – Wed Oct 25, 6 pm, 61 Geneva St Info: https://www.facebook.com/events/889319005528757/

TORONTO, CANADA – Wed Oct 25, 5 pm, Sidney Smith Hall. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyjVbpGvva8/

SANT CUGAT, CATALONIA, SPAIN – Thurs Oct 26, 6 pm, Davant l’Ajuntament. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CynL834tgg9/?img_index=4

MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA – Fri Oct 27, 7 pm, Federation Square. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyhyd0vhP8t/

LIVORNO, ITALY – Sat Oct 28, 2:30 pm, Piazza Cavour. Info https://www.instagram.com/p/CyiWJ06MXpM/

MINNEAPOLIS, MN (US) – Sat Oct 28, 1 pm, Lake Street and Minnehaha.

ROME, ITALY – Sat Oct 28, Rome. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/Cyi7ey-MMs1/?img_index=1

ROME, ITALY – Sat Nov 4, Rome. Info TBA: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyndKUitnMU/

WASHINGTON, DC (USA) – Sat Nov 4, 12 pm, White House. Info: https://www.instagram.com/p/CyiecRtr9-B/

Wollongong: Rally at Crown Street Mall Amphitheatre on 21 Oct at 1 PM

Melbourne: Blak and Palestinian Solidarity Rally at Victorian Parliament House Steps on 25 Oct at 6 PM

HOUSTON: Thursday, October 26th, 5:45PM, Rice University, Central Quad

VANCOUVER: OCT 28 at 2PM, Vancouver Art Gallery

KITCHENER: Wednesday October 25th at 5 PM at CBC Kitchener

SANTA ANA: 20 Civic Center Plaza, Santa Ana, CA 92701, October 25th at 5:30 pm

TORONTO: WED. OCT 25 at 7PM at Queen's Park

[CAR RALLY] WASHINGTON D.C: Wednesday 10/25 outside the US State Department on the 23rd Street side

Feel free to add more.

[gobbogoo]

So after TADC's 5th episode, a lot of little details about the circumstances of the Circus have been revealed:

1. C&A has moved or been fully shut down for long enough that the building housing the Circus has been considered abandoned. For that to happen, you'd need a good 10 years of neglect, I'd say.

2. Pomni and Zooble both got trapped while exploring the abandoned C&A building. (Zooble is the second-newest, according to Gooseworx)

3. It's modern day out there, with Youtube and whatnot. Remembering that the Digital Circus is a late-90s era PC game, that means Kinger has probably been trapped in the Circus for around 25 years. For perspective, he's been in there for longer than Gangle, Jax, and Zooble have been ALIVE. No WONDER he's crazy!

4. This is further emphasized by the fact that nobody else knew about Kinger's wife. For that to happen, you'd need two degrees of separation from when she abstracted: both the people that knew her AND the people that knew OF her are gone. How many abstracted people have been entirely forgotten? How many people has Kinger seen lose themselves?

5. Caine's general looniness may not JUST be the result of him running non-stop for so long. The physical hardware hosting the Circus is likely starting to degrade after so much time. Eventually it WILL give out entirely, assuming it isn't being maintained. The fact that it's still receiving electricity despite the building supposedly being "abandoned" DOES imply someone is trying to maintain the circus, though!

6. If C&A is abandoned then nobody is maintaining the characters' physical bodies. The fact that nobody's died implies their consciousnesses are fully severed from their bodies. This also means that they probably CAN'T escape from the Circus, because they have no bodies to return to.

7. HOWEVER the fact that Pomni didn't mention seeing any decaying bodies when finding the headset implies they're either being moved, or there are many different headset that all lead to the Circus. Either way, it feels like someone on the outside is working to maintain the Circus's existence for some reason...