#...I forgot to get a vertical shot....

[zylphiacrowley]

and I'm in love with you too.

[demie90s]

Final Whistle, No Mercy

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Juju Watkins x READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Juju Watkins x reader (demon-time!fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You’ve been on demon time all season—techs, fouls, and a stat sheet so filthy it’s biblical. Now it’s the final game, UConn vs. USC, and Juju thinks she’s the one to humble you.

⭑ genre: Sports tension, enemies to almost-lovers, peak chaos, certified menace energy

⭑ warnings: Strong language, aggressive basketball behavior, fouling without remorse, unsportsmanlike conduct, flirtatious rivalry

⭑ word count: 0.9k

I’ve been a problem.

Ask any coach in my district, any ref in my state. Hell, ask Juju Watkins. She’s been watching me since senior year—when they still thought she had a shot at being number one.

She didn’t.

No one did.

By the time I hit 18, I had D1 offers flooding my inbox, sneaker reps in my DMs, and NIL deals before I touched a college court. I wasn’t just ranked #1 in the country—I was problems in motion. A walking violation with a vertical so disrespectful it should be illegal. Grown-ass men in the stands would flinch every time I hit the paint like they were watching someone get jumped.

Because they were.

But the crazy part? Off the court? I’m calm. Chill. Say “yes ma’am” and “no sir.” I help carry team gear. I shake hands with little girls in the stands. My GPA’s tight, my teachers love me, and my coach calls me “the sweetest terror he’s ever met.”

“You ever watch her play?”

“No, but I heard.”

“She’s insane.”

“Y’all remember that video where she stepped over that girl like AI?”

“Yup. That was me she stepped over,” some random girl at a camp once admitted. “She said ‘Move.’ And I did.”

I didn’t talk trash. I didn’t need to. My game was a loudspeaker. Elbows out, knees high, fouls intentional. My high school coach used to brag about me in gas stations. One time a recruiter asked if I could tone it down. Coach said, “You want a ballerina or a f***ing champion?”

That was my last game in that district.

⸻

Flash to now—UConn.

Freshman year. Same dog, new leash.

Geno ain’t even try to hide how hype he was when I committed. Said something about me being “what happens when talent gets raised by wolves.” First two games we lost? Wasn’t on me—I hadn’t started yet. Third game, I dropped 32 with a busted lip and three fouls in the first half. After that?

Undefeated.

I’ve been on pure demon time ever since.

30 points per game. 10 boards. 6 assists. 3 steals. 1–2 techs a night depending on the mood. I foul with intent. I fight screens like they owe me money. I dunked on a 6’4 center and smiled at her mom in the stands. Geno yelled, “Calm down!” but then added under his breath, “But don’t stop.”

You ever seen Sue Bird at a freshman game? She came to ours. Wore a hoodie and sunglasses, left before halftime.

Later that night she tweeted:

“#17 on UConn is HIM. And she’s not even trying.”

Jerseys started selling with no name on the back. Just “17” and “Y’all In Trouble.”

⸻

Now it’s USC. Final game of the season. And guess who’s still tryna humble me?

Juju.

She’s been hovering behind me since high school. #2 on the 2023 list. Always good. Always consistent. But I was hell. She knew it then, and she definitely knows it now. Still—she walks onto the court with her chin high like she forgot.

I make sure she remembers.

⸻

Tip-off.

Her eyes are already on me. Mine aren’t on her. I don’t look at people I’m about to violate. I just let the game do the talking.

First play—Juju tries to drive. I cut her off, chest-to-chest. She bounces off me. Ball goes loose. I scoop it. Coast to coast. And-1. Crowd goes feral.

I don’t celebrate. I just look at Geno. He nods. I nod back.

Free throw? Splash.

Next possession? Juju gets the ball again. I press. No space. She elbows. I smile.

“Getting frustrated already?”

“Not even close,” she mutters.

She should be. By the end of the first quarter, I’ve got 14 points, 5 rebounds, 2 assists, and one body. I stepped over a girl after a fast break block, and the cameras caught it in 4K. Twitter already eating it up.

Halfway through the second, Juju finally catches fire. Hits back-to-back threes and stares me down.

“You gone guard me or pose?”

I walk up slow. “You really think this ends with you?”

She tries to answer. I strip the ball. Layup. Back on D before she even finishes turning around.

⸻

Halftime: UConn 41, USC 34.

Locker room is heat and energy. I’m pacing like usual, chest heaving, jersey untucked.

KK’s laughing. “You’re not even tired. That’s the scary part.”

I grin. “Not even warm yet.” Geno comes over. “You doing alright?” I nod. He sighs. “Keep it clean…ish.” I nod again.

⸻

Third quarter’s a war. Juju’s pulling everything out now—spin moves, hesitations, floaters. She’s quick. And she’s pissed.

But I’m inevitable.

Every time she scores, I answer. Three. Block. Jumper. And when she hits the deck trying to draw a foul, I walk right past her and say, “They not saving you tonight.”

⸻

Fourth quarter. One minute left. Game tied.

Ball in Juju’s hands. She’s eyeing me down like I’m the villain. And I am.

She tries to drive again. I step in. She stutter-steps. Fakes. Goes up. I meet her in the air.

Block.

I catch it before it even hits the floor. Crowd loses their f***ing minds. I push it up. No look pass to KK. Layup. Up two. Next USC possession—rushed shot. Miss.

I grab the rebound. Foul. Whistle. I’m at the line. The gym is vibrating. Everybody’s standing.

I hit both. Game. UConn wins. Final score: 82–78.

⸻

I don’t smile. Not until I see Juju.

She’s standing across the court, hands on hips, breathing hard. We lock eyes.

She shakes her head. Walks up. “I swear I’m gonna beat you one day.”

I lean in, smirk low. “No you won’t.”

She looks me up and down. “You’re crazy.”

“I know.”

⸻

That night, I post a single photo.

My jersey hanging in the locker. My shoes under the bench, laces loose like I just finished something holy.

Caption? Nothing.

It hits 80k likes in four hours.

⸻

The next morning, Juju reposts it to her story.

Adds one line: “I still want you though.”

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Off The Record // Part 1

theme: Azzi Fudd x OC

Summary: shy sports media major Livvy lands her dream assignment covering UConn wbb—only to find herself falling for star player Azzi Fudd and torn between writing the perfect story or living one.

A/N: mostly doing this series for me as a writing exercise to improve and get myself out of the pazzi universe for a minute. love writing pazzi, but sometimes i feel boxed in because i want to write with their personalities/dynamic in mind (as much as a fan can know about them). writing an oc gives me a chance to explore a little more :) thanks for taking the time to read and follow along if you decide to. your support means the world to me. 💕

WC: 5,920

warnings: mention of injury

**** Part 1: Press Pass Problems ****

There were a few things Olivia Johnson knew for sure.

One: she would never forgive her parents for handing down a height gene that capped her at 5'4"—effectively crushing her WNBA dreams before puberty even had a chance to help.

She tried everything. Rec specs. Resistance bands. Prayer. Her dad once took her to a chiropractor in Bridgeport who swore he could “unlock vertical potential.” 

Spoiler: he could not. 

The closest Olivia ever got to dunking was a rogue dream after eating too many Hot Cheetos before bed.

Two: an ACL tear was the cruelest way to get dumped by your own body.

She was a two-sport athlete in high school—basketball was her first love, but soccer was where the future looked real. She was quick, instinctive, relentless when she wanted the ball. Not flashy, but dependable. Coaches noticed. There were actual conversations with a few big-time programs. Her parents, usually practical to a fault, started bringing up scholarships at dinner like it wasn’t terrifying.

Livvy played it cool—she always played it cool—but inside, she was buzzing. Not because she needed the spotlight, but because she liked having a plan. A path. Something she could work toward and earn, not just wish for. And for a while, it felt like that plan was finally unfolding.

And then, in the final game of senior season, she heard the pop. She went down and knew instantly—that’s it. She didn’t even cry right away. Just stared up at the sky while the trainer knelt beside her, thinking: Seriously? Now?

There were no college offers after that. No comeback season. Just ice packs, physical therapy, and a quiet shift in identity—athlete to ex-athlete, starter to spectator.

It was like someone rewrote her bio in real time and forgot to ask permission. Her body moved more slowly, but her mind never stopped replaying what-ifs. She stopped calling herself an athlete out loud. But sometimes, in dreams, she was still sprinting.

And three: if she couldn’t be a college athlete, she’d cover them instead.

Livvy didn’t quit—she rerouted. Swapped layups for lighting kits, game plans for shot lists. She stopped obsessing over what might’ve been and started paying attention to what was. The moments most people missed.

She wanted more than final scores and buzzer-beater headlines. She wanted the stuff underneath—the nerves before tipoff, the silence in the locker room after a loss, the way players looked when they thought no one was watching. What it meant to win for your grandma. To lose on your birthday. To keep showing up anyway.

Those were the stories she wanted to tell. The ones that felt like something.

While other kids picked majors based on what sounded “practical,” she picked sports journalism like it was oxygen. Because, for her, it kind of was.

And today? She’d been handed the dream assignment. UConn Women’s Basketball.

This wasn’t just a step up. It was a jump shot from the parking lot that somehow went in. Everyone in the program wanted this gig—the access, the clout, the chance to run point on social, shoot interviews, maybe even write a few think pieces for the campus paper. It was resume gold.

But for Livvy, it was more than that. It was proof she might actually be on the path she always dreamed about—quietly, stubbornly, maybe a little unrealistically. The one that ended with her reporting from the sidelines at the Final Four, or writing longform profiles that made people cry on the train. She had this vision—of her name under a photo on ESPN’s homepage, or her voice cracking jokes during halftime coverage like Mina Kimes, but with sneakers and a mic full of game-day nerves.

She didn’t need to be famous. She just wanted to be good. To matter. To tell the kind of stories people remembered.

No one cheered for a clean pull quote. No one rushed the court over a color-graded highlight reel.

But Livvy still chased it like a buzzer-beater. Like maybe, if she told it right, it would count.

Her phone buzzed. kk a: you better not crop me out of my good side 😎

Livvy smiled. Okay. She could do this.

And this? This felt like the beginning.

And it was hers.

She just had to hold it together long enough not to blow it.

Or, you know… not fall in love with the first player who smiled at her. Because that would be wildly unprofessional. And, unfortunately, not unprecedented.

She could handle filming elite athletes. What she couldn’t handle was when one of them said her name like it mattered.

Which is how she found herself—on a crisp, sunlit Friday in Storrs, Connecticut—sprinting back to her off-campus apartment with her beat-up media bag, half a granola bar stuck to her lip, and the creeping realization that her fully charged camera battery was not in said bag, but still sitting on her desk.

“Livvy! Wait!” Maddie’s voice rang out from the kitchen like a lifeguard spotting a drowning swimmer. She leaned around the corner, holding the charger aloft like it was the Holy Grail. “You are not going anywhere without this.”

Livvy skidded into the apartment on socked feet and former-athlete instinct, grabbed the battery and charger like it might save her life, and bent over dramatically, gasping. “Okay. Thank you. You're a hero. I was almost a cautionary tale.”

“Almost?” Maddie deadpanned, tucking a protein bar into Livvy’s hoodie pocket and shoving a water bottle into her hand. “You are a cautionary tale.”

Natalie, half-buried under a blanket with her phone six inches from her face, didn’t even look up. She had that rare talent of looking completely relaxed and vaguely judgmental at the same time. “Are we taking bets on whether she blacks out the second Paige Bueckers speaks to her? Or should we just assume it’s happening?”

Livvy groaned, letting her forehead drop to the wall. “Why would you say that out loud?”

Maddie shrugged, sipping her coffee. “It’s fair. She’s like… LeBron but blonde and chill.”

“She’s basically women’s basketball royalty,” Natalie added. “You know, in case you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget,” Livvy muttered. “I’ve been prepping for this for days. I’m locked in. I’m composed. I’m—”

“She’s going to say ‘hi’ and you’re going to forget your own name,” Maddie finished.

“I hate you both,” Livvy muttered, already mentally drafting her will.

They’d been randomly assigned as freshman roommates and, by some divine miracle (or possibly because the housing algorithm was drunk), had actually become best friends within a week. Maddie was pre-med—organized, brilliant, mildly terrifying—with color-coded tabs for her color-coded tabs and a Google calendar that sent Livvy passive-aggressive reminders titled Get It Together.

Natalie was... the opposite. She had changed majors twice, once tried to minor in “food studies” just for the Instagram bio, and RSVP’d to a frat party freshman year as “future trophy wife.” She currently majored in communications and chaos, with a concentration in iced coffee.

She was the in-between. The anxious perfectionist with a camera always slung over her shoulder, a running mental highlight reel, and a quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—she could be somebody if the world ever looked her way long enough.

Natalie finally glanced up from her phone and pointed her coffee mug at Livvy. “You’ve literally been stalking their whole roster like you’re prepping for Hard Knocks: Storrs Edition.”

“I’m trying to be ready,” Livvy defended. “This is the biggest media assignment of my life.”

“I mean, fair,” Maddie said, opening a flashcard app like she wasn’t already 400 terms ahead. “You’re covering the UConn women’s team. That’s insane.”

“And Paige is basically a brand,” Natalie added. “So if you get a quote from her that goes viral? Boom. Your resume enters the chat.”

Livvy tugged her hoodie over her head and exhaled through her nose. “Cool. No pressure or anything.”

“Zero pressure,” Maddie agreed, clearly lying.

“Unless you choke,” Natalie offered cheerfully. “Then lots of pressure.”

Livvy gave them both a middle finger as she adjusted her lanyard. “Manifest some support, maybe?”

“Oh, we support you,” Maddie said. “We're just realistic.”

Natalie grinned. “Also… text us everything.”

And with that, she took off—toward the practice facility, toward her dream job, toward a day that would definitely not involve blacking out or short-circuiting in front of any elite athletes.

Probably.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

****

Today was the biggest day of her college career so far.

She’d spent her first two years covering the sports no one else wanted—field hockey, tennis, swimming. The ones with empty stands and confusing rules, and athletes who barely got name tags on the media board. Most of her classmates treated those assignments like a punishment. But Livvy loved them. She loved standing in the rain for a cross-country meet just to get the finish line shot. Loved zooming in on the last player off the bench and catching that flash of pride after a single good serve. She got really good at finding the story no one else was looking for—the awkward, genuine, unscripted kind. The kind that made you feel something.

She didn’t complain. She kept showing up, kept submitting clean reels, kept editing captions with the kind of detail her professors actually noticed. And when junior year rolled around, she didn’t have to beg for a better gig.

She was recommended.

By name.

Olivia Johnson. For the UConn women’s basketball media team.

It was the kind of endorsement people in her major dreamed about. And she was determined not to waste it.

She still remembered the moment it became real—sitting at the kitchen table in a hoodie and socks, watching her roommates react like she’d just been drafted into the league herself.

“You’re going to kill it,” Maddie said, packing her a protein bar like she was sending her to war.

“Don’t stress,” Natalie added. “You’re literally better at this than half the guys who think they invented sports media.”

Livvy had just laughed, but the words stuck with her more than she expected. That was a week ago. Since then, she’d been in full prep mode—shot lists, interview questions, caption ideas, media guidelines. Her camera battery had been on and off the charger like it had its own training plan.

She hadn’t felt this nervous since her first varsity start in high school—and maybe that was a good thing. Nerves meant it mattered.

And it did matter. And today, it was finally happening.

She’d prepped like it was the MCAT. Social trends, team history, visual storytelling angles. She’d made a spreadsheet—a spreadsheet—for media availability. She’d even rewatched old player interviews to track who gave long-winded answers (Paige) and who needed coaxing (Azzi).

And she was already familiar with most of the team. She and KK Arnold had a gen-ed class together freshman year—Intro to Public Speaking, which was ironic, because Livvy barely spoke and KK never stopped. They ended up paired for a group project and, by the end of it, KK had dubbed her “Camera Girl” and started saving her a seat in the dining hall. KK had no chill in the best possible way—loud, loyal, impossible to shake—and Livvy kind of loved her for it.

Ice came with the KK starter pack: quieter, more serious, but always down to back her up in an argument or steal the aux cord on Crumbl cookie runs. Jana and Ayanna were more casual friends—occasional smoke buddies who knew when Livvy needed a break and never asked too many questions. The rest of the team she recognized from hallway run-ins, stat sheets, or postgame pressers. Names, faces, inside jokes she’d only ever watched from the outside.

She’d been careful never to be too familiar, though. Never too loud, too obvious, too fangirl. Some part of her always hoped this would happen—this being the job—and she didn’t want to ruin it before it even started. So she played it cool. Said hi when it made sense. Laughed at the right moments. Kept a respectful distance.

Not because she wasn’t excited. She was. Painfully.

But she figured if she ever got the chance to be on the inside, really on the inside, she wanted people to take her seriously. She didn’t want to be remembered as “that girl who used to linger outside the locker room after games” or “the one who DM’d players weird compliments freshman year.”

So she kept it low-key. Professional. Invisible, in the best possible way.

And now? Now she was here. Press pass and everything. On the other side of the glass.

And all she had to do was not mess it up.

So when she walked into the practice facility that morning—press pass clipped to her jacket, camera already rolling—she told herself to breathe. To be cool. Be normal. Be the version of herself that didn’t spiral at the sight of high ceilings and championship banners and girls she used to watch on ESPN from her couch.

She’d run through this a dozen times in her head. How she’d set up her gear. What angles she’d shoot. Who she’d talk to first. It was a plan. A solid one.

And for a little while, it actually worked.

Media started smoothly.

KK was the first to spot her.

“Yo, media girl’s here!” she yelled from across the gym, hands cupped around her mouth. “Everybody act chill. Or don’t. Honestly, whatever.”

Livvy laughed under her breath as she stepped inside, camera strap slung across her body, nerves buzzing. “Really selling the professionalism, KK.”

KK jogged over, already hyped. “Okay so, yeah, I know you already know most of us, but let me do the little intro tour anyway because I love being the center of attention.”

Before Livvy could respond, KK grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the court like a human press pass.

“Jana, Ayanna—y’all know Livvy. Ice too. This is Lili, that’s Q. They both claim they hate being on camera but will absolutely pose if you get their good side.”

“Shut up,” Lili muttered without even glancing up.

“And,” KK said, spinning dramatically, “last but not least—Paige Bueckers, the legend, the NIL queen, the reason your cousin from Minnesota suddenly cares about women’s hoops.”

Paige glanced up from tying her shoe and gave Livvy a lazy once-over. “So you’re the new content girl?”

Livvy straightened a little. “Yeah. Olivia.”

Paige nodded once. “Cool. Just don’t post any clips of me looking tired or I’ll make you run sprints with us.”

KK snorted. “She’s not kidding.”

Livvy raised an eyebrow. “Good to know. I’ll add ‘protect Paige’s brand’ to my shot list.”

That made Paige smile—just a flicker, but enough to clock. “Honestly? That should be everyone’s job.”

“She’s not wrong,” KK jumped in. “You’d be shocked how many unflattering angles happen in practice.”

“You’re the reason half of them exist,” Paige said without missing a beat.

“I’m providing range,” KK replied, looking unbothered. “Also, I bring the vibes. So.”

Livvy smirked. “You bring the vibes, sure. Just not the self-awareness.”

Paige turned back to Livvy, a little more curious now. “You’re quick. I like that.”

Livvy blinked. “Not sure if that’s a compliment or if I should be nervous.” “Yes,” Paige said, totally straight-faced.

There was a small beat—just enough for Livvy to wonder if she was supposed to laugh—before KK clapped her on the shoulder.

“See? You’re already one of us,” she said. “Congrats. No take-backs.”

Livvy rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. It felt like they were letting her in, slowly, casually, the way people do when they’re used to a lot of people coming and going. Nothing dramatic. No big welcome speech. Just a quiet kind of ease.

She looked down at her camera. Still rolling. Paige mid-stretch, KK tossing a ball behind her back, Ice in the background flashing a peace sign like she’d been waiting for her cue. None of it posed. All of it gold.

And for the first time since getting the assignment, Livvy didn’t feel like she was sneaking in through a side door.

She felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be. She was thriving. Behind-the-scenes shots, interviews in progress, clips and reels practically editing themselves in her head.

This was it. This was the moment she’d worked toward.

Then the gym shifted.

Not in any obvious way—no music drop or record scratch—but Livvy felt it. A shift in the energy. Like the air itself straightened up.

Azzi Fudd had just walked in.

Same jersey as everyone else. Same media day setup.

But somehow, she made it look like a campaign shoot.

Hair slicked into a high bun, two braids framing her face, lashes curled, skin glowing—like she’d stepped out of a Gatorade commercial and directly into Livvy’s field of vision.She looked like confidence incarnate—cool, composed, completely effortless.

Livvy didn’t mean to stare. But she did.

Then she smiled. And for a second, everything else just… slowed.

“Hey,” Azzi said, walking right up to her. “You must be Livvy, right?”

Azzi smiled, then hesitated — just for a second. Like she wasn’t sure if she got it right.

Livvy blinked.

Livvy.

Not Olivia. Not “media girl.” Not “hey, um…” with a pause while trying to remember. Just Livvy.

She always introduced herself as Olivia. Professors, new classmates, even the job confirmation email from the media director had “Olivia Johnson” bolded in the header. Only people who really knew her—her roommates, KK, and a few others—ever used Livvy. It wasn’t that she hated it. She just liked to control who got that version of her.

And Azzi Fudd? She’d never given her permission.

Her brain: static. Her heart: malfunctioning. Her mouth: unreliable at best.

“Olivia,” she said automatically. It came out sharper than she meant it to.

Azzi didn’t flinch. “Oh—sorry,” she said, still smiling. “KK said Livvy, so I just figured…”

Of course. KK. Livvy nodded quickly, too quickly. “No, it’s fine. It’s… both, I guess.”

“Cool.” Azzi’s grin turned softer, tilted. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Livvy couldn’t figure out how to hold eye contact and breathe at the same time, so she looked down at her camera instead.

“Yeah. You too.”

She was proud of herself for getting the words out, even if her voice cracked halfway through like a preteen on stage at a spelling bee.

Azzi lingered for a second longer, then moved toward the backdrop setup, already joking with one of the team managers as she walked away.

Livvy stood there, completely frozen. Her camera still rolling, though she had no idea what it was even pointed at.

She should’ve said something cooler. Or smiled. Or literally anything besides correct her and then glitch out like a buffering Zoom call.

But all she could think about was the way Azzi said her name—like it already belonged to her. Like she’d said it before. It shouldn’t have meant anything. But it did.

Livvy wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like she hadn’t met athletes before. Big names. Bigger egos. She usually handled it fine—better than fine. But Azzi wasn’t loud or cocky or even trying all that hard. She was just... present. Calm. Confident in this way that felt entirely unbothered and somehow still personal.

And Livvy—who prided herself on staying sharp, on reading people before they ever opened their mouths—had nothing.

No read. No game plan. Just a flicker of something that made her brain short out and her feet forget how to move.

So she did the only thing that felt safe: she turned and filmed literally anyone else.

Textbook distraction. Totally fine. Nothing to unpack there.

****

Livvy found her rhythm somewhere between an impromptu one-on-one with Aaliyah about pregame rituals and a surprisingly detailed post-practice snack breakdown with Ice. Her camera felt like an extension of her arm again, her questions coming out clean and casual, her confidence slowly rebuilding after the Azzi incident, as she was now calling it in her head.

Once the players dispersed for a quick break, Livvy took her shot—drifting toward the cluster of coaching staff lingering near the scorer’s table. She’d studied them all for years, especially Geno Auriemma. He was a walking legend, the kind of figure who didn’t need to raise his voice to own a room. But Livvy had always admired Chris Dailey—CD—too. The glue. The tone-setter. The one who made sure everything ran exactly how it was supposed to.

She approached carefully, not wanting to interrupt whatever conversation they were mid-having, but CD noticed her first.

"You’re Olivia, right?"

Livvy nodded, offering a quick, composed smile. “Yes, ma’am. I’m the media intern for this semester.”

"Ah, we’ve heard about you," CD said with a grin that didn’t feel intimidating—just observant. "You’ve got a good eye."

Geno turned toward her, arms crossed, squinting slightly like he was trying to figure out if she was worth his time or not. Classic.

"What kind of stuff are you looking to do with the team this season?" he asked.

Livvy swallowed but kept her voice steady. "I want to tell the stories behind the moments. Not just post highlights, but give people a reason to care about the team beyond the scoreboard. The little things that make this group who they are."

Geno arched a brow. "You come up with that line yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

He paused for a second. Then, to her absolute shock, nodded.

"That’s good," he said. "Most people don’t ask anything worth answering. Keep doing that."

Livvy’s heart swelled in this ridiculous, middle-school-way. She knew it was just a small compliment. Maybe not even a real one. But still—Geno Auriemma said that was good. She’d put that in her memoir someday.

By the time the players were back and Livvy had cleared the audio from her first round of interviews, she was already prepping for the next task: the Big East schedule reveal video. It was something the media team wanted to push out by the weekend—a simple social piece, just players sharing game dates and opponents with personality and flair. Easy enough, in theory.

She called the team together in front of the practice court backdrop, marking a spot with blue tape on the floor and adjusting her camera height to make sure everyone stayed in frame. KK was immediately on board.

"So what, like we just say the date and team and make it spicy?"

"Basically," Livvy said. "You can add your own spin to it—just don’t cuss and don’t say anything that’ll get me fired."

"Bet," KK said, already spinning a ball on her finger.

The first few clips were gold—Jana randomly popping into frame behind Ice and whispering "Villanova, we’re coming for you" like it was a secret mission, Ayanna rapping the Seton Hall date with impressive flow, and Paige doing a full mock press conference intro for the Georgetown game, complete with fake media questions and a water bottle she pretended was a mic.

Livvy could feel herself relaxing. Laughing. Actually having fun.

She made sure to give each player time to come up with how they wanted to deliver their line, giving little suggestions here and there, throwing in encouragements like, "That was perfect—one more for safety," or "If you point to the camera on the last word, it’ll hit harder."

They listened. They joked with her. They trusted her.

And then it was Azzi’s turn.

Livvy glanced down at her clipboard, blinking too many times. "Okay, Azzi—you’ve got… Creighton. January."

Azzi stepped up into the marked spot, already in uniform, the number 35 bold against her chest, hair still tied back from media day headshots. She smiled. "What’s the vibe? Serious? Funny? You want me to do a dance?"

Livvy opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

Azzi tilted her head, patient. “Livvy?”

The way she said her name—it did something. Again.

Then she paused, smile softening just a little. “Sorry. Olivia, right?”

Livvy nodded, trying not to overreact. “Yeah. I mean—either’s fine. Just… Olivia here, I guess.”

Azzi nodded, like she got it. “Cool. Olivia, then.”

Azzi’s grin didn’t change, but her eyes flicked down, then back up. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Simple. Easy. No attitude. No weirdness. But Livvy still felt her stomach do something it definitely wasn’t supposed to.

Livvy cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah—sorry. Just… you can do whatever feels natural. Maybe, like, toss the ball and catch it on the name? Or say the date while spinning it? Or… whatever. It’s… January 12th. Creighton. At home."

She watched Azzi nod slowly, but her brain was already drifting—off course and out of reach.

Her eyes kept locking on Azzi’s face, like her focus had a mind of its own. The easy lift of her smile, like she wasn’t even trying. The way her cheekbones caught the light, all clean lines and soft angles. Her lashes, long enough to brush the tops of her cheeks when she glanced down at the ball in her hands.

Everything about her looked calm. Effortless. Like she didn’t know she was magnetic. Or maybe she did—and just didn’t care.

Livvy blinked, willing herself to focus. But it was like trying to grab hold of fog—everything soft around the edges, nothing solid to land on.

She should’ve been checking the white balance. Adjusting focus. Noticing that the mic was still live, recording the soft sound of Azzi’s laugh like it belonged in a documentary. But her body wasn’t cooperating. Her thoughts kept slipping, circling back to the shape of Azzi’s mouth when she said her name. The curve of her wrist when she spun the ball. And she waited. Not impatient, not bored. Just... there. Like Livvy was worth standing still for.

She had filmed dozens of athletes. She’d interviewed Olympians. She’d never lost her composure like this.

Not until now.

Azzi tried a first take. It was good. Clean. Playful. Livvy couldn’t tell you a single word she said.

"Was that okay?" Azzi asked, turning toward her.

Livvy blinked. "What?"

Azzi laughed. "You good?"

Livvy nodded way too fast. "Yep. Great. That was great. Just one more, if you’re good with it."

"Sure," Azzi said, smile still there, but something gentler in her eyes now. Curious, maybe.

Livvy watched the second take through the viewfinder, this time forcing herself to focus. It was clean. Framed perfectly. The light skimmed along Azzi’s jawline—sharp, soft, perfect in a way that made Livvy forget what she was framing. She’d aimed for a promo reel. Somehow ended up with a love letter.

She hit stop and stepped back.

She was in trouble.

Like, full-on, textbook, this is not good trouble.

Because whatever she had been trying to ignore—explain away, avoid thinking about—it had a name now. A face. A laugh.

And it was wearing number 35.

****

Livvy didn’t make it five steps into the apartment before Maddie glanced up from her laptop and said, “You look like someone who just publicly embarrassed herself and is trying to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Natalie, on the couch with a tub of hummus and half a sleeve of pita chips, didn’t even look away from the TV. "Tell me it was Paige. Please tell me you embarrassed yourself in front of Paige."

Livvy dropped her bag by the door and face-planted directly into the couch cushions with a dramatic groan. "It wasn’t Paige."

"Wait, what?" Natalie blinked, finally turning. "It wasn’t Paige?"

Maddie closed her laptop halfway. "I’m sorry, then who? You said Paige was the most likely to make you combust."

Livvy rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answer. "I thought she would be. I was mentally prepared for that. Paige was great—funny, chill, very deadpan. But it was… it wasn’t her."

Natalie leaned forward like this was the latest episode of a show she’d been binging. “Okay, then who was it? Because if you’re telling me it was like… Nika Muhl, I’m going to scream.”

Livvy dragged her forearm over her face. “It was Azzi.”

Both girls froze.

“Azzi?” Maddie repeated.

Natalie blinked, pita chip halfway to her mouth. “As in… Fudd?”

“No, as in the other Azzi on the team,” Livvy deadpanned, voice muffled into the pillow.

Maddie let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I know.”

“She smiled at you, didn’t she?”

Livvy peeled the pillow away just enough to reveal one eye. “She said my nickname. Without me telling her. Just walked up and was like, ‘You must be Livvy,’ all confident and nice and devastating.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Natalie said, pointing at her. “Back up. She just casually calls you Livvy out of nowhere?”

Livvy groaned into the pillow. “No. KK told her. Like, mentioned me by name ahead of time. So Azzi walks up, all radiant and unbothered, and goes, ‘You must be Livvy,’ and I—like an actual idiot—corrected her. I said, ‘Olivia,’ in this weird robot voice like I was doing customer service.”

Maddie winced. “Oh no.”

Natalie popped the chip in her mouth and nodded like she’d solved a math equation. “You have a type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Livvy snapped, then immediately regretted how quickly she said it.

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “You literally spiraled over less your freshman year.” “That was different.”

“Was it?”

Livvy buried her face again.

“I’m just confused,” Natalie said. “You’ve filmed, like, Olympians. You’ve handled postgame interviews with sweaty, shirtless football players. Why now?”

“I don’t know,” Livvy said, voice muffled again. “It’s not just that she’s hot. I mean—yes. Painfully. But it wasn’t that. Not really.”

Natalie made a dramatic gagging sound and kept eating.

Livvy ignored her. “It was just… weird. Not bad weird. Just… off. Like she threw off my rhythm and I haven’t figured out how to get it back yet.”

Maddie tilted her head. “What even happened?”

Livvy exhaled through her nose. “She said my name, and I corrected her. That was the start. But the schedule reveal thing? That was the real moment. I couldn’t explain what I wanted her to do. I blanked. Completely. My brain just gave up. I couldn’t stop looking at her face.”

“So your downfall was caused by cheekbones,” Natalie said.

Livvy grabbed a throw pillow and launched it at her.

“I’m being serious!” she said, catching it. “You’re rattled.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Livvy muttered. “I’ve interviewed literal Olympians. I’ve filmed postgame locker rooms with half-naked volleyball players. I’ve never—never—lost my train of thought like that. And she wasn’t even trying to be anything. Just… standing there. Existing.”

“So why do you think she threw you off?” Maddie asked, more gently now.

“I don’t know,” Livvy said. And that was the part that bugged her the most. “I’ve been trying to figure it out since it happened. It’s not like I’ve never been around girls like her before. It wasn’t the attention. It wasn’t nerves. It was just… something.”

Maddie raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you’re reading too much into it?”

“Maybe.” But Livvy didn’t believe that. Not really.

“Or maybe,” Natalie said, licking hummus off her thumb, “your brain just short-circuited because she’s literally Azzi Fudd and you’re literally you.”

“Wow,” Livvy said. “So insightful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Natalie grinned.

Maddie closed her laptop. “So what now? You gonna avoid her for the rest of the season?”

“Can’t,” Livvy said. “She’s in half the content plan for the next two months.”

Natalie snorted. “RIP.”

Livvy sighed, flopping onto her back again. “You guys are useless.”

“We prefer the term emotionally supportive in our own way,” Maddie said.

Natalie raised her hummus in a toast. “To your spiral.”

And even though Livvy’s brain was still looping through the whole interaction like it was stuck in playback mode, she laughed. Because if she was going to unravel, at least she wasn’t doing it alone.

By the time she rendered the final schedule reel and uploaded it to the shared drive for approval, it was almost 10 p.m. Her eyes were dry, her shoulders ached from hunching over her desk, and her Celsius had gone warm and tragic beside her keyboard. Still, she sat there—glowing laptop screen casting her room in a tired blue haze—clicking through photo stills like she didn’t know exactly which one she was stalling on.

KK and Paige laughing mid-interview, Ice in the background throwing peace signs. Ayanna flexing with a completely serious expression like she was about to drop a mixtape. Even Chris Dailey had cracked a grin in one of the outtakes—an actual miracle.

And then there was Azzi.

Tying her sneakers. A soft smile caught mid-rise. Hoodie sleeves scrunched up to her elbows. Not posed. Not polished. Just... there. A moment, quiet and unbothered. It wasn’t posed. Wasn’t planned. Just a freeze-frame that felt stolen and true.

She stared at it for longer than she meant to.

It wasn’t even the best photo. A little off-center. The depth of field wasn’t what she’d planned. But there was something about it. Something that made her stomach do that annoying thing again.

God, pull it together, she thought, dragging the file into her edits folder and naming it AZZI-003 like it wasn’t the third time she’d retitled the same clip.

She exhaled slowly, leaned back in her chair, and typed up the most neutral email she could manage:

Subject: Big East Schedule Video — Draft 1 Attached is the first cut. Let me know if you’d like overlays, captions, or a different ending sequence. Photos coming in the morning.

Short. Clean. No spiraling. Perfectly normal media girl things.

She shut her laptop with a snap and rolled into bed, trying not to think about the way Azzi had said her name like it wasn’t the first time. Livvy. Not “Olivia.” Not “hey, uh, what was it again?” 

It wasn’t the name that got her. It was the way Azzi said it. Familiar. Certain. Like she'd earned it.

But it wasn’t just the name.

…Like Livvy was interesting. Like she mattered. And maybe that was nothing. Or maybe it was something.

Either way, Livvy couldn’t stop replaying it. Not just the way Azzi said her name. But the way she waited for her answer. Like she cared what it was.

Wanted to believe that someone like Azzi Fudd could say her name like that and mean it. That it wasn’t just charm or politeness or whatever brand of calm confidence Azzi woke up with every morning. That it was personal. Somehow.

She groaned and flipped onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow.

It wasn’t. Obviously. Azzi was just nice. Friendly. The kind of girl who remembered people’s names and smiled when she said them. That’s all.

Still, Livvy’s heart felt annoyingly loud in her chest.

She was so screwed.

Because tomorrow wasn’t a break. Tomorrow was practice access. Meaning behind-the-scenes coverage. Meaning sideline video. Meaning: Azzi. Again. In daylight. In high def. Breathing the same air.

Livvy buried her face in her blanket.

She was fine. Totally fine. A professional, obviously. Definitely not spiraling.

[stuckonmark]

accidents. mark lee

03. it’s an 11

dinner went suprisingly okay, well besides the fact that half of the team were swooning over your brother and mark. honestly you were very confused as to why mark even showed up to your game, but then you remembered his little situation going on with mina.

“you did so good today. my little sister is growing up.” jaehyun fake cries, as he ruffles your hair.

“oh cut it out.” you groaned, pulling away from his embrace.

“yeah yn, you like hit all those balls and stuff. honestly i haven’t really watched volleyball, but it was really cool. i wonder how high your vertical is. we should have a contest-“ mark was rambling about complete nonsense, only to get cut off by mina kicking his leg under the table.

“of course our yn did so good today. she’s not our ace for nothing.” karina cooed, while mina and her entourage basically glared her down.

you could feel the tension almost exploding right in front of your face. “okay, well me and jae are gonna head home. feel free to stay and finish up guys. see y’all at practice.” you said your goodbyes, as you gave hugs and kisses to winter and karina.

“why the sudden rush..” jaehyun asks, while following you out of the restaurant.

“i’m not trying to get on anyone’s bad side. those girls were literally shooting bullets at me with their eyes the entire time-“

“no yeah, even i could feel it too.” you looked behind you to see mark trailing behind you and jaehyun. “why are you following us?”

“oh sorry yn, i forgot to tell you that me and mark carpooled together to the game. he’s my roommate remember?”

you looked at mark and he looked right back at you. “SHOT GUN!” y’all exclaimed at the same time. there was an awkward pause before the two of you bolted to jaehyun’s car. you guys were side by side, but you were slightly ahead. mark finally caught up next to you and accidentally stuck his foot out in front of you, causing you to launch forward onto the ground.

the whole world probably heard the excruciating sound that came out of your mouth when you landed right on your ankle. you shrieked from the pain you felt in your ankle.

“oh my-yn are you okay-oh no.” mark was stumbling over his words as he tried helping you up. jaehyun running to the scene and checking on you.

“jaehyun..” you took a breath in. “GET THIS DUDE OFF ME RIGHT NOW!” jaehyun quickly took mark’s place and started to ask you a bunch of questions.

“on a scale from 1 to 10, how bad-“

“IT’S AN 11!”

“OKOK. mark get her into the car, we’re taking her to the hospital.” jaehyun instructed, as he went to go start up the car.

“OH NO. I DO NOT WANT THIS STUPID BOY TO TOUCH ME-“ mark carefully picked you up, but you were still squirming in his arms. “look, i’m really sorry yn. but let’s just try to make this easier for the both of us.”

“don’t talk to me.” you listened and crossed your arms, while mark slowly got you in the car. you were absolutely livid. how could this have happened to you. out of all times, it just had to be right when your season has started.

previous — m.list — next

notes. the reveal of the "freak" accident between yn and mark. let's see where their relationship takes them.. also sorry for my overuse of “y’all” .. if you can’t tell, i’m from the south

taglist. open! @mmjhh1998 @haluenx @urlocalbeaner5 @cloudmrk @dudekiss3r @iluv7tn @jae-n0 @kikookii @remgeolli

[ckret2]

Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet. 

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me." 

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers.  In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes. 

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

[komatsudaya]

Figuring out Komatsudaya's layout

I started putting together pics of and notes on Komatsudaya for my own reference (it's hard to write a story set somewhere whose layout you don't know), but decided to expand on it and make something that other people might find useful. Let's explore what the anime and manga have shown of Komatsudaya!

EXTERIOR

The exterior's gone through a few different incarnations in the anime, with the noren color and basic layout being the only consistent things. This is the first design we see, from episode 13-05.

After episode 13-05, the rocks on the roof were ditched, a curtain that runs across the building was added, and the display window's curtain was changed from purple to blue. Episode 16-97 (left) had a new, completely brown sign (or the animators forgot to color it in), which was changed back to the old colorful sign in episode 20-37 (right). Episode 16-97 almost makes it look like there's a second story, but all the other episodes make it look like a one-story building.

Episode 28-48 shows the most recent version of Komatsudaya's exterior, where the display window has lost its curtain. Instead, it's gained a wooden hatch (shutter?) that opens up toward the street, a feature that was previously either missing or which opened up toward the room and was thus hidden by the curtain.

The original manga version has the same general exterior, except the curtain in the display opening is patterned (volume 35, page 42).

Besides the exterior itself, there's also the question of the store's immediate surroundings and where it's located in relation to other buildings. Both the anime and manga show stores directly across from Komatsudaya.

However, anime seasons differ on where in the city Komatsudaya is located. Episode 13-05 (left) shows the store relatively near what looks to be the edge of town, with buildings on both sides of it. Episode 16-97 also shows Komatsudaya surrounded by buildings. However, a shot from episode 20-37 (right), framed in the same direction as episode 13-05's shot, shows Komatsudaya on a corner right next to a crossroad in what's presumably the middle of the city.

The manga is equally inconsistent about what Komatsudaya's surroundings are. Volume 35 (page 44, left) shows a flat road in between Komatsudaya and the buildings across from it, but volume 65 (page 221, right) has a waterway flowing through the middle of the street. I don't think it's a matter of differing perspectives, as everyone seems to be standing in about the same place in both panels. Maybe the city dug out a ditch between volumes 35 and 65?

INTERIOR

Now to get into the guts of Komatsudaya. The first question is: how many rooms are in the building? From what I can tell, we've been shown four distinct rooms throughout the series.

The first is the shop itself. All incarnations of it have a raised "display floor" of sorts when you walk in, though what it looks like differs from season to season. In addition, while the anime always has the floor displaying products to be sold, in the manga you can see fans being made on the display floor. Episode 28-48 (bottom) shows what looks like the beginning of a hallway to the side, which episode 16-97 (top) lacks. Incidentally, two of the fans on the wall in 28-48 are the fans that were being displayed outside Komatsudaya in episode 13-05.

Speaking of what episode 28-48 shows, it also shows what looks to be a window or open door in the back of the shop. Since we can see the sky, the opening potentially leads out to a small, enclosed garden (tsuboniwa), something which was found in many town houses of this era.

The manga also shows the display floor, but here it seems to run vertically across the room instead of horizontally. However, we never get to see inside the room itself, so it's difficult to say what its layout is (left, volume 35, page 42; right, volume 65, page 222).

Next is the tea room we see during episode 13-05 (left) and volume 35 (page 46, right). This room is pretty consistent across the anime and manga (it's not in the above screenshot, but the anime's tea room also has wood paneling on one wall). I do wish the anime kept the cute little flower trimming on the tatami. The anime adds a small alcove and display shelf to the room; the fan on display here can also be seen on the wall in episode 28-48.

Episode 16-02 (left) shows what looks like a back room where the artisans craft the fans, and we see a close-up of the shelves in the same room in episode 16-97 (right).

Then, in episode 31-30, there's a shot of what seems to be an entirely new room. At first I thought this could potentially be the shop's display floor, but the wooden planks on the floor in this mystery room look to be going in the opposite direction of those on the display floor.

Taking all of that into account, as well as what town houses looked like in this period, maybe Komatsudaya's layout is something like this?

There could be more rooms than what we've been shown, and there's definitely plenty of furniture and items I didn't add to the layout. However, this is a fair estimate of how I see the store in my head based off of what's in the anime and manga.

[latvian-spider]

"Sonic gets hit with the Older Sibling Curse and hates it"

Let me give it a spin!

Tails grows tall quickly. Amy swears he was her height at most just a month ago and now he's towering over most of the friend group - "Amy, I'm only a head taller than you!"

"Towering, I say!"

"Sonic, stop laughing and help!"

Sonic does feel grouchy about being the shorter of the two now, but he's happy about the growth spurt, as that means Tails is growing how he should be - that he did the right things for his keed, in spite of the neglect caused by the village in his early years that should have stunted his growth.

He may not know much about foxes, but parenting books haven't let him down that badly yet, so he feels confident to take on whatever nature throws at them.

And if Tails thinks his new height will save him from noogies, well, he's got another thing coming.

But then life throws a curveball...

Tails adapted to the height well, aside from some bumps when he forgot to duck or underestimated the distance between his noggin and a hard surface.

But it's the aches in his legs that he cannot get used to.

Tails remembers that Sonic had gotten same random aches when he grew taller, mostly in the joints. Body growing, changing and adjusting, and all that.

But the fox doesn't think those were as long or so intense in the knees...

As long as he wasn't overdoing it, the pain is manageable at least.

But it wasn't going away.

After one surprise noogie, Tails nearly buckles from the pain.

After one run too long, Tails sees and feels both of his knees swelling painfully.

After one fall too hard, Tails couldn't get up, his legs refusing to work with him.

"Sonic...my legs...I-I can't move them."

Sonic, in a state of panic, rips an Emerald from Shadow and Chaos Controls them to a hospital.

The docs do their tests and finally come out with a diagnosis...

Simply put, Tails grew up vertically too fast for his knees. The knee bones could not keep up with the growth and lagged behind. The new weight and strain from the adventures means that Tails is in danger of being permanently wheelchair bound if the damage continues.

Tails digests this information and tries to think of someway to avoid that fate, 'Perhaps something like modified knee braces could work? Will need to look into this more...maybe ask the doctor for resources on knees while I'm here...'

Sonic, well, he finally fits the stereotype of hating the Older Sibling Curse - but only because it's hurting his baby brother and there's nothing he can do to help Tails.

Source: my little brother shot up and needs physical therapy for his knees. So, yeah, it's a real thing.

[never-enough-golden-kamuy]

Warmth of the cold-blooded sniper

I barely finished second WEEK of this semester and I'm already and still getting owned by my uni. I had to write these stories or I will burn out at best.

Over 1,6k words, Vasilyxf!reader, fluff per usual

Enjoy!

The climate on Karafuto was usually cold. However, when Vasily lowered the binoculars and his eyes fixated on a distant point, the temperature seemed to drop an extra few degrees. 

[Y/N] watched as the man knelt on one knee while resting his rifle on his shoulder. It was one, coherent and smooth movement. Years of practice led to perfection and left no room for any slack. Blue eyes followed the victim's movement above the barrel, devoid of any emotion. His entire body seemed to be detached from the surrounding reality, concentrating on the shot like a well-aimed arrow. 

The sound of gunfire pierced the air, causing a minute of chaos. The frightened birds jumped into the air with a terrifying screech. Smaller animals fell through the undergrowth, leaving only torn leaves behind. Even the small cloud of her own breath froze in the air. 

Meanwhile, Vasily didn't even bat an eye. Only with a learned movement, as natural as his heartbeat, did he reload his weapon, ready to finish off the animal. The clicking of the sliding mechanism sent shivers down her spine as the man continued to stare at his prey, as if even a second's distraction would make it suddenly vanish into thin air. The young deer fell into the undergrowth, thrown about with the last jerks of its life. There was no need for a second shot. Sniper precision was flawless as usual. 

Vasily let out a satisfied hum and signaled her that they could now descend the hill. [Y/N] scrambled out of her spot among the bulging roots and followed him. The woman stepped over irregularities in the ground and ducked under low branches, carefully imitating the man walking in front of her. Her thoughts were already too far away for her to pay attention to her surroundings. 

Sometimes she forgot how deadly dangerous Vasily was. The memories of his laughter and affectionate gestures contrasted sharply with the chilling sight from a moment ago. She also never dared to ask how much of the war was still in him. For her, the war was something distant, it never really affected her. She had no father or brother to take part in the draft. News from the front rarely reached the village, and even if it did, it was hushed in the company of a young woman. 

Is now a good time to ask? Is it even a question possible to answer? 

She almost bumped into the man as he tried unsuccessfully to get her attention. He frowned for a moment at her thoughtfulness and pointed upwards. [Y/N] looked up at the quickly darkening sky. 

They won't make it back home before dark. 

* 

[Y/N] stared blankly at the glowing coals, inhaling the musty smell of the woven bunk she was lying on. Little more than 4 walls and a hearth, long ago deprived of its rightful owner, but still standing intact. For years this old cottage has served as a shelter from the night and bad weather for travelers, a proof of the diligent work of the old days. Its usually quiet and dusty interior was now filled with the pleasant warmth of the fire and Vasili's calm breathing. 

How did he managed to fall asleep so quickly? He didn't seem to care about the hard boards and thin blanket. Are these some secret techniques of the Russian military? She looked at the figure sleeping on the floor. Tucked in his own cloak, he frowned even in his sleep. 

The old bunk creaked softly as she reached towards him, ready to see if the two vertical wrinkles on his forehead were permanent or if there was any hope for him after all. She froze, however, when the glow of the fireplace was reflected in the barrel of the rifle lying within his reach. 

The warning flashed before her eyes. The cold of death bit her fingers and ran up her arm, making her shiver. Vasily never talked about his experiences at the front, and she never had the courage to ask what effect it had had on him. What was the chance that, startled from sleep, he would take up arms? She never saw him sleeping so deeply, will it differ from waking up from a nap? 

As a matter of fact, it was the first time they were sleeping in one room. Grandmas from her village would be outraged if they knew. Two unmarried youngsters sleeping in one room? ALONE? 

Suddenly aware of the whole situation, she blushed and withdrew her hand as if it had been burned. She stole a glance, unsure whether Vasily had magically heard her thoughts. Fortunately, he didn't and continued to sleep, unaware of her dilemma. On the other hand, Vasily didn't seem to be a person who cared about what others thought of him. Fixated on his own goals, he could make decisions completely contrary to the views of the village babushkas. Such as deserting, leaving everything and traveling through foreign territory without a yen to his soul just to get revenge. 

Sometimes it seemed so stupid, but at the same time it was what she admired about him. The ability to make his own decisions and even sticking to them. 

Torn, she bit her lip nervously. The sight of the ice-cold sniper clashed with the memories of the same man, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he tried to capture the smallest details in his drawings. Fear froze her in place, but the flame of hope and curiosity burned brighter. 

She could now put aside her worries about the gossips the next day. People will say whatever they like about her anyway. However, there was still the question of Vasily. Will she startle him? Will he be mad? 

[Y/N] rolled onto her back, her head full of shouting voices. The cautious part of her absolutely forbade any antics that would result in being shot or rejected by Vasily. The rational part of her rightly reminded her that Vasily had never miss fired before, and therefore the likelihood of him shooting her blindly was low. Meanwhile, touch-deprived part of her was laying on the debate table drooling at the mere thought of holding hands. 

And how can you make any decisions in such team? Sometimes it may be better not to think at all. 

The woman took a deep breath, seeking agreement between all parties, and rolled out of bed before anyone could change her mind. She landed softly on her feet and glanced quickly at the rifle. Certain that it wasn't pointed at her yet, she gathered her blanket and spread it on the floor, squeezing herself between the man and the fireplace. She watched what he was doing with one eye and the absolute lack of reaction from him with the other. 

Since he decided to stay in the village for a little longer, the inhabitants took advantage of his youthful strength and efficiency in all possible works. Despite their generous payments in the form of money, food and hospitality, the constant tasks must have exhausted him. 

She lay down on her makeshift bed, wrapping herself in her own cloak. She tried to get as comfortable as possible on the hard floor and closed her eyes, still seeing through her eyelashes the hand lying at the level of her face. Without thinking, she covered it with a piece of cloak, protecting it from the cold of the night. 

And suddenly everything went quiet. As the tension drained from her body, the sound of the blood in her ears diminished, replaced by the rhythm of their breathing. The crackling of the dying fire soothed her frayed nerves, slowly pushing her towards sleep. 

At least until Vasily removed his hand. 

[Y/N] blinked in surprise and looked up, meeting piercing blue eyes. The entire world froze, went deaf, and plunged into darkness, shrinking to the size of just the two of them. She had stared at him blankly for decades after someone had dropped a hand grenade into her brain, depriving of all thought. She wasn't sure if she was breathing at all. 

“The bunk wasn't comfortable” she muttered without even the slightest involvement of the brain in formulating this statement. Vasily raised an eyebrow skeptically, but even in the darkness she could see the slightest lift at the corner of his lips. 

He touched his ear and nodded. >>I could hear<< 

The world went up in flames, burning down all her hopes for a decent life. She was fully ready to sink into the ground and never emerge. 

“Sorry to wake you up,” she mumbled, closing her eyes with a sigh, unable to look at the circus show she just performed. She didn't even flinch when Vasily moved. He could go ahead and take the bunk, or walk away from her life forever. It didn't matter to her as she was about to die right where she lay. 

She flinched when she felt a hand on her back, and then, completely effortlessly, she was moved the few dozen centimeters that separated them. Vasily shifted in his seat and held her against his chest, shielding her from the world. And suddenly the wooden floor of this old cottage was the coziest place on earth. She exhaled softly, the tension leaving her body again and the arm around her keeping them from separating. She swung her arm over his side, feeling it rise in rhythm with his breathing. She pressed her forehead against his shirt and the dull beating of his heart allowed her to finally fall asleep. 

He was warm. The cold-blooded sniper was very very warm. 

[st-hedge]

Which was your favorite colossus? Your least favorite? I like to RP in my head while I'm playing, which means I occasionally like to let Wander get maimed a little bit for whumpy dramatics, and I think one of the more charming ones to get whumped by is the guy in the skirt because it is deliciously tragic to get shot while trudging through a battlefield. Fuck the pyrophobe though, that one was a BITCH.

WHICH REMINDS ME-- do you happen to have any nicknames for the colossi?

Ooooooo I don’t have any nicknames besides what I swear at them when wander falls down for the nth fucking time. I have a grudge toward all the vertical colossi CUZ THEY ARE GODDAMN SLIPPERY!! Like the one with the beard (I forgot what fans call him) I couldn’t get wander to climb up onto his shoulder or his neck :(((

My favourites are ones where agro is part of the fight :) i love getting to use all the tools and being on a chase. I just wish that there was gyro or something to turn around quicker when shooting the bow while on agro’s back

[therealgchu]

To the Shore Vignettes - Mayonnaise Jars

i had planned to publish this on friday, but life conspired to get in my way. and, by life, i mean an all-day interbutt outtage at work, which caused my friday to be insane.

so, here's the new short, inspired by a thread from the subreddit fanfiction about bad fanfiction smut tropes. this is rated explicit because of some lines, but the work is otherwise G rated.

if you want to read my other stuff, it's here on ao3.

Mayonnaise Jars sneak peek

For once, he got the drop on her and moved them out of her reach before she could snatch them from his hands. “Hah!” he shouted, laughing maniacally, and lifted the books up above her head. “I think there’s some more choice passages I could read,” he taunted, “just give me a minute to find some more!”

Hwa was so embarrassed that all of her training went out the door. “GIVE ME MY BOOKS!” she cried as she jumped up and down, trying to grab them from Sam’s uplifted hands.

He kept shifting the books from one hand to the other, but forgot that she had an excellent vertical, and she almost caught them. He knew he couldn’t keep them from her much longer and that she would remember her training soon, which probably meant a world of hurt for him. He needed an exit strategy. His eyes shot over to the ladder, and made a break for it. “Can’t catch me!” he challenged, and raced to the hatchway, jumping through the opening to the main deck. He sprinted through to the hatch, hit the release for the ramp, and ran out.

“Greetings, Sam Coe,” Vasco said as Sam raced off the ramp, the robot’s head following Sam’s mad dash. “Greetings, Captain Kim. It is good to see you survived your last sl…” Vasco trailed off as he watched Hwa tear after Sam, hot on his heels.

“GIVEMEMYBOOKS!” Hwa shrieked, loud and shrill enough to cause some birds roosting on the other side of the landing pad to take flight, chasing after him. Sam darted behind the ship then abruptly stopped, hands on his knees, panting and laughing his head off, allowing her to catch him. He could have kept running, and it was one of the few areas he far exceeded her abilities as she was a very slow runner. But, his conscience was pricking him a bit for teasing her, and wondered if she’d be upset.

[mewtwowarrior]

This is a companion piece to @trong-legacy's post on Team Green from Walt Disney World's Tron Lightcycle / Run, expanding on the various character models used.

I've compiled the character models from several different sources, comparing different versions of them.

All of the models seem to be based on the ones found in Tron: Evolution and TRON RUN/r, so I'll be showing all of them off.

-

Sources:

The DisneyParks Blog Introducing Team Green

BlogMickey.com's First Look at Team Green

BlogMickey.com's Twitter TRON Lightcycle / Run Queue Twitter post 1

BlogMickey.com's Twitter TRON Lightcycle / Run Queue Twitter post 2

xbox.com's TRON: Evolution page

xbox.com's TRON RUN/r page

BlogMickey.com's TRON Lightcycle / Run at D23 2022 article

Fortnite update page

TR2N font

TRON: Evolution PC

TRON RUN/r PC

Fortnite Bitstream character

-

Picture only version of this post

-

All right, for starters, we're gonna talk about the makeup of Team Green for a moment.

The original group shot of Team Green features twelve different programs.

There's also a wall showing eight more programs and then three more programs get individual bios.

Interestingly, the eleven named programs don't match up to the original twelve, so there's potentially up to twenty three different Team Green programs at this time, if they're all unique.

Disney has also said that there'd be more stories from Team Green, so there may be even more out there in the future. Interestingly, they mention the twelve while showing the original group shot, but I'm not sure if that's an oversight, considering the named programs are quite a bit different.

There's different helmets between all the characters, but I'm going to refer to them as their body types, since the circuits don't change much.

The group picture has: 1 Heavy Sentry, 2 Siren, 2 Clu, 2 Rinzler, 2 Quorra, 1 Anon, 1 Scout Sentry, and 1 Sentry.

The individual pictures have: 2 Scout Sentry, 1 Black Guard, 2 Anon, 1 Clu, 1 Sentry, 2 Quorra, 1 Heavy Sentry, and 1 Rinzler.

There's some crossover there, but, there's also different helmets, which makes it hard to figure out exactly how many unique programs there are.

-

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files | TRON: Evolution Voice Lines | "Stay rezzed, program"

I'm starting off with Tron here. His Lightcycle / Run Rinzler model is based off the TRON RUN/r Rinzler model. The RUN/r model has a few unique quirks, and so does the Evolution one, making it fairly easy to tell them apart.

On Team Green, two out of the three Rinzler models keep Tron's signature T circuits (as does one of the Siren models).

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files | TRON: Evolution Voice Lines

Quorra has, by far, the most amount of models, with three different ones in RUN/r, the Bitstream model in Fortnite, and is used several times in Lightcycle / Run.

Interestingly, @trong-legacy and I discovered that both Evolution and RUN/r forgot to light up her vertical circuit on her chest, while both Lightcycle / Run and Fortnite remembered it.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files | TRON: Evolution Voice Lines

Clu's model is somewhat interesting as his helmet is used for several other Team Green members.

At the time of publishing the look at Team Green, @trong-legacy and I hadn't been able to source Clu's helmet, speculating that it was perhaps from the multiplayer DLC model.

@cmdrjanus-2 has access to the TRON: Evolution models, thanks to this pack at SFMLab and I asked her about Clu's helmet and she kindly set it up for me so I could look at it. We're not sure if it's the exact same as the Evolution one, but I greatly appreciate her help!

However, shortly after publication, I found one scene in Evolution with him wearing his helmet, right around when he stages his coup. However, the circuit lights on his helmet are not lit up.

Like Quorra, his model is used quite a few times throughout Lightcycle / Run, but he's got a different helmet in most of them.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files

I was glad to seen Anon from TRON: Evolution again.

I was unsure of who the yellow model there belonged to, until I saw this post and realized that the circular hand circuits belong to him.

The Siren is a fairly interesting one, because there's a few unique aspects to her.

The Siren in TRON RUN/r is specifically labeled as Gem, and the Team Green versions appear to be based on her.

One of the Team Green Sirens has Tron's T for some reason, which is kinda neat, especially since she's potentially the only female program to wear Tron's circuits. (@trong-legacy and I joked that she's my Tron OC Ark, who isn't a Siren, but is a Renegade.)

The Siren is also the only character in the queue to be portrayed by a real person, instead of a CGI one.

At the Tron Lightcycle Power Run in Shanghai, they have a different Siren in the queue.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files

The Sentry is the most basic enemy in TRON: Evolution. They're former System Monitors, which is why I included the original System Monitor in this image. They share a few circuit details, but the ones in Lightcycle / Run are definitely the Occupation Sentry version.

I think it's neat that they also brought back the Sentries and their variants. There's some Sentries in TRON: Legacy, but all of the different variants are only in Evolution.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files

The Scout Sentry is a more advanced enemy in TRON: Evolution, but, like the Sentries, used to be a System Monitor.

@trong-legacy noticed that the Lightcycle / Run version of their helmets was colored in slightly differently, so you can still kinda tell where the original split was.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files

Like the Scout Sentry, the Heavy Sentry is an advanced enemy that used to be a System Monitor in TRON: Evolution.

TRON: Evolution Model | Tron Files

In TRON: Evolution, the Black Guard are modified Sentries, which means that they also used to be System Monitors. They're a fairly dangerous enemy when you encounter them.

-

That's all of the TRON Lightcycle / Run characters for now! Hopefully Disney will add more details about Team Green over time and I'll be able to add them to this collection.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Chapter 12: The Great Escape

Warnings: narrow escape from death, intense fight scene/aerial battle, family vs family

The car's engine came to life as Thomas turned the key, and he released a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding as he relaxed, relief flooding him. It was short-lived, however, as he heard a loud crash behind him. A glance at the rear view mirror confirmed that Rowan was now outside the facility, having come through one of the windows.

   Shadow was not far behind, and he only got a few steps away before she tackled him back to the ground. They wrested fiercely on the pavement, both fighting to gain the upper hand over the other, wings flapping madly, a furious tangle of black and white feathers. It was clear that Shadow was having great difficulty in delaying her brother's progression towards his target.

   Just don't think about how that target is me.

   Thomas floored the gas pedal and sped onto the street, heading back to the safety of his lab, which was equipped with a special lockdown feature that made the lab into an almost impenetrable fortress. All he had to do was make it there alive, and he could give the command to his computer to initiate those protocols.

   After that, every door would be blocked with a drop-down steel wall that was designed to withstand nearly any kind of blunt force. The same would happen for windows, which meant that nothing could get in, and nothing could get out.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

   Back on the pavement in front of the experimental technologies facility, Shadow fought hard to maintain her grip on her brother as he struggled to escape. "Just... give... up already!" She said between pants. Her energy was running low. She had her arms wrapped around him from behind, restricting his movements.

   Then Rowan sharply jerked his head back to smash into Shadow's face, causing her to lose her grip for a split second, which was all the time he needed to get back on his feet and take to the air to chase madly after Thomas's car, which had disappeared around a bend in the road.

   A second more and Shadow launched after him in pursuit. They were both decently good fliers, but Shadow had always had a record of being the fastest Falkry in history. Rowan had gotten a good head start, but she was quickly closing the distance between them.

   The streets below them were practically empty, aside from a few straggling cars. Their drivers were fortunately too busy to look up and see the strange spectacle taking place in the sky. Shadow spotted Thomas's car among them. He had nearly reached the lab.

   I just have to keep Rowan occupied a little longer, she thought, gritting her teeth in determination. She was now side by side with him, and almost directly above the target car, which is when she predicted that Rowan would go into a steep, vertical descent to add power to his final attack.

   Not gonna happen.

   Shadow tipped her right wing down, causing her to veer sharply to the side and collide with Rowan's left wing. He stumbled in flight and lost a few feet of altitude before finally regaining his balance.

You forgot that I always beat you in our sparring matches together. And this is why--

   Now that Rowan was flying some distance beneath her, she had a clear shot at knocking him out of the sky entirely. Shadow tucked her wings in close to her body and dove straight at his back, reaching out her arms to grab onto him. Rowan shouted in surprise as he felt the sudden weight gain, and immediately knew what was happening, but there was nothing he could do about it.   Shadow grabbed the back of his black wings and held on tight as they both plummeted in a downward descent, the ground rushing up to greet them. They were sent crashing through the many branches of a large tree, which significantly slowed the fall until they finally landed on the pavement with two identical thuds.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

City of Monsters and Magic Masterlist

Main Stories Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222

[blubushie]

EVERY SCAR YOU HAVE, BUSH MAN! AND HOW YOU GOT THEM! PRONTO!

Ok firstly "bush man" reads so much different than "bushman" for some reason that's weird

Anyway! We'll do this top-down

Right side of forehead, just beyond hairline. Got this wrecking an old paddock basher of a '67 Mustang on a mate's property when I was 15. My face hit the steering wheel. And the car caught on fire! So now I'm afraid of fire.

Horizontal scar on eyelid just under left eyebrow. I was 3 years old, jumping on the couch, and slammed face first into the coffee table.

Cut on left side of neck, just under jaw. Had a knife held to my neck. It was pulled away too fast.

Cut on right outer forearm. Blocked a knife. It's barely noticeable now since my arm hair camouflages the scar. Much more obvious when my arm is shaved.

Right inner wrist, oval scar I got while trying to get out of handcuffs as a teen cuz they forgot where I was in mental hospital so I was left unsupervised too long.

Right thumb on the knuckle. Scraped it learning to ride a bike.

Left bicep and left forearm. Bites from juvenile crocodiles during a croc survey in the Top End.

Left middle finger, 2cm vertical line stretching up from nail. Jammed finger in door of Matilda & the skin flayed off when I yanked it on reflex.

Numerous bite marks from different animals on my arms and hands. Scratches too. It's too many to keep track of.

Scarification on right breast from initiation ceremony.

T-anchor double mastectomy scars.

Right side at waistline to almost centre of stomach is a long slash. Was disembowelled by a pig and almost died.

Barely-noticeable scar just under shoulder blades to right of spine from where the porcelain of my body armour cut my back after I was shot the first time.

Tacklebox is fucked, I'd rather not go into detail about those. I am intersex so the whole area has quite a bit of scarring from alterative + reconstructive surgeries.

Large rectangular scar on right thigh. This was a debrided burn wound I got from falling into a fire while drunk. My jeans melted into my leg and I refuse to wear synthetic fabric now.

Small patch on my right arse cheek where a skin graft was taken for the burn wound on my leg. Only one particularly deep spot needed a graft.

Miscellaneous scrapes and scratches on my legs from years of a rough and tumble childhood in the outback.

Left foot, raised scar over Achilles' tendon. Got razorwire in my shoe, cut me and the wound got infected. This was cleaned by maggots after a debridement.

Right foot, U-shaped scar on underside of big toe at the joint. Stepped on broken porcelain as a kid. Didn't need stitches luckily.

NOT A SCAR: knot on 8th right rib. Was jumped by 3 blokes for being MLM and beaten. One of them kicked me in the ribs and fractured it.

NOT A SCAR: permanent callous at shoulder pocket where my rifle rests when shouldered from shooting so many years professionally.

[cebwrites]

scar headcanons (Hiraishin Pirates)

a/n: wanted to get these onto paper before I forgot because I haven't been inspired enough to write them into fic form, lol

oc crew word count: 0.8k

Kirin

A scar vertically across his left collarbone from getting in the middle of a fight between Daz Bones and Bon Clay when they were all still Baroque agents (Bon-chan didn't leave him unhurt either, their kick to Kirin's head gave him a hell of a concussion)

A spiky, horizontal scar (frantic, poor stitching) across his abdomen slightly under his navel from his desperate teenage dysphoria brain taking control and attempting something very very stupid that he still hears about to this day

A diagonal scar going into the inner thigh of his left leg, and stitching scars all across his right leg post-Marineford

A big, jagged scar that gets darker further in from his brother post-Dressrosa (he had a rough time getting around in the direct aftermath of receiving that wound, so hasn't healed that well); this scar tends to hurt on rainy days

And small nicks around his waist and lower back, almost as if they were made by the end of a hook

Aside from those, he has smaller scars here and there all over his body, Kirin's not as particularly fussed about protecting precious skin as his partners' are - ironically no other scars on his torso though, even as he struts around shirtless two thirds of the time with active goading to whoever tries to challenge that

Reiji

Miscellaneous (slashing) scars on his arms in no particular order, and some on his legs but not many, Reiji also has stitching scars on his right thumb + pinky and his left index + ring finger

His biggest scars are a big spiky one just above his heart that comes out through his back

[There are no other scars on his back or other parts of his body, some would say that's fitting for a swordsman but he'd rebuke it]

Rio

More than they care to count since they blur together after a while, especially on their back, the majority of them whipping and laceration marks

Rio doesn't go out of their way to avoid reflections of their back anymore - the tiger tattoo covering that accursed dragon claw on their skin - but they don't need to see it to know those scars would always remain; he feels them, constantly, whenever they move or shift even the slightest amounts

Rio has more scars on the back of their upper arms and legs but they've gotten used to those, barely feel em anymore

On the under side of their left arm, they have a long, jagged gash Post-Timeskip; when Rio stands with one hand over the other, sometimes they'll brush their fingers against it out of habit

Izzy

A mildly disturbing fact Izzy realized about himself after getting his devil fruit is that, after a while, his scars don't seem to last nearly as long as they should

Small nicks he'd expect, but at some point they began noticing what should be life-long mars on their skin start to fade, even if from a long time ago, almost like an old tattoo

It kind of instilled a deep-seeded fear that one day he too would fade like ink underneath someone's skin they didn't bother to touch up, gradually, helpless to stop it, and without anyone really noticing - a partial drive behind his dream to leave his literal mark on the world, by tattooing 10,000 people they'd never truly be forgotten and live on through their work

Tetsu

A lot less than some people would typically assume - Tetsu wants his body to be a canvas for his husband's art, so there's no way he could let that art get damaged, right?

He still has quite a few, though, namely on his torso and legs from direct stab wounds (his arms are surprisingly clean)

He has a circular bullet scar on his right shoulder after taking a shot that was initially for Bepo, now it's the center of a beautiful wave illustration from Izzy that he takes to brag about any chance he gets

Alto

Much like Izzy, most scars he gets are impermanent - but only on Alto's "puppet" body, and unlike them, as soon as Alto returns to his human form, they're no longer there

If they're injured in that fleshy form, though, that scar is forever, even transferring over to the next body they carve; this is possibly why no matter how many times Alto carves himself new wings, they never sit comfortably and eventually always have to be shed

The new wood he attaches to his head is unmarred, but mind and body (the human one) still retain the memory of his flight being ripped away by cold government hands

Migi

Stitch scars all around their right hand, slightly below the wrist, where they received their namesake from (the mission gone awry that marked them with this still a fresh, bitter memory before the timeskip)

They have a scar over their right eye as well, usually hidden by her scope; the damaged caused was bad enough that she needed a replacement, but luckily enough someone with the most gorgeous obsidian eyes was kind enough to give her theirs

Migi has few other scars aside from these two, their position as a sniper usually keeps them far from the toils of melee combat and even if there is trouble close up, one of their crewmates is quick to back them up

[milimiki]

Thoughts on the IMAX 70mm projection of Oppenheimer:

This marks the 3rd movie I got to see on an IMAX 70mm film print. First was Interstellar back in 2014, then Dunkirk in 2017.

Didn't get to see Tenet in theaters due to the pandemic, so I'm not even sure if it was even projected in IMAX 70mm film.

Like Oppenheimer, Dunkirk was shot entirely on 70mm film, both horizontal and vertical pull-down; 35mm wasn't used at all. I remember Dunkirk being gritty and raw, but Oppenheimer was relatively clean. And really bright. Throughout the movie, I thought I was watching a digital projection.

That's because I heard stories about IMAX 70mm film projectors failing throughout the world because, to my knowledge, this is the first time a 3-hour long movie was projected on IMAX 70mm film; there's no precedent.

But I'm fairly certain I watched a film projection, not a digital one. Bits of hair and debris was a notable factor in my deduction. It's been 4 years since I watched a movie on 70mm film (Once Upon a Time in Hollywood being the last), and I kinda forgot how it looked.

[poiuy-simblr]

WIP - Bathhouse - 二天 & 天

Yesterday I worked on the upper floors of the Bathhouse from Spirited Away.

When I build, I like to do the interior and exterior side by side. It helps me maintain the flow of the interior and the visual of the exterior, especially in a build like this where the two may not actually. Yesterday I mostly worked on the interior.

Due to the nature of this build, it contains spoilers for the movie Spirited Away and images of emotional moments. Because of this, and how long this post is, I've added the keep reading.

On the way to 天, the elevator that Chihiro and the Radish Spirit take stops at 二天. Translated literally as Heaven and Second Heaven, the subs I watched called them Sky and Second Sky. My folders are named for the subs, but I really enjoy the imagery of these floors being called Heaven.

Either way.

The elevator door opens on 二天 to this long hall of shoji, back-lit to show patrons inside the rooms. I love this scene. It's only a few frames of the movie and is never mentioned again, but it has so much ambiance I needed it for my build.

Obviously a WIP, I was so excited to find a solution for the spandrels I could live with. The in-game options were sending me up a wall. These, and I'm calling them spandrels because I don't have a better word for them, are to me very specific in a few ways: 1) they're a dark wood tone, 2) they have small, vertical slits that allow light though and 3) they come down to the top of the shoji.

I had a couple options for spandrels that weren't solid, but they were either filled in with paper (SE) or were horizontal (CC).

So I made my own. They're not finalized because I have to fight with them a little bit still. The CC beams I'm using are best placed against a wall which I then delete, but this means they're slightly off center from the vertical lines on the wall as seen on the farther set. I can 'center' them by doubling up, as seen on the closer one, but that's not quite right. I could probably manage it with TOOL? For a WIP though, I'm thrilled. I'm also thrilled I could get the 4 shoji per beam right, and being able to paint the ceilings has made this so much better.

Looking at it right now, I can only see the little things I need to change - the floor needs to be rotated, and likely switched completely, and the shoji aren't quite right. There's a lack of shoes of the floor, the lights hang from the ceiling rather than being flush against them, and I haven't added the signage to the spandrels yet.

Still, I'm pleased with it so far. I can't have a never-ending hallway because the lot won't allow for it, but I can have this hall turn onto another and another, so that sims will have a long hall to walk though.

Here's an early iteration of the floor (because I forgot to get a sc yesterday)

I also did some fun stuff in Yubaba's quarters on the 天 floor.

There's this scene in her office with plenty of light, including this shot of the fireplace from behind her desks:

So I worked on this:

The actual furniture is coming together nicely, but what I was really excited about was the fireplace. The scale of the painting and the molding around it are so close. I wish I had a wider fireplace that suited, but this one is marble with a rounded cavity and a green insert, my main feature requirements.

Obviously it needs the rugs, and I can mostly only see the little things that are wrong - the tallest walls are still too short and the room can never be big enough due to lot restrictions. The size and type of vase needs to be changed and the doorways want columns and tweaked curtains. But I am feeling mighty validated in my CC hoarding since I had multiple pink chairs with rolled arms, and even the quickly found placeholder pillows are working well. I always wonder if I really need all those recolors, and the answer is yes I do.

I also did some work in the hallway that leads to this room. We get this shot in the film:

So I've been working on this:

The bright lighting on the walls isn't ideal, but I managed to get the pattern on the floor and the shadows casting from the alcoves onto it. I was also so excited that these columns came in a swatch with a green beam and a brown base.

Listing out all the CC in these WIPs would be impractical, especially since a fair amount of it is serving as a placeholder, but I'm happy to share any details about what I've used and plan on listing it out on more finalized spaces.

Thank you for reading :) and until the next screenshots <3