#so sorry if any of this information is wrong

[the-shedevil-writes]

Polaroids (Bob Floyd x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Bob keeps your relationship private, but he doesn't try to hide the dozens of Polaroids of you all over his locker and truck. He has a daily routine of taping his favorite Polaroid of you to his jet's console, but when it goes missing, things get chaotic. Luckily, you're there to make everything better. WORD COUNT: 2.3k WARNINGS: Bob gets angry in this one, folks. Cussing. Fighting. Hangman's an asshole- sorry. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Bob didn’t like talking about his relationship. It’s not that he wasn’t proud of her, or that he felt ashamed. But in fact, the opposite. He’d seen these animals, he’d call co-workers, and how they’d treat girls. Granted, the squadron he was with now wasn’t so bad. Rooster, Hangman, and Fanboy were hard flirts, but they had basic decency. He never felt embarrassed by their behavior when they went out to the bars, and they’d try and pick up a girl. If they were successful, they celebrated. If they weren’t, they’d walk away and move on. 

But it was his past experiences with other pilots. Locker room talk always rubbed him the wrong way. He did his best not to judge these guys. He had those thoughts, too, but he had heard too many dehumanizing things said about women he knew and didn’t. So he preferred to keep his gorgeous girlfriend, Y/n, under wraps, even if he did trust his current friends.

They preferred to keep their lives separate anyway. With Bob having his work and friend group, and Y/n having hers. It kept their conversations interesting, as they had their own lives to discuss, not just their shared one. 

The Dagger Squad, of course, would try and pry any information out of him. All they knew was that he had a girlfriend. Half the time, they’d forget what her name was because they had never met her, and Bob preferred not to talk about her, for fear they’d ask to see her. 

He was surprised they didn’t notice the Polaroids. Taking pictures of his girl was his favorite thing to do besides flying. He wasn’t exactly a photographer. But he made good use out of the instant Polaroid camera she got him for Christmas. It was so much better than taking pictures on his phone because he could hold the memory in his hand. The light and the moment were captured and printed instantly just for him. 

They were stuck everywhere. Photos over the years were plastered all over the inside of his locker. In his phone case was a picture of her wearing his glasses. And in the fold-out mirror of his truck was a photo of her taken off guard in the kitchen that she hated, but he loved. The one of her kissing his cheek was usually tucked in the front pocket of his flight suit. They all served as reminders of what he had waiting for him once his shift was over. His best friend and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his whole life. 

His favorite was the photo he taped to his control panel every day. It was a little beat up, naturally, but he made sure to keep that one in the best condition it could be. It was his good luck charm- the first Polaroid he had ever taken of her. It was Christmas morning, and she sat next to the lit tree, in his old Lemoore High School shirt that she had stolen for herself. She hugged the frankly huge teddy bear that he had gotten her. While the lights on the tree sparkled in the photo and cast a golden glow on her smiling face. For some reason, when he had it, the missions went better. The days went by more easily when he got to see his girl’s face after a stressful hiccup in flight. 

It had been a long and grueling day flying under the sweltering sun. They had been training for a strike mission, and the dogfighting exercises had left him drenched in sweat, and owing Maverick 200 push-ups. Thanks, Payback, for the BRILLIANT idea. And thanks, Hangman, for doing what he did best- leaving him in the dust and pushing his buttons. 

After an almost embarrassing amount of time, he walked back to the locker room with biceps so sore they screamed. He unzipped his flight suit and took his glasses off, using the white shirt underneath to clean the fog and sweat off them. He couldn’t wait to go home and find his girlfriend in her study, working. And he especially couldn’t wait to bug and distract her from all of it. 

That’s when the sense of dread hit him, and he realized. He quickly checked all his pockets. Yes, the one of her kissing his cheek was there. But his lucky charm wasn’t in any of the other pockets. He rushed to climb out of his flight suit and scrambled to throw on a random shirt and shorts from his duffel. He couldn’t leave it in the jet. Who knew what maintenance would do if they found it? They’d probably just throw it away. 

Throwing on his backpack, he sprinted back down to the hangar. He didn’t even notice the whole squadron standing around talking. He didn’t care. All he wanted was his favorite picture and for this horrible day to be over with. 

The sunset shone on his forehead, exacerbating the glistening stress sweat. He quickly climbed the ladder onto the Super Hornet and looked inside the backseat interior. The only place it could be. And when he looked at the spot between the radar and the comms control, he put his face in his hands. It wasn’t there. The memory of the Christmas lights and the bear was missing. 

“Fuck.” He said to himself. It was hard to get Bob to curse, but this felt like an appropriate occasion.

Then Hangman’s voice rang out behind him. 

“Hey Baby on Board! You sure this isn’t a picture you found on Google?” 

Bob’s head whipped back to find Jake Seresin holding the photo. On one hand, he was just grateful that someone had found it. On the other hand, out of all the pilots, he wished so deeply that it wasn’t Hangman. 

He quickly climbed down the ladder. “Give me it back, please.” He said exasperated, and walked towards him.

Jake held the photo up so that Bob couldn’t get it. Neither of them was short, but Hangman was just slightly taller. 

“I’m not kidding.” He said, trying his best to keep his cool. It took a lot to make Bob angry. He was typically level-headed and able to logically think things through. That’s why he was a WSO Top Gun Graduate, and not necessarily a pilot. But right then, his whole day had been building up inside him, and this was the one thing he didn’t mess around with. 

“I just can’t believe that a babe like this is with a guy like you. Really, you should let me call her up.” He said teasingly with a smile. After leaving Bob and Phoenix stranded, AND doing this, Bob was at the end of his rope.

“Hangman, just give him back the photo,” Phoenix voiced with her arms crossed. She and Rooster watched the whole interaction, which just made him feel worse. This was humiliating. It was like they were boys in a school yard- which Bob would say was an apt description of most of the people he had worked with in the past.

He reached up for the photo and finally got a grip on it, but Hangman didn’t let go. 

“I just think it’s funny! I wanna look at it. I think there’s more in his locker, too.”

“Just let go, Hangman.” His voice was less whiny and more serious now. 

“No!” He grinned.

The two tussled and grabbed at the photo. It felt like a moment that was way too long. Until eventually they each pulled in a different direction, twisting it. It completely bent. Thankfully, it couldn’t rip because of the type of film, but the photo itself was fairly distorted. Bob’s heart beat out of his chest, and it was like his stomach twisted the same way the photo did. 

He suddenly let go of the photo and pushed Hangman so hard he stumbled back, surprised. The photo slapped onto the pavement. 

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Bob said, following after him, ready to beat the shit out of him. Even though at first glance, most people would believe that Hangman would win in a fight between the two. It didn’t quite look it at the moment with the anger in Bob’s eyes and his arms pumped from the earlier push-ups.

Rooster quickly ran over and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him back. “HEY HEY HEY!” 

Phoenix ran over and did the opposite, pushing her hand against Hangman’s chest, though he didn’t try to move forward. He knew he was in the wrong here, and it was clear by his guilty expression.

“Bob, man, calm down,” Rooster said. They all looked at him, surprised. Timid, awkward Bob was… kinda scary when he was pissed off. His glasses slightly crooked and red in the face. Maybe it was just strange to see him so out of control.

He slowly pushed Rooster off of him and walked over, grabbing the crumpled photo on the ground. After a failed attempt at straightening it out, he put it in his pocket and walked off, steaming. 

That night, when he got home, he slammed the door. He was never the type to do that, but he felt so defeated. His duffel bag dropped to the floor uncaringly. 

“Bob? Is that you?” Y/n called out from the study.

He sighed, a little relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” He said, his voice almost completely flat. That wasn’t normal. He’d usually meet her in the study, but at the sounds of distress, she quickly came out.

She walked out to find him hanging up his sweatshirt with a depressed look on his face. His usual smile was replaced by a small, tense frown, and his shoulders were high and stiff. Something was very wrong.

“Oh, baby.” She said, walking over, “What’s wrong?” Her voice was so gentle.

He sighed and quickly wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry. I need to shower,” He said, not having gotten the chance to on base. But he still squeezed her, needing the support dearly. 

She shook her head against his chest. “What happened?” She knew he was trying to avoid it. 

He stepped back and pulled the bent photo out of his pocket. “Hangman happened.”

She gasped at the sight of it in his hand. “Oh no… Is this a man or a dog we’re talking about here?” She asked confused, and that made him laugh a little. He was already so grateful to be home. 

“Man. Though he definitely acts like a dog.” He groaned.

She gently took the photo from his hands. “I can try and fix it. Straighten it out. There might be a crease still in it, though.” She tried her best to flatten it out like he did, but to no avail.

He shook his head. “You can try, but I doubt it’ll be okay.”

That answer was so depressing, she looked up and tilted her head. “Hey, we’ll get it back to normal. I’ll look it up. How about you go shower and eat? I made pasta cause I was too lazy to be a real chef tonight.” She tried to lighten the air. “Then you can tell me all about your day.” 

He sighed in relief. “You’re too good to me.” He said softly, pulling her in for a much-needed kiss.

And that’s exactly how they ended up sprawled on the couch, each with bowls of penne and vodka sauce. On the coffee table, the photo lay on a piece of wax paper and was buried under some thick fighter jet manuals Bob had. 

“It was just like the whole day had been building up in me. Payback’s bet. Hangman leaving me and Phoenix dead in the water. The two hundred push-ups. And the photo going missing in the first place drove me crazy. So when he bent it, I just… exploded a little.” He admitted, almost ashamed to have lost control.

She sighed. “That’s okay. It was natural after all of that.” She reassured gently, reaching for his calf and squeezing it. “This Hangman guy sounds like a real douche.”

“Understatement.” He said, but he was feeling better talking through it all with her. “I just hope that the photo is okay. You know it’s my good luck charm, and if it’s not flat, it won’t stick to my console very well.” 

A small smile appeared on her face. “It’s under some of the thickest books I’ve ever seen. If it’s not flattened, then that’s just defying gravity.” She said. 

He exhaled again, relaxing, and it was like the tension in him completely dissipated. “You’re right.” He said gently. 

“Hey, maybe after today he’ll leave you alone.” She suggested.

He scoffed, “Hangman? I give him less than a week before he starts using you against me.” 

She chuckled and set her bowl down so she could lie down against him. “Hmmmm, gotta get you enrolled in anger management classes then.” She teased.

He kissed the top of her head. “You’re funny.” He said sarcastically.

The next morning, he woke up at the crack of dawn per usual. He slowly slipped out of his girlfriend’s grasp, and she whined, half asleep. Their typical routine. He gently leaned down, ran his hand over her hair, and kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, and she subconsciously did so.

He got ready in his khaki uniform and walked out to the living room. On the table were the stacks of manuals. He very carefully took them off one by one and set them on the couch to soften the noise. Checking on the Polaroid, he sighed in relief as it was flat again. A small crease was across the middle, but at the very least, it was flat. He turned it around and saw something new. On the plain white back of the photo was a lipstick kiss mark over the folded line. In the tiniest pen was ‘A kiss to make it better’. 

And the biggest smile grew on his face. This was better than he could’ve asked for. 

Now he didn’t just have a good luck charm, but also a kiss to remember her by. 

[psformybss]

could write smthn ab actress reader n drew going to f1, n drew myb getting a little jealous at the drivers obviously trying to charm her

No Overtaking Allowed

drew starkey x actress!reader

a/n: ngl this is not my best work. i also dont know much about f1 so all of the information in here was provided by my boyfriend and google so im sorry if something is wrong 😭

The sun spilled like molten gold over the Monaco harbor, turning the water into something unreal. Everything shimmered. The air buzzed with salt, champagne, and the kind of money that made your teeth ache if you looked at it too long. You stood on the private terrace of a luxury suite above the famous street circuit, arms loosely crossed, trying not to let the glamor make your eyes roll too far back in your head.

“I feel underdressed,” you muttered, watching a woman glide by in head-to-toe Dior, balancing a tiny espresso in one hand and a Yorkie in the other like it was nothing.

Drew stood behind you, sunglasses pushed into his hair, hands tucked in his pockets like he wasn’t currently surrounded by some of the richest people on Earth. “You’re wearing custom Louis Vuitton.”

“Exactly. Custom. Someone had to design me into this setting. That woman just woke up and manifested wealth.”

He laughed, warm and low. “You look incredible.”

You turned your head just enough to glance at him. “Don’t try to distract me with compliments.”

“I’m not distracting. I’m stating facts.”

“Mm. Convenient how your facts always make me feel hotter.”

“That’s just science, babe.”

You gave a short laugh and leaned against the railing. Below, the circuit looked impossibly narrow, like a dare wrapped in steel and asphalt. Pit crews and media buzzed around the grid, the last few minutes of calm before the thunder.

“Remind me again why we’re pretending this is safe?” you asked.

Drew moved closer until his arm brushed yours. “Because pretending is more fun.”

“You say that like someone who’s never had a tire fly at their head.”

“I mean, not yet.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“That’s what keeps it spicy.”

He leaned in and kissed your cheek. You didn’t lean away.

The sound of engines building swallowed any reply. Your gaze snapped downward as the cars lined up. One by one, the lights went out and the start exploded in a rush of sound and velocity. They tore through Sainte Devote like missiles.

“Two-stop rule this year,” you said over the roar. “Love that they tried to manufacture excitement with tire math.”

Drew tilted his head. “The what rule?”

You smiled. “Two mandatory pit stops. They’re hoping it’ll force more strategy, maybe shake up the order. It’s Monaco though, so basically still a parade.”

Drew smirked. “You know way too much about this.”

“It’s called having hobbies.”

He squinted at the screen overhead. “Which car is ours again?”

You laughed. “We don’t have one, babe. We’re neutral spectators. But if you mean who I’d pick—Ferrari, obviously.”

“Right,” he said slowly. “Because… the red’s fast?”

“They’re not even leading this season.”

“But they look good?”

You gave him a look. “That’s like saying a guy’s a good actor because he’s tall.”

“…Okay, I deserved that.”

You smiled, eyes flicking back to the screen. When one of the Ferraris clipped the barrier near the tunnel, you flinched and Drew’s arm circled your waist.

“You good?”

“Heart’s racing.”

He tilted closer. “Mine too. Though that might just be you.”

You snorted, resting your hand over his. For a while, neither of you said much. Just watched.

When the checkered flag waved and the crowd roared for Lando Norris, you let out a low whistle.

“Well,” you said. “Guess I owe someone a drink. Again.”

“Told you he was due.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“Sure I do. It’s like betting. Eventually the guy has to win.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re here.”

Drew beamed like he’d just won a bet.

The paddock buzzed with post-race chaos. Photographers darted through teams, glittering PR reps barked into headsets, and mechanics began the slow teardown. You and Drew walked side by side, fingers brushing.

You were halfway to hospitality when someone called out.

“Drew?”

You turned just as Anya Taylor-Joy appeared, somehow untouched by the oppressive heat and humidity. She looked impossibly cool in a flowing white dress and oversized sunglasses, not a single strand of hair out of place.

She pulled Drew into a quick hug before turning to you with a grin.

“And my favorite person.”

You smirked. “You only say that because I promised you early access to the new Knives Out movie.”

She gasped, clutching her chest in mock betrayal. “How dare you accuse me of being both manipulative and correct.”

Drew let out a quiet laugh beside you. “She’s got a point.”

You turned to him with a raised brow. “Whose side are you on?”

“Whoever brings snacks to the screening,” he said, deadpan.

Anya nodded approvingly. “See, this is why I like him.”

The banter flowed easily, the three of you falling into a familiar rhythm. You’d met Anya a few times on set visits, and always appreciated her quick wit and easy charm. Drew stood comfortably between you both, that relaxed glint in his eye that only showed up when he wasn’t on.

A few minutes later, you glanced toward the crowd and took a step back. “I think I’m gonna wander a bit.”

Drew looked over, brow furrowing. “You sure? We just got here.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I just need to move. People-watch. Breathe a little.”

He studied you for a beat. “Stay close.”

“I’ll be in yelling distance,” you promised, already easing into the flow of the crowd.

“Text me if anyone gives you a hard time,” he called after you.

You tossed a smirk over your shoulder. “Only if it’s a pack of wild drivers. Or Cate Blanchett.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile lingered. “Noted.”

You wandered toward one of the temporary bars. The crowd had thinned a little, but the energy was still thick. It wasn’t long before someone stepped into your path.

“Excuse me,” a British voice said. “I hope this isn’t weird, but were you in Glass Onion?”

You turned and found yourself face to face with a tall driver, hair damp from his helmet, smile confident but not too polished.

“Yeah,” you said, surprised. “That was me.”

“I knew it. You were brilliant. I watched it on a flight last month.”

Another driver appeared beside him. Shorter, blond, with that unmistakable grin you’d seen a dozen times during podium interviews.

“You were in Anyone But You too, right?”

“Guilty.”

“Love that movie. Got me through a breakup, honestly.”

“Then you have great taste in both film and emotional survival.”

He laughed and extended a hand. “I’m Oscar.”

The first one added, “And I’m Lando. Big fans.”

“Well I would be wrong if I said I didn’t know who you guys were already” you said

You shook both hands, cheeks warming a little. The conversation stayed light. They asked where you were from, how long you were in Monaco. You mentioned your love for the sport, and Lando perked up.

“You follow F1, then?”

“Since I was a teenager. I’ve got a soft spot for the older races—Senna, Prost, Schumacher. But the new kids are growing on me.”

Oscar laughed. “Even Lando?”

“I tolerate him,” you teased.

Lando gave a mock-wounded look. “Harsh.”

“Well, if your boyfriend ditches you again, we’d be happy to give you the grand tour.”

You raised a brow. “Oh? Do all the grand tours include flirting or is that a special Monaco feature?”

Lando smirked. “Only when the guests are movie stars.”

Before you could fire back, a familiar voice cut in.

“She’s not stranded.”

You turned as Drew appeared beside you, one hand already slipping around your waist. His smile was tight, eyes sharp beneath the sunglasses. He didn’t look at you first—he looked at Lando.

“I just got caught up for a minute.”

Lando nodded, clearly sensing the shift. “Lucky guy.”

Drew’s hand flexed at your waist. “Luckier than they know.”

Oscar lifted a hand. “See you around.”

You waited until they walked away before looking up at Drew.

“That was subtle.”

He looked down at you, brows drawn just slightly. “You were trying to disappear.”

“I was being polite.”

“And they were flirting.”

“Little bit.”

“You were smiling.”

“They were charming.”

He gave you a look. “You’re not allowed to know that much about racing and be hot. It’s too dangerous.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “Jealous?”

“Not even pretending I’m not.”

“Relax. I’ve got a soft spot for actors who learn what a chicane is just to impress me.”

“Is that what I’m doing now?”

You smiled. “Trying very hard.”

You kissed him, slow and certain. The paddock faded out around you. Just for a second.

When you pulled back, he didn’t even try to hide his grin.

“You ever going to get tired of kissing me in public?”

“Not if you keep showing up right on time.”

He slid his fingers between yours and pulled you gently toward the exit.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go celebrate. And the fact that I didn’t actually have to fight anyone today.”

“Yet,” you said.

He grinned. “Yet.”

You walked together through the Monaco chaos, golden light painting everything around you. And for once, all that noise felt quiet. Just for the two of you.

taglist: @wuluhwuhmaster

[blanketforcas]

(credit to @fivefeetfangirl and @opheliathegreekgoddess for filming this question, tysm guys <3)

misha: hello!

me: hello! um. so, you know the singer perfume genius?

[transcript and context continues under the cut]

misha: no

me: i think you do... but uh, ruth connell and i think rob also went to a concert of his. and he, i think somewhere in 2021 he wrote fanfiction about jared, like him and jared having sex, and then one about jensen and him having sex. and he was going to write one about you as well

misha: uhu. but he didn't think he could handle it?

[audience laughs]

me: i think he was having trouble writing. um

misha: yeah

me: but then after, ruth posted something about, it was a picture of you, rob and ruth in a hug. and ruth tagged perfume genius in it.

misha: uhu

me: and after that, he kinda deleted his tweets and it seems like it was never finished or posted. [joking] and i was wondering if you like, bribed him or something so that he wouldn't post it. or like what happened there?

misha: i love that you're asking this question as if i have any fucking idea what you're talking about. "you know, perfume genius, i think you know" i've never heard of perfume genius. but! i'm very disappointed that he hasn't written it. maybe he did!

me: maybe... but you should contact him then

misha: this. well, okay. i'll follow up with him and find out whatever happened to my... fanfiction. yeah.

me: thank you. [trying to end this lol]

misha: did um, did- so ruth is tagging him on photos? i thought those photos that we took, the three of us, were private!

me: [joking] it was full-on kissing as well. i can show you

misha: can i see?

me: no it was a cute one

misha: was it? it was full-on kissing?

me: [shows misha ruth's insta post]

me: [notices misha is gonna take my phone out of my hands]: umm

misha: [grabs my phone anyway] [starts swiping]

me: no. misha no.

(misha doesn't stop)

me: [climbs on stage and takes phone back]

misha: i love how a fan jumps up on the stage and security is like "no, that's fair. this one's on you misha" you guys she- she did the right thing by the way. i stole her phone. so you can't fault her for that. thank you for standing up for yourself. that was unacceptable what i did. and also unacceptable what i saw on your phone

me: i hope that was interesting, the train information

misha: [laughs] it was- it's true. i did only make it to tomorrow's train from düsseldorf

me: you also want to see the fanfiction about jensen?

(staff drags me away from the mic)

(at this point i was already surrounded by a lot of security and staff)

misha at security: um. yeah, you guys, you can leave. she's fine. she's fine.

(security guy asks me to come with him anyway)

misha: no no no she's fine she's fine she's fine. guys! i stole her phone! and she had um, perfume genius pornography on it.

queue handler i hadn't talked to: no i'm sorry, you lied to us

me: i didn't (i had told a different queue handler my question in short but i hadn't written it down since i wanted it to be spontaneous)

misha to the handler: about what?

(queue handler claims again that i lied about my question)

misha: no no no, i'm gonna say: you can stay. and that's okay. she didn't do anything wrong. i took her phone.

(i walk away and i think i say thank you to misha lol idk i was on autopilot)

(staff found me anyway, like 10 min after i sat down somewhere, and they banned me from seeing the jared and mark s panel, some of my friends came to give me my bag and for moral support, then punished little me waited alone in the room outside the panel room for a bit lol and misha came up to me after his panel was done to check if i was okay and he concluded "i don't want questions filtered at my panels anyway", i saw him for a photo op like 30 min later and he was like "hi again" and i got the squishy hug i asked for ("yes of course") and that's what you missed on glee)

[towasdandelion]

HAI DANDELION OF TOWA OTONASHI MY BRAIN GAVE ME WORMS AGAIN BECAUSE OF EPISODE 17 I AM SHAKING. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT BECAUSE I DEFINITELY DID!!!! ND I HOPE EVERYTHING HAS BEEN GOING WELL FOR UUU <3333

the brain worms in question ... are like . Hold on my thoughts are orienting ... so mc gets back from the mission and immediately texts her favorite ghoul (who was NOT on the mission, my ritsu heart is screaming,,, ) about the mission and how she wishes he was there instead because having to pick one of them felt so wrong and she realized it's because she wanted to give the bottle to HIM and not any of them DO YOU SEE MY VISION

in other news i have absolutely been converted to a ren fan ... bro was trying to hide his crush on mc so hard i almost felt bad for him T0T poor guy he makes me so Head in Hands. HARU ND RUI ALSO SHONE SO MUCH <333 and i feel like ive gained a new appreciation for edward ... i even slipped up and called him ed a few times ... oops

if u don't want to write this suggestion u can always just respond to this like a normal ramble ask T0T i don't want to stress u out because you're literally the first person i share my brain worms with LMAO

me when i write you an essay. IM SO SORRY I'LL STOP BOTHERING U BYEBYE THANK U FOR ALL OF YOUR HARD WORK ND KEEPING US FED <333333333 YOURE THE BEST EVER

Hiiii number one Ritsu lover! I loved the new episode of course. I was happy to see three of my favorite ghouls (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠) Whaaat not the seaweed hair guy stealing you attention (I'm telling Ritsu) but honestly I get it. Poor guy is so deep in his delusions I honestly don't know what would have to happen in order for him to just admit he fell for MC. At this point Ed suddenly becoming a clean freak is more possible. Speaking of him.. I see a chance for Ed to steal some of your attention too (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧ he's not so bad is he? Also you're welcome to always share your worms with me, I don't mind hehe. Especially because they're always so interesting! Now to the main thing, I do love the idea! I do hope I interpreted it correctly though aaaa. I wrote it in a way where it's kinda like a confession moment for MC! Like the ghouls finally get to know she has feelings for them. Does that make sense? I hope so hehe. And I hope you'll like this! Wait, how do I title this?

Telling them they were the ones you wanted to give the bottle to

[Based on Episode 17. Ritsu, Haku, Tohma, Romeo]

Ritsu definitely already had all the important information about the mission. By important I mean things like who were you spending th most time with and so on, of course. He too wishes he was there instead, but your confession catches him a bit off guard. I guess you making heart eyes at him during every study session you guys had wasn't enough of a sign... If you really want to give him the bottle, then he will make it happen by planning a surprise date, trying to recreate the scene from the show!

Haku felt hurt the moment they announced the cast. What do you mean he's not going? He'd play his role perfectly! Well, he wouldn't even have to play.. Luckily for him, there is still a chance to steal your heart. He smiles smugly at his phone, pride filling his chest. You didn't want any of the 6 ghouls. You wanted him. Who is he to reject his dream girl? Be ready for a cute date where you two craft the bottles together! And some making out.

Tohma was feeling a little restless knowing you were gone for 3 days having fun with other ghouls.. but he won't show it at all. He has no right to feel possessive over you after all.. And yet a wave of relief washes over him when you confess to him like that. So his gut feeling was right after all. He won't waste any more time now, wanting to sweep you off your feet! He will use any means necessary to perfectly recreate the scene with you, this time without anyone else present.

The audacity not to invite Romeo to take a part in this mission! With his looks he's basically made for the screen! And having a chance to impress you no less! He will act like it doesn't bother him though. I mean, it's not like anyone can compare to him anyways. When you confess he's the one you wanted to give the bottle to, his ego gets a nice boost. Of course you wanted him. And since he's so nice, he'll give you a chance! Good luck, you have exactly an hour to craft a bottle for him!

[bballesbolol]

The Game We Play

A slow burn UConn AU with plenty of jealousy, competing, yearning, and self discovery.

This is a series!! If you haven’t read it yet, you can find the previous chapter here.

WC: 8.5k

Chapter 4 | Turning Heads

Paige’s POV:

It had been a week since Paige last talked to Azzi.

Well, kinda.

Paige had made it her mission to at least keep up a streak with Azzi, so their interactions had been limited to half faced selfies sent thoughtlessly back and forth. It really wasn’t much, just cordial. A formality.

But now Paige was in the back of a rental car leaving her hotel, and heading for Spooky Nook. She had flown into Pennsylvania the night prior for the Under Armour Summit, and her body could feel the effects of the firm hotel mattress she’d slept on. But Paige was ready to play despite her sub-par sleep and slightly achy back.

She hadn’t forgotten Azzi’s threat, how she needed to “back up her talk”, and no matter how lightly she had meant it, Paige had taken it to heart. She was playing to get on college's radar, of course, but for some reason, she felt more motivation to beat Azzi than she felt about getting noticed.

She glanced at the GPS on her dads phone.

2 minutes to arrival

Her phone buzzed, drawing her eyes to the screen.

azzi.fudd35 sent you a snap ■

she clicked to notification, which opened to a picture of the outside of the complex they were playing at. Paige responded with a picture of the dashboard, before slipping her phone into the front pocket of her basketball bag.

They hadn’t talked, like, really talked since Azzi had agreed to be her roomate. Their parents had exchanged numbers and filled out roomate forms, but she hadn’t really spoken to Azzi since.

Now she was seeing her in person, maybe even playing against her if the tournament bracket fell that way. And honestly? She was excited. Excited to actually speak face to face? yes. But more so to play her, maybe show off a little, and especially to win. Almost everything in her felt like it was her responsibility to prove Azzi wrong.

The parking lot was full when they pulled in to spooky nook, and Paige had insisted that her dad drop her off and find parking so she wouldn’t be late for registration. She wanted to make sure that she saw everyone who was invited.

She opened the double doors into the lobby and was greeted by a sea of crazy moms and dads escorting their children to a mile-long folding table covered in a rainbow of jerseys, with workers behind it handing out game schedules and informational packets. She scanned the crowd, seeing if there was any method to the madness happening in front of her. She looked closer and discovered that the table was organized by last name, prompting her to drift towards the large B near the front of the table.

“Name?” A worker had leaned over the table, her eyes meeting Paige’s in a way that screamed let's get this over with.

”Paige”

the worker looked down at her clipboard and let out a subtle huff.

“Last name, please?”

“Oh—sorry it's Bueckers”

The woman looked down at the table sorting through the pilled jersey before grabbing out an orange one with the number 218 on the back.

“You’re on team orange, you’ll be playing in the gold pool” She handed over a tournament schedule and a map of the complex before continuing, “all courts are open for warm-ups, at 8:00 you’ll head to court 3 to meet with your team for team warm ups, and then you’ll just follow the schedule.”

Paige stared blankly at the woman, trying to absorb the mass of information. The woman smiled and handed over a pamphlet.

”everything I said is in here if you can’t remember, I’d suggest you get down to the courts quick if you want to get a ball to yourself to warm up”

Paige let out an internal sigh of relief and smiled before thanking the woman and heading towards the courts, weaving through the sea of athletes picking up their jerseys, until one voice stopped her.

“Fudd”

Paige's head turned, catching a glimpse of a girl in a baggy sweatshirt, headphones resting around her neck, and black mesh Nike shorts, with her hair up in a tight bun.

Azzi.

Paige lingered, waiting for the worker to finish giving azzi the run-down on tournament play and court numbers. Not starring—just, waiting.

Azzi turned from the table, seemingly not noticing Paige floating nearby. Not until Paige crept up on her and playfully squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey!” Paige exclaimed, trying to sound as casual as possible.

Azzi jumped slightly, before smiling and rolling her eyes, turning her head to face forward and continue walking towards the courts.

“Restraining order, remember?”

Paige shrugged “I guess the paperwork didn’t go through” she mused, acting playfully confused.

“Ohh yeah—I forgot to file, but I’ll definitely have to now. There’s like what, 100 kids here? And your stalker-ass still managed to find me?” Azzi replied with a grin, shoving Paige with her shoulder.

”Hey B is really close to F on that table, it's not my fault, blame whoever wrote the alphabet like a million years ago” Paige shot back

Azzi turned away “a million? Y’know—“ Azzi looked to her like she was considering explaining the history of the English language, but clearly thought better of it. She let out an exasperated sigh and continued, “whatever—what team are you on?”

”orange”

“pool?”

”gold, you?”

”I'm on blue, playing in gold pool.”

Paige turned to her and smirked, “Ohhh, so I get to beat you in a 5 on 5 first?”

”Who said that?”

”uh—me. I’m going iso and cooking your ass every play”

Azzi glared at her and rolled her eyes. They reached the double doors leading to the courts and Paige grabbed the handle of the door closest to her to let herself in, turning and holding it for Azzi as she followed her in.

“Like I said, you gotta back it up” Paige watched as Azzi walked over to a rack of basketballs and picked one up, bouncing it once before passing it to her, hard.

She caught it—with minimal difficulty—a smirk spreading on her face. She could feel that Azzi already wanted to rip her head off, and she could tell that if they played each other, it was gonna be good. She watched as azzi grabbed another ball for herself and moved to pull her headphones up over her ears, beginning to walk away.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Paige called out.

Azzi stopped, holding one hand of her headphones off of her ear and without looking called back, “away from you—no way I’m warming up with the girl who’s gonna ‘beat my ass’” She emphasized the last part with air quotes, before dropping the other side of her headphones onto her ear and continuing to walk towards a hoop on the opposite side of the court.

Paige almost opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it—I mean obviously she wouldn’t hear her anyways. Instead, she carried her ball over to a nearby wall and sat down to put on her shoes—a pair of Kobe 5 X-ray’s—and half heartedly stretch her legs.

She slipped on her jersey over the loose black undershirt she came in and shot up, grabbing her ball and scanning the gym. Her eyes found Azzi, who was across the form shooting. Paige looked away as Azzi turned to move back from the hoop. She drifted towards an empty hoop and started her warm up with form shots 2 or 3 feet out from the basket, slowly moving back the more she made.

Apparently, the thought of warming up her shot in any meaningful way was too optimistic. After a few minutes Paige had abandoned the idea of warming up and had moved back to the three point line. It was an easy way to warm up her handle and her shot—at least that’s what she told herself.

tween—cross—hessi—drive—pull-up elbow jumper.

swish

yeah, I’ve got this girl beat.

A buzzer echoed through the gym, signaling that it was time for team warmups. Paige moved to grab her bag, racking her brain for what court she was supposed to go to. 2? 3? she couldn’t remember in the slightest. She settled on heading towards court 2, following whatever orange jerseys she could find.

***

She didn’t recognize many of the players on her team, but they all seemed good. Their team warm up was short, a half lap, a quick stretch, layup lines, and three man weave, all in the span of about 10 minutes. Her shots had been inconsistent warming up, a good sign for her—usually if her shots were falling in warm up she went dry in the game.

Now she stood in a circle with her teammates surrounding a whiteboard outlining an offense they’d be running. It was simple, a four-out one-in with a few screens to open up the 2 and the 5 players, but overall lacking in hard structure—she had space to play with it.

The coach gave a basic rundown of the structure of the games. They’re running 8 minute quarter games, subs will be quick. 2 games played at a time in each pool, 8 teams, if you win you move on and play another winner, if you lose you play the losers, at most you play 3 full games. Blah blah blah. Paige was just ready to play.

The team counted off, and Paige sauntered to center court for the jump ball, scanning the bleachers on her way over. Most of the girls were sitting in the stands on their phones, except for one. Azzi was looking out at the court, headphones still on and phone in her hand, she looked swiftly back down to her phone—but Paige could have sworn she was looking at her.

But she had no time to look again. She set up on the edge of the logo behind the teams center, bending over slightly and grabbing the hem of her shorts. The whistle sounded. The center jumped and tapped the ball back. Paige jumped to grab it, pulling the ball to her waist before approaching the edge of the three point line.

A big to her left set an on ball screen, which she used, brushing off her defender and scanning the court. The opposing center left her player to guard Paige as she came around the screen, allowing her to feed her wide open center the ball for an easy two points.

The rest of the game felt just as easy. Good defense led to steals. Steals led to easy buckets. Paige could score at will, but she didn’t want to be selfish. Not yet. She was sure to get her teammates involved once she’d had her fair share of offense.

By halftime she had scored 16 points and tallied 5 assists, and her team was up 32-24. Not up by enough to feel comfortable yet, but they certainly weren’t scrambling.

She sat on the bench, elbows on her knees, watching their coach write up the starting lineup for the second quarter—which she wasn’t in. understandably so, she had only come off the court for a few minutes in the first half. Still, she wished she could get in and play.

She zoned out while the coach explained a new out of bounds play, taking a drink from a gatorade bottle and instead focusing on the crowd across the court.

She met a pair of brown eyes across the floor—just for a second.

Paige watched as she glanced back down to her phone, a smirk spreading on her face.

she knew she’d been watching, she’d felt her eyes on her the whole game. and she hoped she got Paige's message: she came to play.

She put her hand in to count off her team and watched the starting five take the court, leaning back in her chair. She watched intently as her team played without her, itching to come off the bench.

that itch wasn’t scratched until the top of the fourth quarter. The game had gotten closer, the opposing team had gone on a run and cut their lead down to 5. her coach looked at her and cocked her head to the scorers table. She moved over, knelt, and at the sound of the buzzer she walked back into the game.

7 minutes left. Just enough for her to ice it—and maybe show out for the fans.

She received the ball and squared up to the hoop, surveying the floor for her next move. She spotted it. A screen coming to her left, drop coverage, a back door cut clearing just enough space for her to get off a shot. She ran her defender into the screen, stepped back, and let the ball fly. Swish. Three points.

She didn’t react—well, not too much—just grinned and got back on defense.

Their defense was strong, good enough for them to get a stop, and Paige once again found herself at the top of the key with the ball in her hands. Scanning the floor, just for a moment.

She drove at her defender, shifting her weight right before crossing over to her left, insisting her way to the rim. She attempted to finish around the help defense with a euro step. She felt a shoulder drill into her ribs mid-air, and was knocked to the ground right after she released the ball.

She stayed down for a second—just long enough to watch the ball bounce around the rim before falling through the net.

“AND ONE!!” A teammate grabbed her arm and dragged her from the floor.

She bumped chests with whoever was near. Cheered. Walked to the line.

Looked to the stands.

Nobody looked back. The game was winding down, Azzi’s team must have gone to huddle somewhere quiet. But, something in her wished Azzi had seen.

She bounced the ball once, before spinning it into her palm and moving to shoot, letting the ball flick gently from her fingers. It fell through the hoop with a soft swish.

Paige let herself pull back from the game. The game was over, it didn't matter that there was still 2 minutes left. Their lead had extended back to 11. She had scored 22. Now she could facilitate—let the team close it out.

The game ended 58-44. They shook hands. laughed. Paige revived a pat on the back and a couple of “damn she’s good’s” from the opposing team coaches.

Their coach cut the team loose, telling them to be back ten minutes before their next game. Most of the team dispersed between the many courts, some headed for the consignment stand or back to the lobby, but Paige didn’t. She surveyed the court for the least conspicuous spot to watch the next game from—settled on sitting on the floor up against a pillar next to the bleachers—and sat, grabbing her phone.

azzi.fudd35 sent you a snap ■

oh great. She opened the snap and was greeted with an image of her sitting on the bench, leaned back, with her arms resting behind her head, eyes fixed on the game in front of her, captioned oh you’re keeping that bench WARM.

she rolled her eyes. looked up. Both teams were in layup lines, Azzi was running back to halfcourt and glanced at Paige, first at her deadpan expression, and then to the phone in her hand. An amused grin spread on her lips before she turned abruptly and ran back down the court.

Paige didn't say anything, just shut off her phone and watched.

Azzi’s POV:

The ride to Spooky Nook was quick, but not uneventful.

“now listen, this is a chance to show off who you are, not just how you play. you gon’ lead on the court today, not follow. now I know you young and all, but you have something this lil’ girls don’t have—discipline. I bet you they don’t know hard work like you do—“

Her dad had been going on like this for what…like, 5 minutes? she wasn’t sure, had checked out a minute in. She loved her dad, and his advice was helpful—well, sometimes—but not now, not when he believed she was the best player in the country.

Because she wasn’t, she statistically couldn’t be. She was only 14. was she good? yes. was she better than the 16 year old DI bound girls she’d be playing? all signs point to no.

Still, she listened. nodded. half hoping he would tell her it’s ok if she didn’t perform, that she was allowed to make mistakes playing at this callibur.

She phased back into reality when her dad changed the subject.

“so, that roommate of yours gonna be there? that bueckers girl?”

“yeah—“

“oh that’s just perfect. get to know her play style before school, y’know? you guys are gonna be fighting for that spot at the point, and I know that lil’ ass white girl don’t got nothing on my Azzi.”

and just like that he was back to the same monotonous drone.

observe, outwork, compete, win.

she’d heard it a million times.

It was what rang in her ears during warmups, in between quarters, at halftime, post game, hell, it even made it into her dreams.

But he had made a point. This was the start of her and Paige’s fight for the spot on the team. For point guard. Playmaker. Leader. Star.

And she was gonna win.

***

the lobby was crowded, but paige had still managed to track her down.

they exchanged words—brief and challenging—and then gone there separate ways. Or rather, Azzi had tried to get as far away from Paige as possible. Because she knew her game, and it was all talk. the less of her she heard the better.

her shot was on, her body felt loose, her skin buzzed with anticipation—and she had to play second.

she met with her team at the buzzer, they talked strategy, what they’d be running, who goes where.

Azzi studied, tried to absorb every scrap of information.

and then they were ushered to the nearby bleachers, told to stay ready. Most of the team sat on their phones, some chatted quietly, but Azzi watched, or more accurately—read.

She attempted to maintain an air of nonchalance, a look of boredom, like she couldn’t care less how Paige played. She would glance at her phone whenever she felt she had been watching too long. But she watched. Read how Paige’s team played drop coverage on ball screens. How they rotated. Who cut where. when they attacked and when they slowed down.

Most importantly she watched Paige.

And for some reason, it felt like Paige was watching her too. Acknowledging her presence. A glance after a made three. The slight turn of her head before inbounding the ball. A challenge. She was telling her that she came to play too.

Half time came quickly. Paige’s team was leading, not enough to end it, but enough to exhale and slow down.

She watched as the team took the court—and how Paige didn’t.

How she sat on the bench. how she managed to look bored, hands resting behind her head, leaned back gaze lazily following the play.

Azzi laughed to herself as an idea crept into her. She grabbed her phone, opened snapchat and took a picture. captioned it with something she would expect out of Paige: immature, teasing, unserious.

Oh you’re keeping that bench WARM.

She smiled to herself as she sent it, eyes returning to the game.

The ending was expected. a run from the opposing team, answered by a run from Paige that carried them comfortably into round two.

Now it was Azzi’s turn.

warmups were quick, layup lines, elbow jumpers, a three man weave. The anticipatory buzz was back by the time the team huddled.

By the time they broke from the huddle the buzz felt more like electricity.

They won the tip. One of Azzi’s teammates passed her the ball. She slowed at the tip of the key, carefully scanning the court. reading. calculating. She made eye contact with a big man in the corner. dribbled towards the wing. She tilted her head slightly, signaling for her big to back door cut. When she did, Azzi slipped her the ball and relocated to the corner, watching as she drove towards the basket.

Azzi watched as she was met with a double team at the rim. She called for the ball in the corner, squaring to the hoop in anticipation for the shot. The ball met her hands for a split second before Azzi moved to shoot, flicking her wrist with the careful finesse of a sharpshooter.

swish.

First on the board. Easy shot. still, no stopping. Not this early.

Azzi turned to get back on defense when something—no, someone—caught her eye. Paige, sitting on the floor leaned back against a pillar, eyes set on the play. Not her, but the action at the other end of the court.

She wasn’t sure if she had seen her shot—not that it mattered—but, she knew she was watching, and she wanted to give her a show. Make her nervous.

She shifted as the ball swung from player to player around the three point line. There was a pause, a sloppy interior pass that was tipped by her teammate, and she was gone. She looked back as she sprinted towards her hoop, tracking down a near full-court pass and finishing at the rim.

She turned to the sideline again and found Paige, who was not looking at her, and was instead staring down at her phone. Because of course she was. She didn’t seem like the type of person to scout—not like Azzi—analysis was not in the Bueckers playbook.

But it was in Azzi’s. She watched the opposing team’s plays as she defended, predicting.

She jumped passing lanes, picked pockets, called screens, anything she could do to get the ball back into her teams hands.

She took a back seat on offense, letting the other guard bring the ball up when she could. She wanted to get to her jumpshot as much as possible, and catch and shoot was her best option.

And it was working. She ran her defender through an off ball screen, receiving the ball at the arc and shooting it masterfully over an outstretched hand. Cash.

She received the ball of a handoff, took a quick sidestep, and let her shot fly. Bang.

The ball was swung to her in the corner, and she shot it with the quickness of a professional. Swish.

She was hot. She had reached a point where shooting felt like breathing—simple, subconscious—the points came easy.

Her team had thrown together a sizable lead. Enough to cruise through the second quarter without tensing up after a turnover or missed shot. Enough for Azzi to sit out for the third quarter. At the start of the fourth her coach leaned over to her. Told her she was saving her for the next game. Patted her shoulder and turned back to the game.

Azzi took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out slowly and closed her eyes. She was glad for a break—even more glad at the compliment from her coach—but her body wasn’t ready to be still yet. She still had more in her. She wanted to play.

Her knees bounced as she anxiously watched the game, not out of fear that they wouldn’t win, but out of anticipation to get back in—which she still hoped for despite the fact that her coach had made it clear she wouldn’t be doing.

The game wound down. Azzi stood to high five her teammates and shake hands with the other team. Their coach told them to take a quick break, grab some water and walk off the game.

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face as she approached the sideline.

“Trying to take my spot Fudd?” She looked around, eyes settle in on the ground in front of her. Paige was still sitting leaned up against a pillar.

“Me? Nope, just keeping it warm for you.” She replied, thinking for a moment and then adding, “you should be seeing plenty of bench time during school ball” Her delivery was deadpan. Serious, like she meant it. But Paige just laughed.

“Me? Funny. I balled out, guessing you saw. Good game by the way, you kinda got nerfed by that coach.”

Azzi looked down at Paige, trying to analyze what she was getting at. She couldn’t tell if she was trying to compliment her or be backhanded—considering it was Paige it was probably both.

“I showed out first half, they wanted to take me out to save my legs. Lucky for you, you’ll play me at my best.” Her voice sounded oddly scathing, but she didn’t care to fix her tone.

“Oh, it like that.”

”mhm” she crossed her arms and looked down at Paige.

Paige stood up slowly, grabbed her bag and turned to look (slightly down) at Azzi.

”Well, you still have to make it past round two. Let’s hope you can get in this time.” Her words were sickly sweet, a challenge masked with a smile. A stupid, cocky, all too familiar Paige Bueckers smile.

Paige turned away before Azzi could reply, walking towards a couple of her teammates. Azzi was seething.

She made her way to the water fountain and placed her bottle under the sensor, pausing to breath. She had only known Paige for a few days, but it was already pretty clear to her how she operated. She poked. Prodded. Tried her best to get under peoples skin. And Azzi was determined not to let her. When she looked up water was spilling over the sides of her bottle. She quickly grabbed it, screwing the top back on and trying her best to dry off the sides with her jersey. Nope, she was not letting Paige get to her. Not today.

***

Her second game was more eventful, for her at least. She couldn’t say the same for the other team. She was back on, drilling shots from anywhere she could. Problem was, Paige was too.

They were playing at the same time, on courts parallel to each other. She could hear their bench light up when Paige made a shot. The snap of the net. She tried her best to keep her eyes on her own game, but it was proving to be a challenge.

She caught her eyes drifting to the other court whenever it got particularly loud—just to peek, see who was worth the celebration.

And of course it was Paige.

Of course she managed to meet Azzi's gaze whenever she dared to look over.

Of course that stupid smirk spread across her face whenever Azzi scrambled to look away.

She hated it. How she knew it went to her head. So she stopped looking, convinced herself that whatever Paige was doing was not worth her attention.

She focused on her game. On her shots. The sound of the net as she found the bottom of it once again. A part of her hoped she made Paige stare too.

She had found a rhythm, every shot felt like second nature, every drive like a walk in the park. Her team was up, not a blow out, but still comfortable.

By the sound of it, Paige’s team was up too. Perfect.

Halftime came quickly.

Her team was gathered around a whiteboard, watching their coach draw up new rotations in their offense. Azzi leaned back in her chair, listening half heartedly, but her eyes weren’t on the play. They were instead fixed on a bench across the court. Half zoned out, half searching for a certain blonde.

“Azzi.” She felt a tap on her knee as her coach tried to reel her back in. “You listening? We’re running this for you”

She looked back down to the whiteboard, attempting to take in the play in front of her. Double screen, point guard would drive and kick to her coming off of the screen on the wing. Simple. Effective.

Azzi nodded, signaling to her coach she was ready.

The buzzer sounded and she was back out on the court.

The game ran smoothly. Their lead never faltered enough for her chest to tighten.

The fourth was winding down, and the team wanted to end in a bucket. momentum for the final. Azzi looked to her coach, who was signaling to run the new play.

She called it, running up the floor with the ball before passing it off to the other guard. She watched as the pieces fell into place. How the bigs lined up for the screen. the drive. the kick.

she cut to the wing, brushing shoulders with the screener,, leaving her defender off balance at the free throw line. The ball found its way to her hands. She loaded her shot, looked to the rim and let it fly.

it hit the back iron, rolled around the rim, and lipped out.

A chorus of ohh’s and so close’s sounded from her bench.

The buzzer echoed throughout the gym. But applause seemed to echo even louder.

Azzi turned around to find the source of the noise.

And—of course—it was coming from Paige's court. Her team was huddled around her at the top of the key. The bench was on their feet cheering.

Azzi looked to the score. 63-60.

She could already imagine what had happened. Close game. down to the wire. They needed a clutch bucket and Paige was there—because of course she was.

The huddle dissipated, revealing Paige standing in the middle. She stared back at Azzi. Smirked—not the playful kind, the kind that made Azzi want to knock her teeth out—and turned away.

Azzi turned too. tried to hide her annoyance. Failed, apparently.

Her teammate patted her on the shoulder. “hey, you’re good, just saving that shot for the final.”

another chimed in, “yeah, we still won, and you still had like what, 20?”

Azzi nodded, a strained smile spreading across her face.

She followed the team back to their bench. Half listened as their coach broke down the game, putting most of her attention on the floor in front of her. She was pissed. She should’ve made that shot—she certainly could’ve. It’s not like it was for the game, but it knocked down the momentum she had worked to build up all day.

Her coach let them go, told them to grab a snack before the bronze medal match. She grabbed her bag and left the gym, hoping for a moment of silence in the lobby.

Paige’s POV:

After game two she felt beat. She wasn't on empty yet, but she was definitely nearing a quarter tank. She needed fuel.

Luckily, the green and purple teams were playing for bronze, and she had 45 minutes to kill.

She decided it was time to visit concessions, the dull ache of her empty stomach had become too much to ignore and she needed something quick to keep her going.

She was looking though the snack stands options when something—well, someone—else caught her eye. Azzi, sitting by herself at a table on her phone, headphones on.

“what do you want?” she looked back and was greeted by the worker of the concession stand, who was staring back, drumming ber fingers on the counter impatiently.

She scrambled to pick something, failed miserably and settled on a granola bar, a beef stick, and a packet of skittles. She grabbed her very nutritious spoils and headed over to Azzi’s table.

She slid into the seat across from Azzi, who looked up, and then down to the snacks she had brought over. She could feel the judgement before Azzi even opened her mouth.

“wow, aren’t you just the picture of heath” her delivery was deadpan. sarcastic. maybe a little pissed off? Paige just chose to laugh it off.

“It’s carbs and protein, right?”

Azzi gestured to the packet of skittles paige had dropped on the table.

“yeah, and sugar.” Azzi’s tone remained unchanged.

“uhh yeah, doesn’t your blood sugar get low when you run or something? i’m just giving my body what it wants” She paused for a second, noticing the lack of snacks in front of Azzi. “you already have something? bring your own kale salad and grass fed beef or whatever?”

“no, I uh—wasn’t hungry after the last game. just needed some quiet out here.” She looked paige up and down before adding, “guess I won’t be getting that though”

Paige slid the granola bar to Azzi across the table.

“well, you’re gonna have to deal with me next year, figured I’d help you get desensitized sooner”

Azzi didn’t respond at first, just looked down at the bar Paige slid to her.

“I told you I wasn’t hungry, you have that”

“Trust me, you’re gonna be hungry. I want to play you at your best—I don’t want to win because you’re passed out on the sideline.“ She watched as Azzi picked up the bar, seemingly considering throwing it back in Paige's face, but must have thought better of it, because she unwrapped it and took a bite.

“thanks” she mumbled around a mouthful of bar, looking back down her phone. Paige opened up the packet of skittles and popped one in her mouth. They sat in silence for a moment while they ate. not quite uncomfortable, but definitely tense. Azzi didn’t seem happy, and she wasn’t sure why.

“you looked good” the words slipped from paige’s lips as she considered what to say to break the silence. “In the game, I mean. Your shot looked good”

Azzi looked up from her phone.

“you were watching?”

“scouting,“ she corrected before continuing, “had a feeling I’d be playing you in the final.” she popped another handful of skittles in her mouth.

“watching, scouting—whatever, still seems stalker-ey to me.” Azzi replied. Her tone was unchanged, but the outline of a smile was threatening at the corners of her lips.

“Hey—you can’t talk to me about stalking. I saw you at my first game. Know damn well you weren’t there for someone else”

“Wow, you really think I'm that obsessed with you? I could’ve been watching the other team y’know”

“name one person on the other team” Paige looked at Azzi expectantly

She was silent. Paige was not. She let out an amused snort before crossing her arms and replying:

“mhm, exactly”

“it not like I got to see much from you anyway—didn’t you spend half that game on the bench?” Azzi looked back up to to her, a slight smirk on her face.

“WOAHHH—we do NOT have to bring that up” Paige responded with a laugh. Azzi laughed too. The mood felt lighter, like whatever thundercloud that was looming over Azzi’s head had calmed down to something light and fluffy.

“Paige! we’re stretching” Paige looked away from azzi to find a teammate passing by, waving her down in a way that made it seem urgent. “like… now”

she turned back to Azzi.

“you heard her” She slid her headphones back up over her ears and tilted her head towards the door her teammate had just slipped through.

Paige turned to follow.

***

There was a buzz in the gym. Final game of the day. The teams from their pool had filed into the bleachers. Warmups were winding down. And she was locked in.

Every pass was crisp. Every dribble tight. Every shot felt like cash before it even left her fingertips.

her body was loose. Her mind was clear.

She was ready to play. To win.

A buzzer rang through the gym. Both teams huddled. cheered. The bench took their seats and the starters made their way to center court.

She made her way to Azzi, trying her best to keep a straight face. Azzi did so effortlessly. She didn’t look at her, just at the ball as the ref blew his whistle and tossed it up between the two centers.

The ball was tipped back towards the two of them. Paige reached to snag it from the air, securing it above her head and scanning the court. Azzi immediately dropped back into position, hips low and arms outstretched. The court was quiet. Players in the stand holding their breath, waiting to see who would strike first.

She dribbled towards Azzi, watching. She shifted back. Her eyes flickered to the play in the back, to the pieces in their offense falling into place. Back to Azzi.

Her team could wait

She drove straight at Azzi—just long enough to get her off balace—before crossing over and stepping back, watching as Azzi as she stumbled back for just a moment. Long enough for Paige to lift the ball and shoot.

the net snapped as the ball fell through the rim. she had drawn first blood—but Azzi didn’t falter.

Paige watched as she caught the ball off an inbound, and surveyed as she dribbled the ball up the court.

she didn’t act—not yet—just responded. Shadowed her movements. Blocked her path.

Azzi passed the ball to the guard on her right and moved to cut through the paint. Paige followed, eyes locked on her. She had nearly made it back in front of her when she hit a brick wall. A solid screen, one that caught Paige entirely off guard.

She watched as Azzi finished her cut to the three point line and received the ball back, releasing it in a shot that could only be described as textbook.

It found the bottom of the net with ease.

It went on like that for a while. Paige pushed. Azzi pushed back. and the crowd was loving it. Every bucket was met with cheers, phones were out following the action. The game was electric.

The buzzer sounded, marking the end of the first quarter.

23-22.

She had a feeling that the game wouldn’t be a decisive win. Nope, it would come down to the wire

Azzi’s POV:

She hadn’t wanted to speak to Paige. Just wanted to enjoy the silence of the lobby. Get away from the noise of the courts. But Paige showed up anyway, in all of her annoying glory, and Azzi let her.

She could’ve told her to go away, but some part of her knew she needed the boost. No matter how annoying Paige could be, she seemed to know how to get Azzi out of her head. Or at least help navigate her to the part of her brain that was dedicated to being pissed at someone other than herself.

She hadn’t wanted to eat anything—not after a game she ended like that. But Paige seemed to know exactly what Azzi needed, even if they had only known each other for a few days. That was clear to her when Paige wordlessly slid her that granola bar, like she had read that Azzi was too stubborn to let herself get one.

And thank god for that bar. She wasn't sure if she would’ve made it through the first half without it. The game didn’t feel like a 5 on 5. It felt like a 1 on 1. The kind that took place in a gym after hours. The kind she would leave with her jersey sticking to her ribs from the sweat. The kind where they’d try anything to get the ball through the hoop.

Except this matchup wasn’t in private. It was the main event. A spectacle that had gathered lingering teams together, who now sat anxiously awaiting the start of the second half.

She felt it too. The nerves. The expectation to keep fighting. She knew she couldn’t let herself slip. Not now.

The buzzer sounded, cutting through the ambient chatter of the athletes in the bleachers.

She stood, sucked in a deep breath, and took the court.

She received the ball on the inbound. dropped it back to her teammate as she jogged up the court.

She looked up. Paige met her eyes. She actually wasn’t sure if they had left her once this game. at least, not when the ball was in her hands.

Speaking of:

the ball found its way back into her hands as she cut towards the hoop. She led with her shoulder, head down, bumping Paige off of her to create space as she willed herself to the rim. She scooped the ball towards the hoop, trying her hardest to sell the contact and draw a foul.

She didn’t see it, but she heard it. The sound of Paige’s hand hitting the basketball, swatting it out of the air. It struck the court just behind the baseline. Her ball.

Paige met her gaze, nodding slowly. Her message was clear: I’m here. Azzi pushed by Paige to inbound the ball, bumping her shoulder on the way. Her own way of saying so am I.

She gripped the ball, knuckles white as she scanned the court for the open player. She sent a lofted pass to a player cutting away from the hoop. Azzi relocated, running off of the shoulder of their center, who had set a screen in anticipation for her cut to the corner. When she finally turned from her spot in the corner she saw Paige scrambling to recover from the screen—but she was too late. The ball found Azzi's hands and left just as quickly, arcing over Paige’s outstretched hand.

She turned before she could watch the ball fall through the net. She didn’t need to see it to know it was good. She just got back on defense. She just needed a stop, something to make Paige slow down, maybe even look to her teammates. Something to make her doubt herself (although she wasn’t sure that was possible).

Paige brought the ball up the court yet again. Azzi watched as her eyes moved from player to player, weighing the option of passing to any of them. Then she watched as her eyes locked on the rim. Azzi knew she wasn’t passing. Chances were that Paige would drive and pop for a mid range jumper.

Azzi settled in, trying to get as low as possible. She shadowed as Paige drove, hesitated, and just as she started to cross over Azzi poked at the ball. It rattled lose, bouncing towards Azzi’s net. She scrambled to gather the loose ball, sprinting towards her own hoop and extending to finish at the rim.

A whistle sliced through the noise of the crowd. Timeout orange.

Azzi made her way over to her bench. She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until she finally had a chance to slow down. She sat, trying to catch her breath. Whatever her coach was saying was going way over her head.

A tap on her knee tugged her attention away from the rise and fall of her chest and back to her coach.

“Im pretty sure they’re pulling Paige out to start the next quarter, you’ll get your break when she comes out, okay?”

“M’kay” she choked out, not quite finding enough air to respond.

The quarter was winding down, and Paige’s team was threatening to break down whatever momentum Azzi had given her team with that steal. She was determined not to let her.

One more stop. That’s all she needed. One push and she was done—well not done, but she could finally breathe. Rest. Maybe even drink some water.

One more stop.

The refs blew the whistle, urging both teams to take to the court. Azzi took one last deep breath and pushed herself up off the bench, willing herself to be calm as she took the floor. The clock was winding down, shot clock turned off. Paige passed the ball in. Azzi’s eyes locked on to her as she ran down the court. She knew she was getting the ball back—or at least she was supposed to—and that wasn’t gonna happen. Not on her watch.

She was on her like white on rice. Mirroring every move, absorbing every bump, she wasn’t letting Paige take an inch of space from her. She felt Paige push away from her, the slight extension of her arm, buying just enough time for the ball to find her hands.

Azzi kept one arm extended, and one hand in Paige’s face. She shifted, blocking Paige's path to the basket. She could live with her passing it to a teammate, but she wouldn’t be caught dead in a Buecker’s buzzer beating highlight. Not tonight.

10 seconds on the clock.

Paige put the ball on the floor. Tried her best to maneuver around Azzi. But she could tell Paige was tired too.

She flipped the ball to her shooting guard and the buzzer neared zero. She didn’t even have a chance to get the shot off, the buzzer interrupting any hope that Paige’s team had to end on a make. Azzi high-fived her teammates as she made her way to the bench, plopping down and reaching for a water bottle.

She drank like she'd just hiked 30-miles through the Sahara, but she didn’t care.

It was 50-48. Close? Yes. But not because of Paige.

Now she could breathe. Calm herself down before the fourth quarter. Before it really mattered. She wiped a drip of water from the corner of her mouth with the neckline of her jersey before glancing over to the other bench.

Paige sat slumped over, elbows resting on her knee’s, a water bottle hanging loosely in one of her hands. She could see the rapid rise and fall of her back as she too struggled to catch her breath.

The buzzer rang out once again to mark the start of the fourth quarter. Azzi stayed put. So did Paige.

The game stayed close, bucket for bucket, steal for steal. It was truly anybody’s game.

Azzi’s breath grew steadier. Her limbs felt heavy, but she knew they had more left in them. Just enough to ice the game.

“You got a few minutes left in you? We need some offense” Azzi looked over to her coach and nodded, moving to the scorers table and taking a knee. She watched as Paige's coach’s eyes followed her to the table, before she tapped Paige on the shoulder and gestured for her to check in too.

Azzi kept her eyes forward, trying her hardest to avoid eye contact with Paige. She didn’t need to give her an excuse to talk. not now, when she was so close to being able to shove this win in her stupid face.

“SUBS” a short buzzer interrupted Azzi’s thoughts as a ref waved in her and Paige.

3:15 left in the game. They were even at 58.

She inbounded the ball, received it back and moved up the floor, organizing their offense. She settles at the top of the key, keeping her dribble low and her eyes up. She was running clock. Keeping the ball in their possession as long as she could. Shot clock had wound down to 10 seconds. She started to drive to the rim, hesitated, drew a double and dropped the ball to an open teammate in the corner.

The net snapped as the ball shot through the hoop.

61-58.

The ball was inbounded as soon as it hit the floor. Paige received it, pushing pace and fighting her way to the rim. Azzi slid with her, but she couldn’t catch up. She reached out, trying her best to disrupt Paige’s shot however she could. A whistle blew as Paige scooped the ball towards the net. She tumbled to the floor, and the ball miraculously found a way to fall through the rim despite Azzi’s attempts to stop it.

Count it and the foul to tie the game. Wonderful. She’d never hear the end of this one.

She watched as Paige popped up and made her way to the free throw line. Watched as the ball bounced once before Paige spun it back into her palm and released it. It sunk through the rim effortlessly.

2:17 left in the game.

even at 61.

Azzi scrambled to inbound the ball, passing it to the other guard who was streaking up the court. They needed to slow down. Waste clock. Every second they didn’t use was an extra one for Paige to take advantage of—a second they could NOT afford.

Azzi jogged down and received the ball back off of a hand off. She stood, eyes up, ball at her hip. Reading. How her center would be in perfect position if she tracked left. The angle of the pass. If it needed to be high or low.

She saw the game before it happened, predicting exactly what she needed to do to get the pieces to fall into place.

She tracked left. The defense moved. Her center carved out her space at the block. She sent the ball high. She snatched it out of the air, finishing effortlessly at the rim—just as she calculated.

The clock was down to 0:57.

63-61.

Azzi waited for Paige at half court, eyes fixed on the ball as it bounced between the floor and her hands. That’s all she needed. One steal and she could put the game out of reach.

She waited. Mirrored Paige's movements, shuffling step for step, hunting for a chance to poke the ball loose.

She saw it. Just a second, where Paige picked her head up to scan the court. Azzi lunged forwards, arm outstretched and—

Miscalculated.

Paige crossed over, leaving Azzi behind her as she pulled up for a long two.

tie game.

Clock down to 0:34

This was it.

She turned and ran back down the court, not bothering with the inbound. She just needed to get to her spot.

“Don't want to take it yourself?“ A voice crept up on Azzi, one that had become all too familiar in the past 5 hours. Paige.

she jogged past, turned, and backpedaled, eyes fixed on her own. “you scared or something?”

She wanted to snap back. of her? not for a second. But she kept her mouth shut.

She simply watched as the other guard brought the ball up the court, shot clock running down. She cut, hands up, asking for the ball.

It found her hands and she turned to scan the court one final time.

Clock down to 0:10.

A nearby forward was creeping up to set a screen. She started to creep towards the screen, eyes up like she was looking to pass. She picked up the pace as she maneuvered Paige into the screen, which she met—and slipped under—giving her just enough space to shoot.

It should’ve been a green light—something to exploit—but it wasn’t. She knew Paige wasn’t stupid. She wanted her to shoot. For some reason she was confident that Azzi would miss, and that was enough.

a half second hesitation. A release a moment too late.

Azzi could feel the shot was off before it ever left her hands. She didn’t even want to watch.

She lost them the game. She knew she had. All because of a stupid defensive lapse—one that should’ve sealed it. A shot that she’s hit a million times thrown off by the best possible outcome on a screen.

The crowd cheered. For what? she wasn’t sure. She didn’t care.

Her teammates huddled at the rim, bouncing up and down around their center.

She looked at the score.

65-63.

She was dragged into the celebration by their other guard, who was running to the rim.

someone must’ve grabbed the rebound and tucked it in at the buzzer. Azzi didn’t care.

Because she knew that even though her team had won the game, Paige had still beat her.

Heyyy i’m sorry for this being so late but hopefully the length made up for it. I’m still in high school and my school isn’t out yet so it’s tough to find time to write rn. I’m gonna try and start chapter 5 tn but anyways let me know what y’all thought of this chapter and what you want to see next!!

[i-spit-on-your-garage]

Temporary Strangers

NOTE: Lmao I thought I would spend a couple days writing and refining this, ended up cranking it out in a couple hours. I believe this is my first request so thanks to the Anon who suggested it, thank you and I hope this is worthy. I rarely write but I didn't see any reason to not try, kinda felt like I cooked with this considering my low story count, but y'all will be the judge of that.

NOTE 2: Double LMAO I wrote this under the wrong Bob(Thinking of Reynolds not Floyd) Anon IM SORRY, I will start work on another for our boy Floyd once i get some sleep(you can tell I need it😭). Please forgive me >-<

Bob Reynolds x reader

TW: some angst, vague mention of an injury, SFW

Please Enjoy <3

The injury shouldn't have happened. Bob tried to be aware and cautious; he had a new team family to lookout for after all. He became even more alert at every stage of the relationship, ever since y'all (pardon my Texan) had a small ceremony not too long ago it grew tenfold. But accidents still happen, and after taking a nasty hit to the head, resulting in a concussion, Bob is stuck staying in the Infirmary instead of your marital bed, not that he can say he misses it. How can he miss something he doesn't even remember?

Outside of his room, the nurse on duty informs you that his overall physical health was well, but he was concussed, specifying that he is leaning towards the docile and loving side rather than the violence and aggression some people suffer from. Amazed at the fact that this God like man could actually sustain such an injury, you count your lucky stars hearing that, after everything he went through with Void, you can't imagine how those unpredictable behaviors would affect him, how he would feel after getting better and realizing how he acted against others while recovering. He would still be your sweet Bob.

That is when you hear that another one of Bob's symptoms is post-traumatic amnesia, your heart sunk at that. Amnesia is a scary idea already, but the support Bob got from you and the team was crucial for so many reasons. Before your mind runs off too far, your attention is called back to the nurse when she mentions that things like this can last a couple days, maybe a couple weeks, stating that she isn't too worried about Bob seeing as he did remember one person right now, Yelena.

You let out a small breath nodding at that, part of you feeling like you should be a bit hurt, but you shove that idea aside, Yelena had been the first person to show him support and care after years of mistreatment and struggle, and when you couldn't be there for Bob, she was. You also tell yourself there's a chance he'll recognize you, just because he hasn't asked about his wife doesn't mean you'll be a stranger to him. The nurse finishes her recount and opens the door to let you into the room. Times slows and your stomach buzzes with nerves, you absentmindedly start picking at your nails, a habit Bob had been helping you drop. You step quietly into the room, and he sits up in bed turning to face you as you sit, though he slows as his eyes lock onto you. You're hopeful for a moment, he looks surprised to see you maybe he does recognize you. He's giving you the same wide eyed enamored look you often found yourself on the receiving end of before you were even a couple, mouth slightly dropped like he had lost his words, eyes bright and focused on you. You smile as he breathes out a soft "Hi" still staring like a deer in headlights. You respond in kind, and you swear you see his ears perk up in the slightest at your voice "I know you", his words sound like both a question and a statement. It's clear you aren't a nurse, and they don't just let anybody in here, but you can see behind his not-so-subtle adoring gaze, his gears are turning, trying to place you in his mind. While you do feel a slight pang in your heart you remind yourself it is only temporary, and that your husband needs your love and support, especially now. "You do." you nod, still picking at your nails, you feel nervous to touch him despite how he's looking at you, you don't want to risk upsetting him on accident. "Do you work with Yelena?" he asks. "Not in the field like you, I work deskside, but yes, I'm often your guiding voice on missions," you say motioning to your ear with a finger that has been taking the brunt of the damage from your compulsive picking. His eyes follow your hand, his brow furrows just a bit as he notices the irritation on your finger, but he feels it's not his place to comment on it, so he asks his next question to voice a bit quieter "what are we?" he doesn't quite know why but asking you that question makes him a bit nervous. Like Yelena, from the moment you entered to visit, he felt a comfort from your presence, but there was something extra with you, butterflies had been multiplying in his stomach as you two spoke. Without realizing it, he's slowly leaning forward towards you like there's a gravitational pull he can't escape.

You pause your nervous habit, to look at the ring on your finger, it's a simple ring, you didn't want anything gaudy or crazy, you rub your thumb over the cool metal before lifting your hand to show him, a shy smile on your face as that special day replays in your head. For once Bob is not staring at you, his gaze shifting to your hand, to the ring. His brows furrow deeper this time, and his stomach drops as he realizes it's a wedding ring. You're taken, he says to himself, not quite putting the pieces together yet, forgetting what he had even asked you. You take in his reaction and look down to his hands, seeing that his wedding ring wasn't on his hand, they must've removed it when they did his scans. You look around, they must've put what items he had somewhere nearby. Your eyes land on a small nightstand on the opposing side of the bed "Bob" you say softly, he looks up, and oh my goodness, you think to yourself, he looks like a puppy who's been sent outside, pouting at the door for his owner's affection. You nod softly towards the drawers to his side, "check it". His gaze shoots over to the stand, hand quicky following and he opens it. It looks pretty empty to you, but he reaches in and comes back out holding a small object wrapped in a tiny scrap of cloth. He unfolds it gently as you look on, nervous. Now unfolded, you both stare at the matching dark silver band that looks so small in his hand, he looks really confused now, struggling to keep track of the conversation, giving him the best hint you can without blurting it out, you reach you hand out gently setting it on his palm beside where the his ring is sitting. His eyes flitter back and forth, and you realize in his focus his breathing has slowed to a stop. He slowly looks up to you, the wide-eyed enamored look back on his face and cranked up to 100. "Are we…" he trails off, as you slide your hand from his. You nod, "We are", you can't help but smile even though your resumed picking at your nails betrays any nerves you still feel. Bob quickly sets aside the scrap of cloth and slips the ring on, a small laugh of relief, or maybe its excitement escapes him, realizing that while yes you are taken, it's him who has you. And though right now he might not remember what the two of you have shared, you are both wearing proof that what you have is real and eternal. He glances over to you, feeling a bit giddy if he's being honest, and sees you abusing your nail beds. He reaches out a hand slowly, gently covering both of yours with his, giving them a gentle squeeze. You smile up at him eyes tearing up a bit and nerves dissipating completely at his soft gaze and gentle touch. It's not that he remembers in the moment how he always helped you with the habit, but that his instinct is to protect you even in the smallest ways, even when you're a temporary stranger to him.

Jesus Christ cut to the next couple of weeks as the two of you spend all your time together and he throws out the memories to as they slowly come back, checking their accuracy a la Real or Not Real like Peeta after the Capitol messed with his memories.

[imadhatt3r]

Am I insane or are Joker and Akechi low-key equivalent to Adam and Eve in the 3rd semester

- Maruki's palace has some heavy "Garden of Eden" themes, with it essentially being a paradise where people live free of suffering and strife but also in a kind of blissful ignorance of themselves. The highest structure is LITERALLY named Eden, with a garden and an apple tree with a snake and everything. Maruki oversees everything as God, one who gave this wonderful place and unburdened lives to people.

- 3rd semester Akechi was born out of Joker's cognition thanks to Maruki, just like how Eve was born out of Adam's rib; There's also the fact that Joker wanted Akechi alive again so that they might try starting their relationship over and due to his regret over how their relationship ended up- which parellels Adam's desire for a companion. Joker and Akechi are the only two people in Maruki's reality who feel that something's not right (at least at first), making them truly uniquely cognicient beings, kind of like how Adam and Eve were uniquely intelligent among all the other life in Eden (given that they could talk and were chosen to be the caretakers of all other creation).

- In the bible, it was Eve who convinced Adam to eat the apple and gain awareness; In the game, it's Akechi who manages to convince Joker about the truth of what's actually going on around them.

- Once Adam eats the apple, he and Eve are banished from Eden by God, forcing them and all the other humans in the future to live on Earth, where they have to suffer from hunger, illness, pain, and all the other things they never felt while in Heaven. Joker and Akechi go after Maruki with all the other phantom thieves- their consciousness allowed them to disobey their "God" and destroy his reality, causing them and all humanity to return to the original world, where they have to suffer from heartache and other emotions they were free of in his "Paradise". Not to mention that they themselves will suffer too- Joker will have to live without Akechi, mourning the relationship they could have, while Akechi will literally stop existing. If they obeyed, they could still both exist together (even if it would be in a way they don't want).

- Adam and Eve are, of course, positioned as a "pair of opposites", given that Abrahamic religions see men and women as opposite "forces". Almost every aspect of Joker and Akechi mirrors eachother, from designs through personalities to places they occupy in their lives. There's also the fact that Adam and Eve were sort of destined for eachother, made for eachother by God, just like how Joker and Akechi were destined by gods to be rivals and opposites.

- "Rebellion" in general is one of the main themes of the game, and Adam and Eve can be seen as humanity's first rebels by going against their creator (or at least that's one possible interpretation). Joker and Akechi are P5's protagonist and deuteragonist, the two main thematic characters of the game; Them being united together AS A DUO (unlike during the Shido situation, where they had the same goal but mostly worked separately) against a shared God-like opponent who is trying to take away their free will is kind of like if God wanted to take Adam and Eve back and wipe their minds, and Adam and Eve fought together like hell to stay free.

- This is really minor, but there is a Mementos dialogue about Akechi eating a single apple for lunch every day... 👀

[autisticburnham]

For those unaware, during the production of TNG, Star Trek bought the rights to a script from David Gerrold called Blood and Fire, which focused on the Enterprise coming across a derelict ship whose crew had been infected with Regulan Blood Worms, a creature so deadly that according to regulations, any place found to contain them should be immediately sterilized and destroyed. This was supposed to be a metaphor for the public's fear of HIV/AIDS, and according to Wikipedia, Gerrold apparently later stated it was supposed to specifically represent the fears surrounding giving or receiving a blood donation, and the episode would have ended with a card with information on how to help the Red Cross. Famously however, the B plot was supposed to include a gay couple on the Enterprise, which would have been Star Trek's first gay couple.

Despite buying the rights to the script, members of the production staff, namely Rick Berman, worried that it would be too controversial and never produced the episode. It would eventually have three adaptations though. The most well known, after UPN's parent company decided they wanted to do an AIDS Awareness week and mandated that all of their shows have a very special episode, the Star Trek Enterprise crew drug up the script and very, very loosely adapted it into 2x14 Stigma. Gerrold would also go on to adapt the story into his original novel series, Star Wolf.

Relevant to this post however, is the fan made series Star Trek: Phase II, later renamed New Voyages, which is supposed to be the later years of Kirk and crew's five year mission. They received permission from Gerrold and adapted it into their fourth and fifth episodes, Blood and Fire Parts 1 & 2. This is by all accounts a much more faithful adaptation of the original script than Stigma. And one half of the gay couple present here is Peter Kirk, Sam's son and one of the survivors from the tos episode Operation: Annihilate!, who has since joined Starfleet and found a position on the Enterprise. Episode is also notable for featuring Denise Crosby playing one of Tasha's ancestors.

You can find both episodes here. Warning, they are extremely cheesy

Begging Star Trek to canonize Kirk's gay nephew

[no27-chilis-honda]

okay im glad to see that everyone's getting weird shit in the indyblr and nasblr universe, and here's my hottest take: quite frankly being this entitled to an athlete's personal life and political views is fucking weird

[purgaytorysupremacy]

oh nuts. a life experience has given me a new layer of perspective on Cas's homosexual declaration of love to Dean.

recently I had occasion to tell a person I had feelings for them knowing full well they didn't feel even a twinge of the same thing for me. while the whole thing was a decidedly unpleasant experience, I kept laughing at myself internally bc I didn't want to say "the happiness is just in saying it" like fucking Castiel over here. (we don't need to talk about it, it's fine.) (I am happier having said it and it's kind of bullshit, but I digress.)

because the thing is, the happiness isn't in just saying it, right? the happiness is in the having. I made a whole TikTok "proving" that the Empty didn't come for Cas when he confessed his love, but rather when he realized Dean loved him back. even for Cas, the happiness was in the having, not in the saying, however brief it was.

and I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes at the whole concept. why would the happiness be in just being, in just saying it, if it's right there in front of you to have. and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks (as I was washing my kitchen counters).

Cas really didn't think he could have Dean.

at all. in any capacity. he really, truly, and honestly felt to the depths of himself that Dean did not have any twinge of similar feelings, that this really was a Hail Mary shot-in-the-dark. and I think me, personally, really didn't understand that about Cas. that his belief in his love being unrequited was that unshakable.

something else I've been pondering is how audiences have so much more empathy for fictional characters who share traits that IRL they find objectionable and unappealing. but the thing is about fictional characters is that we follow them around in their most private, vulnerable moments. we see Dean mourning Cas when he dies, literally killing himself because he can't live without him, but it's so easy to forget that we're the omniscient ones here.

Cas never knew.

Dean's whole thing was pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length, making it seem like whatever heroic thing he does for Cas he'd do for anyone. he downplays how important it is for Dean to share the Deancave with him, to show him his favourite movies, share his favourite songs. he acts like the things Cas does for him don't mean that much to hide how much they do mean. he uses "we" whenever he even gets in the vicinity of expressing a feeling. "We were worried." "We're glad you're back." "We needed a win." "You're our brother." The audience knew the difference. We saw how he'd clench his jaw or swallow hard or make a face that said "God, I'm being such an idiot". Because we saw him in those little moments. We got to see the cracks in the mask.

but Cas never knew.

the self-hating angel of Thursday was never going to think it was all a way for Dean to protect himself. obviously, that's the delicious tragedy of it all, but what I think I realized at the end of all that is Cas confessing his love to a Dean who didn't love him back wouldn't have worked. Because the happiness really is in the having. If happiness was just in saying it, then The Empty would have come before Cas even finished getting the words out of his mouth.

so Cas's plan wouldn't have worked if Dean didn't love him back.

this is just me yapping on about my own nonsense, but I do think it's really interesting. there's contentment in "just saying it". there's freedom and relief and an unburdening. I think one can argue that it makes being happy in the being easier. there is certainly some joy in telling a person you think that highly of them. but true happiness?

nah.

true happiness is always going to only be in the having. Cas didn't understand the difference until he experienced it, and by then, it was too late.

[themyscirah]

Complaining abt Suicide Squad yet again but the fact that they have Waller exposing the alien community to space racist attacks and talking abt how she got to her position through deceit and being a terrible person and stuff is just. Ahsfiwueh JUST SAY YOU DONT KNOW WALLER.

Anyways literally the 3rd mission of the Squad ever (and the first framed as smth Waller picked and not orders from above) was the Squad discrediting and stopping a rogue vigilante who was only arresting POC and funneling white people into white supremacy groups (of which he was the most prominent member) in SUICIDE SQUAD #4. and it's explicitly framed as this mission being personal for Waller that she's hiding from the government bc its illegal like. Guys. Please why are we having her incite (space bc comics) racist attacks now

Also the whole "Amanda got her position through deceit and being a terrible person" NO. she KEPT her position through being shitty and playing complicated political games!!! She wasn't always that way like there is a difference and it is IMPORTANT ppl PLEASEEEE. In Secret Origins #14 we learn Amanda's backstory and she used to be a normal, caring person! Like even after she entered into working in government and politics she wasn't automatically morally bankrupt like please people. She was originally given control of the Squad by Reagan (*sigh* 80s comics...) to distract and get rid of her because she was so successful at pushing progressive social policy in Congress. Acting like she's this static pillar of evil is such a waste of her character and so fucking uninteresting and disrespectful to her arc it drives me MAD.

Like I am NOT saying Waller is all sunshine and rainbows, she fucking SUCKS (said w love <3) but like there's a human being there. It's a progression, she has a character arc like please, DC, please!!! They've fucked up Waller so bad and made her so opaque and uninteresting she can't even be the protagonist of her own story for fucks sake!

Like I don't know how many times I have to scream it until DC hears me or remembers but WALLER IS THE MAIN CHARACTER OF SUICIDE SQUAD. ITS HER BOOK. yet right now she's a cutout to be used as the villain wherever the writers please. Even in her book we get none of her perspective really displayed, no exploration of her thoughts with any kind of understanding of the role she traditionally has played and was made to play in the story.

[lyxchen]

I feel like I'm digging myself deep into a hole and finding nothing, trying to figure out more about In-ho's family

[pomegranate-vinegarete]

@the-nerds-in-black I am often thinking about your writing just so you know, it lives in my brain now just so you know.

[kissedkyle]

witch/ranma au ~~ Yashiki reference sheet

I'm still working on designs for the other mark bearers [mainly Daimon and Mashita atm] but if you have any ideas or suggestions lmk what to add !!

[kowwpow]

I’m gonna be out most of the day bc I’ll be helping my dad with a big shopping trip plus being out after, so I’m going to be super duper exhausted

I don’t do well in crowded or loud places in the slightest, I get woozy and tired and I feel miserable or like I’m gonna pass out, and if the shopping isn’t gonna make me wanna cry, the outing after will bc it’s gonna be packed with lots of noise and people

I don’t say this because I want to complain, I just wanna give a super quick warning that I might not be active tomorrow as well as today bc when I get exhausted, my mental health tends to decline as well ;-;

so- a bit of a warning that I may poof a bit (sorry! 😣)

[santinos-grenade-launcher]

I want to yap about Wolf Quest

I think I downloaded Wolf Quest Anniversary Edition in 2020 idk which month tho. But I've been playing the very first version of it, too, when I was little.

This is the original, the first one. I was playing that on a very old and small mom's laptop when I was younger. That was peak wolf game for me, I was tweaking.

It was released in 2007. Idk when I found it but I was very young.

Then the second one. I was also playing this one on my phone. I loved it so much that I thought it couldn't get better than that. They improved a lot just in this one, I was once again tweaking.

It was released in 2015 (if that's the correct information) but in 2016 on Steam, iOS, Android and Kindle devices.

BUT THEN

They dropped the most realistic and beautiful wolf game. Wolf Quest Anniversary Edition. In 2019, I believe.

Look how beautiful these wolves look. And there's so many more coats and look amazing. The whole game changed, improved, actually. Like, there's so much I can't even list everything.

And they're working on the Saga, which will make the game even more realistic and I'm so excited about that. Like, again improving and changing some stuff but all for the better :]

I learned a lot from the developers on YouTube. They post about the updates and explain everything but also facts about wolves, too. So, they're really great! And the game teaches you a lot about wolves and everything else included in the game :3