#bc someone has to write it

[lexstellaris]

fine. i wrote the goddamn bootblack mat fic you're welcome and goodnight.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[willthespy]

me when characters (nico) that canonically have ptsd

drawn on my PHONE again i hate ibispaint (4 hours)

CHECK MY PINNED POST!!

[azzibueckers5]

take another drag (turn me to ashes) (pt. 2)

synopsis: part 2 of my messy fwb pazzi! i would call this fluff and smut. your cws are alcohol and sex as always. uhh idk what elese ngl. azzi and paige are idiots but it works-- capiche?

wc: 10k (ao3 link) (part 1 link) (my masterlist)

a/n: welcome back to my attempt at a porn without plot oneshot that is now 17k and 2 parts <3 enjoy <3 sorry this took longer than expected i got scared of all the people who were waiting on it lmfao </3 hope it lived up to the hype if not don’t lmk please <3 um i tried to make azzi’s inner monologue a bit nonsensical because she’s drunkyyyy so if it got difficult to follow i apologize <3 this is extremely unedited btw i'll go back and fix stuff later but my eyes are closing and i want to sleep <3 ok bye

when azzi trudges back into the kitchen, she finds that the environment in the apartment has mellowed considerably since she slipped away, and it makes her even more aware of how long she must’ve been in the bathroom. 

she eyes the handle that has miraculously been transported from the floor in between a circle of teammates to the kitchen counter, and how the line of liquid has mysteriously dropped even further. typical. 

and lucky, considering this means the likelihood someone noticed her extended absence, and more alarmingly, paige’s absence in addition to hers, was slim. 

she surveys the room further, and tries to keep herself from immediately looking for a mop of blonde hair, but nonetheless frowns a little to herself when she fails to lay eyes on paige, a little disappointed she left without saying goodbye. even though she’s mad at her.  whatever. 

there are a few others missing, too, most noticeably, azzi’s roommates nika and olivia, and she groans to herself in annoyance that she’ll have to walk back alone. 

caroline notices her then, standing on the edge of the kitchen, and motions for her to come join her on the couch, pulling away from her conversation with amari to pat the cushion next to her. azzi debates finding an excuse to duck out– she really would rather be in her room right now to wallow in sexual frustration– but she hasn’t spent any time with caroline tonight and owes her a quick chat. 

she immediately regrets this choice. 

because as soon as she sits down on the ugly brown suede of the couch, caroline is dragging her eyes over azzi’s flushed face and most likely swollen lips and saying “when are you two gonna get your shit together?”

azzi blinks. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

she panics a little– annoyed that caroline would allude to paige in such a populated environment, but when she looks around she sees nothing but teammates who are extremely drunk and paying no attention to their conversation. which is good, but also doesn't give her the out of not wanting others to listen in on this conversation. 

caroline tilts her head and looks at azzi. “really? so paige was in the bathroom helping you- what, pee? giving you emotional support while you took a shit?”

azzi glares, tipping her chin up in defiance. “how do you know even paige was in the bathroom with me–” she pauses for a second, realizing that sounds almost like a confession, and adds “-i mean. why would you think that. that’s ridiculous.”

caroline raises her eyebrows. “okay, azzi. totally believe you right now.”

“good,” azzi huffs. “you should.”

goddamn caroline and her penchant for staying mostly sober and preying on young, innocent, emotionally vulnerable people like azzi. nika and her should start a club. 

the girl in front of her sighs, and nudges their legs together, in what is probably an attempt at comfort. “i just don’t want you to get hurt, az. or paige.”

and that. makes azzi pause for a second, not because she thinks it's truly a possibility, but because she’s surprised at the genuine worry in caroline’s tone. 

she knows that messing around with your best friend on mostly undefined terms doesn’t exactly have the highest success rate in the world, but, well. it was paige and azzi. and even though she was aware that she sounded a little naive in believing that they’d be fine no matter what, she knew that neither of them would intentionally hurt the other. 

paige would probably rather lose every basketball game she ever played again than hurt azzi on purpose, and though azzi was loath to admit it, she felt the same. it might be strange to say that she wasn’t worried for their future, knew that they would always be alright, but azzi felt it in her bones. and not even in a drunk way either. 

caroline might not get it, but as long as her and paige did, they’d be okay. 

“carol, we won’t, i swear” she states plainly. 

caroline eyes her, disbelieving, but azzi knows this isn’t something she’ll be able to explain, certainly not in tonight's brain state, and decides that this conversation is over. she pats her leg, before standing up shakily and stumbling around the room to say her goodbyes. 

it’s at least a little bit nice knowing that everyone she’s leaving behind is definitely more drunk than she is, and she doesn't even have to convince evina that she needs someone to walk her home beyond rolling her eyes and saying “it’s literally one building- i’ll be fine.”

the trudge upstairs is quiet, and azzi lets her conversation with caroline wash over her. a year ago, she’d probably have freaked out at the reminder that her and paige meant as much to each other as they did, and that they weren’t anything more than best friends. 

but now, even with her anger still simmering towards paige, the thought is vaguely comforting. they’re not dating– won’t be for a while azzi’s sure– but it worked for them, in a twisted, irrational way. 

she smiles to herself, and then immediately frowns at how ridiculous she is, stumbling down a dark hallway by herself and grinning about the girl who’d just left her wet and aching with no remorse. the annoyance at paige comes back in full force.

she’d always been a touch emotionally unstable when drunk.

she climbs the final set of stairs thinking about how supremely excited for the solitude of her room she is, as the nights events have tested her sanity, her libido, her liver, and many more things that she can’t be bothered to name, but her plans to march straight into her bedroom and dive under the covers to take the edge of the night off are derailed when she opens the door to their suite and her eyes immediately catch upon nika and paige splayed out across the couch, game controllers in hand. 

because of course. of course paige was in her home, just to torment her. 

they both look up at the sound of the door, and paige’s face lights up before schooling it into a more reasonable expression, and azzi hates herself for flushing. 

“what are you doing here,” she accuses, beginning to toe off her shoes. 

“oh i’m sorry, i didn’t realize i wasn’t allowed to hang out at nika’s place,” paige tosses, so visibly relishing in getting under azzi’s skin that it made her want to throw something.

“nika’s place is also my place. and olivias.” she retorts, regaining her balance from a brief stumble caused by her mistake of trying to balance on one foot to untie her stubborn right sneaker.

“you and olivia aren’t the only ones who live here,” paige says loftily, controller slack in her grip, even through nika’s nudges to get her back in the game.

“yeah well me and olivia don’t need to hear you guys playing video games all night.” azzi shoots back, beelining towards the kitchen to get herself a much needed glass of water. 

nika puts her controller down in defeat, accepting the derailment of her plans to continue playing their game. 

paige doesn’t even seem to notice, eyes following azzi as she walks across the room, the open floorplan making it too easy for her to watch. “olivia’s not here. she went to her boyfriend’s ages ago- said she wasn’t coming home.”

and.  “oh.” 

that’s why paige was so blatantly trying to piss azzi off. nika says something about how it’s probably because liv got horny at the questions she was asking, but azzi’s focus is on the fact that paige had probably known that azzi’s suite would be free from people who were unaware of their dynamic, had probably planned to come back here before she’d even followed azzi to the bathroom. it meant she’d always had plans to finish the job, just with a little teasing to prove her point.

she refuses to let that thought soften her annoyance but her subconscious– who looks and sounds a lot like the whiny blonde in front of her– puts up a valiant fight. now is not the time to focus on that. because she has angry appearances to uphold. 

she also does not mentally acknowledge how obsessed with her paige is when she stands up off the couch and comes to plant herself across from azzi, leaned up against the counter and arms crossed.

she watches azzi fill up a glass with sink water, and azzi hates that she can feel her eyes like a physical sensation. she swallows down the cool water gratefully, hoping it will cool her down.

“so you didn’t miss me?” is the tactic paige decides to go with when azzi finally looks in her direction, expectant and glaring. 

honestly. 

“no,” she bites out, icily. “i miss the peace and quiet of not being around you.”

paige’s smile only grows. “you’re bein’ mean, baby. you mad at me or somethin?’”

and dear god why is she pulling out pet names right now. except. azzi knows why: it’s always impossible for her to be annoyed with paige when she’s calling her baby. which is manipulation. she contemplates dumping her water over paige’s head. 

“yeah, i’m fucking mad at you- take a wild guess as to why.”

paige smirks. “prolly cause i called you out on your lie.”

“no, because you’re a fucking tease,” azzi spits. 

somehow this is the wrong answer, because paige cocks her head. “aw, is she cryin’ for me? bet she is. should've just admitted i’m you best, and i woulda take care of you, hmm?” she pouts, as if she isn’t spewing pure filth in the light of azzi’s kitchen with nika still sort of in earshot.

sometimes, it was hard to reconcile this paige– confident and cocky and so sure of herself– with the paige that had once bashfully admitted to practicing how to drive with only her left hand in the off chance azzi would let her hold her right; the paige whose hands had shaken so badly the first time they’d kissed that she’d knocked her phone off the ledge of the pool they’d been sitting on. 

azzi loved every version of paige, always, and knew that at least almost every version of paige belonged to her in some capacity, but the way she was acting right now, so much like the lothario version of paige that so many people thought of her as, was fucking with her head. 

she was aware that it was a direct reaction to her own declaration that charlie had been her very best, and that paige was putting on this show just for azzi, because she was jealous, but the nagging idea that she’d picked up this persona from sleeping with other girls had azzi fucking pissed, even if it was irrational.

and also, paige like this was really, really hot. which made azzi angrier. and meaner. and, well. wetter.

“i can take care of myself,” she glowers, and she doesn’t mean for it to come off as suggestive as it does– doesn’t mean for paige to know that she has every intention of getting herself off– but the thought slips out before she can catch it and paige’s eyes darken. god damnit. 

azzi can see her hands clench around her upper arms, like she’s trying to stop herself from reaching out. 

“yeah? you don’t want my help?” 

“no,” azzi grits out, even though she kind of does. 

paige goes to respond, leaning forward off the counter, but nika beats her to it, a touch of exasperation and disgust in her tone. “get out of our kitchen and go have this fight in your room, i don’t want to hear it.”

azzi scowls at her, knowing that’s exactly what paige wants, and sure enough, the blonde smiles, sharp and pleased, and spins on her heel with an overdramatic flip of her hair, sighing exaggeratedly. “if we must.”

“no, paige it’s not your room,” she calls, but it’s no use. 

paige flips her off without looking back and smacks a loud, messy kiss to the side of nika’s arm. “nighty night twin, sleep with a pillow over your head, yeah?” 

azzi might actually jump her. and not in the fun way. 

“paige,” she shrieks, vowing to refuse any and all attempt by paige tonight to get in her pants. 

nika groans at the same time and hits paige across the shoulder. “i’m going to kill myself.” her grumbles fade as she disappears down the hallway, and azzi is left to follow paige’s retreating figure into her bedroom, slightly dazed and extremely pissed, as any normal person in her position would likely be. 

she stops short when she gets to the doorway, however, because paige has somehow deemed it necessary to strip down to her sports bra and boxers. because of course she has. 

such a presumptuous idiot.

azzi stops and stares for a split second, before trying to get her fuzzy brain to ignore the miles of skin now exposed, including but not limited to: the pale meat of her thighs, her biceps from where she’s tucked her hands behind her head, the ridges of her abs, the muscle on her– azzi needs a gun. 

so she can kill herself. 

actually. scratch that, kill paige, and then kill herself. in like. a romantic, shakespearean way. 

paige’s eyes flick to where azzi is sure her cheeks are flushed and grins, self satisfied and stupid, and then she interrupts azzi’s mental designation of herself as romeo (much more romantic) and paige as juliette (long luscious locks)(she knows paige will disagree with these role assignments and she makes a mental note to bring it up later so they can argue about it) with a lazy “s’hot in here, hope you don’t mind,” and azzi is reminded of why she’s thinking about shakespeare plays in the first place. 

murder. she wants to murder paige. lounging on azzi’s bed, like she hadn’t left her high and dry without a single apology only twenty minutes prior. 

what a fucking asshole. azzi hates her. 

she huffs, spins around to shut the door, perhaps with a little more force than usual, and then stalks to the edge of the bed. she’s too drunk to be dealing with this. it’s hard enough to stay mad at paige sober, but drunk, with a half naked paige on her bed? she’s fighting an uphill battle with 50 pound weights on each shoulder. 

“put your clothes back on, dickhead. i already told you, we’re not-” she cuts off her response, squinting. “is that my bra?”

paige blanches. 

“no,” she blurts, voice in that high pitched tone she uses whenever she’s lying, “it's not.” her face is crimson. liar.

paige is absolutely wearing her sports bra, the white, faded garment doing terrible, terrible things to azzi insides as it emphasizes the lingering tan of paige’s skin from summer. the added knowledge that paige had chosen one of azzi’s to throw on does nothing to help the heat in her stomach.

“paige,” she scolds, trying not to let affection of all things at the act of thievery well up inside of her. “that’s totally mine. it has the stain from when you spilled wine all over me last summer.”  

that had been a delightful accident. 

paige had tripped, knocked azzi’s cup all over her, and then had had a perfect excuse to drag her inside and away from prying eyes to change. 

twenty minutes later, they’d rejoined the bueckers’ family barbecue with flushed cheeks and giddy eyes, because paige had deemed a make out in the laundry room an extremely necessary addition to her apology.

paige appears to be relishing in that exact same memory, and she grins, cocking her head to the side. azzi was hoping she’d show at least some remorse. she should’ve known better. 

“want me give it back?” she taunts, arms coming down from where they’d been behind her head to start tugging the flimsy fabric up. “can do it right now, if you want.”

“no,” azzi all but shrieks, lunging forward onto the bed and halting paige’s hands. 

which is. extremely stupid for two reasons. one, the fact that it actually probably does serve her best interests if paige takes off her bra, and two, she’s somehow landed astride paige’s hips, knees on the mattress on either side of her torso, and hands gripping paige’s wrists.

their eye contact is heavy, and paige’s hips shift beneath azzi, searching for friction even when she knows she hasn’t earned it. 

“kinda seems like you want me to take it off, hmm?” 

azzi tries to stop herself from grinding down on paige’s torso, but is woefully unsuccessful. 

“i don’t,” she moans. how she got here– when five seconds ago she swore she was standing on business– was beyond her. reason and logic never applied when it came to paige. 

in a flash, paige frees her wrists from azzi’s hands– that have gone slack from her focus elsewhere– and flips them, pinning azzi’s hips to the bed, and then just looking down at her for a second, wild and turned on. 

“i think you’re lying,” she breathes, gaze focussed on azzi’s lips. 

azzi’s too distracted by paige’s eyes above her to process the words for a split second, but by the time they register, paige’s mouth is already crashing down on her own, swiping a tongue in almost immediately like she’s been dying without it in the last thirty minutes. 

and azzi- azzi lets her deepen the kiss, lets her press azzi back into the bed, even lets paige tug off her t-shirt and suck a hickie into the sensitive skin below her chest as she arches into it, because she has a plan forming. 

paige mouths down azzi’s stomach, smug and stupid but still so, so good at ready azzi’s body, knowing exactly what she needs, and when paige hooks a finger in the waistband of her shorts and boxers, azzi nods approvingly, lifting her hips to let paige tug them off. 

humiliation burns a little at how wet her boxers are, how slick is already glistening on the inside of her thighs, but paige’s gaze is hungry, intentional, and azzi smiles to herself. 

just as paige ducks down to lave a kiss on the skin of azzi pelvis, azzi wiggles out from under her, the process made easier at paige’s surprise. 

she settles a few inches away on the mattress– still on her back and legs spread wide, exposing her dripping hole– and paige’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, like she’s trying to taste the brief glimpse she got of azzi’s skin under her mouth. 

in a trance, paige crawls over trying to resume their previous positioning and reaches out to touch, almost mindless, like she can’t help it. azzi bats her hand away. 

she’s aware that this might against her self interest– paige above her and inside her and all around her was eons better than her own hand– but she knows there’s no better way to make paige suffer than to show her exactly what she wants and not let her have it, and the desire to make paige feel as desperate as azzi had felt in the bathroom wins out over her own desire to get off fast. 

“you don’t get to touch now. you had your chance earlier,” she rasps, eye contact steady even as her breath hitches at the neediness in the dark blue of her gaze.

paige makes a wrecked, disbelieving sound in the back of her throat, but her hands still on the sheets, not making another attempt at touching, and azzi tuts approvingly before slowly gliding her own hands down her abdomen, tracing at the mark paige’s mouth had only just made underneath the swell of her breast before dragging down to ghost over her cunt.

“azzi” she moans, eyes fixated on the movement of her fingers, gathering the abundance of slick on two digits before dragging them back up to nudge at her clit. 

azzi’s back arches at the feeling, and at the piercing intensity of paige’s gaze, pleasure curling in the base of her spine at how good it is, and she feels herself clench around nothing. 

if it were paige’s hands, azzi knows she would drag it out, would wait to press inside and only give her light touches until she were incoherent, but it's her own hands on herself, so she simply dip her fingers down again, but this time, instead of tracing the edge of her hole, she slips one in and relish in the pleasure that curls hot and wet. 

they both gasp at the act of it– paige’s more of a longing whimper– and azzi needs more.

one is not nearly enough– not when paige is moaning next to her like she’s the one being fingered and azzi is already worked up from their bathroom encounter earlier– and azzi immediately slips a second in with the first, choking back another moan at the pleasure that pools in her stomach again, and trying to angle her hand so she can thumb at her clit in the process. 

it’s all wrong though– the angle’s a little off, and azzi can’t get the right stimulation on her clit and inside at the same time– and this is all heightened by the fact that paige is watching beside her, jaw slack and eyes hooded, and. 

and azzi wants to cave so badly, let paige replace the heat of her gaze with the heat of her mouth, but she hangs on a little longer, determined to make paige suffer. 

but then. then paige starts talking, slurring about how good azzi looks, how good paige could make her feel if only she were allowed to touch, how badly she needs a taste, and azzi feels her remaining control start to slide away, despite herself. 

“you’re so wet- just havin��� me watch you finger your pretty little pussy, hmm?” paige chokes out, hands twitching at her sides and eyes wild, gaze tumbling over the pink of azzi’s cunt in between her thighs and dragging upwards across the rest of her body. 

azzi’s too turned on by the filthy words to disagree, whining out an affirmative instead, and her head falls back against the pillows when she increases the pace of her fingers, trying to curl them into that spot that paige always seemed to find on the first go.  

paige must be encouraged by her reaction, must know azzi is close to relenting, because she doubles down. “look so pretty for me, wanna touch azzi.”

azzi stutters out a moan, and twists her fingers harder. it feels good, great even, but the knowledge that it could be paige’s fingers is making her frustrated at her self, and it turns out being frustrated makes it hard to focus on pleasure, even with paige’s voice in her ear. 

“you’re not doin’ it right, baby, know i could do it better, please let me do it better,” paige breathes, and azzi can see her hands lift in the corner of her eye before falling back down onto the mattress in defeat. 

and paige is right, she’s not doing it right, too fast paced, she can’t get the angle quite right, her mind is scattered, and she huffs a sigh. paige being right– being able to read her body so well just by looking, watching, makes azzi angrier, and she doubles down in her resolve, even if that means not coming for the next twenty minutes. 

but then. but then paige starts begging, “please azzi, need to touch- can i please touch,” and azzi is undone at the desperation in her voice.

before she can process her agreement, she’s moaning out “yes, yes, paige,” and in a heartbeat, the blonde is on top of her, licking into her mouth for an open mouthed kiss, hands knocking away azzi’s to take their rightful spot between her legs.

immediately, she nudges her own two fingers inside azzi, and she swallows her moan at how much better it feels, how much fuller she is, how much better paige is at curling just right, and she nearly cries with relief. 

she’s close from her own fingers and paige’s words, and she’s sort of expecting paige to finish the job in under a minute, seeing as she’s extremely capable and also has a point to prove. which is why she’s surprised when paige’s ministrations are just shy of enough, not quite their usual finesse. 

she whines in frustration, kissing paige harder, trying to coax her into giving azzi what she wants, but paige pulls back above her and smirks. “you can come when you admit i’m the best you ever had.”

and oh my god. why was she still on that. 

defiance wells in azzi, sharp and bratty, and she glares at the cruel vision above her. “you’re not-” her voice cuts off when paige curls her fingers exactly right, and paige laughs– laughs– above her. 

“you sure, baby? sound so needy for me, just gotta say it, then you can come.”

azzi chokes on a moan, before gasping out “don’t need you to come.”

paige drags her fingers out and circles, punishing her for that sentence. “you sure? cause two minutes ago you were begging me to come finish it, couldn’t do it without me, huh baby” 

jesus fuck, her words were messing with azzi’s head, and she only has the ability to whine in protest, beyond words. she was letting paige edge her twice in one night. god help her.

“know i could make you come so good, baby, you just gotta tell me,” paige continues, breathing all of this into azzi’s ear, sending her shuddering. “just say it, say paige, you’re the best i’ve ever had, baby, and i swear i’ll get you right- just gotta remind you who you belong to.”

and it’s almost embarrassing how fast azzi folds. but paige had paired that last sentence with a grind of her palms against azzi’s clit, relentless, and. azzi never really stood a chance.

“okay, paige, paige, feels so good, best i ever had i swear, please make me come,” she babbles, hands digging into paige’s back and tears forming at the corners of her eyes from how desperate she feels. 

paige shushes her, soothing, and quickens the drag of her fingers, finally in that rhythm that always has azzi gasping for breath. it’s immediately so good, and azzi really doesn’t stand a chance when she drags her thumb up to rub at azzi’s clit in time with the thursts of her fingers, whispering “good girl, you just had to say it baby,” into the skin of her shoulder. 

“you can come, az- want you to, just for me,” paige breathes, mouthing at azzi’s neck, and that’s what does it, snapping the band in her stomach.

she comes with a drawn out moan, thighs clamping together and hands clawing at paige’s back, and she’s too far gone to be embarrassed by the tears she releases in pleasure.

but then, instead of coaxing azzi through her climax like she normally would, paige’s face is suddenly gone from above her. azzi’s head is too delirious with pleasure to catch up to where she’s going, and she misses paige all around her immediately, but then she feels her presence in between her thighs, licking azzi through it, and she genuinely might die here, in this dorm bed in fucking storrs connecticut. 

and jesus christ it’s too much, pleasure and pain warring for attention in azzi’s mind and making her already fuzzy head even more so, and it’s so much and she feels like she’ll explode, and.

“paige i cant, i cant–”

but she gets cut off by paige’s “you can,” her fingers wrapping around azzi’s thighs to hold her still and diving in, drinking up the remnants of azzi’s orgasm and then continuing on, as if her first one was simply the appetizer. 

“s’to make up for the one i didn’t give you earlier,” she rasps, hands still keeping azzi’s body steady as she ducks back down for another taste. 

azzi doesn’t have words anymore, and resigns herself to the pleasure-pain, twisting her fingers into paige’s hair in a way that is sure to be painful, and will also probably get paige even wetter, the freak.

and there’s. a reason paige is the best she’s ever had, and she seems determined to prove that all over again, relentless with her tongue as she sucks azzi clit into her mouth. 

her back arches, drawn taught from overstimulation, and she’s sure she’s making all kinds of pathetic noises but all she can focus on is how she’s already at least half way to coming again, heat curling tight and thighs trembling. 

paige looks up at her from between her legs, looking reverent even in her determination to remind azzi of how wholly paige’s she is, and smiles sharply. “‘member what christyn asked me earlier?”

and. what. azzi’s brain is a lot fuzzy and entirely confused on why paige is bringing anyone else up right now, let alone one of their teammates. 

she whines in confusion, trying to drag paige’s head back down where she wants her, hands grabbing at her hair, but paige holds steady, letting her chin rest on the soft skin of azzi’s pelvis, moisture glistening on her mouth. 

“in the game. she asked me what my favorite sex position was.”

azzi has some vague recollection of this, but she’s not exactly focused on anything except for paige’s mouth right now, and she’s rather insulted that paige is so coherent. 

her head dips back again, against the pillow and she gasps out “uh huh,” wiggling her hips to trying and speed this intermission up, remind paige of what’s right in front of her, but instead of reattaching her mouth, paige smacks at her hip, just enough to sting, and grunts “be good, baby, focus.”

fucking hell. 

azzi is trying to focus– focus on the feeling of her impending orgasm– but she chokes out a gasp at the pain and makes eye contact again, shuddering at the desire on paige’s face. somehow the hit to her hip made it even harder to not writhe under her gaze, but she lets paige’s words wash over her and tries to focus. 

“s’always gonna be this, baby,” paige slurs once she has azzi’s attention, “always wan’ my mouth on you, best place in the whole world, best pussy in the whole world and it’s mine to taste.” 

azzi somehow, impossibly feels herself get even wetter, her ability to think of anything but paige melting entirely, slipping through her veins and leaking out from her cunt, surely dripping onto the sheets by now with nothing to lap up the slick. 

distantly, azzi remembers that she was right– that the first thing her brain had gone to at the question had been how much paige loved eating her out– but she can’t even relish in that small victory, too busy trying to be still and good for paige and not spontaneously combust.

“tastes so good- azzi- would die here, swear,” paige continues, voice husky, and even though she’s not physically touching azzi– not where she needs her at least– azzi can still feel her words winding the coil in her belly tighter, pushing her closer to the edge. 

“paige, please, need it, need it so bad,” she cries, and she actually feels like she might die if paige doesn’t touch her. 

and then, finally, finally, paige is dipping her head back down to azzi’s neglected cunt, teasing the edge before slipping inside, and azzi has to fist a hand over her mouth to muffle the strangled cry. 

if paige was ruthless before, it’s nothing compared to the pace she sets now, switching between laving her tongue across azzi’s clit and diving into her hole, and azzi is back on the edge in seconds, trying not to thrash her legs at the overwhelming pleasure. 

she can hear herself babbling– a jumble of paige and please and fuck– but her ears are ringing and all she can focus on is the growing spark in the base of her spine. 

and then paige pauses for a second, one hand moving from azzi’s hip to rub at her clit, and she gasps “wanna see you come again baby, come for me,” before dipping her head back down, and azzi shatters completely, hands tugging at paige's hair and thighs tightening around her head.

her first orgasm had been loud, crashing down around her, but this one washes over her more gently, like she’s surrendered entirely to the feeling. 

she shoves paige’s head away when she can feel her arms again, and tries to get her breathing under control, reeling from how hard she came.  

immediately, paige is crawling up her body to kiss her. 

azzi’s limbs are buzzing, pleasure curling in every nerve of her body, and she lets herself be moved onto paige’s chest, her mind in that blissed out, malleable place and her gasps muffled into the bare skin of paige’s shoulder. 

she stays like that, floating, for an undetermined amount of time, and then she leans back to press their mouths together in a gentle thanks, smiling against paige’s lips. 

they kiss for a bit, slow and lazy and perfect as azzi comes down from her high, and she’s warm, and still a little drunk, and so perfectly sated that she could absolutely fall asleep like this, trading kisses with paige's hands stroking down her back until her eyes fall shut. 

but then paige, wonderful, lovely paige who’s just taken azzi apart piece by piece and then put her back together again, makes a soft, needy noise when azzi’s hands move gently across her stomach and she’s reminded that the other girl has yet to come. 

which is, like, surely a crime, and one that azzi has the power to rectify. 

she rolls on top of paige and deepens the kiss, sliding a knee between the blonde’s and bracketing her face with her arms. paige exhales sharply at the change in position, hands moving with azzi to stay fixed to the dip in her spine, and when azzi moves down to press an open-mouthed kiss to her throat, paige’s hips shift up involuntarily. 

her head dips back against the pillow, blonde hair splayed out across the pale blue of the sheets, and azzi wishes, desperately, that she could suck a mark into the alluringly pale skin of her neck that’s revealed with the motion without having to deal with the consequences. 

instead, she moves down to paige’s collarbone, encouraged by the stutter in her breathing and the flex of her fingers against azzi’s back, and finds a spot she hopes will be hidden under the collar of her shirt come morning to leave a mark, sucking at the skin and relishing in the arch of her body beneath her and the bruise she knows is already forming. 

her only coherent thought when she leans back to look at the mark on her breastbone is mine. 

which. paige isn’t hers, not technically, not in the ways you could label definitively, but she also definitely, assuredly is, in the same way azzi belongs to paige, in the unspoken but not unacknowledged way that many things with them are. 

she looks back up at paige’s face for a moment, and is struck, yet again, by how achingly beautiful she is like this, soft and needy and entirely azzi’s. it makes her heart crack open in her chest at the thought, and she presses their mouths together again in hopes of distracting herself.

she blames the earnestness of her thoughts on the vodka still sliding through her veins, even if that simmer has started to fade away and she thinks these thoughts multiple times a day. 

azzi deepens the kiss, as if she can press her sentiments of care and impossible fondness and mine into paige’s lips, and she responds twofold, like she can hear azzi’s thoughts of you mean so much to me in the way she drags their tongues together and reciprocates them right back to her, nipping at azzi’s lip gently, a you mean so much to me too. 

eventually, they’ll have to start using the actual words, but for now, with the upcoming season and the team dynamics looming above them, this will have to be enough. azzi will force it to be enough.

she drags one of the hands next to paige’s head down, skimming over the fabric of her sports bra to brush at her nipples through the material and then moving lower, nails scratching lightly over paige’s abdomen in the way she knows drives her a little crazy. 

sure enough, paige whines in her mouth, but when azzi’s hand dances under the waistband of her boxers, she pulls back for a second, breathing hard. 

“you don’t gotta- like- i know you’re tired,” paige says, pupil blown wide and lips slick. her eyes are dazed but steady, and azzi knows the buzz of vodka has started slipping away from her too, taking the desperation with it and leaving only tenderness. 

she smiles, half at paige’s expression, and half at her unflinching selflessness. “just wanna make you feel good, that’s all.”

paige tilts her head back, eyes flicking around the room so she doesn’t have to make eye-contact. “you don’t have to, like- swear we can just sleep.” 

her cheeks are red, and azzi’s smile grows at her shyness. 

honestly. she just had azzi spread out before her, begging and incoherent, mumbling the filthiest things in her ear, and a simple wanna make you feel good has her blushing and squirmy. affection blooms in her chest, pooling sticky and sweet, and she presses a kiss to paige’s cheekbone. 

paige has never been one to shy away from reciprocation, so azzi’s a bit confused, but she’s still joking when she teases, “what’s wrong, baby, worried you’ll come too quick?”

paige’s guilty hesitation is an unexpected confirmation, but delightful all the same. 

“no- that’s not- m’not-” her voice cuts off in a whine when azzi cups her over her boxers, and azzi smirks, tries not to be affected by the feeling of how soaked paige is even through the fabric.

“really?”

paige’s hips twitch against her palm, fingers scrabbling against her back.

“azzi,” she moans, and that’s all it takes to have the younger girl slipping her fingers underneath the waistband and pressing at her clit. 

“i know baby, need it so bad, hmm?” she coos, mentally reeling at how wet paige is– all from working azzi up again and again– and the fact that she would’ve gone to sleep anyways without release had azzi wanted that. 

god. 

paige whines in affirmative, and normally azzi would try and draw it out, try and build paige up slowly to prolong her pleasure and selfishly prolong her view of paige falling apart, but tonight, paige is already too keyed up, and she rubs immediately at her clit in firm circles, the way she knows works her up quickly. 

she’s rewarded with another moan, and paige’s hands move from the base of her spine to her face, tugging azzi in for a messy kiss as she begins to grind against her hand. 

her fingers dip down to paige’s entrance, and she groans into her mouth when azzi slips two fingers inside, the glide almost too easy with how wet she is. she pumps paige slowly, curling her fingers into the spot she knows like the back of her hand, and paige breaks the kiss to let out a broken sound, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. 

“doing so good for me, baby” she breathes, cataloging the way her praise cause paige’s eyes to flutter; her hands to grasp azzi’s shoulders; her cunt to clench down on her fingers. 

she loves paige like this, loves even more how they can go from rough and messy to soft and reverent in a matter of minutes, and she tries to savor every sound that rolls off of paige’s tongue, every twitch of her hips. 

her fingers continue their slow, unyielding rhythm, with paige a mess below her, and when she can feel her start to get close, making all sorts of delicious sounds high in her throat, azzi pauses her ministrations. 

not to be mean and drag it out like paige had done earlier, not tonight, but to rid her of the boxers that she’s being constrained by and tug off her sports bra so as to see all of paige spread out before her to touch, to admire.

and god is it a sight. paige is too gone to make fun of how beyond love sick azzi probably looks, thank god, so azzi hovers above her and just takes it in, scouring over every inch of paige: the jut of her hip bones; the blush of her nipples; the taut muscle of her thighs.

she must take too long simply observing, because paige whines, hands pulling azzi back down so their skin is flush together, and the older girl moans into her mouth when azzi dips down to kiss her again, one of her hands coming up to hold at the base of her neck, claiming. 

azzi can feel the flutter of her pulse beneath her palm, and it’s more erotic than she was expecting.

she breaks the kiss, suddenly hit with the greedy urge to taste paige everywhere, to feel her tip over the edge on her tongue, but when she goes to crawl down paige body, she’s stopped by paige’s hands on her back and a whine in protest. 

she pulls back in confusion, just as paige whispers, high a needy, “can you- want you to stay up here, need you close.” 

god. if azzi malfunctions a little bit, no one can blame her. 

she doesn’t have a verbal response right away, just surges into to kiss paige again, wet and needy, and when she pulls back, paige’s pupils are blown so wide her eyes are nearly black, cheeks flushed, and azzi wonders if its possible for her heart to physically leap out of her chest. 

“‘course, baby. whatever you want,” she chokes, and she wonders if paige knows how true that statement is, how azzi would give her anything in the world if she only asked. if her voice is rougher than it usually would be, paige is too desperate to point it out.

she shifts them on their sides, so she has both hands free, and uses one to pull paige back into a kiss by the back of her head, trailing her other hand down to her previous position in between the blonde’s thighs, rubbing circles on her clit and swallowing her gasp, before dipping back down to her hole and slipping two fingers in. 

if paige was worked up before, it’s nothing compared to how wet she is now, and azzi fights to keep her composure and not melt into her own puddle of slick at the tangible feeling of paige’s desire. 

she curls her fingers, working up to an unforgiving rhythm inside of paige, pressing as deep as she can and curling her fingers. paige arches into her with a cry, babbling out a string of incoherent words and azzi’s name, and though she’s not usually this vocal, something about the sacredness of the moment must have opened the floodgates, because paige seemingly can’t stop the words from spilling out of her mouth. 

“god, azzi, please, fuck-, please don’t stop-” 

azzi would never dream of it. a different time, perhaps, she might remind paige of that, make a teasing comment about how she’s never not gotten paige off before, but something about how delicate the blonde looks beneath her stops that thought before it materializes.

“i know, baby, i’ve got you, doing so good for me,” she breathes instead, and is rewarded with a choked off moan, paige’s hands gripping azzi’s shoulders like they’re the only things grounding her to earth.

azzi tilts her head down to rest on paige’s shoulder, watching her fingers move in and out, and continues curling her fingers repeatedly, making sure to grind her palm against her clit in the process, and relishing in the desperation she can feel radiating off of paige. 

she knows paige is close, can feel it in the tremor of her thighs, the pulse of her walls around her fingers, and she leans up to rasp “come just for me, paige, all for me,” into her ear, pairing it with the addition of a third finger.

it does exactly what she expected, and paige writhes against her hand, mumbling “just for you azzi, only for you,” before breaking off into a high pitched gasp and tensing, coming all over azzi’s fingers. 

azzi kisses her to try and swallow the rest of her cries, and pumps her fingers slowly, working her through it, before pulling away when paige mumbles “too much” into her hair, breathing labored and hands tugging at azzi’s back. 

paige’s thighs are shaking. azzi resists the urge to make a smug comment, but only barely. 

she licks her fingers clean, chasing the taste of paige dripping down her hand, and paige makes a soft, wrecked sound in the back of her throat, pulling azzi even closer.

she then kisses paige on her temple, sweaty hairline be damned, and presses as close as she possibly can, relishing in how needy paige is right now.

they lie there, curled together for a couple minutes in contented silence, basking in this version of each other that they only get occasionally now, before azzi decides she’d really rather not wake up hungover and sticky, and gets up to grab a washcloth. 

they should probably shower. that is one hundred percent not happening tonight. a washcloth will have to do.

paige grumbles sleepily at the separation, but lets azzi go with a kiss to her temple and a swat of her ass, and azzi pretends to be scandalized when she bends down to grab a shirt off the ground so as to not walk in the hallway naked and paige whistles behind her at the view. 

she doesn’t bother with pants, and as she shuffles to the bathroom across the hall– noting gratefully that there’s no light coming from under nika’s door– she feels the beginning of an ache in her thighs and she grins to herself as satisfaction wells in her stomach. she hopes she feels it for days to come– hopes rather possessively that paige does too. 

the lights of the bathroom are brighter than she was ready for, and she squints in annoyance as she wets a cloth and wipes carelessly at the mess between her legs, before dropping the cloth on the edge of the sink to wash her hands. 

absentmindedly, she thinks to herself, a little ridiculously and definitely still a little drunkenly, that she misses paige. it’s been maybe a minute max. she has got to get a grip. 

but then, as she’s reaching to turn off the water, she feels two arms snake around her waist and the familiar weight of paige curling into her back, tucking her head into the crevice between azzi’s neck and shoulder and pressing a kiss, as if summoned by her needy thoughts. 

sometimes she thinks their brains are synced up on, like, a telepathic plane.

“your legs stopped shakin’ then?” she says as a greeting, and paige folds herself further into azzi, almost bashful. azzi fucking loves when she gets like this, in that possessive, greedy way that comes with the knowledge that she’s the only one who’s ever gotten to see this version of paige. 

“shut up, bro.”

azzi just giggles. 

paige is also in only a large t-shirt– no doubt stolen from azzi’s drawer– and it’s inside out, the tag sticking up against the collar and the faint, backwards outline of st. john’s basketball is just barely visible through the material. it hangs loose and oversized, hitting mid thigh in a way that should not be as sinful as it is, and she looks rumpled and soft and azzi thinks she might possibly drown in affection.

she spins them around, leaning paige up against the sink, and moves to wipe the washcloth gently between paige’s thighs, mourning the unblemished skin and the missed opportunity to leave her mark and return the favor that paige had given her earlier. 

next time. (not that- not that there’s going to be a next time. or anything.)

paige must feel the heat behind her gaze, because she shoves at azzi shoulder and rolls her eyes. “you’re insatiable.” 

azzi simply hums in agreement and spins them back around, curling into paige’s side to face the mirror and grabbing her tooth brush. 

she brushes as efficiently as possible, rolling her eyes at the faces paige makes at her in the mirror, and then forces paige to use her toothbrush too. 

paige protests this until azzi says she’ll withhold morning kisses, and paige almost knocks the toothbrush out of azzi’s hands in her haste to use it.

azzi ignores the urge to say something entirely stupid like we should do this always and then you could have your own toothbrush here. from paige’s lopsided grin around in the mirror, foam lingering on the corner of her mouth, azzi thinks she probably understands the unsaid words anyway. 

they pad back to azzi’s room with their fingers intertwined, trying to step on each other’s toes to be as annoying as possible, and paige’s hand smacks over her mouth when she laughs too loudly in the silence of the hallway at a near stumble when they trip over each other's feet. 

paige flops onto the bed unceremoniously when they return, denying azzi’s offer of boxers while the brunette throws on a faded pair of her own, and she only moves from her face down position when azzi worms up next to her, nudging paige over until they can curl up under the bedsheets chest to chest, azzi tucked up under her chin.

it warms her heart to an impossible level that it wasn’t even a question if paige would sleep over. she prays that when they wake up, they can stay in their bubble for a little while longer, and then decides to voice that thought aloud. 

sort of.

“if you’re annoying about this in the morning i swear to god-” 

“-oh if i’m annoying– were you not the one who made me sneak out at the ass crack of dawn last time?” 

that had absolutely happened. but in azzi’s defense, both nika and olivia had been home, and had interrogated her when they got up about who she’d brought back from the bar, because they’d heard that she’d had someone over. she’d nearly killed herself of embarrassment. 

instead of admitting to this, she wriggles closer and says, pettily, “must’ve been one of your other bitches.” she’s joking. definitely. 

paige huffs, annoyed. her hands move further down azzi’s back, gripping her waist, and azzi stays firmly tucked into her shoulder, hiding from her face, but she just knows paige is rolling her eyes aggressively. 

“bruh you’re not serious.” 

azzi is dead serious. she, again, doesn’t really have the right to be possessive, but they’re breaking every other rule tonight– paige put on quite the jealous performance– she might as well indulge too. 

distantly, she’s aware that eventually, when they’re not being stupid and ignoring this whole sleeping-together-and-not-talking-about-it thing, they’ll need to discuss the fact that they’re definitely in love. and she knows that the responsibility of bringing it up will eventually fall on her, that paige will follow her lead, would probably do anything azzi asked of her, but whatever. 

that’s tomorrow, sober azzi’s problem to freak out about and then subsequently ignore. right now, she stays stubbornly quiet, and paige sighs, exaggeratedly loud, making azzi’s whole body move with paige’s chest when she inhales. 

with as much conviction as a girl who’s had seven shots in the last four hours can muster, paige uses the hand not currently on azzi’s waist to tilt her head back so they can make eye contact, and says “azzi, bro, you gotta know i don’t have other girls.” 

her eyes are a little unfocussed, from the sleepiness or the fading drunkenness azzi doesn’t know, but she does know that paige is telling the truth anyways, with that kind of quiet earnestness that only she has ever been able to exhibit. 

she’d known, on some level, that paige wasn’t messing around with anyone else, but there’s a difference between hearing paige mumble confessions in the middle of an orgasm and hearing her assuredness in the after. 

she also knows that exclusiveness probably goes beyond the normal realm of best friends with benefits, but that's neither here nor there, and satisfaction settles in her gut anyways and she smiles, probably disgustingly wide. 

she tucks her head back into paige chest, lest she give away how happy that confirmation makes her and give the other girl an unneeded ego boost. 

“me neither. y’know. if you care.”

paige definitely already knew this, but operating under assumptions and hopeful thinking is very different from a verbal acknowledgement. this isn’t really in the realm of casual. azzi can’t bring herself to care. 

paige hums, and azzi doesn’t know how, but the simple, minute sound exudes smugness. she should’ve kept her mouth shut. 

“yeah, i know. prolly cause i’m the best you ever had,” paige singsongs. 

azzi bites her shoulder. “i never said that. you’re making assumptions.” 

“you literally said that, like, thirty minutes ago.” indignation laces her words, and then she pitches her voice up in a terrible impression of azzi, drawing her words out breathily because she’s a pest, and mocking, “ohhhhh paige, feels so good, best i ever-”

azzi elbows her in the gut to shut her up, and she makes a funny, cut off sound in surprise and (hopefully) pain. good. 

“please just go to sleep.”

“i’m just pointing out the fact that you literally just said i was the best-”

“paige, i swear to god if you don’t shut up-” 

“you’ll what,” paige dares. she probably thinks this is foreplay, and it would be, too, if azzi wasn’t already exhausted and sated.

“or i’ll call charlie.” it’s an empty threat and they both know it, but paige gets huffy anyways, and azzi smiles into her chest. 

“azzi do not play with me right now,” she grunts around azzi’s giggles, hands tightening on her waist, before adding “it is not funny.”

“it kinda is.”

“it’s not.” she grumbles. a beat, and then “never want to hear his name ever again bro, swear.”

azzi just laughs. 

paige is quiet for a second, but azzi knows better than to think this means she’s going to leave it, and sure enough, five seconds later, “s’okay, y’know, that i’m the best you’ve ever had cause, like, you’re the best i ever had too. so like- it works.” 

satisfaction spreads deliciously through her body and azzi resists the urge to say i know into paige’s shoulder, grinning instead, as the other girl continues on loftily with her speech. 

“but like i’m the best you ever had even more than you’re the best i-”

“-paige,” she cuts off. 

“what.” 

“shut up,” azzi grumbles, bringing her hand up to try and find paige’s mouth and cover it blindly in the dark. “sleep time.” 

it’s a cop out and she knows it, but also it’s probably nearing two am and she’s trying to limit how bad her hangover tomorrow will be, and if paige keeps talking like that they’re gonna, like, end up having sex again and not sleeping. or something. 

paige nips the finger that azzi’s placed haphazardly over her mouth and finally quiets, blessedly taking a command for once in her life. 

they settle more comfortably into the sheets, twisting around so paige is pressed up against azzi’s back, legs tangled and hearts beating in sync, and azzi feels her whole body relax into a state of peacefulness that only comes with being wrapped up in paige, cozy and quiet and safe. 

it’s silent for at least a whole minute, so azzi mistakenly thinks paige is done yapping for the day and starts drifting off. but then paige– azzi really needs to get her checked for adhd– whispers “hey azzi” into her hair.

she debates whether she wants to respond. 

the combination of alcohol, post sex-haze, and paige’s arms wrapped around her is making her entire body feel warm and fuzzy, and she was kind of already halfway to sleep, but her unflinching, rather self-sabotaging tendency to humor paige no matter the circumstance wins out. 

“mm,” she mumbles, and tries to make her voice sound as sleepy as possible so paige will make this quick. 

the other girl is silent for a second, and azzi wonders if she’s going to say anything at all, and then her fingers twitch against azzi’s stomach where they’ve wormed under her t-shirt and she whispers “if we wake up drunk can we fuck in the shower?” 

under normal (see: sober; awake) circumstances, this sentence would cause azzi to shriek, and probably pinch paige somewhere she knows would leave a mark. instead, she hums, considering, pretending like she hasn’t already decided the answer is yes, and slides one of her legs further between paige’s.

they won’t wake up drunk; are barely riding tipsy right now. they both are fully aware of this. it’s an unspoken request that they continue their little bubble of paigeandazzi with no rules until later tomorrow– that when they wake up they can mutually pretend the alcohol hasn’t left their system and extend the breach in their precariously constructed facade of a platonic relationship.

“maybe.” 

this means yes and they both know it, and she can hear the smile in paige’s voice when she says “bet.”

azzi laces their fingers together against her stomach, and grins into the dark. “‘night, p, love you,” she whispers. she chooses to ignore how decidedly not casual that is. 

paige squeezes their fingers. “love you too, az,” and she can feel the grin on paige’s face pressing into her shoulder.

her last coherent thought before she drifts off is that their new rules are supremely stupid, but if it takes becoming an alcoholic to break the rules every night, she’d consider it. 

(they do, in fact, pretend to still be drunk when they wake up, and paige doesn’t stop using her comically exaggerated, extremely annoying pretend drunk voice until azzi makes her shut up. they absolutely fuck in the shower. and also in the kitchen. which is where nika finds them, rumpled and glowing, arguing over who would be romeo and who would be juliet. she doesn’t even bother saying i told you so.)

(they last barely ten days before it happens again.)

a/n: badda bing badda boom! sorry for being a whore <3 and sorry for leaving this off without writing them getting together for real…but i think this is a happy ending while still making it feel appropriate for the pace of this story and the trajectory of their relationship :)) pls don’t kill me we all know they’re in love including them!!! as always comments and anons and stuff fuel me like nothing else and i die a miniature death every time someone tells me they liked my work so <3 love you <3

[chimerafeathers]

you know what i think Mirabelle deserves to get a little fucked up freaky in how she processes learning about Siffrin’s loops post-canon. for fun. as a treat

thinking about this line in particular and stretching out the implications like taffy

this is a more romanticized, cutesy facet of her interests but she’s still framing Siffrin’s situation through storytelling. so like. What If.

i mean. this woman loves horror and gore and monsters and horrible things happening to innocent people. IN FICTION. in fiction!!! obviously!!!! and it’s beyond terrible that something even remotely close to any of that happened to her real friend in real life!!

BUT.

maybe. maybe sometimes, if the conditions are right, she gets a little too wrapped up in her imagination about the bloody, awful poetry of it all. maybe Siffrin tells a joke that's a little too dark and gory for anyone else, borderline or full-on Concerning, but she latches onto it without thinking about the Implications and plays along with increasing gruesomeness because FINALLYYYYY someone will play with her in the Horror Space (like Isabeau does in the romance space!!) and then. OOPS. the implications!!!! and she has to recalibrate out of Fun With Fiction mode into Oh No, My Friend Underwent A Horrifying Ordeal mode.

but being able to joke about things, even the awful things, is...kind of comforting, to Siffrin. makes them feel less like they're being babied and pitied and more like what happened was something...normal, almost? something that doesn't have to feel like the end of the world all over again every time it's mentioned, at least. so he tries to reassure her, and Odile and Isabeau have to go “actually can you PLEASE not joke about dying horribly it’s freaking us out and also might not be the Best for you? mentally???”

maybe Mirabelle will get a little Too Into trying to weave meaning and symbolism into the scant details that Siffrin gradually reveals, like she’s trying to finish the orange poem all over again, or eagerly meddling with the romantic reunion of the two actual people in the House with undelivered bonding earrings, writing their story for them without their input.

it’s easier to justify the tragedy of it all when it has a purpose, isn’t it? finding the beauty in the darkness, the love powerful enough to end the world. romanticizing the horrors until her friend can talk about them without shutting down.

and she feels guilty about hearing something and immediately thinking “ohhhhhhh this is JUST like Blorbo From My Novels,” because she should treat Siffrin’s situation with the gravity and care he deserves!! they’re a real person, not a character who exists for entertainment, to represent the ~themes~ of some story.

but if she admits as much…maybe Siffrin is safe to admit that he had started seeing the rest of them as actors, endlessly reciting their lines. maybe that’s just how people process things sometimes, grasping for metaphors when unfiltered reality gets to be too much. maybe it’s okay to talk about that part of it all, too.

[destinysbounty]

One thing that kinda chaps me about how the Ice Emperor is typically characterized by a lot of the fandom is that if you really pay attention to how he behaves in the Ice Chapter, he isn't the aggressive, confrontational villain he's often made out to be. In s11, most scenes we see of the Ice Emperor actually depict him as a very passive and sedate character, preferring to rest on his throne and contemplate rather than taking action. He never acts unless Vex implores him to do so, and even then he usually defaults to the less ruthless choice until Vex cajoles him into opting for something more brutal. The first time we see the IE defy Vex in any capacity is when he chooses to spare Lloyd rather than killing him instantly. Judging by Vex's surprise at this, and IE's unabashed trust in his advisor, I would hazard to guess this is the first time Zane has ever pushed back against one of Vex's suggestions.

This is not to say the Ice Emperor is without cruelty or brutality. He is still a very menacing presence in his own right, and he absolutely has gallons of blood on his hands. That cannot be understated. But on his own, without a wormtongue whispering in his ear, I personally think the Ice Emperor would have been...well, not necessarily a kind person, but significantly less ruthless. He's a passive and dare I say tired person who prefers to sit on his throne and wait for orders rather than taking any form of initiative on his own. He's barely even a leader or a tyrant in any true sense of the term, really -- he's just a glorified weapon Vex keeps stored on a shelf until he's needed.

This actually makes sense when you consider Zane's element. Ice is in its very nature a slow and sedate thing. Temperature is shaped by the speed and movement of particulates -- the faster molecules move, the hotter things are. Whereas when things get colder, molecules move much more slowly. (That's perhaps a bit of an oversimplification, but I'm not going to give a lecture on thermodynamics in a post about silly lego people). And the Ice Emperor...well, he's very much encased in ice. He has to physically pry himself off his throne, and the staff has long been frozen to his hand. The whole world is in a similar state as well. Entire swathes of the population have been cryogenically frozen, and the world is so cold that it's exceedingly difficult for fire to thrive. And many other fans have speculated that the reason Akita is able to look the same age despite decades passing is because Zane's corrupted ice has overwhelmed the land so profoundly that everyone is more or less frozen in time.

Ice is a slow, sedate, passive thing. It does not demand anything of you except that you cease movement. Likewise, the Ice Emperor in his truest state is a sedate, passive character, only stirred out of his meditations when Vex compels him into action.

True, he's often depicted as a generically ruthless tyrant in most iterations after s11, but those can usually be chalked up to Zane's unreliable self-perception. This is how Zane interprets his behavior as the Ice Emperor, rather than the actual reality of how he truly behaved. Zane resents that part of himself, and that resentment has warped his understanding of who the Ice Emperor truly was. Which in itself is rather tragic considering Zane's identity issues. That is to say, Zane is so terribly blinded by his trauma and self-loathing that not even he can see himself for who he truly is.

(Cough cough that one quote in Dragons Rising: "Zane had such impressive shoes to fill. No one could ever live up to him, perhaps not even Zane himself.")

Anyway, even if people disagree with this interpretation of the Ice Emperor's character, I personally find it much more compelling to view him not as a generic murderous tyrant...but as an old, tired machine who cannot conceive of his personhood outside of his own weaponization.

By extension, this actually makes Zane's post-s11 coping process a lot more complex as well. The popular narrative is that Zane needs to learn to accept that what happens wasn't his fault, that he had a whole chorus of extenuating circumstances working against him, and that it's actually quite impressive just how many things had to go wrong all at once for him to become evil. And that's fair, but I also think the truth of the matter is more complicated than that.

Zane knows, deep down, that the Ice Emperor's actions weren't his fault -- and that's exactly what terrifies him. Because if he accepts that he was little more than Vex's mindless weapon, then he has to admit that his greatest fear has come true. He spent decades as a mindless, soulless machine, only ever acting on the will of another person, all while being endlessly manipulated by a cursed artifact, rather than having any true agency of his own. When his friends tell him it wasn't his fault, it's not a comfort but rather a painful reminder of how long he spent as someone else's drone. When the people of the Never Realm forgive him and let him return home unobstructed, a part of Zane resents it because it means they, too, acknowledge his absence of free will.

In my eyes, Zane post-s11 is someone who feels that he needs to be blamed, needs to be hated and despised and shunned -- because if people hate him for what he did, then that means it really was his fault. And if it was his fault, then that means he didn't lose his free will after all. It means he didn't spend 50 years as someone else's empty plaything. It means he didn't spend more of his life as a mindless weapon than as a true person.

Yes, Zane needs to learn to stop blaming himself for the Ice Emperor's actions...but how can he let go of the blame when it's the only thing keeping him sane?

[fandomregression]

i always hate to complain abt agere fic because there's so little of it but ohhhh my goodness whenever i see baby talk in an actual fic i nope out soooo quickly please thats not... how ppl talk... please have mercy please dont make your regressor say "sowwy i's littol" unless they're like. texting someone. and even then its preferred if you dont do that for readability. i've been reading/writing agere fic since 2017 and this has only gotten worse in recent years wahhh

[pocmuzings]

welcome  to  a  guide  for  2025  rpc  and  a  throwback  to  the  importance  of  creating  well  rounded  ,  developed  characters  .

a  general  lovenote  and  reminder  on  how  to  create  characters  people  want  to  rp  with  ,  as  discussed  by  g.    please  note  ,  these  are  all  my  own  thoughts  and  feelings  ,  but  i'm  not  '  married  '  to  any  of  this  .  i'm  happy  for  open  conversation  ,  thoughts  ,  feedback  etc  ,  but  i  don't  tolerate  aggressive  messaging  .

the  first  thing  i  think  about  when  i  think about  my  character  ,  whether  for  a  rp  ,  a  book  ,  a  short  story  ,  or  a  1x1  partner  is  .  .  .  where  is  my  character  ?  not  just  physically  ,  but  emotionally  .  what  got  them  there  ?  what  have  they  already  overcome  ?  what  do  they  have  LEFT  to  overcome  ?

whenever  i  write  or  create  a  character  ,  i  think  about  them  in  the  same  way  i  think  about  any  story  making  .  stories  (  typically  and  in  some  manner  )  have  beginnings  ,  climaxes  and  ends  .  they  also  have  problems  that  need  to  be  solved  (  or  not  solved  )  .  there's  an  arc  we  follow  .  we  go  up  the  mountain  ,  then  back  down  again  .

a  beginning  is  not  necessarily  '  born  in  1982  ,  to  two  loving  parents  '  .  it  doesn't  need  to  be  a  beginning  of  time  ,  but  can  just  be  the  beginning  to  your  characters  story  .  e.g  '  despite  having  two  loving  parents  ,  she  had  a  deep  focus  on  soccer  .  if  not  soccer  ,  then  maths  .  if  not  maths  ,  something  else  .  from  a  young  age  ,  she  strove  for  perfection  and  being  the  best  at  something  .'

this  beginning  sets  the  tone  of  your  character  .  in  a  few  sentence  ,  we  can  already  see  what  kind  of  person  she  is  and  know  that  she  has  some  internal  demons  she's  battling  .  we  don't  necessarily  need  her  entire  family  tree  unless  it's  critical  to  the  story.

from  there,  we  have  our  climax  or  problem  statement  ,  where  things  really  begin  to  boil  .  again  ,  it  doesn't  necessarily  need  to  be  '  everything  came  to  a  head  when  her  mother  died  '  .  we  can  make  it  more  character  focused  by  writing  '  in  2012  ,  her  mother  died  and  she  threw  herself  into  trying  to  create  the  perfect  replacement  family  .  she  got  married  to  4  different  men  in  the  space  of  5  years  ,  and  has  5  children  shared  among  them  ,  as  well  as  2  step  children  .  but  she  is  unable  to  settle  down  .  she  feels  restless  .  she  finds  it  hard  to  be  a  mother  because  everything  reminds  her  of  her  own  mother  ,  and  the  loss  she's  endured  .  '  now  ,  we  already  know  two  things  about  our  character  :

1  .  she  wants  to  be  perfect  and  the  best  ,  including  at  creating  families

2  .  she  is  terrified  of  her  role  in  motherhood  due  to  the  loss  of  her  own  mother  and  feeling  unmoored  without  her

this  can  then  take  us  to  the  problem  solving  portion  of  the  character  .  this  is  usually  where  i  like  to  start  my  character  in  rps  and  1x1  and  novel  worlds  .  we  have  these  2  issues  and  2  core  beliefs  within  the  character  .  they're  instrumental  to  her  .  how  are  we  going  to  overcome  it  ?  ARE  we  going  to  overcome  it  ?

we  can  begin  to  think  of  the  butterfly  effect  in  terms  of  our  character  .  we  can  begin  to  think  of  the  tree   and  its  branches  growing  within  her  ,  extending  out  to  other  characters  .  we  can  see  how  she  effects  other  people  ,  including  those  close  to  her  ,  not  close  to  her  ,  new  friends  ,  old  friends  ,  new  love  interests  ,  past  interests  .  we  can  create  drama  and  connections  because  we  have  a  strong  foundation  .

so  .  where  does  it  end  ?  does  it  need  to  end  happily  ?  simple  answer  is  no  .  your  character  can  end  in  the  exact  same  place  as  they  did  at  the  beginning  ,  but  the  point  is  that  we've  gone  on  the  journey  with  the  character  .  maybe  we've  seen  her  talk  to  her  mother's  grave  .  maybe  we've  seen  her  go  to  grief  counselling  .  maybe  she's  gotten  pregnant  or  married  again  .  the  problem  statement  doesn't  stop  her  or  stick  her  in  one  place  .  in  fact  ,  if  anything  ,  it  can  encourage  her  to  keep  making  the  same  mistakes  .  on  the  coin  flip  ,  she  can  learn  .  she  can  grow  .  she  can  heal  .  she  can  mend  the  relationships  with  her  kids  ,  her  past  partners  ,  rekindle  love  ,  or  find  new  love  .  the  whole  point  in  the  made-up  'ending'  for  a  character  ,  is  that  we  have  options  .  we  haven't  locked  her  down  .  we  can  continue  to  plot  ,  connect  ,  develop  ,  etc  ,  as  we  go  along  .

QUESTIONS  AND  THOUGHTS  I  CONSIDER  WHEN  CREATING  A  CHARACTER  :

how  has  your  character  ended  up  where  they  are  right  in  this  moment?  think  about  where  you’re  starting  them  from,  and  what  that  looks  like  realistically.  not  just  physically  :  how  did  they  get  to  this  place  ?  but  also  mentally  :  what  did  they  have  to  do  to  become  the  person  they  are  ?  was  it  good  or  bad  ?  everything  you  are  and  do  and  become  as  a  human  is  made  up  of  tiny  almost  inconsequential  decisions  or  choices  you  made.  you  decided  to  study  x.  you  broke  up  with  y.  your  parent  passed  away  so  you  had  to  come  back  to  your  childhood  home.  your  illustrious  career  came  crashing  down  and  you  need  a  place  to  cool  off.  you  never  left  here,  you’ve  been  here  from  the  beginning,  because  you’re  searching  for  something.  what  is  it?  what  is  the  thing  that  has  your  character  right  where  they  are  in  this  exact  moment  ? 

what  emotion  do  they  feel  the  most?  regret,  anger,  longing,  nostalgia  ?  this  helps  drive  your  characters  motives  past  and  presently.  it  also  helps  you  understand  their  goals.  what  they  want  to  achieve  and  why.  maybe  they  yearn  for  longing  and  friendship  and  connection  because  they  never  got  it  as  a  child,  whether  at  home  or  at  school.  maybe  they  regret  not  keeping  in  touch  with  their  childhood  friends  because  now  they  are  surrounded  by  people  they  can’t  trust  and  work  in  a  shitty  environment  where  you  have  to  climb  over  others  to  get  on  top.  everyone  has  a  goal.  everyone  has  an  emotion  that  drives  it.  what  is  your  characters  and  why  does  it  matter?  how  does  it  present? 

when’s  the  last  time  they  cried  and  why?  everybody  cries  and  everybody  cries  in  very  different  ways.  it  says  a  lot  about  the  emotional  state  of  a  character  and  their  emotional  health.  are  they  in  tune  with  their  emotions  and  cry  at  appropriate  times?  do  they  compartmentalise  it?  do  they  only  cry  when  angry?  dig  into  it  and  think  of  the  why  why  why.  why  does  my  character  only  cry  at  this  one  thing?  why  does  my  character  only  feel  safe  crying  alone?  why. 

what  is  your  characters  biggest  regret  in  life?  did  they  get  on  a  plane  when  they  should  have  stayed?  did  they  study  a  subject  only  because  their  parents  wanted  them  to?  did  they  not  kiss  the  girl  when  they  wanted  to?  let’s  be  honest.  our  lives  are  filled  with  “if  only  i’d  done  xyz”  .  if  only  .  this  also  provides  a  great  opportunity  to  MAKE  these  plots  and  plot  with  other  people.  now  we  can  come  up  with  exes  or  ex  best  friends  or  old  flames  or  whatever  whatever  ,  because  there’s  a  good  chance  your  character  regrets  something  that  impacts  someone  else  and  they  regret  it  BECAUSE  of  that  impact  . 

ADDITIONAL  THOUGHTS  AND  TIPS  I'VE  PICKED  UP  WHILE  RPING

honestly  the  more  “whys”  you  can  answer  for  your  character,  the  more  in  depth  you’re  getting.  in  order  for  other  people  to  understand  your  character,  you  need  to  understand  them  yourself.  you  can’t  expect  people  to  write  with  your  character  if  they  don’t  really  have  much  of  a  stable  personality  and  your  plots  don’t  make  much  sense.  remember:  plotting  should  contribute  to  your  character  and  their  development.  human  relationships  don’t  just  exist  because  we  like  them.  they  exist  because  they  serve  an  unserved  part  within  ourselves. 

genuinely  think  of  their  hobbies.  it’s  all  well  and  good  to  say  “she’s  a  bookworm  and  loves  puzzles”  “he  likes  music”  but  like.  what  does  that  actually  mean?  WHY  do  they  like  certain  things  ?  do  they  like  reading  books  or  writing?  do  they  like  fantasy  and  escapism  because  it  reminds  them  of  childhood?  do  they  listen  to  only  their  dads  favourite  music  because  they  miss  him?  do  they  make  playlists  for  niche  and  specific  moods  only  applicable  to  them?  why  are  their  hobbies  important  to  them? 

consider  their  connections,  not  just  future  but  npc  and  current.   how  would  5  close  friends  describe  them  in  one  word?  how  would  their  ex  describe  them  in  one  word?  what  is  one  thing  that  others  could  safely  always  rely  on  your  character  for  (eg  designated  driver  on  nights  out,  always  having  some  type  of  fidgeting  device,  knowing  a  phone  app  to  help  you  meditate  or  streamline  a  process  etc  etc).  we  all  exist  in  the  worlds  of  our  loved  ones,  past,  present  and  future.  we  leave  marks  with  them.  we  are  known  to  them.  so  what  is  your  character  known  and  loved  for? 

pick  your  plot  first,  not  your  fc  or  your  character.  i  know  this  sounds  counterintuitive  but  when  you  have  a  plot  for  a  character  and  a  clear  path  for  development  -  it  helps  everything  else  fall  into  place.  the  worst  thing  are  characters  that  are  plotless  (specifically  for  group  rping).  i’m  going  to  be  honest  here:  your  character  has  to  have  something  to  give  other  characters.  whether  it’s  drama,  information,  hidden  secrets,  a  connection…  your  character  has  to  have  something  of  substance.  i’d  actually  prefer  they’re  a  stereotype  then  they’re  just  aimless  and  personality-less.  when  you  have  a  big  overarching  plot  and  path  for  your  character,  it  will  not  only  help  you  plot  with  others,  but  also  help  keep  your  character  moving  and  not  JUST  reliant  on  others  to  pick  up  the  slack

rping  has  always  used  the  yes  and…?  rule.  that  extends  to  your  characters.  instead  of  yes  and…?  think  of  So…  what?  your  character  loves  to  bake.  ok.  so  what?  what  does  that  mean  for  a  thread,  or  another  character?  why  do  we  care?  maybe  we’d  care  if  your  character  bakes  experimental  stuff  and  loves  to  test  it  on  other  muses.  maybe  we’d  care  if  your  character  used  to  be  a  professional  baker  but  hasn’t  baked  lovingly  in  a  while.  maybe  we’d  care  if  your  character  is  a  baker  but  has  lost  their  charm  and  schtick  and  can’t  bake  the  way  they  used  to.  this  stuff  is  important.  don’t  just  stick  arbitrary  things  onto  your  character  and  expect  others  to  care,  especially  when  you  don’t  care  and  have  just  put  it  on  your  character  as  a  random  quirk.  that’s  not  how  people  and  humans  work.  everything  means  everything. 

your  character  doesn’t  have  to  be  likeable  but  they  do  have  to  be  memorable.  evil  nasty  girls,  manipulative  jerks…  yeah  that’s  all  ok!  but  also  you  kinda  have  to  show,  don’t  tell.  you  can’t  just  SAY  your  character  is  the  “head  bitch  in  charge”  and  then  she  never  actually  talks  or  says  anything  or  does  anything.  sorry,  but  in  order  for  me  to  see  your  character,  you  actually  have  to  write  them  or  at  the  very  least  headcanon  them.  otherwise,  they’re  just  a  blob  of  musings  in  the  ether. 

in  order  to  create  a  character  ,  you  have  to  write  your  character  .  i  see  this  a  lot  in  groups  ..  people  love  to  create  a  character  pinterest  ,  graphics  ,  aesthetics  galore  .  its  amazing  !  but  they  don't  actually  write  the  character  and  it  can  close  off  a  lot  of  opportunities  to  plot  because  people  don't  know  who  your  character  really  is  .  i  hate  to  say  it  ,  and  its  not  true  for  everyone  but  :  if  you're  relying  on  aesthetic  ,  then  you  could  be  lacking  in  the  actual  creation  and  writing  aspect  .  plus  ,  people  have  come  here  to  WRITE  with  YOU  .  not  just  see  fan  edits  of  your  character  .  write  .  write  badly  .  write  starters  ,  even  if  they  scare  you  .  write  with  people  you  don't  know  .  write  with  yourself  .  write  with  your  best  friend  .  but  you  have  to  actually  do  the  writing  part  .

[lmao-ooooooo]

wwx is the type of guy who always has 100000000+ yuan worth of items in his cart in online shopping stores but never buys ANYTHING like ever! so one day he leaves his computer open and his lovely husband lwj sees all the items on his cart, he decides to buy everything on it because if wwx has it in his cart he must really want it! and wwx needs to spoil himself more. wwx gets soooo freaked out when he sees his shopping cart (that hes been adding stuff onto for years btw) sitting infront of his door, acting as an extra wall when he tries to leave their house for something. he starts panicking bc he thinks he accidently pressed check out. he starts trying to return everything bc theres NO way he can justify spending that much money, no matter how much his husband makes. later lwj stops him ofc, telling him he should have everything he wants and if he wanted everything that was on his cart then he should have them. wwxs argument was there was not enough space in their house for all of this random shit (there definitely was) and lwj said with the straightest face ever

"fine. we'll get a larger house then"

"WHAT NO LAN ZHAN"

wwx somehow made everything worse wtf!

"anything for my wife."

[crow-caller]

If you find using alt pronouns tricky or unnatural, just a bit weird that you maybe avoid it as much as possible— I'm talking it/its, neopronouns like ae/aer.

Practice. That's it.

It is okay to find these odd to use, because you are not used to using them. It isn't that it/its is magically uncomfortable to use to refer to another human, it's that you haven't used it for people before and your brain isn't used to it. It's okay to have trouble formatting neopronouns, because unlike she/her/hers/herself you don't have experience using that pronoun and it's variants

Practice! Write something starring a character using those pronouns. Find a character who uses them you can write about. Just scribble out sentences. You need to train your brain a little, and that's normal.

Did you ever have trouble using they/them? I did! People who complain using singular they/them feels wrong are experiencing the same thing. I struggled to conjugate it at first because I'd not used it in such a way. Now it is effortless. You just aren't used to it. You should practice.

[deathgroupie]

90s/early 2000s megachurch pastor john irving getting absolutely obliterated in some dingy roadside motel room after a service. you agree

[omegalerc]

everybody these two gifs together is the main important thing to be discussed today. that is an discord e-daddy and his kitten who meows for nitro

[glitteringpoet1685]

Oh Daniel and Armands off-screen breakup must have been messy messy.

[uncannydevotion]

hiii i cant get sully out of my head rn so here's a lil nsfw thought that's been bouncing in my head for a bit.

warnings: mdni, pure smut under the cut, not proofread i think if i read this back i'd cry, gn!reader, penetrative sex, sex in a church, blasphemy, use of angel as a pet name, slight religious kink, public sex, light choking kink, slight corruption kink, everything is consensual, im literally so down bad for sully it's not even funny.

guys… guys… imagine sully fucking you in a church like… you live in this dingy small town where the church is the entire community, and he's just some guy from out of town that caught your attention.

you didn't think your short interactions would lead to you bent over the altar of the church you'd sometimes volunteer at, your shirt bunched up and your pants pooled on the floor.

he's got a hand resting lazily on your throat, forcing your head back enough that your gaze was focused on the crucified statue of jesus nailed up to the wall.

the cold wood of the altar dug into your skin with each thrust into your sex, and your nails dragged across the material in a desperate attempt to cling to something.

this is so wrong, being fucked like this in a place of worship.

but that only seemed to turn you on, and sully seemed deeply into it as well, judging from the way he was taking his time fucking into you.

his thrusts were slow, and lazy. like you two weren't at risk of getting caught by the church's priest, or a volunteer. you should consider yourself lucky that there weren't any events planned today, really.

the only sounds that could be heard in the church were your muffled moans as you bit down on your lip to keep from being too loud, and sully's heavy breaths as he holds himself back from fucking you stupid.

and when he thrusts into you, fucking into a particularly sweet spot, your hand was scrambling to your mouth as you bit down on your skin, tears pricking your vision as you choke on a moan.

the sounds you made were like music to his ears, and he wanted to see just how desperate and needy he could get you before finishing. ah, another time, perhaps.

because right now, the only thing he wanted to do was feel you clench around him when you finally came.

his forehead rests against the back of your shoulder, fingers on your neck tightening just a bit that it had you gasping, and he relished in the way you pressed into him, desperate for him to take you deeper and deeper.

"fuck…"

his breath is warm against you, and his fingers dug into your skin like you'd disappear if he let go for even a second.

"it's like you were made for me, angel," he mumbles, slowly pulling out to the tip before thrusting back in, savoring the way you clench around him, the way your body jerks from the movement.

you can't even muster up a response, every little movement from him had your breath hitching, threatening to send you over the edge. but it wasn't enough, and you wanted to cum so badly that his slow pace was starting to frustrate you.

it felt like an eternity before sully decided to finally fuck you like he meant it, his pace picking up as each thrust pressed you further and further against the altar. unlit candles fell off with quiet thuds, and the tears in your eyes began to fall freely as he kept your gaze focused on the religious statue.

"please-"

whatever you had tried saying was immediately forgotten as his hand dropped from your neck to instead play with your sex, the added stimulation causing your mind to fog as your eyes fluttered shut.

your head fell forward, resting against the wooden altar. you could feel the knot in you getting tighter, and tighter. you were getting close, and you knew sully was too judging from the way his heavy breaths turned into quiet groans.

"sully," you manage to say, biting back a moan, "sully, i'm close,"

"i know, angel," he breathes, pressing feather light kisses against your shoulder in time with his thrust, "me too."

and sully makes sure you both cum at the same time, his voice coming out a bit strained when he asks, "in or out?" before pulling out the moment you tell him to, streaks of white painting the skin of your back.

you barely register the feeling as you're lost in your own high, clenching around nothing as your orgasm hits you like a train. you were coherent enough to bite down lip to keep from making any sound.

and once you've both calmed down and cleaned up, you had assumed that would be the end of it. a quick fuck, and then you'd go your separate ways.

but sully surprises you when he meets you just outside the church the next day while you're volunteering, acting as if he hadn't fucked you until you saw stars on the altar the day before when he asks if you wanna get dinner with him.

…you said yes, obviously.

[crow-caller]

I really do think looking at bad writing is one of the best ways to learn about writing in general, especially for beginners.

the thing is, writing in general is highly subjective- a good sentence will be good in different ways to different people, or not impress someone at all.

a bad sentence? most people can spot bad sentences easy, especially if it is presented to them as 'here's an example of a bad sentence, let's unpack why.'

bad writing can also be very funny, which I think is again often more engaging than 'here's a work of literary genius go analyze it'. Like here's some bad writing from lightlark3:

The moment it was out of Horus’s grip, his body became bones. The flesh turned to ash. He became a corpse.

it's dumb as hell, but I think could foster a solid discussion when you ask 'why? what is the author intending to say? what about it makes it feel 'clunky'? How would you write the same idea?'

[myokk]

✨🌚MY HEADCANONS ABOUT THE BLACK FAMILY🌝✨

Being this close to her mother, Eloise was struck by their physical similarities. As a young girl, it had been impossible to see, but now that she was a young woman they were striking. She felt as if she were looking in a mirror, but a twisted mirror: everything that was warm about her appearance was turned cold in her mother: hazel eyes to a frigid silver, unruly brown hair to straight black; her mother's skin was somehow even more pale than Eloise's, as if she were cut from marble. Everything soft about Eloise was made sharp in her mother, and Eloise wondered what had made her this way. She was terrified that in twenty years' time, the two of them would be indistinguishable. Had Elladora Black always been like this? Eloise couldn't imagine any time when her mother might have smiled, or even huffed in quiet laughter. No moments where she had been caught staring at her husband with love and warmth in her eyes. Eloise had only ever known her as an ambitious woman who was always striving towards some goal, even if it was known only to her. Someone couldn't spend their whole life like that, could they?

or: how I imagine Elladora Black's life and how she became the evil, complicated woman that I love so much​🥺​ ft Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius, Apollonia, pureblood society headcanons I just make up, tragic romance, complicated female characters and SO MUCH MORE🫶

this post is dedicated to the sweet amazing @elliecutte my favorite Elladora lover/sweetest person EVER & the only person I dedicate posts to🤭

This might be kind of disjointed, because I don't have names or anything for the people in her life really. It's just what is kind of in the back of my mind as I write Elladora, but very much going off of vibes more than anything.

What's canon about her is that she's the third child in her family (Sirius and Phineas are her older brothers), and has a younger sister, Iola. (Idk who exactly Apollonia is in relation to their family…maybe a great aunt?) (Iola was burned off the family tree for running away with a muggle, which was always a source of deep shame for the family)

Sirius dies when Elladora is three (he was eight years old). He was the oldest son, and in these types of families, the oldest son inherits EVERYTHING - the land, the house, the heirlooms…basically the whole estate. Subsequent sons would go into some sort of profession (church, army, law etc - my wizarding headcanon is a high position in the Ministry or the Wizengamot or something) and might inherit a smaller estate that's in the family if they're lucky. My guess is that Sirius was prepared from a young age to be the heir, and his death was a freak accident. Maybe he drowned when the family was vacationing by the sea, maybe he caught Dragonpox…

BUT his death was the factor that really drove their mother over the edge and started her own personal journey into the Black Family Madness (because, as we know, there's ALWAYS an inciting incident for the poor cursed women of this family and they will ALWAYS get it) (yes it's a curse, which will be explained LATER​​🤭​). She had been SO proud of giving birth to four healthy, beautiful children, and Sirius was her favorite so it was devastating to lose him. After his death, she grew quite distant from her other children, believing that they were also all going to die and abandon her and she couldn't bear the thought of getting close to and losing another.

Phineas grew insolent and hated the fact that he was going to be the heir - I think his temperament is better suited towards not having the pressure of carrying on the family legacy, anyways. Sirius’s death really affected him as they were quite close (similar to Eloise and Leo’s relationship BEFORE she was banished). His grief manifested in general apathy.

Elladora, on the other hand, CRAVED her mother’s attention and tried doing everything she could to get it. Her magic manifested quite young, and it was apparent to everyone that she had the potential to be quite powerful. No matter how much she tried, however, her mother would just wake up and sit in a fugue state, ignoring everything until the day was over and she would rise and go to bed.

Elladora was raised in the typical fashion of that time: private tutors in magical theory, dancing, how to navigate pureblood society, and learning how to manage a household of her own in the future. She disdained muggle culture and muggleborns, not realizing in her ignorance how much her own society was influenced by muggle customs, and thought of herself as above others in the wizarding world as well due to her family’s status. She always knew it that when she came of age, she would be married to Oberon Babbit and that was that.

The Babbits were an extremely prominent wizarding family; one of the oldest British wizarding families (most had some connections with France, Germany etc but not the Babbits), and known for being quite reclusive and wealthy. Oberon’s mother died in childbirth, and he was quite sought-after due to the fact he would inherit EVERYTHING. The Blacks considered themselves fortunate for being able to secure that connection through Elladora.

When Elladora got to Hogwarts, she was STILL determined to do everything right. She excelled in all of her classes and thought of herself as unstoppable. In the back of her mind, she knew that her duty would be getting married and starting a family after graduation, but she couldn't help but hope for more - probably due to how well she took to her studies; Transfiguration in particular was a favorite subject. She was hot-headed and fiery and opinionated, never letting anyone tell her what to do, and never had a problem telling people when they were wrong. I want to think she was pretty popular amongst the students - not only because she was always impeccably put-together and wearing the highest-quality robes that money could buy, but because there was just something irresistible about her. She drew people to her; she knew how to navigate all of the subtle interactions between the various students and she always came out on top.

Oberon was a few years older than Elladora, but she didn't interact with him much. Maybe it was a bit of self-denial: he didn't seem so interested in her, and she wanted to live a few more years freely before beginning the rest of her dutiful life. She was very carefree - maybe a bit too carefree - and before she knew it, she found herself head-over-heels in love with a Gryffindor (he has no name bc it's not important). Or - and this is what she tells herself in the future - she thought it was love, but it wasn't😤​

He was everything Oberon wasn't, and that's what attracted her in the first place. He wasn't scared to disagree with her, to rile her up, was loud and outgoing and present to his life like nobody else she knew, and he saw her - not just the façade that she put on for everyone else. Even though Elladora knew it was doomed from the start, that it could never last, she couldn't help her feelings and her seventh year at Hogwarts was a whirlwind of emotions. She lived in the moment as only a young girl can do, enjoying those halcyon days...and yet at moments was paralyzed by panic, knowing that it would all be over soon. She soon found herself not even enjoying any time spent with him in secret, living in her present moments as if they were already memories to jealously guard close to her heart for the rest of her life. She had no one to confide in but him - all of the girls she surrounded herself with were just waiting to pounce at the first sign of weakness she showed - and yet to tell him everything was too painful.

So she ended things abruptly, no explanations. Cutting him out completely was the only option she could bear.

(Elladora never did find out that he had saved up a summer's wages, plus his inheritance money, to buy a delicate engagement ring and two tickets to America)

Her first years after graduation were spent in a flurry of balls and courting Oberon and gossip and weekly appearances in the society section of the Daily Prophet. To all outward appearances, she was having a wonderful time, but she felt hollow inside. Before she knew it, that time was over and she was getting married and then she was pregnant with her first child at only twenty-one and she was alone and then she was giving birth alone and then she was holding her tiny son in her arms and crying for some inexplicable reason.

Oberon hadn't come to even see their new son, Leonard - Elladora chose the name and it had meaning only to herself (and one other person, who saw the news a year later, in New York).

Her life was a series of disappointments.

She never could get any indication from her mother that she existed, she never made any true friends, and the only happy moments in her life were relegated to memories she could never bear to take out and examine ever again. Oberon was [redacted] and if she wasn't so strict with anything she would lose everything she had.

It's quite obvious that she and Eloise were doomed to always be at odds - just another disappointment to add to the list. Of course she would give birth to a useless squib daughter and this - along with everything else - spurred on the beginnings of her own version of the madness. Deep, simmering, volatile anger, a desire for everything to be absolutely perfect and to keep up appearances at any cost. Losing control of herself whenever she's lost control of anything, and deeply regretting the outbursts if she ever were to reflect on them, which she doesn't.

Elladora sees too much of herself in her daughter, especially after Eloise is brought back into the family, and that makes her hate Eloise more. (is it really hate though?) Seeing the same mistakes she made so long ago repeated is unbearable, and in her own way, she believes that she's helping Eloise with every decision she makes, such as Eloise’s rushed engagement to Augustus Malfoy.

But, Eloise will never be able to make herself as hardened as Elladora no matter how much she wishes for it and tries.

I love love love Elladora, she's one of my favorite characters to write, and her scenes with Eloise, and with the Headmaster (her brother), have been some of my favorites to write. There are just SO many layers that go into who she is & all of these little things behind-the-scenes that I think make for very interesting interactions.

I know that this is the Sebastian Sallow fandom & I could do a whole entire post just like this for him and how he grew up, for Solomon, even for Ominis (and I wrote a whole oneshot just for Imelda's history🤭​), but Eloise and her mother have become my favorite women to think about and they are who occupy my mind the most🥺​ I am endlessly grateful that people even like my girl so much & that there is one girl who is as crazy about Elladora as I am🥹​🫶​

And, if any of this is interesting to you, my fic is full of these things. SUPER canon-divergent, it’s been described as a mix of Hereditary and Midsommar and just spooky gothic angst vibes, exploring complicated family dynamics (I’ve ALSO been told I wrote the most realistic description of Sebastian’s relationship with Solomon), Arthurian mythology, LOTS of blood rituals and dark magic and sacrifice and who-even-knows-what and romance🫶🫶🫶

Before It Felt Like A Sin (115775 words) by myok