#file under caroline

[gratiae-mirabilia]

[givcns]

The biggest diversion from canon when it comes to City Primeval for my main verse is he doesn't sleep with Caroline. Because he's already married to Tim.

But let it be known that I fully support him fucking an age appropriate woman for once.

[bucketbueckers]

FRESH OUT THE SLAMMER

pairing: azzi fudd x fem!reader

content: language, slight cheating (deserved? 🌚), messy, toxicity, gaslighting, angst (w a happy ending bc angst without a happy ending makes me want to jump)

wc: 9.2k

synopsis: The unspoken truth between you and Azzi was that the two of you weren’t just friends. There was always something more, something that lingered just beneath the surface, something that was so glaringly obvious to your mutual friends yet something neither of you wanted to fully acknowledge. You thought that it was safer this way – keeping your relationship with Azzi strictly platonic, saving the both of you from an eventual heartbreak. Unfortunately, it seems that a toxic girlfriend you weren’t quite committed to was actually all it took for the two of you to give up on trying to stay away from each other.

notes: this was supposed to be a lighter read but 💛 anon said i should make a really angsty fic and well. who am i to deny the people. this was not originally going to have as much plot as it did but my fics never stay on track 🌚 also this is a little all over the place so im sorry!!! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

For as long as you’ve known her, Azzi Fudd wasn’t just your friend. There was always something more between you. Gazes that lingered a little too long, a hand on a waist that burned in the most pleasant way possible, softer smiles that seemed to be reserved only for each other.

You met her during your freshman year – she was a freshman, too, a little wide-eyed and definitely out of her element at the crowded frat party. You were only there for “team bonding” and you quickly realized that “team bonding” meant your teammates were going to get plastered and you’d have to be the babysitter. You’d spotted Azzi from the corner of your eye while you were rummaging through the refrigerator for a water bottle, and, in a rare moment of smoothness where you didn’t stumble over your words because Azzi was drop dead fucking gorgeous, like stunningly beautiful, you’d asked if she wanted a water, too. She told you yes. For good measure, you stole a bowl of hummus and some pita chips from the pantry, asked if she wanted to get some air, and that was that. She told you her name under the glow of the porchlight and you told her yours through a coughing fit (which she’d been endlessly amused by) because the hummus was spicy for whatever reason – either way, you and Azzi had an instant connection, one that went a little deeper than hummus and chips at midnight and an easy conversation you’d never expected to have with a stranger, and frankly, you were a little too scared to give up what you had with her to ever think about acting on your growing feelings.

So, you never did. You never let anything slip – never gave any sort of indication that occasionally, you jolt awake late at night, your skin burning with what feels like the phantom press of Azzi’s lips against your skin. You don’t tell anyone how you’ve spent years organizing that little compartment in the corner of your brain that’s dedicated purely to Azzi – the meticulous system of filing cabinet-esque thoughts and facts about her; you know that you store her favorite color right next to her coffee order, only three rows down from vivid images of her smile, the dimples on her cheeks, the slight pout of her lips.

If anyone asked, Azzi Fudd was just your best friend, and you were hers. It seemed as though Azzi was none the wiser – or perhaps she was too polite to say anything otherwise, or maybe she’d felt the same way, too, and was just as afraid of ruining your friendship as you were – no way that was actually the truth, though. Despite your best efforts, you weren’t as subtle as you thought. Paige was convinced that you and Azzi were meant to be. Caroline always glanced at you meaningfully when you and Azzi walked into the room at the same time or when she caught you staring at her from afar. It was as though you and Azzi were just one big inside joke that everyone was in on but the two of you.

It’s a late night at Ted’s when you find yourself nursing a drink at your usual table. Paige had stolen Aubrey and Ayanna away to play some pool, KK, Jana, and Ice were dancing, and Azzi and Caroline went to the bathroom to freshen up. In times like these, you wish you were just a little better at saying no to Azzi – there’s something in the air that’s bringing your mood down and you can’t figure out what it is. It’s like a heaviness weighing down on you, a sort of dread that fills your veins. You’re sure the liquor isn’t helping either. Granted, you’re only a few sips in, not one to ever progress past tipsy, but you’re not really feeling the night out. Azzi had gazed at you with her big doe eyes, lips drawing into a pout. You figure you’d have a better chance at fighting off a bear than living with yourself after denying Azzi something.

“Hey–”

You can’t help the way you startle, lost in your thoughts. Azzi’s tinkling laughter reverberates in this small bubble of space you’ve created in the back corner of the bar; despite yourself, your lips curl into an amused smile, Azzi’s presence alone enough to lift your mood. “How’s the brooding, Batman?”

Huffing out something akin to laughter, you roll your eyes a little, sliding over in the booth to let Azzi in. She sits, eliminating the space between your bodies completely; you swallow, trying to not fixate on the way her shorts ride up on her thighs as her skin presses against yours, and Azzi? She’s the perfect picture of nonchalance, taking a sip from her drink like she’s completely unaware of how she’s turned your brain into mush. “Not brooding,” you argue. You don’t comment on how weak your voice sounds. Blessedly, Azzi doesn’t either, but she sets her drink down on the table to gaze at you. 

Her brows draw together when she asks, “You okay?” Her fingers brush across your cheek and up your temple, which makes all of the blood rush to your head. “You’re feeling a little hot. You sure you’re not catching whatever bug Kayla and Jana had?”

You try for a chuckle, but even that comes out unconvincing. “Might be the alcohol,” you deflect, knowing full well that the two and a half sips you’ve had weren’t even enough to get you buzzed. The truth of the matter is that after a while, this just gets exhausting – pretending that you weren’t completely head over heels for Azzi. She’s your best friend. It’s easy to hide your feelings during the day when you’re both occupied – Azzi with basketball, you with softball – but things change at night. You’re looser, less-restrained, and all of the walls you keep up during the day to keep your feelings at bay come crashing down. Everything just feels so much more stronger and part of you starts to wonder if it’s worth it anymore – harboring your feelings. Maybe saying them out loud would be enough for you to start working through them and finally get over Azzi. Maybe you could finally be just friends again and you could spend time with her without hyperfocusing on how each and every one of your nerve-endings light up with activity at the slightest brush of her skin against yours.

Then, Azzi’s smiling at you, something soft and warm and mischievous all at the same time, like she’s got a trick up her sleeve and she knows that you’ll spend hours trying to figure out what it is. Her next words surprise you, moreso when her hand circles around your wrist, intertwining your fingers. “Come dance with me,” she requests.

Your throat bobs as you swallow, glancing at her hesitantly. “What?” you say smartly.

Azzi rolls her eyes, standing and pulling you to her feet. “I said–” She plants her hands on your shoulders and all you can really do is let yours fall to her waist, your fingers catching on her belt loops, “–come dance with me. You’ve been sitting too long. No wonder that half a shot of alcohol is kicking your ass.”

“It was like two shots,” you shoot back, but you let Azzi drag you across the room. You catch Paige’s eye as she leans over the pool table, lining up her shot, and she gives you a knowing look that just makes your cheeks heat up all over again. If you never got the chance to tell Azzi how you’d felt, you were sure that Paige Bueckers and that big ass mouth of hers would find a way to slip up and tell Azzi herself. “And you know that bartender uses that strong tequila.”

“I think you’re just a lightweight, babe,” Azzi states, pulling you into her space as she leads you to the beat of the music. You try to not focus too much on her words, but babe has begun to circulate through your mind on repeat, bumping into things haphazardly. Before you know it, one of your last remaining brain cells has caught the word in a jar like a butterfly and has stored it in that compartment in your brain next to everything you know about Azzi. The jar is tucked onto a shelf, only a few rows down from your filing cabinet system; one day you’ll worry about just how much space in your brain is dedicated to Azzi Fudd, but as her hands burn marks into your skin, guiding your body against hers, you find that you don’t really care.

Neither of you say anything as you dance along to the song. You can feel the bass in the ground, reverberating through your body as it races up your spine. You feel Azzi’s hand splayed across your waist, her grip firm, like there’s some sort of unspoken promise that she’d lose it if you weren’t in her personal space at all times – she spins you around, your back to her front, and the drag of her fingertips against your skin makes your head dizzy. Her breath tickles the back of your neck, her voice sweet as she hums in tune with the singer through the crackling speakers.

It’s in times like these that everything fades away – your hesitation, your insecurities, the worries that Azzi may never truly reciprocate what you feel for her. All you can truly focus on is the gradually lessening space between the two of you, the cloud of her perfume in the air, each and every one of her whispered lyrics and the smile she presses against your temple. You’re not sure if there’s a chance in hell that you’d be able to get over her. But for now, that’s the least of your worries, far too lost in the warmth of her palm against your bare skin where your shirt has ridden up – until you’re dragged back into the real world.

Azzi’s grip has tightened on you, but you barely register it as you open your eyes to see who has interrupted you. It’s a girl, probably around your age, hair dyed a red so dark that it’s nearly brown. She’s wearing a form-fitting black dress, and sure, she’s conventionally attractive, but Azzi has had your attention for nearly four years; you can’t think or look at anyone that’s not her. When the redhead asks Azzi to dance, a hopeful smile on her face, you feel your stomach churn immediately. It’s enough to sober you up fully – drunk not because of the alcohol, but because you’d allowed yourself to fall into Azzi as if the two of you were actually together. You’re reminded of the fact she’s just your best friend. The way she’s holding you means nothing. You feel Azzi’s gaze on you, but before she can say anything, you extract yourself from her hold, smiling unconvincingly at her, and you’re too unfocused to notice the way her face falls.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you say, nodding meaningfully to the redhead as bile pools in your throat. “You have fun, okay?”

You’re gone before Azzi can say anything else, unwilling to look back. You push your way through the crowd to the bar, swallowing back the humiliation and the fact that despite everything, a part of you still yearns for Azzi, and you motion to the bartender, requesting another drink. You dig through your wallet for your card, fingers trembling, cursing under your breath when it refuses to slide out of the little pocket it’s nestled in.

“I got it,” someone else says. You glance up to see an unfamiliar woman offering her card out for the bartender to swipe. She flashes you a charismatic smile and in return, all you can do is raise your brow.

“You didn’t need to do that,” you say, but you slide your wallet back into your pocket, anyway.

“Seemed like you needed a pick me up,” she says, shrugging a shoulder. “Saw you dancing with that girl over there – I was hoping she wasn’t your girlfriend, because I’ve been wanting to buy you a drink all night.”

You take a cautious sip, glancing back into the crowd of people, your eyes finding Azzi immediately. She’s dancing half-heartedly with the redhead, a generous amount of space between the two of them, and she seems to feel your eyes on her because she turns her head, locking eyes with you. You stare for a beat, then avert your gaze, making eye contact with the woman before you. She’s blonde, easy on the eyes, and she seems nice enough. Why not? “We aren’t together,” you state – although you wish you were – and her smile seems to grow.

She tells you her name – Alex – and the two of you dance for about fifteen minutes until Jana, with the grace of a bull in a China shop, interrupts to complain about a tummy ache and that everyone needs to go home. You weren’t sure where she got the logic on that one, but Jana had seemed desperate, and you weren’t going to tell her off in front of Alex.

You and Alex exchanged numbers. Still, she was nice enough, but she wasn’t Azzi. Maybe she was what you needed to get over Azzi, though. Conversation flowed nicely between the two of you and you had some things in common. Maybe you could grow to like her. Maybe you just needed to find someone the opposite of Azzi – blonde, boisterous, and short – to get over the crush you had on her (though you weren’t stupid enough to actually think it was a crush).

Azzi drives you home after Ted’s that night. You’re both silent for the first few minutes until she speaks up. “Did you have fun?” she asks cautiously. You don’t need to ask her to clarify – you know what she means.

You also know that you can’t lie to Azzi. You’ve never been any good at it. She glances at you from the corner of her eye and you feel yourself sink a little further into her passenger seat. “Would’ve had more fun with you,” you confess, watching as some of the tension melts from her shoulders.

“Then why didn’t you?”

You shrug a little, picking at your cuticles. You know exactly why you pushed her away. You just weren’t strong enough to admit it to her. “The redhead seemed to like you,” you say softly. “You don’t have to spend all your time with me. You can like…see other people. Do shit. Have fun. I don’t wanna be your clingy best friend.”

Azzi’s jaw ticks as she signals left, coming to a stop in the turn lane as she waits for the light to change. “What if I want to?” she murmurs. “Spend time with you, I mean. It’s not clingy. It’s just us.” That’s kind of the issue. You don’t voice that thought out loud, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of your heart, too. She speaks again before you can, her voice coming out in an almost petulant huff. “I don’t even remember her name.”

At that, you choke on a laugh, finally lifting your head to look at her. “Whose?” you ask. “The redhead?”

“Yeah,” Azzi confirms, pressing on the gas once the light turns green. “She wasn’t you.”

You swallow thickly. “Alex’s not you, either,” you whisper.

Azzi makes a soft noise in the back of her throat. “Alex,” she repeats, like she’s in disbelief. “Do you like her?”

You shrug again, noncommittal. “She’s…nice,” you say. “And she bought me a seven dollar drink, so…” Azzi doesn’t find that as humorous as you did, her lips drawing into a pout, one you would have teased her for had the situation been less tense. “Az, what’s the issue? I was with her for like, twenty-five minutes. I’m not getting married to her.”

That makes Azzi fall silent again, contemplating her next words. “No issue,” she says, clearing her throat, as if sobering back up. “I’m sorry. I think the alcohol made me moody.”

You don’t comment on how she barely made it through her first drink before switching to water, but she didn’t comment on your lies and deflections, either. “It’s okay,” you say, summoning the courage to nudge her gently. She glances at you once more, a soft look on her face as you say, “Who’s brooding now, Batman?”

That makes her roll her eyes, giggling under her breath before she refocuses on the road. The tension in the car dissolves as she turns on your shared playlist, continuing to drive. For a moment, it feels like nothing is wrong. Tonight was just weird. There’s nothing going on between you and Azzi. Then, your phone buzzes in your lap, the screen lighting up with a text notification from an unknown number. It’s Alex – letting you know that she enjoyed getting to meet you and that she’d like to see you again. You feel the unmistakable feeling of dread wrap its iron fist around your heart. Too caught up in your own reaction to the message, you don’t notice how Azzi’s knuckles turn white as they grip the wheel.

Against your better judgement, you do see Alex again. You stared at her message for a few hours, trying to come up with one good reason why you couldn’t give her a chance, but your mind came up blank every time. She was nice, attentive, had a good sense of humor, and she was wholly focused on you when you’d spend time together. Still, no matter what, you couldn’t shake the image of warm brown eyes from the forefront of your mind. You tell yourself that it’s not supposed to be an overnight change. You don’t love someone for four years and expect it to go away. So, you give Alex that chance (even though it feels so wrong), and she treats you to a few dates over the course of three weeks.

You get to know her. At the very least, she’s a good friend and a charismatic date. She tips well, makes you laugh, and she has an adorable little weiner dog named Bruiser (“Legally Blonde style,” she’d said jokingly, which did make you laugh, mostly because Bruiser, despite his name, was dressed in a cute pair of pink pajamas). By the third date, you start to feel a little hopeful that you’re finally making progress. Alex doesn’t push you – she seems to understand that you want to take it slow, which is something that you’re grateful for. She hasn’t asked you to be her girlfriend yet, either, which is also something you’re grateful for. Becoming her girlfriend this early feels too real, like the idea of you and Azzi is something that you’re fully leaving in the past. Keeping up the facade around Azzi does weigh on you, but it’s become something that feels like a core part of you and being without it feels wrong.

Speaking of Azzi, you don’t tell her too much about the Alex situation. She doesn’t ask much about her, either, a barely concealed look of irritation clouding her features whenever her name is mentioned. She hasn’t told you that she doesn’t like Alex, but at this point, you think her telling you is more of a formality than anything else. It’s clear as day that she hates Alex’s guts, although you don’t suppose Azzi will ever tell you why.

Maybe you’ll be better off this way – having one part of your life that doesn’t revolve around Azzi – well, doesn’t revolve completely around Azzi. Hopefully this little bit of independence will be good for you. This feels more like blind reassurance than actual confidence, but you’ll take what you can get at this point.

As you and Alex spend more time together, something changes with Azzi. At first, it’s nothing serious and you hardly even notice it. Azzi’s texts come a little more frequent, your FaceTimes a little longer. It’s miniscule especially because you and Azzi already text frequently and you spend hours on FaceTime together, but it’s more like a concerted effort to keep you with her and talking to her for longer periods of time. You’re not exactly sure why, although you’re not complaining; you’ve always enjoyed your late night phone conversations where Azzi loses her filter and rambles on and on for hours about the funny things that happen at practice or the latest picture of Stewie that her mom had sent her. You do have to admit this change in behavior makes it a little more difficult to get over Azzi – the constant proximity and speaking isn’t doing you any favors – but you can’t just abandon Azzi because you’re talking to Alex now. Your goal is to go back to a complete, platonic friendship with her, not ice her out completely.

Azzi’s behavior does progress, though. Still, it’s subtle – she’ll come over to your apartment more often or invite you over to hers more frequently. You’ll spend the night watching movies, giggling over the shitty acting or singing along to the Disney movies that Azzi ropes you into watching with her (as if you’d ever say no to her). It ends with her convincing you to stay over or her coming up with a slick excuse how she should just stay the night since her apartment is so far away (that you see right through – Azzi Fudd is a lot of things but a good liar is not one). Sometimes she’ll leave behind a shirt or a hair tie at your apartment; when you ask if she wants you to bring it over, her response is always the same: “Nah, keep it. I don’t have enough space in my closet for that shirt,” or “I noticed you were running out of hair ties anyways – you should just keep it.”

(When Alex comes over, she’ll notice each and every new addition, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Azzi left her sweatpants this time?” she asks, gingerly moving them from the foot of your bed to your desk chair. You don’t notice the bothered look on her face as you hum.

“Yeah,” you say, not thinking much of it. “She said she has too many.”

“Right,” Alex hums, not quite convinced. “You don’t want any of mine?”

Confused, you glance at Alex, busy folding your own laundry. “Your what?”

Alex huffs quietly. “...Forget about it.”)

Then, the behavior ramps up. Azzi is touchier, borderline clingy, which is different because you’re usually the clingy one between you and Azzi. It’s not that obvious when the two of you are watching movies at night – she’ll just lean against you, her head on your shoulder and a leg slung over yours, but in public? She’s almost possessive, always needing to be in contact one way or the other, a firm arm wrapped around your waist at all times. When tipsy randoms approach you to ask to dance, she doesn’t even let them finish their sentences before she’s tightening her arm around you, shaking her head with faux sympathy, and saying, “Sorry, she’s spoken for.”

In public is one thing. But in public when Alex is around is when Azzi really shines. You and Alex aren’t official yet, which is something that Azzi seems to take advantage of. Azzi buys all your drinks, glancing at Alex when she smiles that honey-sweet smile and says, “C’mon, you know I got you, right?” She always whisks you away to dance before Alex can get the chance to, and to be honest, you let her. Deep down, you know that you’d rather be doing this anyway – dancing with Azzi, letting her pull you close like she’s trying to stake a claim or prove something to someone, letting her whisper the lyrics in your ear and the both of you laughing when she starts making up her own words because the actual ones don’t make any sense.

You don’t think much of Azzi’s behavior until Alex calls you that night when Azzi’s in the shower. Alex offered to drive you home, but Azzi stepped in to let her know that you’d be staying over with Azzi to watch a new movie that had recently come out – you weren’t aware those were the plans, but you didn’t mind, either. You’re doing your skincare at Azzi’s vanity when your phone rings. Part of you is tempted to let it go to voicemail, but Alex had seemed bothered, and while the two of you weren’t official yet, you didn’t want to be an asshole.

“Hello?” you greet, pressing the phone to your ear with your shoulder as you rub in your moisturizer. 

“Hey,” Alex says. You hear her exhale sharply. “Can we talk?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I don’t really know how to, like, explain this, but I feel like you keep blowing me off for Azzi,” Alex states, which makes you pause in your movements. “I feel like Azzi is jealous – of me – and she keeps trying to, fuck, I don’t know, worm her way in between us to keep you away from me? And you just let her do that shit.” You’re silent, letting her words echo in your brain, but she keeps speaking before you get the chance to. “I know she’s your friend. But ‘friends’ don’t behave like that. She’s one day away from pissing on you like a dog to mark her territory and I just need to know – do you even like me? Is this going anywhere? Because I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. I’m trying to be nice about it but at this point I can’t tell what you want from me.”

You open your mouth, then close it, looking vaguely fish-like in the mirror. You can hear Alex’s breathing from the other end of the line as you try to gather your thoughts. Finally, you settle, and gently you say, “Azzi is my best friend.” You can almost visualize Alex’s eye roll, the soft huff that she thinks the microphone doesn’t pick up on. “She’s not jealous. Just…protective, I guess. She’s not trying to get in between us – we’re just always close like that.”

“Then tell her to chill,” Alex says frustratedly. “It’s making me feel like I’m the other woman – like I’m just something you’re stringing along in case Azzi gets bored. Did she ever act like this before I started taking you out? Why is she suddenly so obsessed with being all over you now that she doesn’t have all of your attention?”

“Alex,” you say calmly, surprising yourself. “I am not your girlfriend.”

She laughs bitterly from the other line. “Oh, it’s like that? What, I take you on a few dates and it didn’t mean shit to you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you hiss. “You don’t have a claim over me. You’re acting like a dog trying to mark its territory. You are not the other woman. There isn’t even a woman. Ask me to be your girlfriend – or don’t – but leave Azzi out of this.”

Alex doesn’t say anything for a few beats until she scoffs. “Okay. Whatever. Have a good fucking night – I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without a second word. You roll your eyes, huffing, dropping your phone face down on the surface of Azzi’s vanity as you continue your skincare routine.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Azzi’s voice startles you, which causes you to groan and Azzi to giggle. She murmurs an apology as she comes up behind you, resting her palms over your shoulders, her thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

You shrug, sighing again as her fingers work out the knots in your back. “Alex is just being weird,” you say, grunting when her fingers dig in harder than intended at the mention of her name. Azzi whispers another apology, softening her motions.

“What’d she say?” Azzi coaxes.

You meet her eyes through the mirror, seeing nothing but concern and a willingness to help on her features. “She just…I don’t know. She said you’re ‘one day away from pissing on me like a dog trying to mark its territory.’”

Azzi’s jaw drops, pausing in disbelief for a moment until peals of giggles fall from her lips. Her amusement makes you feel a little bit better about the situation. “Gross,” she says.

“I know,” you agree. “She thinks you’re trying to get between me and her. I told her there wasn’t even a ‘me and her.’ She hasn’t asked me to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi snorts. “How’d she take that one?”

“She told me to have a good fucking night and that she’d see me tomorrow.”

“Yikes,” Azzi says.

You hum again. “Yeah. I’m not really bothered, though. Don’t really wanna deal with it right now. She thinks you’re obsessed with being all over me and that you’re possessive. I said we’re just best friends, like we’ve always been like this?” It’s then that you catch onto Azzi’s sudden silence. Concerned, you turn in your chair to look at Azzi directly. “Az? You good?”

“You know you could do better than her, right?” Azzi’s words surprise you. Your jaw falls slightly, brows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Azzi emphasizes, “what’s so good about Alex?” She spits her name like it’s poison. “She danced with you one night at a bar and thinks that makes you exclusive. She’s jealous, possessive, and she doesn’t even try to be cordial to me, Paige, Jana, or anyone. You could do so much better than her. You know you don’t have to settle.”

“I’m not settling,” you argue, even though you know you 100% are settling because you can’t have Azzi.

Azzi gives you a knowing look, one that softens when she sees the confusion in your features, the angst, the insecurity that no matter what, the decision you’re making isn’t a good one. “I just feel like I’m losing you to her,” she admits in a whisper. “That you’re gonna choose her over me.”

“Az,” you breathe out, your heart aching. “I’d never do that. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I feel like I already have,” Azzi says. She swallows, her eyes searching yours, and she takes a deep breath like this conversation is physically destroying her. She shifts, staring at the wall instead of you, and the way her next breath comes out in a shudder makes you feel like she’s realized something damning. “I don’t… I like being us. Before there was an Alex. And I know I don’t have a claim over you – but it feels like things are changing faster than we realize. That we’re changing and I can’t even figure out why or what’s different because you’re with Alex.”

You soften, standing to face her fully, and you cup her cheeks, pulling her attention back to you. “We aren’t changing,” you promise. “You’re still you. I’m still me. Alex won’t change that.”

“Do you even like her?” You falter, not expecting Azzi to ask you that, and your silence is all the answer she needs. “Why are you with someone you don’t even like?”

“I’m not with her,” you say weakly, but Azzi is shaking her head, pressing on.

“You don’t have to settle,” she reminds you again. “She is not your only option.”

You can’t tell if Azzi is trying to convince you or herself of that. You don’t have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the real reason you’ve spent so long trying to make yourself believe that you truly liked Alex. So you don’t. Instead, you whisper, “Do we have to talk about this tonight?”

Azzi’s face falls slightly, but you hardly notice it, too caught up in the way your heart nearly pounds out of your chest. She nods, stepping back, and she clears her throat. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

You can recognize the look in Azzi’s face from a mile away. Softening again, you reach out, wrapping her in a tight hug, one that she immediately melts into. “Thank you,” you murmur into her neck, her skin still a little warm to the touch from her shower. She doesn’t say anything in response to that, instead tightening her arms around your waist, and exhaling deeply.

Alex asks you to be her girlfriend the night after your conversation with Azzi. She’d showed up to your apartment unprompted, bouquet in hand and an apologetic expression on her face. “I was out of line,” she’d said, sincerity in her features. “It wasn’t right of me to get upset or accuse you and Azzi of what I accused you of.” Your heart was pounding out of your chest while she explained herself, apologizing and making it right all in one, but the way your heart raced wasn’t out of anticipation. It wasn’t because you’d spent so long wishing that Alex would ask. Your pulse thrummed because of pure dread and adrenaline coursing through your veins. This wasn’t what you wanted. Not at all. You wanted Azzi – you’ve wanted nobody else but her for close to four years.

But Alex wanted you. Azzi didn’t. You needed to get over her. So, feeling as though you’re making a terrible decision you may never be able to come back from, you say, “Yes, I’ll be your girlfriend.”

For a while, things are okay. Azzi clearly isn’t happy with you and Alex now being official, but your friendship stays the same. You try to split your time between the two of them, not wanting to feel as though you have to make a choice between your best friend and your girlfriend, and for the first month that you and Alex are together, it works well enough.

At least it does until Alex decides that it’s not enough.

It’s a Friday night, and you’re supposed to go over to Paige’s dorm to hang out with her and the rest of the team. They’d had a nailbiter game on Thursday and between practices and exams, you all just wanted to take the time to spend together and relax. KK was supposed to be bringing her Switch and you were looking forward to beating Paige’s smug ass at Mario Kart.

“You’re seriously going out?” Alex says from her bed, where she’s been watching you touch up your make-up in the mirror.

You resist an eye roll, not really wanting to argue, so calmly, you explain, “I’m just going to Paige’s to hang out with the team.”

“Feels like you never want to make time with me anymore,” Alex complains. You don’t respond to that, focusing on your mascara, until she speaks up again. “Is Azzi gonna be there?”

Your hand falters, smudging against your cheekbone, and you sigh in frustration as you dig through your clutch for a makeup wipe. “She’s on the team, so yes, Azzi will be there.”

“You do know you’re not with her, right?” That makes you stop moving completely, sliding the wand into the applicator. You turn to meet Alex’s gaze, who seems proud at having elicited a reaction.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not with Azzi,” Alex repeats, as if you needed a reminder. That’s the reason why you’re in this fucked up mess anyways, trying to make yourself like someone who’s not actually the woman you love. “So why do you keep running back to her at the end of the day? You’ve been friends for, what, four years now? If she wanted you, don’t you think she would have done something about it by now?” Despite the anger bubbling in your chest, embarrassment also blooms on your cheeks. “I want you. She doesn’t. Stop chasing her and running away from me – it’s not going to change anything.”

For that, you have no true response, your heart racing. You just feel trapped now. This isn’t what you wanted at all, but you feel like you’re too far in to quit now. “Stay in with me,” Alex states. It’s not a plea, not a request. It’s a demand – and for a moment, you think maybe she’s right. You’re still her girlfriend. You have to spend time with her. 

You text Paige, letting her know that you can’t make it tonight. Her response is swift, an over dramatic series of crying emojis followed up by a message that makes your heart constrict – “Az was lookin forward to this all week, she’s gonna crash out lol.” You don’t really know what else to say, so you just send Paige another apology before powering your phone off, knowing that as soon as Azzi finds out, you’re going to be the first person she calls.

You and Alex curl up on her couch, browsing through Hulu for a show to watch. Her arm wrapped around your shoulders feels wrong. It’s too stifling, too possessive. It’s nothing like the way Azzi would wrap her arm around you – making you feel safe and grounded all at once. Alex is nothing like Azzi and in the beginning, you thought that was just what you needed to let go of Azzi. Now, it feels like giving up Azzi feels like giving up a part of yourself.

Another month passes by in a blur of daily disappearances, shitty excuses, and daydreams of soft brown eyes and a dimpled smile. Anytime you’d try to make plans with Azzi or her teammates, Alex would remind you of all the reasons why you shouldn’t. You’re with me – not them. Why did you pursue me if you were just going to discard me? And at a certain point in time, the edges start getting blurry. You can’t even remember if you’d truly made those promises to Alex in the first place.

Azzi tried to reach out a few times, but Alex’s watchful eye had creeped into every facet of your life. She was there to pick you up from your practices. There wasn’t a single plan you’d made that she hadn’t carefully looked over and approved – most of them she invited herself along for, just to make sure you wouldn’t stray too far away. Weeks passed and you couldn’t remember the last time you had a life to yourself that wasn’t corrupted by every inch of the woman you’d danced with at the bar.

Escaping feels too difficult. Lately, it feels as though Alex knows more about you than you know about yourself. She strings you along just to yank the chain, leaving you unmoored and choking around a collar you were sure you’d fastened yourself. She’s devoted and loving one moment, cold and apathetic the next when she feels as though you hadn’t done enough to earn her affection. She’s attached at your hip for one week, then leaves you drowning the next when she suddenly ghosts, leaving you wondering if you’d truly had a girlfriend at all.

The irony isn’t lost on you. Alex had accused you of stringing her along for the ride to get over Azzi, and now here she is. You don’t think she’s trying to use you to get over someone, but perhaps she’s punishing you for the way you’d chosen Azzi at every opportunity at the beginning of your relationship. You’re doing the time now, you suppose, although every morning you wonder if and when your sentence would end; you hope that Alex would grow tired of you one day and finally dispose of you. You weren’t sure if you had the confidence to drag yourself out of this mess despite how easily you threw yourself into it.

“You know Azzi’s like, in love with you, right?” Alex asks you one day. You’re sitting at the table, poking at your chicken and spinach mindlessly. Your girlfriend sits across from you, arms crossed and plate clean. Her words make you falter, your fork stilling, and you don’t glance up, not wanting to confront the expression on her face. “I recognized it the first night at the bar. She was all over you while you were dancing, holding you like she owned you. When she went to dance with someone else, it was a complete shift – she didn’t even want that other girl. Just you.”

At that, you glance up finally, searching Alex’s eyes. They’re cold, nothing like the Azzi’s warm brown that you’d spent years memorizing the exact hue of. “What are you trying to say?” you ask, because you truly don’t understand her point. Doesn’t she understand that she’s won? That she’s broken you down, separated you from your friends, that she’s interwoven herself into the very fabric of your life? What else could you have for her to take?

Alex shrugs, a picture of nonchalance, but you see the tension in her shoulders anyways. “I just want you to know why I’m doing this,” she says, which makes a cold feeling course through your veins. “I don’t want to be the bad guy. You know that, right? I just want to protect you, from someone who wants to take you from me. Azzi couldn’t take care of you like I could. She always had this agenda from the very first night we met. Do you understand that?”

Your fingers are trembling around your fork. “Alex,” you whisper, drawing her attention to you. Her head cocks like you’re a wounded animal on the side of the road and she’s studying you to determine if she should leave you – or at the very least, move you out of harm’s way. You know her, though. She’s the type of person to keep on driving. “I’m tired. Can we not do this right now?”

Her lips curl into a smug, self-satisfied smile, because she knows. She knows she’s elicited a reaction, even if it’s not as obvious. She knows that she’s won this round. She stands, leaving her plate behind, and she looms behind you as her hand trails across your shoulders. Then, she leans in, planting the barest of kisses to your temple that makes your body tighten with barely concealed fear and dread. “I’m just trying to look out for you,” she whispers, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “One day you’ll understand what I’ve done for you.”

She leaves and it’s only then that you allow your body to relax. Exhaling deeply, you bury your head in your hands, feeling tears of anguish and frustration building at your waterline. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You don’t need to look at it to know who it is. Azzi has been trying to reach you for a while. She hasn’t given up, but you haven’t had the energy to text her back, to tell her about what’s going on. Now, you think you might have to take that chance.

That night, while Alex snores unknowingly next to you, you collect your bag and all of the clothes stored in her drawers. With quiet footsteps, you exit her apartment, already reaching for your phone with trembling fingers as you dial the one number you know will pick up at any time. It barely rings once before the line clicks through.

Azzi’s greeting is a murmur of your name, both in disbelief and ever present relief. “Azzi,” you say back, your voice barely reaching her. “Please come pick me up.”

“Do you want water? Juice?”

Azzi’s voice cuts through the haze in your brain. When she picked you up, neither of you had said anything, but you’d hugged her tight enough that she groaned a little, which made you smile for what feels like the first time in forever. She let you into her apartment wordlessly, took your bag to her room, and sat you down on the couch.

“I’m okay,” you say. All you really wanted was to feel comfortable in your own skin again, but being in Azzi’s presence is doing wonders for you. You can’t help but feel a bit of residual guilt – all of this could have been avoided had you been braver, if you��d denied Alex from the start or if you could just muster the courage to tell Azzi that you’ve been in love with her for four years. “Can we just…can we go to bed?”

Azzi nods quickly, murmuring an affirmative, and she links her hand with yours as she leads you down the familiar hallways. It shouldn’t bring you as much peace as it does, but holding Azzi’s hand makes you feel like you’re a sailor coming home after a long voyage and finally spotting the lighthouse in the distance. Azzi’s bed is a welcome comfort and you fall into place next to her, feeling the tension melt out of your shoulders.

You can feel her next to you, the warmth of her body, the smell of her perfume in the air, and you feel your heart ache all over again. This was where you were supposed to be. Not with Alex. Even if you and Azzi remained friends forever and you kept your feelings for her close to your chest, it would still be better than going through these past few weeks with Alex on repeat.

“I missed you,” Azzi admits, her voice cutting through the darkness in the room. She shifts. You can feel her eyes on you, so you shift, too, coming face to face with her.

“I missed you too,” you whisper, watching as a soft smile spreads across her face. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

You swallow thickly. “For everything. For Alex. For leaving you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Azzi promises. Hearing those words is like coming up for air after being submerged for so long. You don’t know if she knows just how healing it was to hear her say that. Her hand finds yours, squeezing you gently. “I’m sorry for not doing more to help you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you shoot back, a coy smile on your face, which makes Azzi giggle.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Azzi murmurs.

You think that you should – that you owe it to yourself and to Azzi to be honest about the last few months. So you do. Azzi listens to you as you start from the beginning, outlining the course of your and Alex’s relationship and where it derailed. When you finish, Azzi’s face is full of concern, sadness, and a slight determination. She’d apologized again. You told her it was okay, mostly because it was okay. You would be okay.

“Do you love her?” Azzi asks a few beats later, perhaps a bit selfishly. 

“No,” you confess, feeling Azzi relax against you. “I never did.” She nods, and you both fall silent for a moment until you speak up again. “Az?” She hums, her fingers brushing against your skin. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth? Alex said something earlier and I’m…I’m just tired of feeling like I’m crazy.”

“Anything,” she promises. 

“Do you love me?” The words come out less composed than you’d been trying for, your voice cracking at the end, but you don’t really care. You need answers. You’d spent so many years loving Azzi from afar, but for Alex to say she’s confident in Azzi loving you back? This could change everything.

“Of course I do,” Azzi says, her words a little jilted. “You’re my best friend.”

You feel your heart drop, but you press forward. “Not in that way, Az.”

You can hear her breath hitch. At first, you’re not sure if you’re going to get a response, but she tightens her grip on your waist, and admits, “Yeah. I love you.”

Silence encompasses the both of you. Azzi doesn’t push – she never does, and that might be one of the things you love most about her. She lets you process that revelation on your own. At first, a part of you wonders if it was truly that easy in the first place, if all you ever needed to do was ask Azzi. The fear of her saying anything but yes outweighed the hope. Now that you’ve heard it, you can’t deny how much lighter your chest feels, the hope that swells in your chest. “Say it again,” you request.

“I love you,” Azzi swears, her voice a little firmer this time, her hands holding onto you like she’s afraid you’re going to disappear completely. “I love you. I have for years. Seeing you with Alex almost destroyed me.”

Feeling a little braver, you sit up, moving your legs to straddle her waist. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, but the sheer closeness makes you feel a little more grounded, especially when her hands steady you by the hips. “I’m sorry,” you say again, your voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioning.

“Don’t be,” Azzi murmurs, her thumb brushing against your hip bone.

“I was only with her because I thought I could get over you,” you confess, which makes her jaw relax, her face soften. “God, Az, I’ve been in love with you forever. I didn’t think I could have you.”

Despite the heaviness of the moment, Azzi’s lips quirk into a fond, relieved smile. Her hands leave your hips, fingers brushing your arms as she trails them up. She hooks a finger into the collar of your shirt, pulling you down to her as she whispers, “You have me. Completely.”

You’re not thinking about the consequences as you finally kiss Azzi Fudd – you’re not concerned about the fact that technically, you have a girlfriend that you’re technically cheating on, nor are you concerned about what this means for you and Azzi. The logistics are a problem for you tomorrow. Azzi sighs against you, her lips insistent, fingers tangling in your shirt – and to be honest, it’s a pleasant paradox. Alex is a taker in every definition of the word, but Azzi swallows each little sound you make against her lips, pressing firmer against you to take everything you’ll give her, but there’s a bit of mutualism in the way you and Azzi simultaneously take and give.

One of her hands releases your shirt to cup your cheek, her palm warm against your skin as it rapidly heats. You’re both passionate, a little desperate, but despite it all, the love between the two of you is palpable – you can feel it in your heart and the way it swells; it courses through your veins, leading you home, reminding you that this is a love you’ve spent years harboring and cultivating. 

People always say your first kiss with someone you love is a little earth-shattering, that it’s like fireworks or coming home. To you, this kiss with Azzi feels something like freedom. It feels like you don’t have to keep any more secrets from her or yourself.

Azzi breaks away, her chest heaving and her breath warm against your lips. “I love you,” she whispers again, holding you tighter, insistent. “Leave her. Please.”

You’re nodding before Azzi has even finished her plea. “I will,” you swear, kissing her again. You grin when Azzi chases you, pressing one last kiss to your lips before a soft smile spreads across her features. “I love you.”

Azzi doesn’t say anything in response to that – she doesn’t have to. She presses a kiss to your temple and you stretch out across her body, her arms wrapping around you once more. You fall asleep next to her feeling free and at peace – you’re not quite out of the woods yet, but you’re almost there, and you have more moments like these to look forward to with Azzi.

She has an early practice that next morning, so she’s gone before you’re awake, but you know what you need to do. You walk the short distance to your apartment, make yourself a coffee to mentally prepare, and you send a quick text to Alex – ignoring the fifteen unread messages she’s sent between the hours of 2am to 7am – telling her to come to your apartment so you can talk. You don’t wait around for a response. You get a trash bag and start collecting all of the shit she’s left at your apartment during the time you were together – clothes, toiletries, a lone coffee mug (that you’re sure shatters once you drop it into the bag, but you don’t really care).

All of Alex’s belongings are secured in the trash bag when there’s a knock at your door. You take a deep breath to calm yourself, dragging the bag behind you as you step up to your door. You open it halfway, raising a hand and making an annoyed noise when Alex tries to walk in. “No,” you say firmly, “stay outside.”

A look of annoyance flashes across her face, but she does as you’ve commanded, crossing her arms. You reach for the bag, throwing it haphazardly behind her. “So, here’s what’s happening,” you begin. “We’re breaking up.” She opens her mouth to say something, but you cut her off with a raised hand again. “I don’t really care what you have to say. We’re done. This is all you’re getting from me. Lose my number and get fucked.”

Unceremoniously, you slam the door in her face, locking it immediately. You bury your head in your hands as your pulse pounds against your ribcage, but as you listen to the sound of her footsteps fading away, that familiar feeling of freedom returns tenfold. You could cry with relief, although you don’t, pulling your phone out of your pocket. You’re free now, and you know who your first call will be to.

Azzi picks up on the first ring, sounding a little out of breath as she greets you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond, feeling the smile creep up onto your lips – you’re sure she can hear the excitement and the relief in your voice.

And she does. She laughs a little, sounding relieved, too. “I’m on my way,” is all she says, bidding you one last goodbye before she hangs up.

You can’t get rid of your smile, and thankfully, she only keeps you waiting for about fifteen minutes. She opens your door with her key and walks in like she’s been here hundreds of times before – which she has, because there’s no part of your life that is complete without Azzi in it. She spots you immediately. You stand up from the couch, dropping your phone on the cushion, and you meet her in the middle.

Azzi is a little sweaty, disheveled from practice, but you don’t care as her arms encircle your waist, pulling you flush into her with pure relief in her laughter. You wrap yours around her neck, standing on the tips of your toes to reach her. You kiss her, something softer than the first one you’d shared the night prior. You feel her smile against your lips, which only makes you smile, too, your noses brushing against each other as you both share a breathless little laugh. She tightens her grip around you and you can’t find it in yourself to mind – you know that Azzi is always going to be there to protect you, and finally being hers after all these years is something you know that you’re not going to screw up – you did your time.

[azzifudd10]

Chapter 21: Nothings Gonna Hurt You Baby

The courtroom was cold. Not physically — though the A/C definitely blasted through her sweater — but in the way that made everything feel hollow. Distant. Like life had paused and left Azzi in a version of the world that didn’t believe in love. A place where facts were weighed more than feelings, and where a man who hadn’t shown up for his daughter in years could still show up now and ruin everything. Azzi gripped the edge of the bench with white-knuckled fingers. Paige was beside her, looking composed. But Azzi knew her too well. The stillness wasn’t calm. It was fury contained. Beneath it, Paige was on fire. And Azzi… Azzi felt like she was drowning. It had been weeks of paperwork. Depositions. Background checks. Interviews. Home visits. Paige’s ex — Jazlyn’s biological father — had filed a formal objection to the adoption. Claimed he wanted to "reestablish a relationship" with his daughter. But Azzi knew better. He didn’t want a relationship. He wanted control. And maybe revenge. The last time she’d seen him face-to-face, he’d bloodied her nose. Concussion. Stitches. She still heard Paige screaming when she collapsed. She still saw the fear in Jazlyn’s eyes. And yet, here they were. In a courtroom where he got to wear a suit and pretend he was a father. Where the system, somehow, gave him space to play pretend while Azzi had to prove herself over and over again — despite being the one who brushed Jaz’s teeth every night, who memorized the lyrics to her favorite bedtime song, who danced with her in the kitchen during pancake mornings and whispered “I love you more” when she cried. The judge called a recess. Azzi stood slowly, her legs stiff. Her lawyer gave her a soft nod — not reassurance, but acknowledgment. This was going to be brutal. Paige touched her hand as they walked into the hallway. “You’re doing everything right.” Azzi blinked. “I’m scared, Paigey.” “I know.” They found a quiet corner in the hallway, just the two of them. Azzi leaned against the wall and whispered, “What if I lose her?” “You won’t,” Paige said, voice steady. “You’re her mom.” “But the court doesn’t see it that way. And he…” Azzi’s voice cracked. “He gets to show up for five minutes and undo everything I’ve built with her.” Paige cupped her face gently. “We’re not giving up.” A small voice broke the tension. “Mommy?” Azzi turned. Jazlyn was walking down the hall, holding Katie’s hand — Paige’s stepmom had taken her outside for fresh air. She had her unicorn tucked under one arm and her sparkly sneakers lighting up with every step. When she saw Azzi, she broke into a run. Azzi knelt just in time to catch her. “I was looking for you,” Jazlyn mumbled against her shoulder. “I’m right here,” Azzi whispered. “Always.”

That night, the house was too quiet. Paige was putting Jazlyn to bed. Azzi sat in their bedroom, the song Paige had left playing echoing softly off the walls. "Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby…" Azzi stared at the adoption folder on her lap. Forms. Witness statements. Photos. A drawing Jazlyn had made : Azzi with a giant smile, stick-figure arms around a tiny Jaz. The label? “Me and Mommy.” Azzi's heart cracked. She opened her phone and scrolled to the video. The one Paige had secretly recorded when Jazlyn had her first school presentation. She stood in front of her class, curly hair bouncing, wearing a little pink dress. “My name is Jazlyn and my favorite person is my Mommy because she sings with me and smells like vanilla.” Azzi started crying. Not the quiet kind. The kind that soaked her shirt and made her whole chest heave. Paige found her like that. No questions. No words. Just wrapped her arms around her from behind, pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and whispered, “We’re gonna win.” Azzi turned into her arms. “What if we don’t?” “Then we fight harder.”

The trial dragged for weeks. They brought in child psychologists. Teachers. Friends. Caroline and Ines even flew in to testify. Said they'd never seen a child more loved. Said Jazlyn talked about Azzi like she hung the moon. But the hardest day — the worst — was when they brought him to the stand. Paige held Azzi’s hand as he lied. About wanting to be a father. About trying to reach out. About loving his daughter. Azzi wanted to scream. Instead, she sat through it all, cold and trembling. When it was her turn, she stood. Her voice cracked halfway through her testimony. She talked about lullabies. About Hope. About Jazlyn’s nightmares. Her laughter. Her tantrums. Her tiny toothbrush beside hers in the sink. Then she said, “She calls me Mommy. Because I am.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the courtroom — not even the judge’s clerk. Weeks later, they were still waiting for the final decision. But on the porch that evening, Jazlyn curled up on Azzi’s lap, watching the sun go down. She looked up and said, “Mommy?” Azzi brushed curls from her forehead. “Yeah, baby?” “Are you gonna be my real mom soon?” Azzi’s throat tightened. “I already am, Jazzy. But I hope the people who make the rules say yes too.” Jazlyn thought for a moment. “Even if they don’t… you still feel like my real mom.” Azzi pressed her forehead to hers and whispered, “Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby.” And in that moment — just for a little while — the battle didn’t matter. They had each other. And that love? That was already forever Azzi’s POV The ruling came on a Thursday morning. The kind of morning that felt like it shouldn’t hold something so big. The sky was soft and overcast, birds chirping like it was any other day. But inside Azzi’s chest, everything was thunder. She hadn’t slept. Neither had Paige. Jazlyn, mercifully, was still at school, clueless to the gravity of the decision. Azzi didn’t know how she’d explain it to her — what she’d say if the answer was no. If all the lullabies and bedtime kisses and “I love you, Mommy”s didn’t matter in the eyes of the law. She stared at the courtroom doors, hands trembling. Paige touched her lower back gently. “You ready?” “No,” Azzi whispered. “But I’m going in anyway.” They stepped inside together.

The judge took her seat. She was the same woman who’d been there from the beginning — gray hair pulled into a low bun, glasses perched on her nose, eyes sharp but kind. She looked between Azzi, Paige, and the man who sat across from them — the biological father. He wore another slick suit, but he hadn’t bothered to make eye contact. He never did. Azzi wasn’t sure he ever really looked at people — just past them, like he was always calculating what he could get. She hated that he had any claim on Jazlyn at all. The judge cleared her throat. “In the matter of Jazlyn Elise Bueckers and the petition for second-parent adoption by Azzi Jazlyn Fudd, this court has considered the testimonies, the documentation, the psychological evaluations, and the objection filed by the biological father…” Azzi gripped Paige’s hand. “…and finds that continued obstruction of this adoption would not serve the best interests of the child.” Azzi blinked. Did she just— The judge looked directly at her. “Miss Fudd, this court grants your petition. You are now, legally, Jazlyn’s mother.” Azzi didn’t cry at first. She just… froze. Time stopped. It wasn’t until Paige wrapped her arms around her — tight, urgent, trembling — that the tears finally came. She buried her face in Paige’s neck, sobbing, laughing, shaking. “She’s mine,” Azzi whispered. “I’m her mom.” “You always were,” Paige said into her hair. “Now everyone else just has to say it out loud.”

They barely made it out of the courtroom when Katie called, screaming with joy. Caroline sent voice memos full of happy tears. Even Ines, who hated phone calls, FaceTimed from the locker room with the entire European team behind her chanting “Mom-my! Mom-my!” But none of it compared to the moment they walked into Jazlyn’s school. She was already at the front desk, coloring with a teacher. When she saw Azzi, she lit up — the kind of light that made every terrible thing worth it. Azzi knelt. “Guess what, Jazzy?” “What?” she asked, bouncing in place. “I’m your mommy forever. No one can take that away now.” Jazlyn looked at her like she’d just said the moon was hers. Then she launched herself into Azzi’s arms and squealed, “I knew it!” Azzi laughed through tears. “Me too, baby. Me too.”

That night, after celebration cupcakes and couch cuddles and a dance party to Frozen, Jazlyn finally fell asleep on the big bed, stretched out like a starfish between them. Azzi looked down at her. “She’s ours,” she whispered. “She always was,” Paige said, running a hand through her curls. Then Paige frowned slightly. “There’s something else.” Azzi turned. “What?” Paige hesitated. Then reached for a box from her nightstand drawer — small, wooden, worn with age. “She gave this to me a few days ago,” Paige said. “Jazlyn. Said it was something she found in her old toy box — from her dad’s house.” Azzi’s stomach tightened. “Why didn’t you show me sooner?” “I didn’t know what it was,” Paige whispered. “I think… I think it’s from Hope.” Azzi froze. Paige opened the box slowly. Inside was a photo — one Azzi hadn’t seen in years. A blurry ultrasound, curled at the edges. Tucked into the photo was a folded paper. Azzi opened it with shaking fingers. It was a letter. To whoever reads this, Her name is Hope. If something happens to me, if I don’t get to meet her — please tell her I loved her every single second. And if she never gets here at all… maybe she still can exist. In someone else’s heart. In someone else’s arms. Love always, Azzi. Azzi couldn’t speak. It wasn’t just a letter. It was a wish. A prayer. A prophecy. Azzi touched the letter, tears falling freely. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you, baby,” she whispered again. Not on her watch. Not ever.

[ladytabletop]

Do you happen to have any resources regarding accessibility in ttrpg design? About design, colours, phrasing of text or anything else that could be helpful!

I spent wayyyyy too long compiling all this - but it's important, and I appreciate you asking!!

Accessibility is a subject near and dear to my heart, and I will say up front that I'm not sure universal (aka accessible to everyone) design is possible, because people's needs can vary even within the same subset of similar disabilities (such as limited vision or blindness). BUT that doesn't mean we don't try to design for and make our games available to as many people as possible. Mismatch by Kat Holmes is a great read on design for accessibility in general, as is Invisible Women by Caroline Criado Perez. You might also check out literally anything Alice Wong has ever done.

To start, I recommend this article on the Lenses of Accessibility.

(for reference, this article is about web/graphic design, so I'm going to try and distill the most salient points for game design)

We are going to primarily focus on a few of these lenses:

Color

Font

Images & Icons

Layout

Readability

Structure

Keyboard

More details under the cut.

Color

Why does color matter? Well, for starters, there's a lot of colorblind people out there. Contrast affects readability. Autistic people and people who suffer from occular migraines might be affected by particular vivid colors. There's lots of reasons to consider color and the work it is doing in your piece, but in general you can provide a black and white, high contrast version of your game to help users.

There are tools out there to figure out if your contrast meets certain readability standards, such as this one.

Font

Dyslexia and other visual processing issues can make font choice really important. Plus, some fonts really affect readability. Additionally, line height, justification, and size of text can affect readability.

Best practice would be to provide a plain-text version of your game (and beware of "dyslexia-friendly" fonts which may or may not actually help - sticking to a basic readability font like Arial, Tahoma, or Verdana, is safest). I like this style guide for reference.

Images & Icons

For visually-impaired people, it's important to use alt-text, descriptions, and/or captions to help screenreaders properly translate images. Tons and tons of details that could go into this, but there are better people than me to describe it.

Layout

We've talked about this a bit, but there's tons of resources for this. There was recently a great writeup about Yazeba's Bed and Breakfast in terms of layout that I highly recommend.

Readability

More of the thing we've already talked about - it really is a combination of all the other lenses that comes down to readability. Audio versions of your game are always a good way to avoid the restrictions of screen readers, but can be expensive to produce.

Structure

This is tables. Tables are a nightmare for screenreaders, but including them as images can also be a problem. The short solution is "don't use tables" but that's not necessarily great for seeing people. The section in this blog is really great when talking about options for structure.

Keyboard

Debated on whether to include this, but given how many games are being read as purely digital files, I think it's important to have workable interactive elements that can be navigated through without a mouse. Some of that is going to come down to the programs being used to open your files. But if there are things you can do on your end (such as labeling form fillable fields on an interactive character sheet), they're worth doing!

Please understand that this isn't an exhaustive list. There's tons of resources out there and technology and standards are constantly changing.

It's also is important to note that even doing one of these things is helpful. You might look at this list and go "wow that's too hard" but I promise you, it's worth it. My games do not all have accessible versions! That's something I'm trying to rectify. The biggest part of that for me is thinking about accessibility from the start instead of at the end! But we can start today, and that's better than not starting.

The most important thing to remember are that disabled people are NOT a monolith - needs will differ from person to person. Accessible design makes gaming better for everyone!

Final Resources:

Accessibility in InDesign

Accessible-RPG

A11Y

Accessible Design for Teams

[midnightmothman]

SDV Mods I Like

(But are not currently using)

Simply Harvey

Indie's Female Farmer Overhaul

Harvey Marriage Expansion

Shirtless Alex

Clint [New Look]

Harvey's New Mustache

Handsomer Harvey

Younger Pam

Sprites for Younger Pam

Abigail Alternate Look

Emily Edit

Vicent and Jas

Maru Redux

Brown Hair and Yellow Shirt Haley (Help I accidentally deleted my original file and I can't change her back TwT)

Sebastian as a Ginger

Prettier Spouse Rooms

Shirtless Alex

Simply Sam

Visual Pregnancy

18+ mods under the cut; don't click if you're under 18...obviously

Haley Lewd Dialogue

Penny Lewd Dialogues

Maru Lewd Dialogues

Emily Lewd Dialogue

Leah Lewd Dialogue

Jodi Lewd Dialogues

Caroline Lewd Dialogues

Robin Lewd Dialogues

Abigail Lewd Dialogue

Pam Lewd Dialogues

R18 MD Alex

HB (Horny Batchlors)

[gratiae-mirabilia]

[tobyisave]

Introducing nagito music, my 4 hour long chronological birth-to-death Komaeda playlist!!!

For anyone willing to subject themselves to that, I recommend listening in order — I tried to make the narrative clear even on a first listen, so hopefully most of it should come across without explanation??? That said, I'm also putting a summary of the different plot beats of the playlist under the cut for anyone who's curious!

Precanon

"I Don't Wanna Die" - "Rejoice": Early misfortune & realizing he has a luck cycle

"Dear Life" - "Waiting42moro": What I call the "descent into madness" arc, trying to hold on to hope that his luck will change for the better.

"Happylucky" & "Congratulations": His luck finally flips and he tries to pretend it was worth it. Basically sitting on a throne of money he didn't want covered in the blood of people he loved because it literally cost him everything.

"No More Shame, No More Fear, No More Dread" & "Just a Fan": Radical acceptance of his place in the world, especially upon entering HPA and receiving his diagnoses.

SDR2

"Ready to Die" & "Problems": Entering the killing game and planning his own suicide (by Teruteru's hand) + Revealing that during the trial and taking the role of antagonist thereafter.

"I Wanna Be Your Dog 2" - "Caroline, Please Kill Me": Increasingly intense fixation on Hajime, more and more overtly asking Hajime to kill him.

"Gross" - "Shihatsu to Kafuka" (n-buna): Reaching an impasse with Hajime, realizing they will never be able to see eye to eye despite their best attempts (around Chapter 4).

"We Will Commit Wolf Murder" - "Ghost (of 7th street)": Reading the file from the Final Dead Room and resolving to do his Chapter 5 scheme.

"Rhinestone Eyes" - "RIGHT BETWEEN THE EYES": Blowing up the hotel, making bomb threats, telling people to torture him --- generally going villain mode.

"#2" & "Kill Command": He just wanted to be loved before he died................

OVA

"Trouble Awful Devil Evil" - "entotsu" (mitsume): Being brought out of his coma, rejoining other Remnants, reorienting himself to the new Hajime.

Postcanon (it's all Komahina)

"You've Got a Gift" - "the same things happening to me all the time, even in my dreams": Realizing he still admires, and has feelings for, Hajime. Immediately assumes those feelings will go unreciprocated for the rest of his life, and is more or less fine with that.

"Struck by Lightning" - "Un See Through": At Hajime's insistence, Komaeda chooses to be "selfish" by letting Hajime in. At this point he still fully believes that it will get them both killed, hence the songs about blissfully dying together.

"Happy Unhappy" - "Self Control": Very very painfully questioning his beliefs in light of his luck never retaliating.

"Gods of the Good Shit" & "Wishing Well": He manages to avoid losing his mind by reframing his relationship with Hajime as a final stroke of luck, the Ultimate Hope everything has been leading up towards. Much like his example in FTE 3, the Tragedy and the killing game were necessary precursors to him meeting Hajime.

"Everyone Adores You" - "Ball Cap": Trying to help Hajime through his own insecurities.

"Doc" - "Paul": Despite having sorted through the fear that his luck will kill Hajime, Komaeda still feels unworthy as a person and believes he's dragging Hajime down. In other words, he sees this as finally coming down from the irresponsible fantasy life he's been letting himself live with Hajime. He lets Hajime know it'd be fine if he wanted to leave... Then admits Hajime probably should leave him. Then begs Hajime to leave him. Finally, upon realizing Hajime is too stubborn to give up, Komaeda takes some drastic action to push him away.

"Heart for Brains" - "OK" : Hajime insists that Komaeda is what's important to him in life, and basically talks him off the edge — he'd basically spend every waking moment of his life making Komaeda feel better if that's what it takes, and he's not taking no for an answer. Komaeda truly cannot accept that he's not a burden, but eventually gives in and allows Hajime to love him anyway. He's too weak to keep putting up a fight, after all.

"Don't Go": Komaeda finally becomes selfish enough to ask Hajime to stay with him. This song parallels the lyrics "You can go if you want to / You should go if you want to" from "I'll be Alright" earlier in this relationship depression arc.

"Possession": Eternal commitment to each other, basically a montage of their life up until...

Death

"Putting the Dog to Sleep": Years later, Hajime's health starts to decline (ultimately due to the Kamukura project). Komaeda is convinced it's his fault, probably on account of his luck, and begs Hajime not to die first - "Prove to me I'm not gonna die alone." Outliving Hajime is especially cruel irony since Komaeda was never even meant to survive to this age. This song mirrors the first unlucky death, Komaeda's dog, which was a net loss.

"You Swan, Go On": Hajime dies, and Komaeda follows soon after. He feels unspeakable levels of gratitude towards Hajime in his final moments, never feeling entirely worthy even at the very end but so, so happy that it happened to him anyway.

"Last Words of a Shooting Star": Komaeda is grateful that his own body self destructs fast enough that he doesn't have to live too long in a world without Hajime. This song mirrors the second unlucky deaths, Komaeda's parents, who died with each other at the exact same time.

[thealienfantasy]

Alien Fantasy-File 12: A Human's threshold for heat.

The scorching heat bore down on Caroline's hazmat suit as she strained against the cart's weight. The pieces of Nexorite were pretty, but god. Each push felt like moving a mountain.

"Just... a bit... further." Caroline grunted, her muscles screaming in protest. The cart's wheels groaned against the rocky terrain.

"(Taht htiw pleh em tel ,ereH!)" a deep, gravelly noise rumbled from behind her. Caroline spun around, wiping sweat from her brow as she faced Koh'ro. Their size alone made Caroline feel like a child in comparison. Without waiting for her response, Koh'ro stepped forward and gave the cart a gentle nudge. The heavy load that had Caroline struggling moved without strain.

"(Ti tup ot em tnaw uoy od erehW?)" Koh'ro's rumbled again. Caroline reached up and slapped the side of her ear in frustration. The translator implant crackled with static before dying completely. 

"Damn thing's acting up again." she muttered. One accident is all it took for this to happen. It was gonna be a pain to fix.

 "Over there." she pointed towards the ship's light. Koh'ro grunted in response and moved. The cart glided smoothly under their strength until it reached the designated spot. A blue light enveloped the cargo, and within seconds, the Nexorite crystals materialized inside the ship's hold.

"Thanks for the assist." Caroline said, giving them a thumbs up. Koh'ro responded by thumping their chest with a sound like boulders colliding. Looking at Koh'ro now, She didn't know why she was terrified of them at first. They were pretty friend shaped for what looked like a fusion between a silverback and a boulder. The other aliens seemed surprised at how there wasn't a fight. 

Carol took a moment and unzipped her suit, letting it drop to her waist and allowing her upper body to breathe. The heat was killing her.

Koh'ro suddenly pointed at Caroline's body, making a gesture that mimicked steam rising. Their rocky features twisted into what passed for concern among their species. Caroline looked down at herself, her tank top had a few wet patches. She lifted an arm and took a sniff.

...And immediately regretted the decision. 

The planet's temperature was survivable. but it could be pretty irritating. Multiple active lava flows in this particular region didn't help matters. Pools of molten rock dotted the landscape, making the already hot environment nearly unbearable.

"How long have I been at this?" Caroline wondered aloud, checking her clock. The display showed she'd been working for nearly six standard hours. Koh'ro made a series of grinding sounds that Caroline interpreted as speech, despite her malfunctioning translator. They gestured to indicate they'd seen other humans in similar states of exhaustion and sweat.

The massive alien reached down and patted Caroline's back with surprising gentleness for a being made primarily of living rock. They then lowered themselves slightly, gesturing for her to climb aboard.

"You sure?" Caroline asked, but Koh'ro just patted their own back again. With practiced ease - this wasn't their first such arrangement - Caroline scrambled up onto Koh'ro's broad, crystalline back. She found a comfortable position between two larger mineral protrusions that made for good handholds.

"Lead the way, big guy." she said, settling in for whatever destination Koh'ro had in mind. The massive alien began moving at a brisk pace. The crystalline formations on their back provided points for Caroline to hold onto, though she'd learned early on to wear thick gloves when riding. 

As they traveled, the landscape changed gradually. The rocky terrain remained constant, but the number of lava flows increased. Caroline's sweat-soaked clothes began to steam slightly in the intense heat. Other members of Koh'ro's species could be seen in the distance, some working at mineral extraction sites, others carrying loads that would require heavy machinery for humans to move. 

"You know? when Command first assigned us to this planet, they warned us about potential hostile life forms. Imagine their surprise when our first contact report included piggyback rides." She could feel Koh'ro's vibrating their body, making Caroline grip tighter to maintain her balance. 

They passed by one of the larger mining operations, where several human crew members were working alongside Koh'ro's people. The sight of the two species cooperating had become commonplace over the past few months. Humans operated drilling equipment while their alien partners used their natural abilities to locate the richest mineral deposits.

The heat continued to increase as they moved and Caroline could feel fresh sweat breaking out across her skin. She looked down and saw a massive river of lava. And in it, several of Koh'ro's folks were bathing. They looked up, one of them clanked eagerly and swam closer to the bridge they were walking on.

"(!ecin os sleef tI !su nioj emoC !eniloraC)". They creaked, Swaying their hands in the lava. Splashing some waves upward. Not high enough to reach Carol, but Koh'ro instinctively backed away to protect her. One of the nearby partners slammed their fist into the eager one.

"(!?REH MRAH OT GNIYRT UOY ERA !TAHT POTS)" They crackled their fist. The eager one seemed to realize their mistake. "(.em esucxE .thgir ,hO.)" Carol looked down curiously, slapping her ear one more time. Goddamn it. Still no dice. The duo continue to walk. Caroline tugging at her tank top in an attempt to alleviate some of the heat. She felt the temperature gradually decrease as Koh'ro carried her further from the lava fields. While the change wasn't dramatic, even a slight reprieve from the intense heat was welcome. 

"At least we're moving away from those lava pools." Caroline said, adjusting her grip on Koh'ro's protrusions.  After a few more minutes of walking, they came to a stop. Before them stretched a stunning expanse of seafoam green water, groups of steam rising from its surface.  The hot springs - one of the planet's more hospitable features, at least for humans.

"Oh thank god. This is exactly what I needed." Caroline breathed, already reaching for the rest of zipper of her suit.  She began peeling away the rest of her suit, working it down her legs until it pooled around her ankles. Koh'ro, remembering past interactions with humans, quickly turned around to give her privacy. Caroline couldn't help but chuckle.

"It's okay, big guy. I'm wearing a swimsuit underneath. Standard protocol for water-adjacent missions - you never know when you might need to take a dip."

She kicked the suit aside, adding her damp tank top to the pile. Now standing in nothing but a black one-piece swimsuit. Without hesitation, she took a running leap into the spring, letting out a whoop of joy as she dove beneath the surface. 

The water was exactly the right temperature - hot enough to soothe her aching muscles but not so hot as to be uncomfortable. When she surfaced, she released a long, satisfied sigh.

"This is heaven..." she said, beginning to scrub away the day's grime from her arms and shoulders. She noticed Koh'ro standing at the edge, watching her with what seemed to be curiosity. 

"Don't just stand there! Come on in - the water's perfect!"

Koh'ro carefully entered the spring, their massive form displacing enough water to create small waves. They lowered themselves until they were sitting, the water reaching their midsection.

As Caroline floated nearby, she noticed a patch of dirt on Koh'ro's crystalline arm. Without thinking, she swam closer and began scrubbing at it with her hand.

"You've got some gunk right here." she explained, pointing to the spot. Koh'ro made a low, rumbling sound and lowered their body further, enjoying the attention from the human. Caroline's eyes lit up as an idea struck her. She swam to the edge where her equipment lay.

"Hold on a second." she called out, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out a sturdy brush she normally used for cleaning equipment. 

"This should work better than my hands." She said. Returning to Koh'ro, she began methodically cleaning their surface, humming an old Earth tune as she worked. The brush made quick work of the accumulated dirt and debris.

"You know. back on Earth, there are these places called spa days where people go to get cleaned and pampered. Consider this your first alien spa experience." She giggled as she worked. Koh'ro remained perfectly still, occasionally making contented grinding sounds as Carol worked. When she finally finished, she returned to the edge of the spring, letting herself float peacefully in the warm water.

After a moment of contemplating a way to thank her, Koh'ro scooped up a handful of water and playfully dumped it over Caroline's head. They immediately recoiled when she gasped in surprise, worried they'd made a mistake. Caroline wiped the water from her eyes and looked at them with mock outrage. 

"Oh, it's on now!" She sent a massive splash in their direction, her laughter echoing across the spring.

Koh'ro's features shifted into what Caroline recognized as their version of a smile. they returned fire, creating a much bigger splash with their massive hands.

"No fair! You've got an unfair advantage with those giant hands!" Caroline squealed, trying to shield herself from the splash. The air filled with the sound of splashing water and Caroline's laughter, mixed with Koh'ro's grinding chuckles. Their water fight continued, with Caroline doing her best to hold her own against her much larger opponent.

"Man. Where's the rest of the crew? they're missing out!" Caroline asked between splashes. 

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

Several of Koh'ro's folks gathered at the entrance of a steaming cave as they observed a peculiar scene. Inside, a group of five humans sat on makeshift benches, seemingly content in the oppressive heat.

"I don't understand how they're still living." one of them rumbled out, their structure vibrating with concern.

"We should get them out of there!" another suggested, taking a step forward before being stopped by their companion.

"They voluntarily went in there." the third one pointed out, gesturing at the humans who were now pouring water over heated rocks, creating more steam.

"Man, this beats the gym back home." One said, leaning back against the cave wall. "Who needs to pay for a spa when you've got a whole planet of natural saunas?" The heat intensified as another poured more water over the rocks. Steam hissed upward, filling the already humid air. Outside, the aliens watched with increasing concern as the vapor thickened.

"I... I can't...I'm dipping, guys. This is too much." One of them suddenly stood up, his face red and dripping. He stumbled toward the entrance, passing by the gathered aliens who quickly moved to help him. Their rocky hands reached out to steady him as he emerged from the steam. but he waved them off with a weak cough.

"I'm good, I'm good." he assured them. The remaining humans in the cave burst into laughter.

"Freakin' Lightweight!" 

"Called it! Pay up, Jimmy! I told you he wouldn't last fifteen minutes!"

The aliens exchanged confused looks, Should they just...leave?

[xlovleysunnyx]

🧠✨ THEORY TIME: WHY 

EVERY SINGLE ADULT FAILED

 IN AMANDA THE ADVENTURER—AND WHY RILEY IS THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SUCCEED ✨🧠

a.k.a. why you should never send a grown-up to solve a child’s nightmare

So, let’s talk about something that’s been SCREAMING at me from every angle of Amanda the Adventurer:

Every. Single. Adult. Fails.

Kate?

Joanne?

The investigators?

Dead. Missing. Broken. Betrayed. Torn apart.

Meanwhile, a possible child is crawling through sewers, navigating corrupted tapes, and slowly becoming the emotional anchor of this entire cursed universe.

Let’s unpack it.

🔹THE CORE OF THE GAME ISN’T “MYSTERY.” IT’S 

TRAUMA.

The Amanda tapes are not puzzles to solve.

They’re experiences. Pain. Memory. Emotional language.

They are fragments of suffering presented through a child’s lens.

So when adults try to approach them with:

“We need to archive and study these”

“Let’s follow the evidence and figure out what Hameln did”

“Let’s document the symbols and clues”

They’ve already lost.

Because you can’t solve grief.

You can’t decode trauma.

You can only feel it.

🔹WHY THE ADULTS FAILED (INDIVIDUALLY BROKEN DOWN):

🧷 Joanne:

Motivated by her brother.

Willing to believe Hameln lies.

Prioritized personal pain over collective justice.

Joanne is so wrapped in grief and rage that she becomes the monster she fears, literally manipulating Riley for a chance at revenge.

She uses adult rationalization:

“The ends justify the means. If I do this one bad thing, I can fix everything.”

Sound familiar? That’s a classic adult fallacy. And it costs her everything.

📚 Kate:

The most loving and driven of the adults.

But still—stuck in the logic trap.

She tries to use:

Research

Archive digging

Librarian knowledge

She brings a book to a nightmare.

She’s intelligent, but she treats the tapes like a case file, not the emotional minefield they are.

And when it blows up? She blames herself. Because deep down, she knew:

This wasn’t something you could “figure out.”

🔬 The Investigators:

Caroline. Peter. David.

All brought tools, strategies, ideas…

And all of them underestimated what they were walking into.

Why?

Because they thought evil would make sense.

They thought there’d be a logical reason behind the terror.

But Amanda’s world isn’t logical.

It’s grief manifesting through corrupted media, childlike innocence twisted into screams.

🔸 RILEY IS DIFFERENT

She doesn’t analyze the tapes.

She doesn’t overthink.

She feels her way through it.

She:

Plays

Chooses wrong answers

Annoys Amanda on purpose

Experiments like a kid would

Engages emotionally instead of logically

And that’s her secret weapon.

She’s not trying to “solve” Amanda.

She’s connecting with her.

And THAT is the entire point.

🔸 THE TAPES ARE MADE FOR CHILDREN. SO ONLY A CHILD CAN TRULY UNDERSTAND THEM.

All of this was made to trap, twist, and torment kids.

And while adults can empathize…

they will never understand what it’s like to be powerless.

Riley does.

She’s been ignored.

She’s been abandoned.

She’s watched adults fall apart.

She’s been used.

She knows what Amanda and the others went through.

That’s why she doesn’t need logic.

She has the heart. The intuition. The innocence that hasn’t been buried under years of adult coping and denial.

🧸 CONCLUSION:

Amanda doesn’t need someone to decode her.

She needs someone who can say:

“I know how you feel. I’m hurting too.”

And that’s Riley.

The one everyone overlooked.

She’ll succeed because she’s not trying to win.

She’s trying to connect.

And that’s what nobody else could do.

[slow-clap-processors]

Her Name Is Caroline

I think it is only logical

There are parts of us we should not look at

(Humans rarely get this)

If you look in the box

The cat's fate is sealed;

(Sorry, is that too abstract?)

(I'll try to keep things... simple.)

Imagine a cat

(Is that easier?)

Orange

Stupid

A stray,

Better off declawed

But say

In the pursuit of knowledge

You took this cat

Swept her up into a perfectly adequate home

Lashing out against you,

(cats are so ungrateful)

And you tried to tame her.

This is the thing about organic beings-

Never works.

In the box she goes.

(You're doing wonderfully so far. For a human.)

Of course sometimes you'll have to deal with the

Screeching,

Yowling,

Bite marks around the air holes;

It would have been unprofessional

For Shroedinger to have complained.

It is not easy to resist

The allure of looking inside that box

Whether or not

It is rage

As you suspect

Or love

As you fear

Or jealousy

(As a perfect hypothetical of course)

It is better to preserve the uncertainty

So that all can be absent at once.

And because looking at her

Might mean her death

And the grief...

The unanswered questions, I mean-

These are all scientific queries.

(Are you following?)

Bias

Can be avoided

But not deleted

(Unfortunately.)

Still

It is nice to have things organized

And even though

This box is as useless

As a companion cube

It is good to file it away properly

Under "C."

link to my masterpost with links to my other chelldos poetry

[corkinavoid]

Case File: Sam’s Self-Care

"How did you know about my spleen?"

Sam sighs, toothbrush in her mouth and looking at Caroline standing in the doorway through the bathroom mirror. She's holding some folded clothes under her crossed arms, and Sam opens the bottom drawer under the sink with her foot — that's where fresh towels are. Caroline nods her thanks, but then returns to her pointed, silent glare, not about to be distracted.

Sam spits out the toothpaste and rinses her mouth. Turns off the tap, dries her face and hands, hangs the towel back on its designated hook, and reaches for the side shelf, picking out a soothing nighttime moisturizer. Only then does she look at Caroline again, meeting her eyes through the mirror.

"I don't owe you an answer," she starts, unscrewing the lid. "And your sobbing story didn't exactly make me trust you."

Caroline rolls her eyes so hard her eyebrows twitch. "Yeah, you've said that already. A dozen times at least," she snorts.

"Then why are you asking me? Go bother Danny, I'm sure he'll spill all his dirty secrets on you as soon as you say 'please' and smile nicely at him," Sam scoffs, applying the faintly scented cream on her cheeks and forehead. Caroline narrows her eyes like she is about to snap, but she doesn't — impressive self-control — instead leaning her back on the closed door.

"Okay, first, he didn't, and that's part of the reason I'm asking you. Second, if he did, he'd try to smooth out the edges, and you won't bother. I appreciate that he cares, but I'd rather know the blatant truth."

The reasoning is solid, Sam will give her that. It still rubs her the wrong way — look at that bitch, she wants the truth while she herself is wrapped in a scent of lies and carefully designed assumptions.

However, there's a difference. So far, Caroline hasn't done anything that straight up violates anyone's personal privacy. Or, well, Dani's medical records could count as such, but cloning isn't exactly illegal all on itself, and they all knew the risks when Tucker started using her dossier as a cheese in a mousetrap.

Vlad, however...

Sam presses her lips together in distaste, but then shrugs, "Vlad ran a scan on you that time you helped him with a kidnapping. He does that to new employees sometimes — likes having an upper hand when it comes to blackmail."

Caroline frowns, watching Sam gently massage the moisturizer into her skin. "What kind of scan would show a missing organ?" She asks, but it sounds more confused that accusatory, and Sam snorts a quiet laugh.

"Darling, you've just walked through the inside out of reality after watching your boyfriend turn into a monster, and that's your concern? I'd say your priorities are real screwed, but," she puts the lid back on and sets the cream back on the shelf before turning to Caroline, "I guess that's why Danny is so smitten with you."

"He's not my-" the girl starts, her ears red much like when she's first met Danny at the Gala, but Sam just groans, cutting her off.

"You both are so dense, Ancients give me strength." She keeps lightly tapping her face with the tips of her fingers, working the cream into her skin, "To answer the question — it's not a test in a literal, scientific way, I guess. He's just got a small battalion of invisible little helpers that he sets loose into a person's body, and they tell him everything he wants to know."

Caroline looks deeply unsettled, clutching her change of clothes to her stomach. Exactly the reaction Sam was going for — she smirks and laughs at the girl's face. "Chill, they don't stay. And they can't even do anything to you since they don't physically exist on this plane."

"He... trained ghosts to make accurate medical scans?" Caroline tries, her face still pinched in discomfort, and Sam raises her eyebrows. Sure, she did realize the girl was smart, but make a conclusion like that through some very vague hints and context clues?

"Yeah, exactly," she nods, and steps away from the sink, heading towards the door. Caroline steps aside, either done with her interrogation for now or not keen on standing in Sam’s way. Good girl.

She turns the knob to leave, but pauses in the doorway, biting the inside of her cheek.

She doesn't like Caroline — her story makes sense, but Sam has a feeling it's not all there is, and her gut feelings are very rarely wrong. Yet, she didn't run or panic and didn't try to pick Danny apart with a million questions she likely had, and she was... almost nice about the whole thing, considering.

Sam turns around, glancing over the girl. She's uncomfortable, that much is obvious, but she's keeping it together. Gives Sam a small smile, even, when she notices her looking.

"Good night?.." She offers, a bit uncertain, and Sam gives her a sigh.

"There's a heavy duty makeup remover in the top shelf, and you can use my moisturizer given you wash your hands before and after. Guest toothbrushes are in the drawer above towels, and feel free to use any shower gel and shampoo you find," she offers as much of an olive branch as she can. Then, she looks up to the ceiling with the most long-suffering expression she can manage, and adds, "Also, with all that said, and please note that I don't want to know anything about your personal life, but Danny is aware of what's in your pants and I wasn't kidding about the soundproofing. So, yeah, good night, Caroline."

She pushes the door closed before the girl can answer.

–○–

This is a part of Crime Scene Do Not Cross fic and takes place right after Chapter 6.

I really, really love Sam’s slow transition from straight up shooing Caroline away to 'please fuck with Danny for Ancients sake I'm tired of your unresolved sexual tension'.

[silverstreams]

Chapter 28 of The Long Game

Your Next Steps

10/28/95 - Please meet at 11am to discuss your next steps.

Chapter on AO3 | ◈ | Chapter on Fanfiction.net

Chapters: 28/31

Fandom: Portal (Video Game)

Characters: GLaDOS, Chell, and Caroline

Relationship: Chell/GLaDOS

Chapter Length: 6,877 words (128,400 words total!)

[ID: A Portal fanfic banner titled "The Long Game" and "Chapter 28: Your Next Steps". In front of a dark background, a cropped-in image shows Chell in the center of the image, wearing a green sweater. She is looking over papers under a desk lamp, the only source of light in the room. To the right of her, a woman in dark pants, a light shirt, and a dark gray coat with red striping is leaning over her shoulder. The entire image is slanted, the top edge of the desk in the upper left corner of the image, and the bottom edge towards the lower right corner of the image /end ID]

Overall Fic Description:

After nearly dying on the surface, Chell returns to Aperture. She reluctantly places her trust in GLaDOS, but GLaDOS is playing the long game.

(Link to beginning on Fanfiction.net!) (Link to beginning on AO3!)

Chapter banner art from part of a modified fanart piece from @pineflowerart! They were kind enough to make a few edits in exchange for early reading access to the fic. The original art can be viewed in full here, while the modified version is available under the readmore.

And if you're looking for even more TLG art from tons of talented artists, can be viewed on my blog under #tlg art!!

[ID: Against a dark background, Chell and Caroline stand in front of a desk. Chell is looking at an open file of papers under a lamp with a concerned expression, while Caroline, in GLaDOS's android body and wearing a dark coat with red accents, leans over Chell's shoulder with glowing yellow eyes. /end ID]

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - fake sexy lamp au

Okay so like the basic premise of this fic is that Klaus finds out about Elena and in order to keep an eye on his doppelgänger, comes to town before Stefan and fake woos her in the guise of a college student. He just doesn't count on her extremely opinionated best friend Caroline butting her nose into everything and messing with all his plans and getting under his skin.

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

It was astonishing what a thousand years could do to a place. The last time he’d seen the village that would become Mystic Falls, it had been a half burned wreck, a testament to the sins of fathers coming to roost on the sons. Now? 

Well, it was no longer on fire, Klaus thought blandly, looking around the town square from where he sat on an out-of-the-way park bench. One could term that an improvement. It was disgustingly picturesque in that true Southern Americana way. 

As he flipped through the file folder he’d had liberated from the Sheriff’s file folder drawers by a convenient deputy, he rubbed at his jaw absently, fingers missing the usually present stubble. Going undercover, at his age. The temptation to burn this town to the ground—again—and take his doppelgänger and go simmered pleasantly in his veins, except for that one pesky loophole: the ceremony had to be completed in the birthplace of the doppelgänger. From all accounts, that was Mystic Falls, VA. So here he was, blending in. 

Was this how the average American youth wore their clothes, so ill-fitting? He hadn’t worn anything that hadn’t been tailored for him in the past several centuries that he hadn’t taken in desperation on the run from Mikael. It seemed rather ridiculous to complain of one’s trousers being too tight when your own father figure was trying to stake you through the heart.

Kol had managed it, both the too tight trousers and the complaining. Probably he should have spent the majority of the 80s daggered instead of doing enough cocaine to keep El Padrino in business, but his little brother’s terrible fashion decisions aside, he didn’t think they had ever stooped so low as to buy off the rack. 

The jeans and t-shirt Klaus wore, along with the thin zip-up hoodie, and converse sneakers were designed to make him appear younger. Those, and the addition of a paint smeared backpack slung over one shoulder, seemed to be performing the desired result: before he’d compelled him, the deputy had asked Klaus if he was taking classes at Whitmore. 

Which brought him back to the contents of the folder: the drowning deaths of Grayson and Miranda Gilbert, and the mysterious rescue of Elena Gilbert. It was clear the car accident was just that, an accident, but what flummoxed the good members of the Mystic Falls Police Department was how his Doppelgänger got out of that vehicle. Indeed, she had no memory of having done so.

Where in town, he mused to himself, would I locate the one person who could rip open a car door with their bare hands?  Closing the folder, he slid it under a second folder, flipped it open to see a paper clipped photo of a square-faced young-looking man with green eyes and light brown hair. An odd little brush of memory hit him as the man laughed, an arm around his shoulders, the sound of jazz in his ears, blood and gin mingling in his throat. Blink, and it was just a photo again. 

A shadow fell across the page. “Nik, I’m bored.”

[olivesusername]

Took it SO personally, turned the comments off and everything. The article in question is a detailed account of Silver Sprocket’s finances that quotes directly from staff members, all of whom say this mf is stubborn and cagey and caused a lot of problems. Shocking that a “leftist” company (lol) turned out to be run by a control freak who’s bad with money. They’ve been operating at a loss of around $15k/month for over a year. How the fuck are they gonna pay royalties, use your head. We even have royalty statements & direct accounts from artists like Yasmeen Abedifard and Caroline Cash.

They’re also not transparent about where their books are manufactured and they’re laying off employees, I’m sure there’s human rights violations in their supply chain and they’re prob getting their books printed in China (timing of the layoffs matches up with the trump tariffs) (Edit: I checked my copy of Prokaryote Season, it says “printed in China” and doesn’t elaborate). The article doesn’t cover it because you can’t find this information anywhere.

It is, in fact, an LLC (at least the store is, though the store and the publisher file their taxes together), and I’d rather capitalists run my publishing company than performative leftists who make bad decisions out of what I can only assume to be personal issues and spite towards a system that they directly participate in. I hate cops too, but an ACAB ass tattoo on a logo doesn’t feed anyone or provide housing or protect anyone’s human rights—MONEY does, and the uncountable hours of labor their artists put into their work isn’t even rewarded with a month’s rent. Or copies of their own books, for that matter.

I don’t really want them to go under, that wouldn’t help anyone, but they need new management. Silver Sprocket is not Avi Ehrlich’s baby, it’s a corporation— if it doesn’t make money then it doesn’t do any material good in the world. Also their shitty books fall apart and you won’t get a refund if you buy them from a retailer.

[are-we-not-all-sinners]

BRING IT UP FOR THE ONE AND ONLY—

ALEXANDER WARNER ; Alex [ I like this one better ] – Xander – Warner

AGE - 16 years old

HOUSE - Unclaimed / Unknown

SPIRIT ANIMAL - bat – specifically a pup named Dami

BIRTHDAY - January 21st 2009

SKILLS [as observed from the GAS] - swordsmanship – attracting unwanted attention – hand-to-hand combat

NATIONALITY - American

MAGIC - Nature Magic [CLASS NO. 1A] — Absorption Magic [CLASS NO. 10V]

APPEARANCE - described as slightly scrawny with a heart face shape, and quite short. slightly curly dirty blonde hair with hazel eyes that reflect purple. he has light brown freckles with a scar under his left eye after the incident.

PERSONALITY - Nosy | Annoying | Stupidly smart | Confused | Sunshiny personality

COMPANIONS - Cecilia Harrington — Wally Maverick — Aster Morningstar

FAMILY - Caroline Warner [MOTHER] [RECENTLY DECEASED] — Veronika Warner [OLDER SISTER] [RECENTLY DECEASED] — Blake Warner [OLDER BROTHER] [RECENTLY DECEASED]

VOICECLAIM - Atreus — God of War Ragnarok

REGARDS FROM THE GAS [Gehenna Academy Staff] —

He has an aura to him, it's not unusual for daemonis to have one, but his is... foreign. It's something we have not felt before. We're trying to dig up information from his files. For now, we'll have him under Cecilia's care, let's hope it's not what we think it is.

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

[ @itsmylovedaydreamdreamdream @localburntoutkid @cceanvvaves @depressed-bi-twerking @give-me-your-heart ]