#firefly foundations

[peteytheparrot]

🌸 Unrealistic in Nature 🌸

[fireflyfoundations]

Ginger are you secretly British

Holy shit…. British people real…

[kibber-cat]

happy birthday robyn

do crime eat cake

make milo take you out to dinner

[ Character is @peteytheparrot 's ]

[peteytheparrot]

LMFAO the fact I’ve already drawn two of these poses here

Now I need to draw them all smh

does anyone have the draw your bbygirl like this meme

[deerspherestudios]

hi! i just played played day 2 and wow???? i had high expectations and still it blew straight past those??

your art and storytelling is truly amazing!! you make it truly easy to fall in love with this little world (and the people in them!!)

i realise this isn’t much of an ask, but i just wanted to share my love and appreciation for such a gorgeous game- especially when you can see how much hard work and care has been put into it!

have a good day/evening! 🍄

Waaa tysm that's such high praise ;v;!! I can only hope I keep up with the expectations as development progresses <3

[peteytheparrot]

Doing Chibi commissions! All info is on Deviantart!

[fireflyfoundations]

🌿 Oswald Green 🌿

Toyhouse page - Artfight page Gender - Male  Age - 30  Height - 5’7” (170.18 cm)  Species - Abyssinian cat  Cat Coat - Tan Sexuality - Pansexual Job - Half private detective half FF worker  Birthday - feb 5, 1888 Smug, stubborn, and tired detective that’s not the greatest at his job. Will never admit that he’s doing bad and always tries to put on a ‘better than you’ attitude. Although, he does have problems regulating his emotions, tends to cry out of nowhere, and or freak out for no particular reason, but he tries to tell people that never happened after episodes like that occur. Gets very attached to people very quickly, this can also result in jealousy if his friends are talking to others. Oswald was a major gambling addict and tended to go out practically every day to gamble his money he would get as a private detective - albeit, a bad one, so it wasn’t much - as he loved the thrill of it all. Although when he started to run out of money, he just kept going, resulting in him ranking up a massive amount of gambling debt from the casinos he went to. Which was making him have to deal with the organized crime groups running some of these casinos to be watching him at all times, even trying to confront him if he ranked up debts really high. At one of these casinos, he meets Milo, and when telling him about his debt Milo tells him about the foundation as it could help him get the money he could use to pay off his debts, and Oswald is instantly intrigued and agrees to join it. He meets Hazel in FF, and they end up working together quite a lot, becoming a close duo. Although, Oswald in a state of wanting to help others and to possibly stop his gambling addiction, decided to join the war. But this all turned out horribly for him, as a bad incident later happened leaving him heavily injured, including making him lose his right eye, which he later put in a glass eye for. The only good thing that came out of it all was him becoming close friends with Ginger, another person he met in the war. Later on, now out of the war, he stayed at Gingers place quite often due to him never really having a place to stay. Although, he could tell Ginger was having a hard time running his bookshop, so he mentioned the foundation to him, which resulted in him joining it. Now him, Ginger, and Hazel all worked together in the foundation doing jobs together. But, after noticing Ginger tended to go off on his own to places, he followed him, and witnessed Ginger and Obsidian - a person wanted by FF for murdering the once boss of FF - hanging out and chatting like they were good friends. This pisses off Oswald immediately and later confronts Ginger alone, with them getting into an argument, and Ginger leaves the foundation. Oswald is upset by this but Milo convinces him that Ginger is in the wrong and is a bad person for hanging out with Obsidian. Oswald then starts gambling again, and has to stay over at Hazels place due to not having a home to go to.

[the-land-of-dreams]

OK FINALLY FUCKING GOT AROUND TO DRAWING MY 590 REWRITE. Everyone meet dearest Firefly!

"Firefly" is a nickname given to him by the staff who are fond of him, he does not know his birth name. He ostensibly was found by the foundation when he was a baby and his birth family is not known.

Anomaly allows him to take on the injuries or sicknesses of anyone he touches (NOT NEURODIVERGENCIES THOUGH HE CAN'T TAKE THOSE), along with being able to recover from them at a somewhat accelerated pace as opposed to a regular human. He will also experience the physical signs of the emotions of anyone he touches, and he has discovered he can manually transfer his injuries onto other people he is touching. And the anomaly can do nothing else. Nope. Totally not.

he's used as kind of an "emergency medic", tossed around between sites and mtf squads

perpetually stuck looking like a college student but if you talk to him for any substantial amount of time it becomes apparent that he's a very autistic middle-aged man

semi-verbal, often uses ASL to communicate, more comfortable speaking around people he likes or trusts

sarcastic and kind of jaded but really compassionate, tries to make the newcomer anomalies feel welcome

he's very loyal to the foundation, full-on drank the Kool-Aid despite literally being in containment, it's the only family he has OBSTENSIBLY

draws a lot in his spare time, sketchbooks full of very detailed drawings of beetles and other such creatures

not even really supposed to have cigarettes but through the power of bargaining with favors (sfw ones get your mind out of the gutter) with the mtf operatives he has developed a nicotine addiction

generally pretty well-liked but not really that close with a lot of the people he hangs out with. But people leave his life pretty regularly when he gets transferred to a new assignment so its fine riiiiight

pretty mellow guy overall which is partly due to him being dissociated half the time but we're going to ignore that it's FINE

[thelightningbuginitiative]

Working on my new logo for The Lightning Bug Foundation! It’s about halfway there.

[peteytheparrot]

You and Hazel rn /j

okay I just had the biggest realization.... Hii giysss I am aroace

[misswynters]

short drabble

Ekko and heimerdinger are being nerdy while you sleep

requested. by anon

There was always a soft hum of machinery that filled the air in Heimerdinger’s workshop. And with that accompanied by the occasional clink of tools and the professor’s enthusiastic ramblings. The workshop had an oddly calming atmosphere, a mix of glowing gadgets, bubbling contraptions, and the gentle warmth of lamp-lit light. It was perfect for dozing off, especially after a long day of following Ekko around Zaun.

You were sprawled out on the old, lumpy couch tucked in a corner of the workshop, your head cushioned by one of Ekko’s jackets that you’d claimed for yourself. Curled up against your side was your pet, a small, scrappy Zaunite fox. Its fur was a mix of gray and russet, with glowing green streaks running along its ears and tail. Ekko had found it injured near one of the Sump scrapers, and after some patching up, it had attached itself to you like glue.

Ekko called it “Scraps” (because of course he would), and Scraps was now peacefully snoozing, just like you.

Across the room, Ekko and Heimerdinger were huddled around one of the professor’s latest inventions, discussing something that involved words you didn’t fully understand.

“…but if you accelerate the core’s energy output without stabilizing the oscillation, it’ll implode,” Ekko said, gesturing animatedly at the device.

Heimerdinger adjusted his tiny glasses, nodding. “Precisely! Which is why you must ensure the harmonic calibrations are synced—ah, but don’t forget to account for temporal distortions.”

As the professor continued explaining, Ekko’s focus wavered. His gaze drifted toward the couch where you were sleeping, your form softly rising and falling with each breath. Scraps twitched its glowing tail but stayed nestled close to you.

A small smile crept onto Ekko’s face. You looked so peaceful, completely at odds with the chaos that usually surrounded you both in Zaun. Your hand was loosely tangled in Scraps’ fur, your other arm tucked under your cheek.

He didn’t notice the professor had stopped talking until Heimerdinger’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ah, young love,” Heimerdinger said, his tone tinged with teasing amusement.

Ekko snapped his head back toward him, blinking. “Huh? What’re you talking about?”

Heimerdinger chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. “There’s no use denying it, dear boy. The way you’re looking at them, it’s rather endearing, really.”

Ekko’s ears burned. “I wasn’t—I mean, I was just—” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re asleep, alright? That’s all.”

Heimerdinger hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Still, allow me to impart some wisdom, as one who has witnessed countless romances blossom and wither over the centuries.”

“Oh no,” Ekko muttered, groaning.

Ignoring him, Heimerdinger continued, his voice taking on the tone of a well-meaning but meddling elder. “When courting a significant other, one must always show respect, patience, and attentiveness. Flowers are an excellent gesture, but so is active listening. Communication, you see, is the foundation of—”

“Professor,” Ekko interrupted, exasperated. “I don’t think you understand. We’re not—”

“Young people these days,” Heimerdinger said with a dramatic shake of his head, cutting him off. “Always so quick to dismiss advice. But mark my words: treat them well, or you’ll regret it!”

Before Ekko could retort, Scraps stirred, lifting its head with a sleepy yawn. The movement must’ve disturbed you because you shifted slightly, blinking groggily as the sound of their voices filtered through your half asleep haze.

“Mm… what’s going on?” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. Scraps hopped off the couch and stretched before circling back to your lap.

Ekko winced, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Firefly,” he said softly, using the nickname he’d given you. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Firefly—because you were always a little light in Zaun’s darkness, buzzing around him with endless energy.

You shook your head, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “It’s fine,” you murmured, scratching Scraps behind the ears. “What were you guys talking about?”

Heimerdinger perked up. “Oh, nothing of consequence!” he said cheerfully, though his smirk told a different story. “Merely enlightening young Ekko on the art of courtship.”

You blinked, then glanced at Ekko, who looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. “Courtship?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t start,” Ekko muttered, shooting Heimerdinger a look.

The professor chuckled, his ears twitching. “Ah, youth. So easily embarrassed.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Ekko’s expression, your earlier grogginess fading. “Well, did you learn anything useful?” you teased.

Ekko rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”

He reached out, ruffling your hair gently before pulling his hand back. “For real, though. Sorry we woke you up. Want me to walk you home?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the couch. “Nah, I’m good here. I like listening to you two talk.”

Heimerdinger beamed. “A kindred spirit indeed! Intellectual discourse is a joy to behold, is it not?”

Ekko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “And now you’ve encouraged him. Great.”

You just laughed again, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. Scraps let out a contented sigh, curling up in your lap, and Ekko plopped down on the couch beside you. His hand found yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, his usual ease returning.

The three of you stayed in the workshop, for endless hours as the two nerds worked on their projects. Whereas you cheered them on at the sidelines with cute ol’ Scraps to keep you company. Especially when they would talk about all the science lingo that you did not understand. Even though ekko would sometimes explain it in more simpler terms. It didn’t quite go through your head. Needlessly to say you enjoyed the days you would spend at the workshop.

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights

banner. @anitalenia

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 1 - the expansion play]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: After a challenge at a family dinner, billionaire real estate property developer Azzi Fudd decides to start a WNBA expansion team. With a sharp team behind her and a clear vision, she builds the Golden State Valkyries in San Francisco. As the 2025 draft approaches, all signs point to one player—UConn’s Paige Bueckers. While Paige dominates the court, Azzi quietly prepares a franchise that’s not just ready to win—but built with her in mind.

Fudd Private Estate, Northern California. August 2023. 

Dinner was almost done, the last of the grilled sea bass cleared, the conversation slipping into its usual rhythm of real estate forecasts and international zoning headaches. Out on the terrace, string lights blinked above marble columns, glowing like fireflies. Inside, the table gleamed—mahogany polished to a perfect shine, linen napkins folded into neat triangles. 

Azzi sat between her mother and her older brother, Trey. Legs crossed, watching the slow swirl of wine in her glass. She had been quiet most of the evening, letting her brothers talk over each other the way they always did when the market was up and their egos were sharper than usual. 

“You closed the Charleston deal?” she asked finally, cutting through Trey’s retelling of a boardroom clash. 

Her eldest brother, James, nodded as he dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “We came in two-point-eight billion over the projections. Construction begins in six months.” 

Their father gave a grunt of approval. Their mother hummed and reached for her water. 

Azzi glanced across the table. “And what are you doing with all that extra goodwill, Jimmy?” 

He smirked. “Redeveloping a dying downtown district and renaming the park after myself.” 

Trey laughed. “Philanthropy at its finest.” 

“Speaking of,” James added, turning toward her, “You’ve been busy handing out grants again. New initiative for girls’ sports, right?” 

Azzi nodded. “Three new training facilities. One in Detroit, two in Phoenix. Fully operational by spring.” 

Trey raised his glass in mock toast. “Saving the world, one blueprint at a time.” 

She gave him a sidelong look. “Is there a point coming?” 

“There is,” he said, grinning. “You’re always writing checks. But I’m wondering when you’ll stop funding things and actually build something that isn’t a foundation.” 

“I build all the time.” 

James leaned in, elbows on the table. “We mean something that moves. Something alive. You’ve got the money, the backing, the public image.” 

“Start a team,” Trey said, a little too casually. “Something new. From the ground up. You want to talk about real change in women’s sports? That’s where it happens.” 

Azzi blinked slowly, caught by the shift in tone. “You want me to build a team.” 

Trey shrugged. “Why not?” 

James added, “It’s not like you’re risk-averse. You took on a $600 million flood zone in Miami. A team is a child’s play.” 

“It’s also far outside my scope,” she replied, voice calm. “I don’t follow leagues. I don’t know the system.” 

“You didn’t know how to navigate renewable infrastructure either,” Trey said. “Now you’re advising senators.” 

She exhaled, quiet but thoughtful. Her wine glass hung between her fingers as she stared toward the edge of the terrace, where the hills disappeared into shadows. 

“A team in what league?” 

Trey didn’t hesitate. “WNBA.” 

The name lingered in the air. 

Azzi gave a short laugh. “You’re joking.” 

“We’re not,” James said. “It’s still expanding. They’re opening the door for new franchises. You’d be one of the few female owners, if not the youngest. And your last name doesn’t hurt.” 

Trey grinned. “Besides, you’re the only one of us who’d actually do it well.” 

There was a long pause. Azzi’s eyes stayed fixed on the dark horizon, her thoughts already moving faster than her brothers could see. 

Without looking back, she lifted her glass and took a slow sip, the stem steady between her fingers. 

Trey watched her closely. “So?” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her eyes lingered on the hills beyond the terrace, where the last light was slipping beneath the edge of the vineyard. 

“I never asked for a challenge,” she said, voice low. “But I don’t walk away from one either.” 

James smirked. “That’s not a yes.” 

She gave a faint smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Isn’t it?” 

Their mother let out a quiet sigh, already sensing the shift in air. 

But Azzi was somewhere else entirely. Her mind moved fast and silent, calculating what a new venture would demand. She didn’t know the system, hadn’t followed the structure or rhythm of this world. It would take work, leverage, timing, instinct. 

And still, the idea pulled at her. 

Not because she cared about the game. But because something about it was unclaimed. 

She let the silence stretch, the glass poised just below her lips. 

Then, without another word, she stood and slipped out onto the terrace. 

Inside, her brothers watched her go, unsure if they’d won or simply opened a door she had already planned to walk through. 

- 

Fudd Holdings, New York. September 2023. 

The skyline beyond Azzi’s glass walls was cold steel and soft morning light. The city stirred beneath her, a quiet hum barely reaching the forty-second floor. From here, everything felt still—like the world was waiting for her next move. 

She stood in silence, coffee cooling in her hand, gaze fixed beyond the horizon. Her calendar buzzed every eight minutes, but none of it mattered right now. Not the Zurich call. Not the Dallas rezoning conflict. Not the gala prep in New York. 

The only thing on her desk was a sealed manila folder. Franchise proposal templates. Expansion forecasts. A league dossier annotated in someone else’s hand. 

She hadn’t opened it. 

But she hadn’t thrown it away either. 

Behind her, the door opened without a knock. Only one person in the building had that kind of clearance. 

“You’re either planning to buy a spaceship,” said Nika Mühl, walking in without slowing, “or you’re finally giving in and building that team.” 

Azzi didn’t turn. “Is that what people think?” 

“Well, your brothers certainly do. And you’ve been moody ever since that dinner. I don’t like when you get quiet. You make headlines after.” 

Azzi gave the smallest of smiles, still looking out the window. “You’re dramatic.” 

“I’m Croatian,” Nika replied. “We don’t do subtle.” 

She crossed the room with practiced ease, tablet tucked under one arm, white sneakers a sharp contrast against the black stone floor. Chief Operating Officer of Fudd Holdings by title, but she'd been Azzi's best friend since their freshman year at Harvard. Back when Azzi was the one skipping finance lectures and Nika was the one dragging her back with coffee and tactical guilt. 

Now, Nika handled billion-dollar contracts, kept Azzi’s empire standing, and had a habit of knowing exactly when to walk in without knocking. 

She stopped beside her. “So. Team?” 

Azzi said nothing. 

Nika clicked her tongue. “You do realize it’s not like ordering room service, right? You don’t just build a team. You build a front office. A scouting system. A market presence. A brand. A culture.” 

“That’s why I have you.” 

“Wrong,” Nika said, folding her arms. “You have me because I’m good at telling you when something’s a horrible idea.” 

Azzi finally turned to face her, leaning a shoulder against the window. Her voice was low, almost amused. “And is this one?” 

“I don’t know yet. But I know you. If you’re thinking about it this much, you’re already in. You just haven’t said it.” 

Azzi didn’t reply. 

Nika’s tone shifted. “You’d be the first. The youngest owner. A woman. A woman of color. It’ll rattle every boardroom on both the West and East Coasts. Your face will also land a cover in Time Magazine’s Most Influential People of2023.” 

“Good,” Azzi said softly. 

Nika smirked. “I should’ve known. You’ve already started.” 

Azzi walked to her desk, ignoring the tablet Nika had placed beside the folder. She picked up a plain notepad instead. Paper clean and waiting. 

She wrote one word. 

Then paused. 

There were no names yet. No colors. No city she was ready to claim. Just the shape of something she hadn’t fully spoken aloud. 

She stared at the page for a long moment. 

Nika leaned against the desk. “You know if you do this, you’re going to have to live in the same headlines you usually avoid. Press. Interviews. Every move picked apart.” 

“I don’t mind being watched,” Azzi said, pen still in hand. 

“What about being underestimated?” 

Azzi glanced up at her. “That’s never been my problem.” 

Outside, the clouds had begun to thin. A shaft of light cut through the skyline and landed across the desk. 

Azzi closed the notebook and slid it into the drawer. 

“Can you tell Ines to clear my afternoon?” 

“For what?” Nika asked, already pulling out her phone. 

Azzi didn’t answer. She just turned back toward the window, her expression unreadable. 

From this height, the world looked like something she could bend in her hands. And maybe, if she wanted, she would. 

- 

WNBA League Headquarters, Manhattan. November 2023. 

The room smelled faintly of polish and ego. Neutral walls, thick glass table, the kind of chairs designed to keep meetings short. Still, Azzi looked comfortable. Unbothered in black. Her tailored coat hung off the back of her seat, and she hadn’t touched the espresso served when she arrived. 

Across from her sat four executives, each with a pen, a notepad, and a carefully curated expression. 

“This isn’t a typical ownership proposal,” one of them finally said, glancing at the file open in front of him. “You’re young. Unaffiliated. No prior league ties. And no prior team experience.” 

Azzi didn’t blink. “And?” 

The man cleared his throat. “And we’re aware of your success. Real estate. Development. Media. But this is a different ecosystem. A community. It’s built on history. Legacy.” 

“I’m not interested in legacy,” she said, flatly. “I’m interested in evolution.” 

The woman beside him leaned forward slightly. “You’re asking for an expansion license. That’s no small request for a young businesswoman. Why now?” 

Azzi met her eyes without hesitation. “Because you’re leaving value on the table. The interest is there. The numbers are climbing. Your audiences skew younger, more global, more invested than ever. But you’re still thinking like it’s 2003.” 

A beat of silence passed. Someone coughed. 

“I’m not here to collect a trophy franchise,” Azzi continued. “I’m here to build a flagship.” 

The tension in the room shifted. Not relaxed, exactly. But focused. 

They weren’t used to her. She knew that. 

She was the wrong type of billionaire. The kind who didn’t golf. The kind who read quarterly reports at midnight and refused to pretend she cared about playing nice. 

After a pause, the youngest executive spoke. “Your location request. Northern California. That market’s saturated.” 

“Not for women’s sports,” Azzi replied. “And not with the way I’ll brand it.” 

More notes were scribbled. Pages flipped. 

“You understand you’ll be responsible for hiring your own staff. GM. Coaching. Scouting. Facilities.” 

She nodded once. 

“And you’ll have full authority over your roster, should the board approve your inaugural draft position.” 

This time, Azzi didn’t reply. She just tilted her head slightly. Under the table, her phone buzzed once. A message from Nika. 

Top prospect in 2025. Bueckers. UConn. Championship run. Wings circling already. 

She locked the screen without reacting. 

One of the executives leaned back. “This is an aggressive timeline.” 

“I don’t need time,” Azzi said calmly. “I need a green light.” 

They all looked at each other. 

- 

Storrs, Connecticut. January 2024. 

The music hit like a pulse—loud, sticky, layered with bass. Bodies moved in waves around the living room, red cups lifted high, sweat clinging to necklines and the collarbones of people who hadn’t felt the October cold in hours. 

Paige was in the middle of it. 

Couch corner, backward cap, half-finished drink. Her legs draped casually over the side, one arm hooked behind the girl pressed close to her. Brown skin, bright eyes, a messy braid slipping down her shoulder. She laughed at something Paige murmured, then leaned in again. 

Paige smiled—half-cocky, half-distracted. She liked the ones who laughed easily. They didn’t ask for much. 

She didn’t remember this girl’s name. She wasn’t sure she ever got it. 

“You always this smooth?” the girl asked, fingers tracing lazy circles on Paige’s arm. 

“I like to keep my stats up,” Paige replied, letting the line sit between them like smoke. 

The girl grinned and tilted her head. “You’re bad.” 

Paige just raised her cup, took a slow sip, eyes never leaving hers. She didn’t need to try. People came to her like gravity. She played the role well—UConn’s golden girl, the smirk, the ease, the streak of charm that made teammates roll their eyes and strangers ask for photos. 

Across the room, KK Arnold pushed through the crowd like she had somewhere to be—shoulders squared, mouth moving before she even reached the couch. 

“Yo!” she shouted. “Turn that down—hold up, Paige—have you seen this?” 

The girl beside Paige pulled back slightly, frowning. Paige didn’t move. Just raised her eyebrows lazily. 

“I’m kinda busy, KK.” 

“No,” KK insisted, phone shoved halfway into Paige’s face. “You’re gonna want to see this.” 

Paige blinked. “This better be more important than whatever this is,” she said, gesturing vaguely at her lap. 

KK smirked. “It is.” 

She pressed play. 

A talking head. ESPN. Something about the league. Something about movement. Paige barely tuned in until she heard the word: 

“—expansion.” 

That snapped her straight. 

She reached for the phone now, sat up slightly. The girl she’d been entertaining gave a small noise of protest and slipped away, sensing the shift in energy. 

KK kept talking. “It’s not confirmed, but people are saying it’s happening. West Coast maybe. A new team. Just one.” 

“And?” Paige said, watching the loop replay, the headline scroll beneath the anchors. 

“And if it happens,” KK’s eyes were shining with excitement, “whoever they are, they’ll get the first pick in 2025.” 

Paige leaned back, silent now, eyes on the screen but brain already moving. 

She knew what first pick meant. 

She knew what she meant. 

A slow grin spread across her face, lazy and full of something dangerous. 

“Well,” she said, voice smooth, almost a drawl, “guess they better build something worth playing for.” 

KK laughed. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Paige tossed her cup aside, suddenly alive again. “Nah. I’m just real hard to impress.” 

She didn’t know yet who was building that team. Didn’t know where they were, or what they were planning. 

But she knew how expansion worked. 

If they were new, they were going to get first pick. 

And if she kept playing like this, there wasn’t going to be much of a debate. 

Paige let the thought settle as she sank back onto the couch, the music pulsing again through the floorboards. The party moved around her. Someone passed her a refill. Someone else grabbed her hand to pull her into a photo. 

She smiled, easy and practiced. 

Whatever came next, she’d be ready for it. 

She always was. 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. February 2024. 

The city never fully slept, but her condo above it felt like it did. Clean lines, quiet corners, light reflecting off glass and steel. The only sound was the low buzz of her laptop fan and the occasional shift of the wind against the windows. Azzi had tuned the rest out. 

She sat barefoot at her desk, blazer thrown over the back of the chair, sleeves rolled past her elbows. A second espresso sat forgotten beside her—still warm, untouched. The hours had slipped without warning, and she hadn’t moved. 

Everything had started simple. 

Staff. Infrastructure. Nika had sent over a thick shortlist—coaching leads, analytics experts, trainers, logistics. All color-coded, with bullet-point histories and compensation expectations. Azzi had flagged a few. Deleted one with a note. Started typing thoughts into a shared doc that Nika would read by morning. 

That should’ve been the end of her night. 

But she had opened another folder. This one labeled Prospects. It wasn’t official. The draft was a year out. Still, Nika had her ear to the ground, and the expected names were already surfacing. 

There were plenty of talents. 

But only one name was bolded in red. 

Paige Bueckers. 

Azzi clicked into the file. Then into the links. And suddenly, she wasn’t reviewing a prospect. She was watching. 

Highlights first. Just a few. Crisp cuts, quick angles. UConn’s number five coming off a screen and launching a shot so fluid it made time pause. Behind-the-back passes. A stepback three that broke ankles. That same face again and again in the freeze-frames—focused, fierce, almost glowing. 

Then came the interviews. 

Paige under lights. Paige in locker rooms. Paige on late-night segments, quick with a grin, comfortable in her own skin. Her voice had a cadence Azzi didn’t expect. Confident, but easy. Flirty when she wanted to be, always a little amused with the attention she commanded. 

It was sometime after 2 a.m. when Azzi realized she hadn’t blinked in a while. 

The tabs were everywhere now—articles, game tape, UConn’s media guide, a podcast, a couple of poorly edited fan videos. One browser was open to Paige’s Instagram. There were more selfies than Azzi expected. More snapshots in hoodies, celebrations, dances, teammates wrapping arms around her shoulders. Her smile was wide in nearly all of them. 

There was one video—twenty seconds long—where Paige sat on a locker room bench after a win. Her hair was still damp, socks mismatched. She pointed at the camera, grinning like she knew exactly who was watching. 

“Y’all saw that pass, right?” she said. “I’m just saying MVP energy, don’t lie.” 

Azzi tilted her head at the screen. Then hit replay. 

She didn’t bother counting how many times she watched it. 

The city outside had turned ghost-quiet. Her espresso had gone cold. The time in the corner of her screen read 3:42 a.m. 

Azzi leaned back, the glow of the screen still lingering behind her eyes. The silence of the condo pressed in, heavy with everything left undone. 

This wasn’t about choosing a player. That decision had been obvious. 

Now came the hard part. 

She had to build something that deserved her. 

Not a placeholder roster. Not a name stitched on a jersey. Something real. Cohesive. Ruthless in its intention and sharp enough to match the edge that girl played with. 

Paige Bueckers wouldn’t say it out loud, but Azzi had seen it in every clip, every interview, every still image that refused to soften her. Paige would not play just to exist. She would need to win. To lead. To belong without shrinking.    Not to mention the insane number of her following and fanbase. Paige also influenced people in a way.  

Azzi stood and crossed the room, the city lights curling against the glass. Her reflection was sharp, watching. 

She had money. Influence. Time. 

What she needed now was vision. 

Something Paige would walk into and never want to leave. 

And Azzi would build it. Quietly. Precisely. 

-    Fudd Holdings, New York. March 2024. 

The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that followed focus. Sunlight spilled across the long table, where a half-dozen staff from operations and marketing sat poised, eyes forward. At the head stood Azzi, composed in tailored black, with Nika seated beside her. Ines, her ever-efficient assistant, flanked the opposite side. Amari DeBerry, recently appointed head of marketing, sat near the screen, hands clasped, alert. 

Azzi’s voice carried with clarity and purpose. 

“We’re establishing the franchise in San Francisco,” she said simply. “We’ve secured a long-term venue partnership, and I’ve approved residential development near the arena for housing and accessibility.” 

Murmurs of approval passed around the table. Amari nodded once, already scribbling in a notepad. 

Azzi tapped the remote and the screen behind her lit up. 

“The team name is set. Golden State Valkyries.” 

Another murmur. Nika let out a soft, impressed whistle. 

“Color palette is royal purple, white, black, and gold.” 

That got Nika’s attention. She didn’t speak, not yet, but her brow lifted slightly. Azzi didn’t look at her. 

“The branding team will have mockups by Friday,” Azzi continued. “Uniform concepts by next week. I want a balance of power and elegance. Iconography that’s timeless, not trendy.” 

The presentation slide shifted, revealing clean logo designs, jersey prototypes, and mock courts painted with deep violet and cold metallics. Strong, elegant. Sharp. 

Azzi continued, her gaze unwavering. “The direction is not simply aesthetic. The identity needs to match the face of the franchise.” 

She let the silence stretch, let the weight of her next words land with precision. 

“We’re drafting Paige Bueckers in 2025. And everything we build starts there.” 

The others nodded in agreement, energized, the tension turning to motion. 

“She’s a generational player,” Azzi said. “But more than that, she’s marketable. Composed. Smart. Charismatic. We’re not just acquiring talent. We’re setting the tone for who we are.”    Azzi answered a few questions here and there as she promised to send a copy of the presentation to each and everyone of them.    “We’re moving to the main office in San Francisco by the end of this month. All costs involving the transfer will be compensated and you will all receive an email from Finance and H&R.” Azzi’s tone was firm and final. Then Azzi looked at her Marketing Director. “Amari, I need you to start working on marketing strategies before this year’s WNBA draft. We want to launch the brand and team after the 2024 draft.”    Amari gave her a thumbs up before going back to her notepad. 

The presentation ended, clean and final. Staff offered quiet acknowledgments before rising and filing out.     Nika remained seated. She tilted her head toward the dark screen now dimming in sleep mode. 

“Purple?” she said, tone neutral, almost amused. 

Azzi didn’t look up. “It photographs well.” 

Nika lifted a brow. “So does navy. Or gray.” 

Azzi slid her tablet into her bag. “This feels distinct.” 

Nika leaned forward just slightly, eyes sharp. “It’s her favorite color.” 

Azzi's hand stilled over the zipper. “Is it?” 

“So you’re saying...” Nika 's voice was edged with mischief, “it’s just a branding strategy?” 

Azzi straightened, cool as ever. “It’s a strong visual.” 

Nika gave a soft, knowing smile. “Sure.” 

She didn’t press, but she didn’t need to. The implication hung between them—unspoken, but understood. 

- 

Somewhere in Florida. April 2024. 

The room smelled like last night—cheap beer, perfume, someone else's cigarettes. Paige sat on the edge of the bed, one sock on, shirt in her lap, scrolling through her phone without much urgency. Her head pounded faintly. She didn’t remember the girl's name. She didn’t try. 

The first thing that caught her attention wasn’t a text or a missed call. 

It was a headline. 

Breaking: WNBA Announces New Expansion Team — Golden State Valkyries 

She stilled. 

Logos, teaser clips, renderings of jerseys, arena mock-ups—her feed was full of it. Posts from ESPN, WNBA, Bleacher Report. Everyone had something to say. Some called it ambitious. Some called it overdue. Everyone agreed it was big. 

The name caught her. So did the sharp lines of the branding. There was something bold about it. Fast. Designed to be remembered. 

She kept scrolling, half-dressed, only stopping when KK’s name lit up on her screen. 

She answered. “What.” 

“Girly pop, tell me you’ve seen the news,” KK said, buzzing with energy. 

“I’m looking at it now, bruh.” 

“That’s it. That’s the team. You’re going there.” 

Paige tossed her shirt over her shoulder and reached for her shoes. “That's reach.” 

“Come on,” KK said. “They will draft you for sure! You’re the first pick next year. That team’s yours whether you like it or not.” 

Paige didn’t say anything for a beat. A few more posts flashed past—video edits already throwing her name into fake Valkyrie graphics. Speculation disguised as fact. 

She grabbed her keys off the nightstand and headed for the door. The other girl mumbled something into the pillow. Paige didn’t turn around. 

She stepped out into the morning. The season was already over but the future had a shape now.  

And it had her full attention. 

[nickeverdeen]

Hello! May I request a headcanon of Ekko with a woman who is essentially an introverted foreigner who ended up joining the Fireflies, and Ekko falls in love with her?

Ekko falling in love with an introverted foreigner woman who joined the Fireflies hcs

The arrival of a foreigner in Zaun doesn’t go unnoticed

You’re quiet, reserved, and keep to yourself, making you stand out among the boisterous inhabitants of the city

Your skills and knowledge, honed in your homeland, quickly earn you a place within their ranks

Ekko, being a leader figure among the Fireflies, decided to help you get acclimated

Your initial interactions are formal and brief

Ekko tried to engage you in conversation, but your nature makes it difficult for you to open up

Of course Ekko respects your boundaries

As you go on missions together, Ekko starts to see glimpses of your true self which earning his respect

You, in turn, begin to see Ekko as more than just a leader as he slowly becomes a friend

Ekko makes an effort to reach out to you in small ways

He shares stories about Zaun, introduces you to his friends, and shows you around the city (when possible)

Ekko hopes that this makes you lower your guard a bit

Your quiet conversations become a regular occurrence

You both talk about your pasts, your hopes for the future, and the struggles you face at the moment

You find yourself drawn to Ekko’s optimism and resilience, qualities that contrast sharply with your own nature

An unspoken understanding begins to form between you two

You don’t need to talk constantly to feel connected; your each other’s presence alone brings comfort

He appreciates your silent support

Ekko becomes increasingly protective of you which doesn’t go unnoticed by others

He’s always looking out for you during missions, making sure you’re safe

You notice his concern and starts to rely on him more, feeling a sense of security you haven’t felt in a long time

There are moments of vulnerability when you open up about your past and the reasons you left your homeland

Ekko listens without judgment, offering his support and understanding trying to heal your old wounds

Ekko starts to realize his feelings for you

It’s not just admiration or friendship; it’s something deeper

He finds himself thinking about you constantly, wanting to be near you and make you smile

You begin to notice Ekko’s subtle signals

The way his eyes linger on you, the gentle touches, and the genuine concern he shows

Slowly your own feelings start to mirror his

One night, after a particularly intense mission, Ekko finds the courage to confess his feelings

You both are sitting in a quiet corner of the Fireflies’ base, when he tells you how much you means to him and how he’s fallen in love with you

You might be kidna taken aback at first, but you reciprocates his feelings

It’s a tender, heartfelt moment that solidifies your bond

You both navigate your new relationship with care and respect

Ekko understands your need for space and quiet, while you make an effort to engage more with him and the Fireflies

(No preassure)

You guys find a balance that works for both of you

You share your dreams for the future with each other, both personal and for Zaun

Trust becomes the foundation of your relationship

You learn to rely on Ekko, knowing he’ll always have your back and Ekko does the same

Your relationship becomes a support system for both of you

You face the dangers and uncertainties of life in Zaun together, drawing strength from each other

The Fireflies notice the change in the pair, seeing how your bond has made the lovers even more formidable

You balance your duties to the Fireflies with your personal relationship

It’s not always easy, especially for Ekko, but he makes it work

You become each other’s anchor, a constant in a world that’s often chaotic and unpredictable

Your love story becomes a beacon of hope for others in Zaun

It’s a reminder that even in the darkest times, love and connection can flourish

(That sounds cheesy, my bad)

As your relationship deepens, new threats emerge

Rival factions, internal strife within the Fireflies, and the ever-present danger of Zaun’s underbelly put your bond to the test

Both Ekko and the woman make sacrifices for each other

Ekko takes on additional risks to protect you, while you step out of your comfort zone to protect and support him

There are moments of doubt and fear

The pressures of the environment sometimes strain your relationship, but you always find your way back to each other

Despite the challenges, you find joy in the little things like:

Quiet moments together, shared laughter, and the simple pleasure of each other’s company

Your relationship has a positive impact on the Fireflies

You start discussing long-term goals, both for yourselves and for Zaun

Your vision for the future includes not just survival, but thriving and building a community where others can find the same sense of belonging you’ve found in each other

As time goes on, you start to talk about creating a future beyond the Fireflies

A life where you can build a home, have a family, and live in peace

Your bond becomes unbreakable

You become a shining example of what it means to fight for love and to build a life together, even in the most difficult circumstances

(That was also cheesy and I apologize for that, but I’m not removing it)

[navybrat817]

Too early, Navy. I want cuddles with Stud.

I understand that feeling, nonnie.

A Bit Longer

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: You need to get up, but Bucky wants to hold you for a bit longer. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Fluff, pet names, teasing, sugary sweetness, inner monologue, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I really need to stop with the cuddle ficlets, right? Eh. Stud and Smartie, deserve it. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky’s lips were the first thing you felt when you woke up, bringing a smile to your face. They grazed your shoulder as his arm tightened around your waist, keeping your back against his chest. It was a subtle way to say he wasn’t ready for you to leave the confines of your bed. Or maybe he was the one who didn’t want to leave yet.

Not that you blamed him. It was early. Maybe too early. Cuddling for a bit was always a good way to start the day, his embrace warmer than the thickest blanket. Sex also worked as a way to both wear you out and energize you to tackle the day.

Cuddle, hot sex, cuddle again. Wait, what time is it?

“Okay. We need to get up,” you croaked when you finally looked at the clock, trying in vain with a groan to break from his hold when he refused to move his arm or let you up. Any other morning, you’d wiggle back against him to give him a proper wake up call, but that wasn’t today. “I mean it. No time for sexy time. I need to make you breakfast. Feed the cats. You have to work. God, I need to look over my resume again. Work on wedding stuff. I also need to-”

The throaty chuckle beside you stopped your ramblings because how could it not? Why was his laughter so sexy? Why did his mere existence make you stop in your tracks? In what universe was that right or fair?

Actually, it’s fair because I get to marry him.

“First, there’s always time for sexy time. Two, you didn't say ‘good morning’. By the way, good morning,” he teased, turning your body to face him. “And three, hey, look at me. Let’s just stay in bed for another minute.”

Your eyes slipped shut because there would be no resisting if you stared into his. His gaze had a way of pulling you in so deeply some days you feared you'd drown. But if he ever robbed you of your ability to breathe, he’d find a way to give you air.

“Too much to do,” you muttered. You could feel the seconds slipping away and now wasn’t the time to lounge around. “And if I look at you, you’ll turn one minute into two and then three and then four and so on and so forth and such and what have you. I probably wasted a minute just saying that.”

You tried to back up a bit because no way did your breath smell pleasant and Bucky didn’t need that in his face. A hand moved to the back of your head to keep you still. He didn’t have to tell you that he didn’t care about things like morning breath. If he wanted to hold you close, he’d do just that.

No exceptions.

He chuckled again before his lips brushed your eyelids and skimmed down your cheeks. “I just want you to stay here so I can hold you for a bit longer. Is that too much to ask?”

Well, when you put it like that…

You swallowed hard when he kissed the corner of your mouth, your heart skipping a beat. You were certain an embarrassing sort of whimper slipped out when he brought his lips to the other side. He wasn't rushing or demanding anything from you or trying to turn you on. He just wanted to be there with you.

So many believed that intimacy was just sex when it was much more. It was the feeling of being close and emotionally connected. It was familiarity and even friendship. You liked Bucky from the start, but the two of you were able to build a foundation by getting to know each other. It allowed you to bond on many levels, which only grew stronger once you two became a couple.

He showed you once again, without words, that he was your other half.

“I can feel you thinking, Smartie,” he whispered, his lips trailing back to your forehead.

“Just thinking of us, Stud,” you admitted, pressing your body closer to feel his chest against yours. You breathed him into your lungs and wondered if he knew how addictive he was. Savoring the moment, you allowed yourself to stay tangled up in him before you had to face the day.

His hand moving up and down your side nearly lulled you back to sleep. “You thinking about how you drive me crazy?”

What?

“I drive you crazy?!” You asked, realizing your mistake the moment your eyes flew open. A sea of blue stared back at you and you were too late to stop yourself from taking the plunge. Your gaze didn't have to drift down to know that he was wearing a triumphant smirk. “You made me open my eyes.”

“I sure did,” he smiled.

Well played, Stud. Well played.

The things you had to do seemed almost insignificant as you looked at each other. A minute went by as you listened to the beat of his heart and made no attempt to get up. The tips of your fingers brushed along the scruff on his chin as another minute ticked by and you reveled in the sigh he gave you in return.

Is this what living in the moment means?

“Will it always be like this?” You asked.

“Always like what?”

“You wanting to stay in bed with me a bit longer, even if we both have stuff to do.”

With a kiss to the tip of your nose and one against your smiling lips, he smiled back. “Always.”

Logically, you knew every morning couldn't be this way since life wasn't a fairy tale. The romantic part of you though, the one he helped bring to life, believed the two of you would continue to write your story together and make your own rules. If that meant the two of you cuddled in bed for a few more minutes, you’d happily help him write that chapter.

And every chapter after that.

Where do I get a man like this? 🥰 Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jerryandersonsdaughterinlaw]

Abby's physique is not only believable, it's the natural result of her life circumstances.

If anything, her body is refreshingly grounded for a game protagonist, especially compared to most media portrayals of "strong" women with zero visible muscle. Abby looks how she fights: capable, powerful, and real.

Let’s break it down.

• Weight: 170-175 Ibs

• Height: 5'9"

• Model: Colleen Fotsch (female crossfit athlete)

Abby's frame is dense with lean muscle. Muscle is significantly more dense than fat, and takes up less space for the same amount of weight. She carries most of it in her:

• Shoulders and upper back

• Arms (especially triceps/deltoids)

• Glutes and thighs

• Core (abs and obliques)

A woman of her stature and build would easily be in the 170-180 range if she's extremely lean and muscular, like she is in game. Any number much lower than that is unrealistic for the mass she's visibly carrying.

Sooo, what makes Abby’s physique believable?

Well, some women are naturally predisposed to greater muscle mass, broader shoulders, and more mesomorphic (muscular) body types. Abby clearly has broad shoulders, thick muscle insertions, and a dense upper body frame, all markers of a mesomorphic structure. Genetics aren't everything, but they lay the foundation. She clearly trains hard, but she's also built for it.

Mesomorphic bodies are marked by a medium, rectangular frame with more muscle than fat. They have a natural ability to build and maintain muscle mass easily. They often respond well to weight training and are naturally strong, making them well suited for building muscle. Their bodies are more efficient at muscle repair and growth, allowing them to handle higher training volumes without prolonged recovery periods.

The WLF operates in a repurposed NFL stadium. Real world NFL gyms are loaded with equipment for powerlifting, strength, endurance, and functional movement. That would give Abby perfect access to functional hypertrophy (muscle building for real world performance). She's also a soldier, patrolling, climbing, hauling gear, and likely trains daily. Her life is CrossFit.

Unlike most of the world in TLOU, the WLF is self sufficient and well fed. They have livestock, crops, butcher shops, bakeries, and overflow tables of food in the mess hall. Abby likely eats a high protein, calorie dense diet every day: meat, eggs, grains, vegetables, fruit, dairy. Nutrition is crucial for building and maintaining lean mass. Without it, the training wouldn't produce these results.

People often forget Abby is 20-23 years old in TLOU2, but she's been training for years before the game begins. She was raised in a Firefly environment, began training with the WLF long before we see her, and clearly has a consistent routine. You don't look like that overnight, but with 4-7 years of consistent strength training and proper nutrition; yes, a woman can absolutely build a body like that. Being a mesomorphic body type would help her achieve this faster as well, because that body structure is able to bulk up and maintain muscle mass easily. 4 years would probably get her most of the way there and then beyond that would be maintenance and muscle maturity.

In flashbacks, as a teen, she's much smaller, but she still has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a fairly straight build, and crucially, she's already strong, bragging about pushing 185Ibs as an adolescent. That's already impressive, especially for someone who hasn't really built visible muscle mass yet. That shows she has a naturally strong nervous system and leverage, two things that make people strong before they ever look muscular. Many women (and men) get strong long before they look strong. Muscle appearance is slower to come than strength gains.

Young Abby is lean and athletic, not jacked, and she still lifts well above bodyweight. That's still realistic. Beginners and youth athletes often make neurological strength gains first— learning to recruit the right muscles better. So her teenage bench press is actually very plausible and a hint at just how strong her baseline was before she bulked up in her 20s. Once she's older, with more food, training, and stress adaptation? Her visible muscle mass simply catches up to her strength.

Abby's strength, build, and genetics are all grounded in realism. She's not the strongest woman in the WLF. She's definitely not the strongest person overall. She is genetically built for pressing power and upper body strength. She's been training for years with resources. She's had steady food, gym access, and reason to train for survival.

Most of the "unrealistic" accusations come from:

• Male insecurity ("a woman can't be stronger than me!")

• Misunderstanding of female biology and anatomy

• Inexperience with athletic women (like CrossFitters, weightlifters, bodybuilders)

In reality, there are plenty of real life women who look like Abby, including her body model Colleen Fotsch, who is not on steroids. She's just a professional athlete that trains hard, eats well and has good genetics. Her look isn't "average," but neither is the situation Abby is in. She's a hardened, experienced soldier in a well resourced militia.

Some real world examples of women who look like Abby:

• Colleen Fotsch (Abby's body model)

• Kelsey Kiel (CrossFit athlete)

• Mattie Rogers (Olympic weightlifter)

• Natasha Aughey (bodybuilder)

• Tia-Clair Toomey (6x Fittest Woman on Earth in

CrossFit)

• @foreverabby (Professional badass)

None of these women are on steroids. They're disciplined, well fed, and genetically built for performance. And they look very much like Abby.

Abby's physique is not only believable, but grounded in realism, if you understand physiology, training, and the world she lives in. If Joel had a big, muscular frame, nobody would question it. But because Abby is a woman with visible muscle mass, it makes certain men uncomfortable and they use "unrealistic" as a proxy for "I don't like it." But make no mistake, Abby's body is entirely achievable. And it makes sense for her role, her training, and her story.