#sorry most of my posts are going to be about this for a while

[writesvani]

down low | 05

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SIGHS... angst, smut, toxic relationship dynamics, explicit sexual content, fingering, making out, rough sex, degrading language, emotional manipulation, jealousy, cheating, emotionally distant parents, family issues, intense arguments, verbal fighting, guilt, shame, humiliation, physical fighting (boxing!!), mentions and descriptions of bruises, blood and injuries (boxing), humiliation

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SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,7k // date: 24th of July 2025

CHAPTER FIVE — No Warning; happy reading my gummies...

AN (important, please read): down low 5 is finally out. yeah, yeah, i know. i ghosted you. i left you starving. dehydrated. emotionally unwell. but guess what? i’m back and i brought the chaos with me. thank you for being disgustingly patient while i took 84 years to drop this chapter. love u for that.

now. fair warning: this chapter doesn’t just escalate — it violently skyrockets. we go from 0 to what the fuck is going on in under 0.3 seconds. no brakes, no safety belt. just vibes, filth, angst, and emotional whiplash.

this chapter? she’s important. she’s plot-core. she’s character-arc-central. she’s lowkey the real beginning of down low. fun fact: this was actually the first chapter i ever started writing for the fic (yes. i am chaotic), but i only now dug her up, stitched her together like frankenstein, and unleashed her on you. because i’m evil. and because i wanted you to stew in the earlier character dynamics before i ruined your lives.

also yes, cliffhanger alert. i’m not even sorry. we all love a little mystery. pain builds character. <3

last thing: thank you for the insane love and support on this fic so far. you guys are actually unwell and i adore you for it. note goal for this chapter is 800 because i believe in us. i believe in your horny little fingers. let’s GO.

THIS IS A REPOST! because guess what? i posted this chapter last night like a FOOL… without hashtags. just raw dogging the algorithm. bare. exposed. no protection. anyway here it is again, now with hashtags so tumblr doesn’t pretend it doesn’t exist. pls pretend to be surprised when you read it

The dim light cloaks the restaurant in a rich, velvety shadow, the burgundy walls pressing in close like a heavy curtain. Across the table, your parents sit straight-backed, their eyes briefly flicking toward Taehyung with quiet approval.

Next to you, Taehyung leans in with effortless grace. His hair is slicked back with absolute precision, each strand perfectly in place, revealing the sharp line of his jaw and dark eyes that catch the candlelight like polished onyx. His black suit is tailored to perfection—crisp lines, smooth fabric, the kind of expensive fit that looks like it was made just for him.

Every motion he makes is deliberate and controlled—the soft tap of his fingers on the table, the slow tilt of his head, the way his shoes rest clean and unscuffed beneath him. The faint scent of his cologne mingles subtly with the warm air, adding to the carefully crafted image of flawlessness.

The quiet murmur of strangers and clinking glasses fades into the background as you sit beside him, caught in the pull of his polished presence—like a perfectly carved statue brought to life.

You like that about Taehyung. With your parents, he’s the flawless gentleman—perfect clothes, polished manners, and most importantly, the kind of pedigree they respect. But when he’s with you, all that falls away. He’s the funny, easygoing Taehyung—the one in dark jeans and a simple black shirt, flashing that boxy smile, cracking dumb jokes just to make you laugh.

Taehyung knows how to switch effortlessly between those worlds, and that adaptability makes him almost impossible to resist. He’s comfortable in every room, every role—effortlessly charming, impossibly steady. But still, beneath the laughter and the tailored suits, there’s something missing. Something unspoken that makes your chest tighten whenever you look at him.

It’s not that he isn’t enough. It’s that he’s too safe. Too perfect. Like a beautifully wrapped gift you’re afraid to open because what’s inside might not match the outside. And maybe, just maybe, you crave the maddness—the mess, the rough edges, the danger you can’t quite tame.

Maybe it’s the echo of that bathroom you need — how the walls were too thin, and the music too loud to drown out your gasps. Maybe it’s the way the cold tile bit into your spine while Jungkook’s hands gripped your hips like he was claiming you. No pretense. No performance. Just breath and heat and teeth.

Maybe you crave the way he touched you like he wasn’t supposed to. Like you were his, even if just for ten minutes behind a locked door and a fogged-up mirror. Jimin’s party still rings in your ears even a week later — the bassline thudding in your chest as you bit your lip hard enough to bleed, praying no one recognized your shoes beneath the stall.

He never looked at you like you were delicate.

He didn’t ask.

He just took.

And maybe that’s the part that lingers.

Because Taehyung doesn’t touch you like that. He holds your waist like it’s glass. He undresses you like he’s been told to.

Polite.

Practiced.

Predictable.

And lately, not at all.

So now, as you sit at a dinner table surrounded by expectations and crystal glasses and the weight of your parents’ dreams, your mind betrays you. Your body remembers.

Remembers the way Jungkook groaned your name like it hurt to hold it in.

Remembers the ache, the stretch, the mess.

It’s not love.

Maybe it’s not even desire.

Maybe it’s just the silence he left you in.

The kind that echoes louder than music.

Louder than guilt.

Louder than the polite laugh you give Taehyung as he tells your father a story.

Because Jungkook didn’t even text.

Didn’t say thank you, or sorry, or see you around.

He just left you—wrecked and ruined—still trying to catch your breath as the bathroom door swung shut behind him.

And still…

Your thighs clench when you think about him.

Even now.

Especially now.

Because the worst part?

You're not even sure if it's the high you're chasing.

Or if you just want him to do it again.

“Taehyung, you’re such a darling for offering to pay for the trip,” your mother says, smiling like she’s already picturing the family Christmas card on a white-sand beach. Her eyes scan over him — the tailored blazer, the neatly styled hair, the Rolex glinting on his wrist. He’s every bit the son-in-law they prayed for.

Taehyung laughs, warm and easy, slipping his hand over yours under the table like it’s second nature. Like he rehearsed this too. “Nonsense, Mrs. It’s the first time we’re traveling together,” he says, glancing at you with soft, affectionate eyes. “I want to make it special.”

“Oh, Tae,” your father chuckles. “You're spoiling her.”

“She deserves it,” Taehyung says without missing a beat. His thumb brushes against the back of your hand — too light, too gentle. You wish you could feel it.

You smile, but it’s hollow. You can’t remember the last time you felt spoiled.

Or special.

Or even like yourself.

“So Maldives?” your mother asks, eyes darting between you and Taehyung, searching for that picture-perfect couple moment she can retell to her friends. “Y/N, do you agree?”

You blink, caught. “Sorry, what?”

Taehyung lets out a soft laugh. “She’s been studying too hard lately. Her brain’s still in lecture halls.”

“More like she’s daydreaming,” your father jokes.

If only they knew. About the party. The bathroom. The fucking silence afterward. About how sometimes, when Taehyung kisses you, all you taste is someone else’s mouth. Someone who didn’t ask for permission. Someone who ruined you without trying.

You force a smile. “Yeah. Maldives sounds perfect.”

Taehyung leans in, voice low, for your ears only. “We’ll get a villa. One with a private pool.”

His hand squeezes yours, and your mother swoons like he just proposed.

But all you can think of is how Jungkook didn’t need a villa. Just a locked door, a dark corner, and the way your thighs trembled when he said your name like a secret.

When Taehyung drops you off, it’s like exhaling for the first time in hours — like a weight you didn’t realize you were carrying finally tumbles off your chest. The silence of your apartment greets you like an old friend, and for once, you don’t have to smile. You don’t have to sit pretty, play perfect, laugh at jokes you didn’t hear because your head’s been somewhere else.

You’re home. Alone.

And all you want to do is scream. Or cry. Or call Jungkook and ask what the fuck his silence is supposed to mean.

Not that you’d actually do it. No, instead, you’ll just sit here, seething with the frustration of being ignored by someone who never even promised you anything. You'll stew in it while Taehyung — golden, sweet — plans your three-week getaway to the Maldives.

Three weeks.

Three fucking weeks without Jungkook.

Without the rough hands that never ask.

The sharp mouth that never apologizes.

The dark eyes that make you feel dirty and alive.

You should be excited. Beaches, cocktails, matching swimsuits and Instagram photos. But instead, your first thought is: how the hell will you survive three weeks without getting fucked by the man who won’t even text you back?

You curl up on the sofa, knees drawn to your chest, thumb lazily scrolling through TikTok like muscle memory. The screen’s glow kisses your face in the dim living room light, and your palms are annoyingly sweaty — clammy against your phone, like your body knows something your brain hasn't caught up to yet.

You take a sip of tea. It’s lukewarm now, but it glides down your throat and settles heavily in your stomach. A sigh escapes your lips as you rub at your temples, overwhelmed by the cluster of videos your friends sent while you were busy pretending you’re fine.

Lara’s name sits near the top of your inbox, the number next to her chat unreadably high. If you don’t respond — again — she’s going to go on another rant about how you "never watch the videos she sends," like that’s some kind of friendship betrayal.

So, out of guilt or boredom — maybe both — you click the chat open.

It’s the usual stuff: memes you’d usually laugh at, a few chaotic Italian brain rot clips, a "get ready with me" where the girl does her makeup like she’s on trial, and one of those influencer exposé voiceovers Lara lives for.

You’re about to half-heartedly reply with a crying emoji when your thumb pauses.

There’s a new video. One she normally wouldn’t send.

The preview is dark, grainy.

And right bellow it is her text: “girl, look at this.”

Your stomach drops.

Your pulse flickers.

And your thumb hovers for a second too long before you tap the screen and press play.

It's a grainy, handheld footage of a boxing match. The caption reads “this man fought like he had revenge in his bones��� and there’s a messy zoom on the fighter’s face.

Your breath catches.

It’s him.

The camera pans wildly, barely keeping up with the rapid movements. Jungkook’s in the ring, sweat-drenched, jaw bruised, hair matted to his forehead. He looks mean — not just focused, mean. Like he’s punishing someone. Or maybe himself.

He gets hit. Hard. A hook to the ribs, then a clean uppercut that snaps his head back. The crowd roars.

He stumbles.

You flinch.

The TikTok cuts to another angle — someone screaming in the background — and you catch a close-up of Jungkook’s mouth, split at the corner. Blood. He spits it out with a smirk, eyes dark and burning.

Another hit. He staggers.

The person filming gasps, “oh my god, he’s gonna lose.”

But then — something shifts.

His body resets. Feet find the rhythm again. One breath. Two. Then he lunges forward, like something snapped inside him, and starts swinging like he’s got nothing left to lose. Like the fight means more than pride. Like he needs to win to stay alive.

The final few seconds are a blur of movement, fists flying — and then the opponent’s on the ground.

The ref’s hand shoots up. The bell rings.

He won.

The video ends on a frame of Jungkook standing over the other guy, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles and mouth, and this sick, victorious smile twisting his face.

The TikTok ends.

And your stomach is twisting in the same shape his smile made.

You stare at your phone for a few seconds, frozen. The TikTok loops in your hands — the footage of him in the ring, hunched, bloodied, stumbling as fists rain down on him. Your brows furrow as you watch again. And again. You swallow thickly.

It’s weird… seeing him like that. Vulnerable. Slower than usual. Less cocky. Less him.

You shouldn’t care. He’s not your boyfriend. Hell, he’s not even really your friend. He’s just— an escape. A brief release from everything that weighs you down. The pressure. Your parents’ expectations. The suffocating need to always be perfect. Jungkook is the antithesis of all that— chaotic, impulsive, easy. He’s not supposed to matter.

And yet… seeing him like that, chest heaving, bloodied and almost breaking—only to push through and win in the end—

It makes your stomach twist.

It makes you feel something.

Worried. And you hate yourself for it.

You hate the part of you that wanted to reach through the screen and pull him out. The part that wonders if he’s okay. The part that remembers the bruise on his collarbone from last time and imagines it now doubled, spreading down his ribs.

You hate yourself even more when you find your feet moving on their own, slipping into your shoes, pulling on your coat, like you’re not even in control of your own body anymore.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

He could be with Eunji. Or his friends. Or God knows who. You haven’t heard from him since the night you fucked at Jimin’s house, for fucks sake, and that silence should’ve meant something. Maybe he’s done with you. Maybe it’s over.

And still, here you are.

Rushing.

Running.

Telling yourself it’s just sex. Just curiosity. Just—who’s gonna fuck you like that if he ends up in a hospital bed? Taehyung? Please. He doesn’t even pull your hair right.

It’s not that deep.

You repeat it again, like a chant, as you duck into the backseat of a cab.

It’s not that deep.

You don’t care.

You’re just going to check if the man who ruined you with his mouth and silence is still breathing.

That’s all.

Right?

The cab ride feels longer than usual. Every red light drags. Every turn makes your knee bounce harder. You check your phone four times, rereading the DM even though there’s nothing new. He hasn’t posted anything since. No messages. No stories. No stupid thirst traps of him half-sweaty after practice.

Nothing.

You hate that it bothers you.

You hate that your heart picks up the second the building comes into view. You hate that you even know his building. That you have the goddamn keycode memorized.

You don’t hesitate when you punch it in. The door buzzes and opens like it’s been waiting for you.

Like you belong here.

You don’t.

The hallway is quiet. You walk quickly, like you’re scared someone might see you. Like guilt could be caught on surveillance cameras.

When you knock, there’s no answer.

Your heart drops.

You try again, a little firmer this time. Then you press your ear to the door, hating how desperate it feels. How pathetic. But then—faintly—you hear something.

Shuffling.

A thud.

And then the lock clicks.

The door opens just a crack, and there he is.

Shirtless, bruised, towel wrapped around his waist. Hair wet. Eyes sleepy and bloodshot. He blinks at you like he can’t tell if you’re real or not.

“What the fuck,” he rasps.

You swallow. “Are you okay?”

He stares at you for a long moment, then pushes the door open wider. “You came all the way here to ask that?”

You ignore the jab. Your eyes flick down his torso, to the bruise blooming across his ribs. Purple, angry. “You didn’t answer my texts.”

“You sent, like, two.”

“It’s been a week, Jungkook.”

“So?”

So?

You could scream.

You walk past him without waiting for an invitation. The apartment smells like sweat and him. A protein bar wrapper’s on the floor. A bloody towel hangs over the back of a chair.

He shuts the door and leans against it, watching you.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know why you’re here. Why you care. Why your throat’s so tight, like the silence between you is physically pressing on it.

He walks past you, limping slightly.

You notice.

You hate that you notice.

“So you just ghost people now?” you ask, voice sharp to hide how raw it feels.

He shrugs, grabbing a bottle of water from the kitchen. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t.”

“Cool.”

You hate him.

You hate him for being calm while you’re spiraling. You hate that he looks at you like he already knows everything you’re thinking.

And you hate that he’s right.

“I just saw the video,” you mutter.

“Yeah. It went viral.”

“You got your ass handed to you.”

He snorts. “Still won.”

You shake your head, pacing. “You’re so fucking—reckless.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That why you’re here? To scold me?”

You meet his gaze.

“No,” you say firmly, arms crossed so tightly it feels like you’re holding yourself together. “As I said, I’m here because you weren’t replying to my texts.”

Jungkook scoffs under his breath, slumping back onto the couch like he owns the damn room. He winces, just barely, as he shifts his weight — his thigh, maybe his ribs — something’s clearly sore. You notice. And you hate that you do.

“Wow,” he says, voice coated in sarcasm, “didn’t know I was legally required to answer you.”

You narrow your eyes, walking past his coffee table like you hate it and stand infront of him. “You’re not. Still weird though. Ghosting me for a week when we literally had your mouth on me a few days ago.”

His lips twitch at that, not quite a smile, more of a smirk that’s soaked in ego and something darker. “Oh, so you miss me now?”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You showed up at my door.”

“You could’ve been dead!”

He leans forward then, elbows on his knees, the cocky glint in his eyes dimming just enough for something more real to creep in. “But you didn’t think to just call and ask if I was alive?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” you shoot back, tilting your head mockingly, “I forgot you don’t only answer calls from Eunji.”

He flinches, just barely. A hit. You pretend not to notice — he pretends it didn’t happen.

“She’s not the one banging someone behind her boyfriend’s back,” he mutters.

“And you’re not the one crawling into my bed, instead of hers, whenever you lose a fight? Please.” You laugh, humorless. “Don’t act like you’re some moral compass now.”

His jaw tightens. Yours does too. For a moment, neither of you speak — the air between you thick with resentment and tension and something hot, something burning just beneath your skin.

He shifts again. The sound of fabric moving against his bruised body is quiet, but you hear it. You imagine the ache, the bruises, the adrenaline still echoing in his muscles. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn't care.

But his towel rides up slightly as he leans back. There’s a flash of skin, a swollen mark on his ribcage — purple and angry and so goddamn real. And your breath hitches.

He notices.

“What?” he asks, his voice lower now.

“Nothing,” you snap, eyes dragging away from his body. “Just didn’t expect to find you alive and still a dick.”

His laugh is short, bitter. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I didn’t,” you say. “But I did. So what does that say?”

He holds your gaze, and for a second, it feels like something might crack. You’re not sure if it’s his resolve or your self-control.

You cross your arms, blocking the TV. “I said something.”

Jungkook doesn’t even look up. “Unfortunately.”

“Funny,” you snap. “I don’t remember you having this much attitude when you were getting your face smashed in.”

He finally glances at you — smug. “You mean when I won?”

“Oh please,” you scoff. “Barely. You limped back here like someone’s grandpa.”

“And yet,” he leans back, arms spreading across the couch lazily, “I’m the one who walked away standing.”

“That guy was, like, half your size.”

He shrugs. “He fell hard enough.”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly leave your skull. “You’re actually insufferable.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“And it keeps being true.”

“You’re still here, though,” he says, tilting his head. “Kinda makes me think you like it.”

Your jaw clenches. “I came to make sure you weren’t dead, not to flirt.”

“Who said this is flirting?”

“You, apparently.”

He stands now — slow and deliberate — and closes the space between you in just a few strides. You hate how your breath catches. Hate it.

“I think you’re projecting again,” he says, low, that stupid smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You glare up at him. “You think everything’s about you.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” you hiss. “You’re not that special.”

His eyes drop to your lips for one second too long.

“Sure I’m not.”

Your body tenses. Your brain screams. But you stay frozen.

“You’re such a—”

“Say it,” he taunts. “C’mon. Let it out.”

You push him.

It’s not hard — just enough to make him take a step back. His grin widens.

“Touchy.”

“Fuck you,” you snap.

He raises an eyebrow. “You offering?”

You gasp like you might explode. “You’re so—”

“What? Hot? Annoying? Right?”

“Unbearable.”

“But you still came back.”

You inhale sharply, chest rising and falling too fast. “Only because—”

“Say it,” he mocks. “Say you wanted to see me.”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t out there bleeding to death in some alley, dumbass. Don’t flatter yourself.”

A pause.

A beat.

Then he steps forward again. Close. Closer.

“You’re really bad at lying,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flips. You hate that it flips.

You refuse to move.

“I’m really good at hating you,” you whisper.

His eyes flick down again. “Show me, then.”

And that is where it ends — because if anyone leans in first, it sure as hell won’t be you.

And of course, it’s never you. You’re stronger than that. It’s always him.

Jungkook leans in slow, breath hot against your skin before his lips ghost over yours—soft, teasing, nothing like the brutal, desperate kisses you’re used to. This kiss is a trap, slow and deliberate, coaxing you to drop every shield you’ve built up. Your body melts before your mind can even catch up.

Your hands slam up against his face, gripping his jaw like it’s the only thing holding you together. His skin is slick with sweat, warm and real beneath your trembling fingers.

Then his teeth snag your lower lip, biting just hard enough to claim it, to make you whimper into the kiss. His eyes snap open—dark, raw, and charged—piercing straight through you.

“See,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick and low, “at the end of the day, you always come for me.”

You try to push away with your words, breath shaky. “No, I don’t.”

But your hands are tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, and his hands shove your hips, pressing you so tight you can feel every inch of him.

Your fingers slide down, ghosting over the thin fabric of his towel—the only thing left between you and skin so hot it burns your fingertips.

You smirk, voice dripping with challenge. “Mighty Jeon Jungkook gets hard just from a kiss? You’re such a fucking pussy.”

A savage grin twists his lips. “Baby, I’ve been hard since you walked through that door. Hell, you don’t even have to touch me, and I’m already drowning in you.”

His hand snakes under your shirt, fingers curling against your bare skin, and you shudder as the heat from his touch spreads.

“Fuck,” he rasps, voice thick with need, “you’re mine tonight. No pretending.”

You bite your lip, heat blooming low in your belly. “Then show me.”

Suddenly, his mouth is everywhere — dragging hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sharp line of your jaw, across the flush of your cheek, to the soft, exposed column of your throat. He devours you like he’s starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever craved. Jeon Jungkook swallows you whole with the kind of desperation that feels dangerous.

His hands are greedy on your body, flying to grip the swell of your ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise through your jeans. He doesn't give a shit that the fabric’s in the way — he palms you like he owns every inch underneath it. His lips never stop moving, never stop tasting, even as he’s backing you up, slow and relentless, guiding you deeper into his apartment until the backs of your knees hit—

A bed?

You freeze for a second. His bed. He never takes you here. Never fucks you in this room, like it's sacred — or forbidden. Living room, bathroom, kitchen counter — fine. But not here.

It doesn’t matter.

Not when he’s kissing you like this. Not when your nails are clawing down his chest, scraping over every ridge of muscle until they reach the edge of that towel hanging so loosely on his hips it’s a miracle it stayed up this long.

You tug it off with no hesitation.

It hits the floor with a muted thump, and suddenly he’s naked in front of you. All bronzed skin and bruises from that fight, muscles taut and flexing as he stares you down. He’s breathing hard. His cock is already thick, flushed, leaking.

He’s so fucking yours in this moment it makes your knees weak.

His tongue plunges into your mouth again, deeper this time, messier, more possessive. You moan into him, fists curling into his shoulders like you might fall through the floor if you let go.

“Look at you,” he growls, dragging your shirt over your head without even asking, tossing it somewhere behind him. “All mouth ‘til I get my hands on you.”

You glare, but it’s pathetic. Breathless. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, voice thick with heat. “Still wanna fight me, baby? Or do you just wanna get fucked stupid?”

Your only answer is a whimper when his fingers brush your nipple through your bra. Just the slightest graze — and still, your head tips back, lips parting as you gasp like he’s already inside you.

He chuckles darkly.

“Thought so.”

His hands slide into your hair, grip tightening until he has you gasping again, pulling your head back just enough to give him more skin to work with. His teeth drag over the delicate line of your neck, your collarbone, down to the curve of your breast. He doesn’t bite. Not yet. Just lets his canines scrape along your skin, hard enough to make you squirm.

“Still pretending you hate me?” he murmurs against your chest. “Even now?”

You want to scream. You want to slap him. You want him to never fucking stop.

And he knows it.

Jungkook throws you onto the bed like he’s starved and you’re the only thing that can feed him. His body cages yours instantly, breath hot and heavy, eyes dark with something primal. He doesn’t waste a second—shoves your bra up with one rough motion, not even bothering to take it off. His hand is already on your chest, fingers claiming your nipples like he owns them, pinching and rolling them with wicked purpose.

You cry out, arching into him, the heat between your legs pulsing, desperate.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, voice low, rough, feral. “You get off on this, don’t you?” He leans down, lips brushing your neck, tongue teasing your skin before he nips it just hard enough to make you gasp. “You like being used. My little toy. All soft and perfect and dripping for me.”

You whimper, thighs already trembling, your whole body betraying just how much you love it.

He sits back just enough to yank your jeans down, shoving them past your hips with one hand, his movements ungraceful and frantic—like every second you’re not bare beneath him is agony. The denim catches on your thighs before he rips it down, tossing it somewhere behind him. He doesn’t stop to admire. His attention goes straight to the slick spot soaking through your panties.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, eyes locked on the ruined fabric. “So fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you properly.” His thumb presses against your clit over the damp cotton, slow and deliberate. You jerk, breath hitching, and he grins like a wolf. “You want to cum like this? Just from me rubbing you through your panties like a needy little slut?”

“Maybe,” you whisper, teasing, but your hips already chase the pressure, traitorous and desperate.

“You don’t even know what you’re asking for,” he growls, and his voice is silk wrapped around violence—low, intimate, dangerous. “I’ll make you scream so loud the neighbors learn our names.”

His fingers move in slow, punishing circles, pressing into your clit through the soaked material, the rhythm maddening. “Look at you. Writhing. So fucking pretty when you fall apart. And all for me.”

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you again, tongue licking into you like he’s trying to devour you, like he’s starved for every inch of you—like his kiss is just the prelude to what he really wants to do. His other hand cradles the back of your neck, possessive, grounding, while he ruins you from below with practiced hands.

It’s overwhelming—his scent, his voice, his touch. You feel everything, too much, the edge getting closer, burning brighter—

Until the shrill buzz of a phone slices through it.

You try to ignore it. You kiss him harder, grind down on his hand like maybe if you keep moving, keep moaning, it’ll go away.

But it rings again. And again. Relentless.

Jungkook curses under his breath, jaw clenched as he pulls back just slightly. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” His fingers retreat slowly from your body, and you whine at the loss, your skin already missing him.

He reaches for the phone like it personally insulted him, eyes still on you, dark and hungry. “Who the fuck keeps calling?” he mutters, voice thick with the threat of what he’ll do once he’s done answering. And judging by the way he looks at you, he’s nowhere near done.

But then… his eyes flick to the phone screen, and something shifts. Subtle. Sharp. Like the air between you two drops ten degrees.

He stills.

His body’s weight is still above yours, the heat of him still so there—but the movement has vanished. His gaze is pinned to the caller ID like it holds a loaded gun.

And suddenly, you’re not the only thing unraveling.

You furrow your brows, breath still heaving, skin flushed, your bra askew and nipples tingling from his touch. “What is it?” you whisper, confused, eyes darting between his face and the glowing screen.

“I gotta take this,” he mutters—voice low, but tight. Off. His body peels off of yours like the last five minutes didn’t just happen, like he hadn’t had his fingers buried between your thighs, like he hadn’t called you his slut while coaxing you toward oblivion.

You sit up slowly, your chest still rising and falling, the taste of him still on your tongue.

He pauses at the doorway, throws you a glance over his shoulder, finger to his lips like you’re some dirty secret to keep quiet.

And then he disappears.

You’re left there. Half-naked. Half-wrecked. Fully confused.

Is it Eunji? No… no, it can’t be. If it were her, he’d either ignore the call like always… or hell, maybe even answer it while still making you cum with his fingers shoved inside you. He’s done it before.

But this—this is different.

You strain to hear. Try to eavesdrop. But all you catch is a faint, clipped, “What?” and the sound of pacing, the steady thud of his feet against hardwood.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. Your thighs are still sticky. Your heart, a little heavier.

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It goes on for minutes. Muffled cursing, the sound of frantic pacing, the creak of the floorboards under his bare feet. You can feel the tension flooding the apartment, thick and electric, wrapping around your chest like a fucking noose. But you still have no idea what’s going on.

Then he appears in the doorway — chest heaving, jaw tight, still naked, still glistening from what he did to you moments ago. “You have to leave,” he says. His voice isn’t soft. It’s carved from stone.

“What?” You blink. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You gotta go. Now.” He’s already moving, fast and frantic, picking your shirt off the floor and tossing it onto the bed like it’s on fire. Your jeans follow. He’s at his closet next, dragging out clothes like he wants to erase everything. Like you were never here.

“Are you serious right now?” you hiss, yanking your top over your head. “You had your fingers on my pussy like ten minutes ago, Jungkook.”

He stops for a second. Just one. His eyes are closed, brows drawn tight like he’s bracing for a hit. And something in your chest twists violently.

Because suddenly it feels like you lost something. And you don’t even know what it was.

“Put your fucking clothes on and get out,” he snaps. He’s shoving his legs into his sweatpants like he’s punishing himself. “Don’t call me. Don’t text. Don’t come back here again. Ever.”

You freeze. And then everything inside you erupts. “Fuck you,” you spit. “I don’t ever want to see your face again, you fucking asshole.”

“Perfect,” he sneers, marching after you. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said.”

You spin on your heel, half-dressed, heart slamming against your ribs. “I wish you all the worst. Literally.”

“Thanks,” he says coldly, watching you like a ghost.

And then you walk out. Or stumble. You can’t even feel your legs. Behind you, the door slams shut without a second of hesitation.

So you run. Down the hall, down the stairs, across the damn street. You don’t care if people stare, if your hair’s a mess, if your shirt’s on backwards. You don’t care if your eyes are glassy, if your lip’s trembling, if the shame is written all over your face like graffiti he carved into you.

You’re humiliated.

Disgusted.

Disposed of without a reason.

It’s like a phone call flipped a switch in him. Like you were never real to begin with. Like everything that happened just minutes ago—your name falling off his lips like prayer, the way he touched you like he owned you—was a hallucination. Something you made up. Some dream you’re now being violently shaken awake from.

You don’t even want to know why. You tell yourself you don’t. Knowing would mean there was something to hold on to. Some string to pull. And you’re done pulling.

You walk like you’re being chased by the ghost of what could’ve been. Like every step away from his apartment is a knife dragging through your chest.

And when you make it to the end of the block—finally, finally—you stop. Your breath catches. Not because you’re tired, not because you’re cold.

But because it hits you.

He didn’t just kick you out of his place.

He kicked you out of his life.

And you—god, you almost...

You stare at the pavement, swallowing the scream that’s stuck in your throat. And then, fists clenched, you whisper it under your breath like a curse and a prayer all at once:

“I swear to fucking god—I am never, ever talking to him again.”

And this time, you fucking mean it.

taglist pt. 2: @mochi13 @wobblewobble822 @jkvamp @sunnikthv @whoa-jo @kimyishin @asyr97 @pjmname @shesscorpio7 @daarla07 @jeontids @bellefaerie @kissyfacekoo @lily-lilacsky @bammbi-jeon127 @httpjeonlicious @belleilichil @minghaosimp @marrtyaa @livluvsjungkook @leahsummms @septemberskies @yok00k @ioanatodorova @rokshi @b2407 @boommoom @kookienooki @indyuhhhhhh @avawants2havefun @bhonbhon @taekritimin123 @ana-marais98 @deeznutkooks @oraiseok @thenamesathy @superchamchi88 @lenamercedesworld @candygalx @notsevenwithyou @heesuvk @ggukieshoe @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonsinsatiablekitten @saki-gojo @piratekingateez2001 @0-0rot @bangatanily

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER EIGHT

content: chris koclanes (derogatory) ((yes, again)), The Las Vegas Game, mental health issues, family issues, cam's dad is lowkey kind of mean be warned, camille roman’s overwhelming daddy (and i guess mommy, too) issues, coley “if anything happened to her i’d kill everyone in the room then myself” roman is my favorite character i wish she was real, in which paige is supposed to meet her in laws but realizes her father in law kinda sucks (but her sister in law is cool af), quite literally inspired by prophetic visions, even MORE non-sexual edging (i’m sorry guys we’re getting there), horrendous proofreading bc im lazy

wc: 12.6k

notes: hey... how y'all doing 🌚 sorry this took a week, i had to study but clearly it didn't help 😕 unfortunately im in the finding out stage of fudding around so im about to live and breathe chemistry for these next two weeks. this MIGHT be the last chapter of reckless driving for a hot min while i lock in and work on a request or two after my finals howeverrr i'll have two weeks off before my fall classes (wherein i will have a signficantly lighter courseload) so we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming by august 🙏 i know this is long af but once again, shout out to the anon who dreamed the dinner/hotel scene in the last part of this chapter. i was filled with indescribable motivation. this one is for u. happy game day though! thank you for all the patience and love and as always, i hope yall enjoy and let me know what you think 🫶

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo @simp4panos @lilambrh @perksofbeingatrex

CAM

Paige’s sudden illness doesn’t completely subside in time for their game versus the Lynx on Sunday. She sends Cam a sleepy, hoarse voice memo in the morning, saying, “Wanted you to hear it from me and not your petty ass coach – your words, not mine. Sorry, Cam. Still sick and dying.”

For someone who allegedly couldn’t breathe out of her nostrils, Paige somehow managed to continue being insufferable. Cam doesn’t know how much of it is natural talent or just another skill she’s honed over the years.

With Paige out, practice on Sunday morning is too quiet. Paige was their leader in so many ways and she was easily one of the most vocal ones on the court. Cam would be lying if she said she didn’t miss Paige’s energy, her proud, “Good hustle!” or the way her tone dropped ever so slightly when she hit Cam off of a pop, watched her sink the three effortlessly, and murmur “Hell yeah, Cam,” while patting her hip. Cam would even go as far as to say she missed the constant banter between Paige and the practice players (see: constant trash talk).

She missed the way Paige all but stitched herself into her shadow during water breaks. She missed watching her piss off DiJonai and listening to DiJonai go on about “grounding her” because people online had started editing Paige, DiJonai, and NaLyssa into family photos. Somehow, Cam even made her way into a few of them, such as a WNBA family tree that DiJonai texted her late at night with a series of laughing emojis.

Allegedly, DiJonai was Alyssa Thomas and DeWanna Bonner’s daughter, which makes NaLyssa AT and DB’s daughter in law. Paige was positioned just below them with DiJonai and NaLyssa as her parents, but the most shocking family tree lineage was Cam apparently being Napheesa’s sister and marrying into the Bueckers/Smith-Carrington/Thomas-Bonner line. She’s not sure how she fit into that at all or what gave fans any indication that her and Paige were anything more than friendly – genuinely! Cam doesn’t post enough on social media for Paige to have left any less than subtle hints (or, truthfully… vice versa), and their only real public interactions were at press conferences or on the bench at games.

And, well, Cam figures her getting ejected over Paige during the Sky game would have led to a lot of speculation about the nature of their relationship.

So maybe it wasn’t as lowkey as she thought it was, but that’s not necessarily the point. The point is that Paige is sorely missed, on and off the court, and it feels like she’s missed a whole lot more than four games.

Cam finds her way back into the starting line up for their game against the Lynx, although if Chris’s face is any indication, she gets the impression that had they had other options, Cam’s ass still would have been on the bench. Arike has been tasked with running point for this game, with DiJonai, Cam, Luisa, and Myisha filling out the rest of the starters.

Unsurprisingly, Cam and Arike play the full 40 minutes. Also unsurprisingly, Minnesota blows them out. Arike ends with 26 points. Cam is the second leading scorer on the Wings with an efficient 21 points, 6 assists, and 3 blocks. The win would have been nice, too, but Cam wasn’t expecting a miracle to occur when their starting point guard was at home fighting her immune system and their coach would rather consult this third eye than one of his assistant coaches.

After the game, Cam stops by Paige’s apartment just to check up on her. She finds her dozing on the couch with the local Dallas channel playing quietly on the TV – which makes Cam smile a little. Even sick, Paige watched the game. Whether it was for them or for her, Cam really doesn’t know, but she shakes Paige awake gently.

Paige rouses with a hum, her eyes blinking open blearily, and the soft smile that spreads across her lips almost makes the loss worth it. “Hey,” Paige murmurs, her voice sounding a little clearer.

“Good morning,” Cam teases, pressing the side of her hand to Paige’s forehead, checking for a fever. Blessedly, it’s gone, and Paige pushes herself up.

“Good game,” Paige says earnestly. “Was cheerin’ for you but you might’ve been too busy lockin’ up Bridget Carleton to hear.”

Cam offers a knowing smile. “Maybe let’s work on not being sick so you don’t have to cheer from the sidelines next game?”

Paige smirks at her – then she launches into an exhausted, if not slightly delirious ramble of the game, starting with one of Cam’s pump fakes that sent Bridget Carleton flying, a step back three over an outstretched hand.

Cam can’t even stop herself from smiling.

Paige, thankfully, is cleared to finally return to practice on Monday morning. With her illness gone and concussion protocol finally lifted, she makes her long awaited return in Phoenix that Wednesday night, where she plays 37 minutes and drops a career high 35 points. Despite her better efforts, though, the Wings still lost, but the game had gone so much better with Paige being back.

Following the game against the Mercury, they immediately fly out to Las Vegas the morning after to play the Aces on Friday. Cam has lived with her phone on do not disturb for the better part of the last two weeks. Her dad hadn’t seemed to let go of the fact that she got ejected from the Sky game, or maybe he hadn’t let go of the fact that he’s left several voicemails, countless text messages, and numerous unanswered calls that Cam swears she’ll get back to when she has the time.

It’s not like she’s running. Okay, maybe she is. A little. She thinks that her father has made his point very clear. He’s pissed, embarrassed, and probably more upset about Dallas’s current 1-10 record than Cam is. He has a lot of expectations that he’d been unable to force upon Coley when she was a teenager, which naturally meant that all of those expectations fell on Cam. Cam’s 26 – she’s been on her own for years now, but there’s still remnants of that little girl inside of her who just wanted to give him a reason to be proud of her. It’d undoubtedly be easier on her if she put her foot down or cut him off, but there’s just a piece of her that can’t let it.

But she doesn’t need to listen to any of his voicemails, answer the phone, or reread any of the texts he’d sent. She already knows what they say. Cam knows that there’s different variations of, “How can you carelessly give up everything we’ve worked for to throw a tantrum on television?” and “You need to be trying harder to win. The Olympic coaches won’t select someone from a losing team.”

They’re things she’s heard countless times – more than she can count. She has to remind herself that he doesn’t mean it like that and that her father is just looking out for her in his weird, misguided way. He was a fencer. He wasn’t as involved in team sports as the rest of their family was. He doesn’t understand that if Cam could will her team to victories, then they’d probably be undefeated on the season.

There’s probably a lesson in here about how her father never attempts to meet her in the middle, how he never attempts to meet anyone but himself in the middle. Cam wasn’t ever sure what happened over the years to make him like this. Growing up, her mom would recall their first dates with such fondness that she was sure she only knew what love was because of her parents. Now, she’s not so sure of what it’s supposed to look like – but if she had to guess, it would probably be the opposite of whatever that was.

It was supposed to be unconditional acceptance. Fondness and appreciation that didn’t diminish when you were upset with one another. Respect and understanding and being willing to either work things out or stick around until a solution becomes clearer. It wasn’t you need to try harder, or you lost your temper during a game and now people are looking down on us. It was supposed to be I see that you’re trying your best and I’m proud of you for that. It was supposed to be You didn’t let anything get in between you and standing up for what was right when it came to your teammate being mistreated.

There’s another lesson in there that makes it blatantly obvious that Cam knows what love is, what it’s supposed to look like, because she hasn’t been in any shortage of it since draft night. Platonic or romantic, she’s been taken care of. She’s taken care of people. She’s let people in when she thought she was going to implode from the vulnerability of being too raw and honest.

But there’s a part of her that isn’t quite ready for that lesson right now. There’s another part of her that is upset with herself for not being ready for that lesson, because surely she’s had plenty of time. Regardless, she knows it. She feels it. She just has to let herself accept the things she thinks she deserves.

On the morning of their game against the Aces, Cam has one leg into her warm up joggers for shootaround when her phone rings on the nightstand. She bites back a sigh, but reminds herself that she’s on do not disturb, which means that whoever is calling is likely Paige, Coley, or Mrs. Patrice, who is watching over Bobby and Gatsby while the Wings are out of town.

Quickly, she pulls her pants up fully, making her way across her hotel room to pull her phone off the charger. The caller ID reads Colette (The Better Roman Sister), which makes Cam pause because she sure as hell didn’t make that her contact name. She reminds herself to change it after their conversation as she swipes her thumb across the screen to accept the call.

“Good morning, Coley,” Cam says flatly, taking a seat on her bed and reaching for her socks. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I have good news, bad news, and a really huge favor to ask you,” Coley states in lieu of a greeting. The tone of her voice gives Cam pause. She sounds a little out of breath, which is rare for her – Coley had always been freakishly athletic and never seemed to break a sweat no matter what. Cam hated that about her. “What do you want to hear first?”

Cam sighs, pulling her sock over her foot. “Bad news first,” she says into the phone. “Might as well get it over with, right?”

Coley clears her throat. “So, you know how you, um, spontaneously soft launched your MMA fighting career during the Sky game when you tried to fight your coach?”

Cam fights back an eyeroll that Coley can’t even see. “I wasn’t gonna fight him, I just raised my voice a little bit.”

“Which is worse!” Coley exclaims. “It’s like when parents pull that ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ bullshit. You’ve never done that before. It was scary. Like –” Coley pauses. “Okay, you’re distracting me. Anyways, Dad’s pissed–”

“Trust me,” Cam interrupts, beginning to work on pulling the sock over her other foot, “I’m very familiar with that, too.”

“Camille,” Coley says seriously. The use of her full name makes her perk up slightly, dread pooling in her belly. “I mean it. He’s losing it. The media was all over the story for a bit. You know, headlines like ‘Wings forward Cam Roman fined $1000 dollars for altercation with head coach’ and ‘Dallas Wings veteran loses her cool over controversial injury decision.’ He’s pissed that you’re benched, that you’re not winning, but he’s livid because apparently you won’t pick up his calls.”

“Why would I?” Cam argues halfheartedly. “He’s just gonna chew me out. We’ve been doing this for years, Coley.”

“I know,” her sister says, her voice calming, and Cam takes a deep breath before she loses her mind. “I promise you, Livya, I know. I’m not, like, sitting here and blaming you. I’d do the same. My point is that he’s been calling me about it and I’ve spent two weeks telling him that you’re super busy and locked in on the gym or whatever – anything to keep him off your back.”

Cam swallows thickly, trying not to let it show on her face how touched she is by that. Coley continues, none the wiser. “But…here’s the bad news. He and Mom are flying out to Vegas tonight to quote-unquote surprise you. Mom wanted to keep it lowkey since they haven’t seen you in a while, but, I mean–” Coley laughs a little, “–we both know that surprise just means that Dad’s gonna tone down his ambush and Mom’s gonna try – and fail – to make him not be such a dick all the time.”

That makes Cam groan, falling back onto her pillows in defeat. Briefly, she wonders that if she believed hard enough, that the ground would open up and swallow her whole, but she doesn’t think she’s lucky enough for that. “What’s the good news, Coley?” she asks meekly.

“I wasn’t technically invited,” she says. “As of…” Coley falls silent again, and Cam can hear some shuffling on the other end of the phone, “...twenty minutes ago, I was supposed to speak at a retirement party for some cushy executive. However, I have rearranged my schedule and I am about to board a plane to Vegas right now.”

“Coley,” Cam whispers, feeling heat rise behind her eyes and something in her chest tighten. “You didn’t have to do that. I can handle myself.”

Coley makes an indigent sound on the other line, almost like she’s in disbelief. “Come on, Cam,” she says knowingly. “You didn’t really think I’d let you deal with that bullshit alone, right? Just ‘cause we’re in different states doesn’t mean I stopped being your sister. This is unfortunately a lifelong contract.”

Cam can’t help but roll her eyes, a smile growing on her lips, even though it wobbles a little. She exhales, wiping the corners of her eyes. “Thanks, Coley,” she whispers. Then, she remembers the earlier parts of their conversation and bites her lip. “You said you had a request?”

“Right!” Coley exclaims. “So, naturally, considering this is all horribly last minute, I am in need of a ticket to your game. Any chance you can pull some strings or something? Preferably courtside, hopefully next to a rich philanthropist with a nice smile?”

“Coley, you are the rich philanthropist with a nice smile,” Cam says flatly. Her sister laughs on the other end of the line and Cam can’t bite back her grin. “Let me see what I can do for you. I’ll text you the details.”

Coley cheers quietly. “Thank you, Cam, you’re the best!” she says, and then they’re both interrupted by a robotic voice announcing boarding information. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” Before Coley immediately hangs up on her, she adds on, “Make sure you invite your hot girlfriend to dinner!”

“Coley–!” Cam’s jaw all but hits the ground as she listens to the sound of the call dropping. Despite the light flush on her cheeks, she can’t help the way her lips twitch, endlessly amused by her sister.

Then, she remembers what they’d actually just talked about, and her smile drops.

It wasn’t like she didn’t want to see her family. Or, more specifically, it wasn’t like she didn’t want to see her parents. She and Coley had a great relationship, even through their teenage years when everyone was kind of obsessed with being something or the other and worried about popularity. Cam had a few friends who were endlessly embarrassed by their younger siblings, but Coley was never that person. She was quick to cut people off if they moved weird when Cam was around. The issue wasn’t her older sister, who’d apparently rescheduled her entire day around being there for her, knowing that their dad was going to make it as difficult as possible for Cam.

Her mother was complex. She was careful. Safe. She and Cam’s father could never be more different from each other. Where Antoine demanded success and greatness, Valerie would be the first to tell her children that they were not defined by their accomplishments or medals. Where their father was expectant, if not always seeking more, more more, their mother’s only wish was for them to be happy in whatever they pursued.

She made Cam and Coley soup when they were sick and hummed southern lullabies when they were still a little too afraid of what was hiding in the dark. Their father took them from training camp to sports clinics, trying to find something that would stick, and smiling only when Cam hefted a trophy or when Coley scored off of an ace. Their mother told them, “Your father means well; he just wants what’s best for you,” just as their father used to say, “I want you both to be successful. Your mother and I won’t be around forever.”

All of that is to say that Cam understands. DiJonai once told her that making sense of why others speak or act or believe the way that they do and intellectualizing her emotions didn’t always make wrong things right. She told her that, Sometimes, understanding and forgiveness without apology or chance is just the same as tolerating mistreatment.

DiJonai was right, obviously. Cam knew that much – she knew that her father could oftentimes be unkind with his words, far too stubborn to admit that he was wrong or out of line every time their mother told him, “You behaving this way towards them is just going to drive them further away from you.”

But Cam also knew that everyone was just a product of their environment and their families. Fucking psych minor. Her father grew up in a small commune in Guadeloupe, Les Abymes, and once claimed that his father put a fencing epee in his hands before a book. He was young when he’d qualified for the Olympics, hardly out of secondary school before he’d won his first medal.

The expectation to succeed was something that had been ingrained in his brain from an early age, originating from his father. That same expectation had been passed down to his own children, and no matter what, Cam can’t seem to outgrow it.

Her mother grew up in rural Georgia, the middle child in a huge family. They weren’t well off – her father worked multiple odd jobs to make ends meet and her eldest brother – Cam’s uncle – dropped out of high school to work, too. Her mom started running track in middle school mostly to get away from it. She wasn’t expecting to make much out of it, but the high school coach saw something in her and covered the costs to get her onto the track team.

She was really good. If the Olympic medals weren’t enough, it was her work ethic, the way she attacked her goals with relentless precision, the way she never stopped until she hit a new PR or was satisfied with her work – which was never. There was always room to improve, a new milestone to hit, something else to continue striving for.

Her mother had come from nothing yet made everything through her own blood, sweat, and tears. She knew what it was like to go without and that fear of fucking up and losing everything was something she struggled with, even at the Olympics. Winning or losing wasn’t so much about the medals as it was about being able to go back home, provide for her family, and say that she made something of herself when all of the odds were stacked against her from the day she was born.

Cam knows. Cam knows that her father is just a little boy who grew into a man far too early, before he had the time to realize he was allowed to be anything less or that he was allowed to want something other than greatness. Cam knows that her mother is still just a little girl who didn’t ever consider making it but she made it anyways, that she’s got a decades-old fear of losing it all calcifying in her bones.

She knows why they are. Part of her just wishes they knew that, too – especially her father. Part of her wishes that they were aware of how they impacted her and Coley, whether they even fully realized that they did or not.

Cam knows why they are not because of a fancy degree, but because she is what she is. She’s scared of fucking up and losing everything – her career, her friends, the effort she’d put in throughout the years to make her father proud of her and the sacrifices she had to make to prove to her mother that someone else would be able to – and want to – take care of her, too.

She’s scared of wanting other things – of wanting Paige, who was never supposed to be in the plan – of wanting peace and something that would last indefinitely, because she wasn’t raised with the freedom to strive for anything less than medals or trophies or being the best.

It’s hard to let go of what they made her. But it’s even harder to let them go when she knows that they’ve been through a lot, too, that they really did have her best interests at heart with weird ways of showing it.

She’ll have Coley’s support tonight, and hopefully, Paige’s too.

She reaches down for her shoes, but a knock at her hotel room door pulls her from her thoughts. Cam reaches for them as she stands up, crosses the room, and, speaking of the devil, finds Paige waiting at the door for her. She’s holding an iced chai in one of her hands and the other is tucked into the pocket of her sweatpants. Paige is dressed in an all grey Wings sweat suit, clearly ready for shootaround.

“Hey,” Cam says, her brows furrowing a little in confusion, not sure why Paige is at her door but, obviously, not upset about it, either.

“Hey,” Paige responds, lips quirking into a smile. “Bus leaves for the arena in five. You weren’t showin’ up, so…wanted to make sure you weren’t dying or sum.”

Realization hits like a ton of bricks and Cam glances down at her watch, finding that her conversation with Coley had taken up more time than she wanted to. She groans, leaving the door open for Paige as she makes her way over to the chair in the room to tug her shoes on. The blonde shuts the door behind her as she rambles, setting the iced chai down on the desk.

“Shit, sorry, P. Coley called, and–”

Paige rests a gentle hand over her shoulder, causing her to stop running her mouth. Cam looks up with a sheepish expression, finding that Paige’s smile has turned a little tender. “S’all good,” she reassures her. Then, without as much as any hesitation, Paige settles onto one knee gently and starts tying the laces on Cam’s shoes. “What’d your sister want?” she asks, as if the fact that she’s on her knees tying Cam’s fucking shoes isn’t making her brain melt and short circuit and explode all at the same time.

“What?” Cam says dumbly.

Paige can’t hide her smirk as she switches to her other shoe. “Coley?” Paige reminds her. “Your sister?”

“Oh,” Cam whispers. She can’t quite meet Paige’s eyes when she rises to stand, and it’s not because she just tied her shoes. “My parents are flying out for the game tonight. Coley, too, but…” She trails off, unable to find the words, and she can feel Paige’s gaze on her.

“I think you sounded more excited the other day in practice when Zaza hit a three in your face,” Paige says wisely.

Cam huffs out a laugh, glancing once at her watch, and standing again. She grabs her duffle bag, the iced chai, and makes sure she has her keycard before she walks out of the room with Paige in tow. “What are you doing after the game?” she says, and the slight change in topic clearly confuses Paige.

“Prolly icing my knee and watching Valkyries film,” she confesses. “Might come bother you. Dunno for sure yet.”

Cam rolls her eyes, but she can’t keep the smile off her face. She pauses in the hallway, just short of the elevator, and Paige turns to stare at her gently. “You wanna come to dinner with me and my family?” she says in a rush, wanting to get it out as quickly as possible. “It’s just – my dad hasn’t stopped blowing up my phone since I got ejected in the Chicago game. He’s pissed for a million reasons and he’s started calling Coley to ask about it, too, but I just know he’s gonna be a pain in the ass tonight and I wouldn’t say no to like, moral support, if you wanted to take the night off. I mean, there’s no pressure to come either – I know this is probably going to be the most awkward family dinner ever, but–”

“Cam,” Paige interrupts with a laugh. Cam’s a little breathless when she clamps her mouth shut, but Paige’s expression is impossibly fond. “I’ll be there if you want me there,” she promises. “If you need me there. No questions asked.”

“You sure?” she whispers as Paige punches the button to open the elevator doors. “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

Paige’s knuckles brush against hers while they walk in – whether it’s an accident or not, Cam isn’t sure, but her smile is soft with something like the knowledge that she’s always sure when it comes to Cam. “Don’t worry,” she says confidently. “I’m good with parents. And older sisters.” Cam raises a brow at her and the realization all but smacks Paige in her perfect face. “Not like that, I swear!” She places a hand over her heart as if she’s swearing a vow. “One woman girl right here, you know that.”

Cam giggles, Paige’s words causing her to relax slightly. She’s still grinning as she says softly, “Thanks, Paige,” and Paige looks like she wants to slip her hand into Cam’s. She doesn’t, but she settles on a comforting squeeze right before the elevator doors slide open with a quiet whoosh.

Between Paige and Coley, Cam hopes that dinner wouldn’t be that bad, but she’s been doing this long enough to know that some orders are too tall to fill.

PAIGE

Gameday always fills Paige’s veins with something electric. At the core of it all, she just wants to play, and the knowledge that this is her life, that she gets to do what she loves everyday, that makes everything she’s endured so impossibly worth it. Even though the Wings haven’t been doing much winning besides the game against the Sun, Paige is grateful for it all, anyways.

Shootaround had come and gone and it felt like pre-game warmups started as soon as they’d been released from the arena. Paige wasn’t complaining – she was anxious to play, never really fully content unless she had a ball in her hand.

The atmosphere in the Michelob ULTRA Arena was already buzzing with pregame excitement. The low chatter of fans, the music playing on the overhead speakers, and the shouts of the coaching staff as they guided a few of her teammates through warmups all bled into background noise as Paige takes in the packed arena.

She watches Cam sink an effortless shot from three. Uncaring of the fact that there’s countless fans and cameras spread out everywhere, Paige can’t help but smile at her. Despite her earlier conversation with Coley and her clear hesitation about having dinner with her parents, Cam is glowing in the way she always does before a game is set to begin. Her movements are fluid, looser, and her dark brown curls are pulled back in a slick bun.

If she hadn’t already made her peace with it, she would probably be embarrassed by how gone she was for her teammate – but when she reminds herself that said teammate is Cam Roman, she’s not sure if anyone can fault her for it.

Paige’s eyes don’t leave her as something clearly catches Cam’s eyes. She passes the ball to Aziaha before she jogs over to the courtside seats. Paige can hear her laughter as she throws her arms around a woman a few inches taller than her. She’s light-skinned, matching brown curls spilling down her chest and back in effortless waves, and her smile is the same as Cam’s when she hooks her chin over Cam’s head.

She knows instantly that it’s Coley. If their obvious similarities in appearance didn’t give it away, then the way that Cam melts into the hug does. It’s like all of her walls drop, like she’s letting herself be held, and in the few months that Paige has known Cam, she knows that Cam doesn’t give up control that easily. She lets Coley hold her – obviously, but she lets Paige hold her, too, and that’s something that makes her chest soften with want.

Cam pulls away, her smile brightening the entire arena, and she and Coley exchange a few words before Coley glances Paige’s way. Paige shoots the ball from deep, trying to make it look like she wasn’t staring at the both of them like a creep, but judging by Coley’s knowing expression (that looks far too much like Cam’s), Paige doesn’t think she was successful.

Thankfully, there’s not much time to dwell on it. Cam and Coley exchange one last parting hug before Coley takes her seat, one leg crossing over her knee. Before she’s interrupted by the final buzzer ringing to signify the end of warm ups, Paige’s last thought on the matter is whether or not Coley would like to come play center for the Wings.

Cam returns to the bench and it’s like her entire demeanor has changed. Her smile comes a little more often and brighter, especially when they’re announcing the Wings starting five and she watches as Paige does her handshakes with DiJonai, Aziaha, NaLyssa, and her other teammates. Cam’s still not starting this game – a fact that Paige knows she’s still upset about – but she doesn’t let it show.

Paige, Arike, DiJonai, Myisha, and Luisa take their places on the court for tipoff after exchanging pleasantries with the Aces – A’ja and Chelsea give Paige friendly taps on the hip, which makes her grin.

The Wings lose the opening tip and Jewell Loyd quickly sets the tone for a game with a three point shot. Paige responds with a midrange jumper, then Jewell lays the ball in off of an assist from Liz Kitley. Luisa scores two, then DiJonai responds with a seamless step back jumper and a three point shot from deep, efficiently notching five points.

The media timeout comes with three minutes left in the first half, where Cam is finally subbed in for Myisha and NaLyssa for Luisa. It seems as though Cam’s mood had dissipated in the time she was on the bench as she keeps staring off into the crowd with a faraway look on her face, an unnatural tension in her shoulders that Paige isn’t familiar with.

Keenly aware that something’s off with her, Paige pats her side comfortingly, a brow raising in question while Chris waves his whiteboard, talking something or the other about getting stops and not fouling them. Cam just smiles reassuringly at her, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She rubs her wrist, as though there’s a returning ache that she was trying her best to ignore, and she casts one last glance to the stands as the buzzer rings.

If Paige didn’t know something was off just from Cam’s expression, then it’s in her gameplay. Her movements are a half second too late, her usually stifling defense lackluster. On her first touch, she just barely misses Paige on a pass they’d worked a thousand times over in practice together and during late nights on the court when neither of them were able to sleep.

After her turnover, she misses a twelve-foot jumper she could otherwise make with two hands in her face. NaLyssa snags the rebound and passes it back to Cam while she’s cutting, but she doesn’t sink the layup, either.

Paige reads her perfectly – she can see the frustration, almost hear her thoughts of I should be making these shots. While she backpedals on defense, she keeps an eye on Jackie, who’s directing traffic and searching for a shot or an open teammate, and keeps the other eye on Cam, who’s glued to Kierstan Bell. Cam’s in her head, but there’s nothing Paige can do about it right now, and that fact makes her feel more helpless than glancing up at the scoreboard where the Aces are leading them 21-16.

Jackie eventually sinks a deep three, and Paige kicks the ball out to Cam on the wing, hoping that she’d find her groove as long as she keeps shooting. She misses and the rest of the time in the quarter expires. Cam’s breathing heavily when they make it back to the bench, not quite focused while Chris draws up a play and Kiara hands out their water bottles.

Paige nudges her with her elbow, drawing Cam’s attention. She looks defeated already, like her heart isn’t in the game, and it’s then that Paige realizes it’s because her heart isn’t. Cam could whiff every shot she takes in a game and she wouldn’t let it affect her performance. If she couldn’t shoot, she’d defend and rebound a little harder. If her defense wasn’t strong enough, she’d punish the other team on offense. Cam isn’t the kind of player who gives up when she’s having a rough night.

But this powerlessness, this hesitation, isn’t because her shots aren’t falling. It’s the way she keeps looking towards the crowd like she’s 16 again and fearful of college scouts. Paige follows the line of her gaze. Just a few rows behind the Wings bench, there’s a dark-skinned man with short, cropped brown hair, the edges of it by his ears greying from age. He’s clean-shaven, wearing an unimpressed expression and the slightest hint of a scowl, a neat dress shirt and slacks, and his eyes are trained on the scoreboard.

The woman next to him is a little more loose. She’s fit, something like peace and pride on her features, and her dark, coiled hair is pulled back into a half up, half down style. The white Wings jersey she’s wearing stands out against her bronzed skin, boldly displaying the large number 7 on the front. Paige doesn’t need to see the back to know that there is a matching ROMAN stitched near the shoulders.

It’s Cam’s parents. If not for the obvious resemblance, Paige can tell purely from the way Cam keeps searching for them, even if it wasn’t completely on purpose. She recalls what Cam has told her about her dad – how he’s been blowing up her phone, upset about her ejection, about the Wings’ losing record.

Paige could only imagine the pressure, the expectations to be great and to live up to a legacy your parents had unknowingly brought you up in. It was different for her – she chose UConn. She chose to go somewhere storied and accepted that kind of pressure.

Cam didn’t choose that. She didn’t choose to live a life where, no matter what she did or how good she was, she was still running from the shadow of her parents. She didn’t choose Stanford because it was a basketball dynasty. She chose it because it was close to home and at the end of the day, there was a part of her that wanted her parents to choose her like she chose them.

And no matter what, Paige can tell there’s a lingering insecurity there. Regardless of how well she plays or what the win column says, Paige knows that Cam feels like it’s not enough. It would never be enough to appease her father, to prove to him that she was trying. Having that kind of pressure only rows behind you is stifling.

Cam’s heart isn’t in the game because a part of her already feels like she’s lost it. It was never about the game. It was about making someone else proud, about playing up to their standards.

So Paige just clears her throat, Cam’s gaze still locked on hers, and she says with as much confidence as she can, “Keep shooting, aight? Your shot’s gonna fall. You’re one of the best ones out here. Never forget that.”

Cam can only muster a nod, but it still looks as though her parents are holding her attention completely. JJ, Arike, DiJonai, NaLyssa, and Myisha start the second quarter to give Cam and Paige a quick breather, so Paige reaches for a spare whiteboard and marker at the end of the bench.

She tugs on Cam’s jersey, drawing her attention again, and their heads brush against each other’s as they lean in. “Run this with me, okay?” She makes a few lines on the whiteboard. “Ghost screen. When we’re back in, I’m gonna motion for you at the top of the key. Fake a screen for me while I attempt to cut, but I want you to pop out to the line and shoot. They’re gonna bite on it.”

Paige glances up at Cam, who’s scanning the play carefully. The corners of her lips quirk out in a quick smile before she speaks, her tone light. “You sure they will? Anyone who watches our tape knows we don’t draw up plays for you. I’d know I was being baited.”

Paige huffs, but she can’t stop a smirk from spreading across her lips. “Don’t play with me. Just say, ‘Yes, Coach Bueckers. I’m gonna knock that shit down.’”

Cam rolls her eyes, but some of the tension leaves her body. “Yes, Coach Bueckers,” she says sarcastically, and Paige stares at her for a few beats before she sighs. “I’m gonna knock that shit down.”

“You’re gonna what?” Paige asks, feigning a frown and cupping her ears. “I ain’t catch that.”

“I’m gonna knock that shit down,” Cam states again with more emphasis, laughing when Paige nods proudly. She holds her hand out and Cam daps her up, her mood a little better now. She doesn’t glance back at the stands towards her parents until Chris motions to them to sub in.

Already sensing her focus shift, Paige rests her hand over her shoulder, nudging her towards the scorer’s table. “Just play your game, Cam. Nothin’ else matters right now.”

The veteran nods, breathing in deep, and she adjusts her jersey. At the next dead ball, the both of them enter the game fully, high fiving JJ and Myisha as the two of them exit.

Despite whatever play Chris actually calls for them to run, Paige dribbles up the court, making eye contact with Cam. She gives a subtle nod, and Paige moves a little closer to the top of the line, Jackie glued to her every move. She motions for Cam, who jogs towards them, making a show of setting her body for the screen while Paige makes a cut to the wing. Both Jackie and Keirstan Bell bite on it, collapsing onto Paige to double her, but Cam is already moving to the open space on her closest wing, hands ready. 

Paige passes it over her head, not bothering to look as Cam readies for the shot. The ball is out of her hands before Paige has the chance to stick up three fingers, knowing it’s money.

And it is. Paige claps once, grinning when Cam makes excited eye contact in thanks for the assist, and she pats her hip as they backpedal onto defense. They only have a short amount of time before the Aces inbound and Paige can never resist the chance to gloat.

“What’d I say, huh?” she exclaims. “Best one out here!”

Cam’s grin is irresistible. She shakes her head, finding her defensive assignment, but there’s a notable shift in how she’s playing. 

She still hunts for her shot. She’s still having an off shooting night, but Paige can tell that she’s not taking herself out of the game like she had during the first quarter. She’s loose, fluid, clamping up defensively and attacking the boards with ruthless precision.

They’re down by nine going into halftime, but the energy in the locker room is palpable, even when Chris launches into a tirade about stops and playing together. He hardly looks at Cam, still holding onto whatever lingering pettiness from the Chicago game, although Cam remains focused.

Within five minutes of the third quarter, the Wings have gone on an 11-0 run and have taken the lead. They weren’t out of it. Their defense is stifling, their shots falling, and Cam is having a much more explosive game now. By the end of the third, the Aces have cut their lead down to six. It’s anyone’s game but the Wings have all of the momentum.

In the fourth quarter, everything changes – as it usually does for the Wings.

Within the time that Paige has been playing with Cam, she’s never known Cam to be a player that gets too involved with foul calls. If she disagrees, she’s the first to wave the finger for a challenge, but she doesn’t let it disrupt her game. She’s the first to wrap an arm around a teammate’s shoulder, steering them away from an argument with a ref (Paige herself had been on the receiving end of that a few times).

The first half of the fourth is hard fought. There’s a costly turnover and a few nonsense fouls they should have been tighter on – Cam fouled Jackie on the three point line and Paige could see her own internal frustration, but she moved on.

The Aces cut the lead down to nine within the last four minutes, and everything started collapsing. The Wings were frantic on both offense and defense, the product of a hard fought game overall and a third quarter push to make up for the first half. Myisha turned the ball over with an offensive foul. Paige picked up a foul on Jackie, awarding her two free shots, then turned it over twice – losing the ball to Jackie and Jewell – and fouled Jewell in the act of shooting.

Then Arike turned the ball over via an offensive foul. Then Cam fouled Jackie – again – and she went back to the line. Another costly turnover from Arike, and Cam picks up another foul while guarding Jackie. In the blink of an eye, their lead had been cut down to one. Tempers were rising – Paige could feel it, she could see it in Cam’s face, she could see it in everyone’s fact.

They needed a timeout to regroup. She didn’t know why Chris wasn’t calling one. She didn’t know why he was silent on the sidelines. His team was crumbling and there weren’t any words of motivation that Paige could use in the huddle to get through to anyone.

On the Aces next possession, Paige watches as Cam is guarding Chelsea Gray at the top of the key when she passes the ball to their rookie, Aaliyah Nye. Aaliyah has nowhere to go and Cam reads the pass before it happens – she gets a hand in the passing lane, making the split second decision to bounce it off of Gray, and the ball rolls out of bounds.

Instinctively, the Wings all point to their side of the court to signify possession, but the referee next to Cam points the other way. She’d already been on her way to inbound the ball but Cam jumps up almost cartoonishly – if Paige wasn’t so fucking frustrated with the game, it would have been funny, but Cam places her hands over her head as she pleads her case to the referee and to Chris.

Paige has her hand in the air, too, waving her finger to challenge it, but no one is listening. Not the referee. Not Chris. Cam is standing directly in front of him, waving her arms with pure alarm and determination on her face, exclaiming, “It bounced off of Chelsea! Coach, you need to fucking challenge it!”

Chris doesn’t even look at her. There’s less than a minute left on the clock and he’s looking straight past one of the most experienced veterans on his team, refusing to challenge a play that would have awarded them possession in crunch time.

The game goes on. Cam is slow to get back to her spot, her face hardening in pure disbelief and something that looks like defeat. It’s not defeat in the sense like she’d already given up the game. It’s disbelief because Chris had no faith in her – no faith in their team, in their ability to come back from this. It’s disbelief because they didn’t get outplayed as much as they got outcoached.

A three from Jewell puts the Aces up by two. Cam fouls twice in seven seconds, not only extending the Aces’ lead to four, but also fouling out.

Much like Cam, Paige wasn’t exactly one to let the lack of a foul call disrupt her game. She wasn’t the kind of player to excuse a loss by officiating. But this? It just doesn’t add up. Cam is a seasoned veteran. She’s one of the best defenders in the league. It wasn’t sloppy play – it was an unfair whistle through and through. It made no sense for Cam to foul out, especially considering she had more fouls called against her in this game than she did the entire season leading up to it.

Paige can’t connect on a three point shot in the last few dwindling seconds, but it wouldn’t have changed the end at all. The game was lost as soon as Chris refused to challenge the earlier foul, when he refused to call a timeout to let his team regroup.

Cam is dead silent on the bench. Paige doesn’t say anything, still breathing heavily, and no one on the team can meet Chris’s eyes.

Back in the locker room, Chris launches into a sermon about sloppy defense and playing undisciplined. No one is listening to him – not when he’d stared straight past Cam while she begged for a challenge they were well within their rights to give. Not when he let them crumble in crunch time. He seems to realize he’s not getting through and halfheartedly releases them.

The team showers in silence, gathering their belongings to get back onto the team bus. Paige and DiJonai are tapped for media, but Paige hangs around in the locker room until Cam returns, an unreadable expression on her face and her hair still a little damp from the water. She doesn’t say anything. She wraps her arms around Cam, feeling her sigh against her, and Paige wonders if the dampness on her chest is from Cam’s showers or tears.

She doesn’t have time to dwell on it. She goes to the media room, answering questions with poise about how they just needed to be more disciplined and play smarter. When Chris is asked about not challenging that last play, he responds with bullshit about needing to be more aware of when to use his challenges. The journalist turns to Paige, asking for any further comments.

Paige purses her lips. Of course she has further comments – Cam signed with the Wings for another year to lead this team. For their coach to pretend like she wasn’t begging for a challenge, when she was directly on the court and saw it happen, speaks volumes about how much trust he has in his players and his captains.

“No,” is all she says, despite the fact that she wants to say so much more. She feels Chris’s gaze on her, but she doesn’t look at him either.

It seems as though the night just wants to test everyone in every possible way. When media finally pulls to a close, she makes her way back to the locker room, but she stops just short in the hallway when she spots Cam and her parents. Cam has her arms crossed, looking small under her father’s stare. Their conversation is too hushed for Paige to pick up on. From what she can see, though, it’s nothing pretty, and Cam makes subtle eye contact with Paige over her mother’s shoulder. The plea for help is obvious.

Paige ducks into the locker room quickly, sighing in relief when she finds Cam’s duffle in the spot she’d left it, and hefts it over her shoulder as she walks towards the trio like she hadn’t just spent a minute and a half staring at them.

Cam’s father is in the middle of something about fouling or shooting or whatever the fuck, but Paige sidles up next to Cam with an easy smile, interrupting him seamlessly. “Hey. You forgot this in the locker room. They’re closin’ up soon.”

Cam’s expression melts with relief for a multitude of reasons, and it’s not because of the duffle bag that Paige is currently handing over to her. She smiles softly. “Thank you,” she says, and Paige can feel the weight of the gratitude in her eyes. “My shoes were in there. Don’t wanna lose them.”

Before either of Cam’s parents can say anything else, Coley’s rounding the corner, her features brightening. Cam’s parents seem surprised to see her, but the angst on Cam’s features melt completely as Coley wraps her up again. “Hope I’m not late for dinner,” she jokes, releasing her sister to hug her mother, and, halfheartedly, her father, too.

“Of course not!” Cam’s mom says reassuringly. “We thought you had an event in Orlando today?”

Coley shakes her head diplomatically. “And miss out on dinner with Cam? The best player on the Dallas Wings?” Cam musters an amused smile at that, even as Coley turns to Paige, reminding everyone that she is, in fact, standing there. “No offense, Paige. Family bias and all.”

Paige shrugs a shoulder, a smile of her own growing. “None taken,” she says honestly. “That’s what I told her earlier. She’s amazing. We wouldn’t be the Wings without her, you know?”

Coley’s eyes light up with something like approval, and Paige tries to hide her blush as Cam scoffs, both embarrassment and something fond in her features.

“She fouled out today,” Cam’s father cuts in, the mood instantly souring. “She should have played a cleaner game.”

Cam’s mother elbows him sharply in the side, her brows narrowing as she hisses, “Antoine.”

He says nothing else, but Paige feels a fierce surge of protectiveness in her chest. Discreetly, she presses her palm to the small of Cam’s back, hoping to offer a little reassurance. “Cam had ten points tonight, eight rebounds, and five assists,” she recites, having remembered the stat sheet. “Three blocks and a steal. The game was tough but she didn’t take herself out of it – not once. She’s our glue. She keeps us together. I think she had a pretty clean game.”

Antoine’s eyes narrow, but Coley steps forward with a smile before anything can get too out of hand. “So, dinner?” she says. Cam’s mother lights up, agreeing, and Coley turns to Paige. “You’re coming, right? We’ve been dying to meet Cam’s rookie.”

Paige hopes she isn’t blushing as she inclines her head in a nod. “I packed my nice pants,” she says in lieu of confirmation. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Cam’s father doesn’t seem too pleased, but Cam’s mother begins to lead him away, telling the three of them to meet them at the car whenever they’re freshened up and ready to go. When Cam’s father is out of sight, she relaxes instantly, and Coley pulls her into another tight hug.

“Your girlfriend’s cool,” Coley says nonchalantly, meeting Paige’s gaze over Cam’s shoulder. Coley stands almost five inches taller than she does, which intimidates Paige beyond belief, but she musters a quiet smile as Cam huffs.

“She is not my girlfriend, Colette,” she says, and Paige takes no offense to it. She figures Coley knows as much about their relationship as Cam does.

Coley hums like she doesn’t believe it as she pulls away from Cam. “Just your rookie, right?” she asks. “Same one who just stood up to Dad for you?”

Paige meets Cam’s gaze, something fond and thankful in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, so Paige allows a hint of a smirk to cross her features. “I think she’d prefer to call me the rookie who’s a giant pain in her ass,” Paige teases. 

Cam rolls her eyes, but Coley just looks…pleased. It’s the closest thing she’ll probably get to acceptance from Cam’s older sister, but she’ll take it for now. “I’ve got a rental,” she says, changing the subject smoothly. “I’ll tell Mom and Dad to just meet us at the restaurant, okay?”

Cam nods, thanking Coley again, and both she and Paige watch as she disappears from view. Cam’s shoulders sag. Paige reaches out for her, rubbing her back comfortingly. “You sure you don’t wanna ditch and go watch film?” Paige asks, only half joking, and Cam laughs softly.

“Ask me again after I have a few drinks,” she murmurs in response.

All Paige can do is nod, knowing that the night is only going to derail further.

CAM

The waiter has only just returned with their drink orders and everything is already tense at the table.

They’re at an Italian restaurant in downtown Vegas that Cam doesn’t even remember the name of. After Coley disappeared, Cam and Paige had gone back into the locker room to change out of their sweatsuits, opting for something a little more fitting for dinner at a nice restaurant.

Paige is wearing a pair of dark, baggy cargo pants with a crisp, white shirt hanging over her hips loosely. The collar is undone, revealing her collarbones and the glistening chain she has settled over her pale skin, and her blonde hair is pulled back in a loose bun. She has a black jacket settled over the back of her chair that she’d slipped out of as soon as she walked into the restaurant.

Cam is wearing a pair of light wash jeans with a black crop top. Crop top is stretching the truth a little bit, considering the fabric hugs her torso and only reveals the expanse of skin from her navel to her hips, but her fashion choices are the least of her worries right now.

Cam’s parents on one side of the table, perusing the menu. Both of them are nursing glasses of red wine, while Coley, Cam, and Paige have opted for waters. The three of them are sandwiched on the other side of the table, with Cam sitting in between Paige and Coley. Paige’s thigh is pressed tight against hers, not from lack of space, but probably because Paige has this weird, innate sense for when Cam is uncomfortable and needs reassurance.

“The carbonara sounds good,” Valerie muses, if only to break the silence. “What are you thinking about getting, Cam?”

She peers up at the mention of her name, and she relaxes only when she feels Paige’s hand rest lightly over her knee. “I don’t know. I’m not really that hungry.” Paige’s gaze lands on the side of her face, although she doesn’t turn her head to make eye contact.

Her mom hums, not quite convinced, but she doesn’t push it. “Coley?”

“Probably the risotto,” she responds, thumbing through the menu. “Then the tiramisu after. I’m thinking about making really bad, offseason caloric choices.”

The joke makes Paige huff a quiet laugh, and Coley catches her eye from across the table, smiling. Cam glances between the two of them, feeling something warm and soft settle in her chest. She never thought it would be a bad idea to introduce her sister and her…rookie? Best friend? Girlfriend in all senses of the word except for literally? But watching them interact, she feels like she’ll have to fight a little harder to get the both of them to behave.

“So, you guys are playing at home next week?” her mom says, still trying to keep the conversation going. When there’s no response, she glances up at Cam and Paige with a furrow in her brow, but Paige beats her to the chase.

“Yes, ma’am,” she says politely, and it makes Cam jerk her head over to her, wondering when she’d done her research. If they weren’t currently in front of her family, Cam gets the strangest feeling that Paige would have said something like, What? Southerners like manners! Clearly, it’s effective, because Valerie’s eyes light up as she leans forward to listen to Paige speak. “It’s the Valkyries. They’re the new expansion team.”

“Oh, Coley plays for the Valkyries!” Valerie says. “Volleyball, though.”

Paige smiles, and something about how easy it is for her, how comfortable she is, makes Cam’s heart all but thump out of her chest. “Yeah, I saw they won it all. Feels a little surreal sitting two chairs down from a celebrity.”

Coley nudges Cam, a smug look on her face. “I like her,” she states, which makes Cam bury her face in her hands with a blush. Paige can’t help but laugh next to her. “Anyone who gasses up my ego is a friend of mine.”

“Your ego is more compliment away from blowing up entirely,” Cam says dryly, but she’s grinning.

“What’s the gameplan for next week?” her dad cuts in. The air goes stale around the table like the mood’s been soured – again – and Cam clamps her mouth shut, not quite able to meet his eyes.

It wasn’t that she was scared of him. She feels like that’s an extreme generalization. She’s just keenly aware that he’s upset for a whole lot of reasons and she really doesn’t want to make it worse, not when Paige is sitting next to her and Coley flew all this way to be the mediator.

Paige, picking up the tension, speaks up diplomatically. “We have a lot to work on. Perimeter defense and–”

“I was asking Livya,” he says, cutting Paige off, and she blinks once in both confusion and a little bit of indignation. Cam can almost hear her voice in the back of her head, asking “Who the hell is Livya?” and that makes her remember that she’d never actually told her that Camille was a middle name.

Well. There’s a time and a place for everything, and judging by the way her father is gazing expectantly at her, she realizes that this is definitely neither of those.

“Dad,” she says softly. “Can we please not do this right now? I just want to have dinner with everyone.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, unaware of the way everyone is looking at him. “You had a career low in points tonight. You shot for less than 30%. You gave up more points through fouls than you contributed to on offense.”

Cam feels her cheeks burn, anger and genuine fucking hurt swelling in her chest. Her mom admonishes him again, sounding irritated and embarrassed, but Cam doesn’t really hear what she says as her nails dig into the skin of her thighs. Paige reaches out and gently laces their fingers together under the table and Cam squeezes tight enough that she’s surprised that Paige’s hand doesn’t turn blue.

“Come on,” Coley speaks up, drawing the attention off of Cam. “Let’s be real. The officiating was terrible. A 15-2 run, 12 of which were free throws? That’s not natural. It was the Wings vs. the Las Vegas Refs tonight. And when has Cam ever fouled out in her life? I’m pretty sure she picked up more fouls in one quarter than she has in the entire season. That’s not on her.”

Cam glances at Coley appreciatively. “The good thing is that we’re always looking forward, right?” her mother says calmly and wisely, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from the game. “The next game will be better. No sense in dwelling on the past.”

“Except this isn’t just the past,” Antoine cuts in, sounding frustrated. “It’s every game. The Wings have won one game this season. Nine last year. Ten wins in two seasons isn’t a good look for the Olympic selection committee. Games aren’t won just because you’re a good leader or because you’re the glue.” Paige stiffens next to her as though that was a personal callout. “Games are won by you scoring. Not by rebounds. Especially not by sending them to the foul line and giving up twenty six points off of that alone.”

“You’re out of line,” Valerie says sharply. “Why are you disrespecting her like this?”

“Me?” her dad guffaws, and Cam’s face falls at the sheer disbelief in his tone. “She almost fought her coach on live television and she got ejected for that. What does that say about us? It says we’re out of control. We have worked too hard to get where we are now just to throw that away over a tantrum because she was coddling her teammate.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad!” Cam finally snaps, desperation in her tone. “She’s not just my fucking teammate. She’s my friend, too!” Paige’s eyes land on her, disbelief and guilt and a quiet admiration lining the blue of her gaze. Cam takes a deep breath to calm her roaring emotions, feeling the heat of tears behind her eyes, frustrated and so disappointed at the same time.

“Paige is my friend. When she got drafted, I promised that I’d look out for her, and that’s what I did. You know she was on concussion protocol for three games because that hit injured her? I was the only one on that court who had her back, just like these three–” Cam motions to Paige, Coley, and her mother, “–are the only ones at the table who have my back. Why is nothing ever good enough for you? Why am I not good enough for you?”

The table falls into a tense, uncomfortable silence. Cam’s shoulders are heaving, hands shaking under the table as she fights back the tears. She knows she’s not going to get an apology. She never will, but her father’s next words still manage to strike deep.

“Good isn’t enough,” he says coldly. “You need to be perfect. Anything less than is as good as failure.”

Cam just shakes her head, laughing bitterly. She stands abruptly, throwing her cloth napkin to the table, making her fork and spoon clatter loudly as they fall out. “Then I guess you’re just gonna have to get used to me being a failure,” she spits out. Before she turns on her heel, she adds, “Don’t fucking call me. I won’t be picking up.”

With that, she leaves the restaurant, although she hears the shuffling of chairs as Paige and Coley – she’s assuming – stand in tandem. Paige’s voice is hushed, but over the low hum of the diners, Cam swears she hears Paige say, “For what it’s worth? I think she’s perfect the way she is.”

The warm air in downtown Vegas dries the lone tears that had slipped from her eyes. Cam buries her head in her hands, breathing raggedly, trying to will the frustration to dissipate. She knew this would happen. She’d been preparing herself for it all day, but somehow, her father still manages to shock her. She just felt bad for inviting Paige out and for making her see all of that.

She hears footsteps behind her, then the warmth of a jacket being pulled over her shoulders. Cam glances up to see Paige smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric, a frown on her face and guilt in her eyes. Coley is a few steps behind her, rental keys in hand, phone pressed to her ear while she makes a call to whoever.

“I’m sorry, Cam,” Paige whispers, her voice just barely cutting through the brush of the wind.

Cam clenches her jaw, forcing herself to not cry. She’d spent too long on her makeup in the passenger seat of Coley’s rental – she didn’t want to deal with runny mascara. “Me too,” she says, voice cracking. Gingerly, Paige pulls her in, and Cam lets herself be held while she breathes in the scent of Paige’s cologne. 

Cam doesn’t register the fact that Coley’s disappeared until her rental car appears in front of them, the windows rolled down as she unlocks the doors. Paige leads her to the backseat, opening the door for her, and buckling Cam in despite the fact that she’s more than capable of doing it herself. Then, she climbs into the backseat, too, making sure her seatbelt is secured before she wraps her arm around Cam’s shoulders, pulling her against her body.

Cam pretends not to notice the eye contact that Paige and Coley make in the rearview mirror. Coley just shifts the car into gear and drives off. Her sister and Paige make idle small talk, which would otherwise make her heart grow several sizes too big for her body, but all Cam wants to do right now is change into her pajamas and crawl into bed.

The car ride passes quickly with Cam lost in her thoughts and the lingering hurt from dinner. Coley parks at the front entrance of the hotel they were staying at and all three of them step out of the car. Coley doesn’t waste any time before she pulls Cam into another hug, her chin resting atop the crown of her head. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her words gentle and warm. “I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Cam laughs weakly. “Don’t bother,” she says. “He’ll never come around.”

Coley squeezes her, then lets go with a soft smile. “His loss.” She adjusts the collar of Paige’s jacket around her shoulders, the look in her eyes resembling something like pride. Her voice drops to a whisper. “For what it’s worth, I’m really, really happy for you,” she says, motioning towards Paige with her chin, who’s respectfully scrolling on her phone while giving the two sisters a moment of privacy. “She’s good for you. Don’t be scared of wanting to be with her.”

Cam’s smile is a little watery. “I’m trying,” she admits.

Coley grins again. “I’m flying home tonight. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?” Cam nods and Coley hugs her one last time. “I love you. I’m really glad I got to see you tonight.”

“Love you, too,” Cam murmurs, meaning every word, and Coley lets go of her.

Paige glances up from her phone and pockets it, but the look on her face is shocked when Coley wraps her up in a hug, too. The fact that Coley towers over her by so much makes Cam stifle a laugh. She can’t quite hear what Coley whispers to her, although she figures that it’s something important judging by the way Paige’s face softens and she responds back with something that looks like I promise.

Eventually, Coley leaves, her headlights disappearing into the night, and Paige rests a gentle hand on the small of Cam’s back as she leads her towards the elevators. The ride up is silent. Paige lingers in her space, although Cam doesn’t really mind that too much. She leans into her, letting the slow drag of Paige’s fingers across her arm lull her into a sense of peace.

When the elevator stops at their floor, Paige skips over Cam’s room entirely – which doesn’t surprise her as much as it makes her feel warm all over – and she only lets go of Cam so she can press her keycard to the sensor on her door. Inside, Paige rifles through her suitcase, presenting Cam with an oversized shirt and a loose pair of shorts and a whispered, “Bathroom’s all yours.”

Cam smiles softly, accepting the clothes and making her way into the bathroom. She changes quickly, pausing at the sink to splash water onto her face, breathing in deeply. She finishes up and walks out in time to see the ripple in Paige’s back muscles as she slides into an old UConn t-shirt. It makes Cam’s face burn, but she doesn’t comment on it, folding her clothes and leaving them on the desk.

This has almost become their routine, as much as it shouldn’t be one. Paige plugs Cam’s phone into the charger on the nightstand, uncaring of whatever charge she has on her own. She leaves the side closest to the AC free, knowing by heart now that it’s Cam’s spot.

They fall into bed together – nothing inherently sexual about it, but it’s just a moment of closeness between two people who want to be close. At first, they leave a few inches of space between each other if only out of formality, but Paige’s hand finds hers, trailing up to the inside of her wrist, pressing down lightly in the spot that Cam had nervously rubbed before the game started.

They give up on any pretense of keeping it clean as Cam shifts closer while Paige opens her arms. Her head finds home on Paige’s chest, her ear pressed over her heart, content to listen to the rhythmic beat of it. Their legs tangle like second nature. One of Paige’s hands scratches lightly at her scalp while the other soothingly brushes against her back. The arm Cam has slung over the blonde’s waist tightens around her, her fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt.

It’s quiet for a few moments. The hum of the AC, Paige’s gentle breathing, the thumping of her pulse lulls Cam into a feeling of relaxation, and her eyes are just beginning to slip shut when Paige murmurs, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Cam laughs quietly into her chest. “Not much to say, is there?” she retorts. Paige hums, which makes Cam sigh. “He’s not usually…that bad. He expects a lot and always pushes me to be great but he’s never been that mean about it. Not in front of my mom. Or Coley. Or someone he’s literally never met before.”

Paige makes a disbelieving sound deep in the back of her throat. “Do you mean that or are you jus’ sayin’ that to make it sound better?” she asks softly. “Like, that ain’t just high expectations anymore. It’s cruel.”

“You sound like Nai,” Cam huffs. She doesn’t have to look up to see Paige’s smile.

“Means I’m sayin’ something right, then,” she teases. She gets serious again. “I know he’s your dad and all, but that doesn’t mean he can just say whatever, you know? You deserve better than that. You deserve to be loved. Appreciated. Who cares if you don’t shoot well or you turn the ball over? You do so much for us.” Paige swallows, adding, “For me.”

Cam lets that admission settle over them, soft and warm like a blanket, its weight pressing into their sides. Then, gingerly, her voice cracking, she confesses, “I just want him to love me.” She laughs bitterly, feeling Paige’s arm tighten around her. “And, fuck, I know he does. In his weird, fucked up, Romans-have-to-be-perfect way. I just…I wish I didn’t feel this way. I’m 26.”

“Being 26 doesn’t mean you stop needin’ your parents,” Paige says comfortingly. “It doesn’t mean shit hurts less, or that you’re too grown to not need something. You’re allowed to want to be loved.” Her voice softens, her fingers brushing the loose curls out of Cam’s face. Her eyes are shining from the moonlight streaming through the curtains in the hotel room. “You’re allowed to let yourself be loved. I promise you, Cam, there’s so many people out there who would. Who do. Unconditionally, no matter what game you have. Just ‘cause he’s your dad doesn’t mean you need to accept it. That’s not love. It’s disrespect disguised as it.”

Cam exhales, feeling a tear slip down her cheek, soaking into the fabric of Paige’s shirt. “I don’t know how to not need him,” she says softly. “I don’t know how to let go. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be perfect and not fuck up the family name just so it would mean anything to him.”

Paige’s lips brush against the crown of her head. “You don’t need to rush into anything tonight,” she murmurs. “You ain’t gotta have it all figured out right now, especially not with me. I’m here for all versions of you. No questions asked.”

Paige’s words make Cam smile softly. She shifts ever so slightly, pressing the gentlest kiss to the closest part of Paige’s skin that she can reach, which happens to be the underside of her jaw. It makes Paige shiver, but neither of them comment on it. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here and for coming to dinner.”

“You took care of me when I was sick and concussed,” Paige reminds her, voice soft. “Gotta make it up to you somehow.”

Cam laughs a little at that, relaxing against the rookie’s body, and her eyes slip shut again, breathing in deeply. “I do have one question, though.” Cam hums at that, urging Paige to go on. “Livya?” she asks, testing the pronunciation on her tongue. “That a first or a middle name?”

Her smile grows against Paige’s chest. “It’s my first,” she says. “And the stress is on the V. Luh-vee-uh.” Paige says it again, getting it right, and Cam grins when she does. “Livya Camille is my real name. Coley’s is Colette Leighton – our initials are reversed. When I was younger, I was kinda obsessed with her so I made everyone start calling me Camille ‘cause I wanted to be just like her.”

“Kinda obsessed?” Paige parrots, and the amusement is heard clear as day. “Never woulda guessed.” Cam laughs at that, shaking her head. They fall silent for a moment, Paige’s fingers still brushing against her shoulder. “Livya is pretty, though. Livya Camille. It suits you.”

“You think so?” Cam murmurs, tone tender.

Paige hums against her. “Yeah. You’re pretty.”

Her cheeks heat up, but she can’t get rid of the smile on her face. “You keep saying that and I’m gonna think you like me or something.”

“What if I do?” Paige responds, her words a quiet whisper. “Like you?”

Cam lets the question hang in the air for a second or two. She can hear the pulse of Paige’s heartbeat pick up, as though she’s scared of whatever Cam’s response is. Eventually, she finds her voice. “Then I’d ask you to give me a little more time,” she says softly. 

Paige just presses her lips to Cam’s temple, her kiss as gentle as her words: “As long as you need. I’ll be here.”

Cam holds onto her a little tighter after that, finally letting herself fall asleep, tucked safely into the crooks of Paige’s body and her heart synced to every steady beat of Paige’s own.

[jinftranda]

HELLFIRE: The Living Dead [Sevika x You]

Chapter 1

character introduction

sypnosis: a zombie apocalypse resurfaces after a group of scientists’ questions are left unanswered by history. Unfortunately, it also happens when you are pulling strings in an attempt to fix your relationship with your wife, Sevika.

content: modern au ( Sevika still has her left arm), reader and Sevika are married, reader wants to get divorced (but did not absolutely happen because of the apocalypse), side plots and ships : p, lots of genre in one fic, mild description of blood and dead bodies, gore-ish?, trigger warnings will be added, andddd a lot more that i will uncover later on!

notes: my 3rd au and i’m still working on my issues at writing, my first time writing something like this, this au inspired from different zombie movies/medias

additional notes: character status and health will be posted as soon as i get into future chapters!

JUST IN

A Group of scientists unfolds the mysteries left unsolved at The Nation of Zaun— reports say that one of the scientists started experiencing unexplainable occurrences after investigation.

Background story: The nation of Zaun suffered a deadly and terrifying pandemic a hundred years ago. The pandemic was caused by sanitary and cleanliness issues; scientists from the local laboratories had come to Zaun to investigate further. But according to the others, one of the scientists experienced unexplainable occurrences in his body, with eyes turning white, veins becoming more visible, and changes in overall appearance. The scientist is allegedly locked up in a laboratory for testing.

Comments (10k+)

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Anonymous: OMFG, just leave that damn place alone for God’s sake!

Replies:

@sharksdontpoop: Agree! Past is past, they should just leave it there.

Replying to @sharksdontpoop

@diabolical_weirdo: There won’t be a future without the past. 🤔

Replying to @diabolicalweirdo

@__randa.x: omg shut your bitchass up

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@jinjo__on: Can y’all delay the apocalypse? My package hasn’t arrived yet

Replies:

@yx._esxp: and the world keeps spinning

@immalosernlover: We’re literally about to go through another pandemic, and that’s what you’re worried about? Have a grip on reality girl 😭🤚

Replying to @immalosernlover

Anonymous: Most sane person in the comment section

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@apobangpo4lifer: See? This is what happens when you’re messing with something that should be left alone.

Replies:

@sapphirezrela: thank you 4 saying this. i haven’t closed my eyes in days because i’m scared that i’ll get attacked by a zombie while i’m sleeping. and posts about it aren’t helping me ☹️

Replying to @sapphirezrela:

@apobangpo4lifer: Poor thing! I’m so sorry that you’re going through that 😞

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@8_8crying.outloud: Thanks a lot to those scientists

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@chronicoleyonline: “Just let the city breathe” well the city’s breath is going to kill us all

Replies:

@seokjinsarmpithair: I’m lit too afraid to go outside rn, and this made me chuckle 😭

Replying to @seokjinsarmpithair:

@chronicoleyonline: Chuckle only? Not laugh??

Replying to @seokjinsarmpithair

Anonymous: i think we should start talking about your username first

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@totalrando.onthenet: And what are we supposed to do with this information

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@alan.is.datboi: Kinda excited for a zombie apocalypse to happen tbh 🤣

Replies:

Anonymous: Are you also excited to get mauled by a zombie? 🥰

Replying to Anonymous:

@Justhere4yuri: LMAO 😭😭

—

You are currently sitting in the front seat of the car, next to Sevika. It was another dreadful ride home, and the two of you are doing absolutely nothing to light up the mood. You cross your arms and lean against the car window.

You’re holding your breath because the smell of the car is making you sick.

“What, are we just gonna go home like this?” Sevika asks angrily, her eyes still on the road. You didn’t answer her, and you kept looking through the window.

Unfortunately, you weren’t able to hold your breath for too long. Cause after you said that to yourself that you weren’t going to throw up, you were on the verge of releasing everything you ate earlier.

You tap multiple times on the car window, desperately trying to signal Sevika to stop the car.

Sevika pulls over, and she looks at you with irritation across her face. She unlocks the door of the car, and you immediately rush outside, finally breathing.

You look back at the car while still catching your breath.

Sevika’s expecting you to get back in, but to her surprise, you shut the door on her, and you walk away.

Sevika’s left annoyed, she grunts from frustration, and she catches up to you, still inside the car.

She lowers the window, “Get back in!” Sevika shouts at you, you ignore her, and you walk faster.

Sevika drives faster, but she stops driving just ahead of you.

Sevika’s about to open her mouth, but you spoke first.

“I can’t do this anymore!”

You shout at her face, you gasp for air while looking at your surroundings; you’re glad that no one is around to witness a somewhat telenovela scene on the highway. Sevika raises her eyebrows at you and shakes her head in confusion.

You stomp your foot out of frustration before speaking, “You’ve been too busy on your job, and it’s driving me crazy!” you exclaim at her, but you weren’t finished letting it all out.

“Don’t get me wrong, I understand that you’re working really hard so that I’d live with ease— but I can’t hold onto you anymore..” You stop. “Don’t even get me started when you start forgetting some of our important dates!” you continued.

Sevika could only watch and listen.

“And I still haven’t forgotten the car you gave me for my birthday,” you mutter.

“What?” Sevika asks furiously, every woman in the world would want a car.

But why are you complaining now about getting one?

“I’m carsick, Sevika!” you cover your mouth,

“Carsick!” you scream again at her.

Sevika’s eyes goes wide when she remembers that you’re carsick.

“I can’t help but vomit whenever I get in any type of car, but you gifted me one!” You can’t help yourself from sobbing. You gifted me that because, apparently “You don’t want me to use public transportation.” Well, that car is the reason why I’m riding public transportation!”

“And the smell of your leather seat covers is making me wanna throw up,” you manage to utter.

“I’m s-sorry—” Sevika pleads .

“I’m breaking things off with you,” you say to her, it almost sounds like a whisper.

Sevika’s eyes shoot open upon hearing your words. It’s obvious that she’s mad by just looking at her face.

“I don’t love you anymore..” you mutter quietly.

She gasps in disbelief and runs her hands through her hair.

Sevika heard it, clearly.

She palms her face and swears loudly.

She glares at you for a second, but closes the car window and drives away quickly.

You’re now alone.

You arrived home an hour after you ended things with Sevika, the drive with her is already unbearable and dreadful, but it only hits you ten times harder when you’re on your own.

You enter your home, and the first thing you see is that Isha is sitting on the dinner table with her iPad. You walk up to her, only to be pulled in a hug by Vi.

“You’re back!” She hugs you tighter with a warm smile on her face. Even though you can barely breathe, a smile creeps up to your face while sighing in contentment. But when Vi pulls away, your happy expression goes back to your dreadful state earlier. Vi raises her eyebrow upon the change in your expression.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Vi asks, she sounds concerned.

You gathered the guts to finally tell her what happened, and you sighed before speaking.

“I-I just ended things with Sev..” you reply without energy.

It was clear that Vi didn’t expect to hear that from you, after all, you and Sevika have been married for 15 years.

“Wait— you two got divorced?” Vi asks with almost a high-pitched tone. You try to avoid her gaze, but she won’t stop until she gets answers. You shake your head tiredly.

“Oh, so it’s not an official breakup?” Vi follows up on her question.

“Yup,” you reply, while walking in Isha’s direction. You were too busy eyeing Isha earlier that you didn’t see Caitlyn beside her.

”Hey, Ish,” you say as you tap her arm. Isha looks up to you with a smile on her face. She hugs you tight. Caitlyn’s too busy with the children’s coloring handbook that she didn’t notice your presence immediately. She took notice of you when Isha tapped on her arms, and she pointed at you.

Caitlyn’s face lights up when she sees you. She stands up from her seat and hugs you gently. “What took you so long?” she says while getting back on her seat. She nods to you to take the seat beside her. Vi walks to the three of you and sits on the chair next to Isha.

You're eyeing Vi to let her do the talking.

“M-Me?” Vi almost choked as she asked, you nod gently.

“Finally.” That’s what Caitlyn said after hearing that you and Sevika finally broke off.

“You’re waiting for this?” you ask with a high-pitched tone. You were surprised when you found out that almost everyone you’re close to wants you to divorce Sevika.

“How come I’m only finding this out now?” You were desperate for answers.

“It’s honestly sad to see you glue your relationship with Sevika every day.” Caitlyn fidgets with Isha’s crayons as she’s putting them away now that Isha’s tucked to bed.

“You’ve seen me grow up, and I’ve also seen how Sevika is growing distant from you.” Vi follows up after Caitlyn spoke.

“I-I’ve never thought about that, until now,” you admit. You were so blindly in love with Sevika that you weren’t noticing her neglecting you.

You were neglected for affection, quality time, assurance, touch, and almost everything that makes the bond between a couple stronger.

But you were too blind.

You’re a smart person, but when it comes to Sevika?

It feels like you’re an idiot.

She gets you every time, even without effort.

That makes letting go of her so difficult.

“Cait, have you seen this stuff about a zombie apocalypse?” Vi chuckled after she asked Caitlyn.

“Nonsense— don’t believe those slop.” Caitlyn rolls her eyes while answering Vi.

“Zombie, what now?” you ask.

“There’s this article online about some scientist who started acting like a zombie after investigating Zaun.”

“Isn’t Zaun a dead city?” Vi responds to you.

“Yeah, why did they even go there? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“They might start another pandemic,” you say.

“Maybe just a stunt that the media is trying to pull.” Caitlyn chimes in on your conversation with Vi.

The three of you joked and laughed around while talking about the “supposedly” zombie apocalypse.

After that, you all went to bed.

Without knowing that you’ll be living in a nightmare, for quite a long time.

Taglist: @djstinkyfartz

—

an: howdy! we’ll be getting into the zombie stuff soon, stay tuned everyone 😚

comment if you want to be on the tag list!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated :3

[agentoffangirling]

Here's my take on the whole Jorge situation

Emily is almost most certainly telling the truth. I have seen farrrr too many people for my liking say that she's just lying, y'all. VICTIMS DO NOT LIE, we actually have a massive problem in which most victims do not come forward about their experiences bc they think people will believe they're lying. Not to mention that we have photo proof of them being together, Emily is not lying. Please please PLEASE believe her when she talks about what happened

At the same time, it is very likely that Emily is using Jorge's fame and their past relationship to also get something out of this. Note the time she posted this and that Jorge is currently at the peak of his career. He's writing Ilium, he's met with Lin Manuel Miranda, this is no coincidence. Given the fact that she posted previously, "the power I hold over my ex... I could ruin his entire career", indicates to me that something else is also happening here

What we know for fact is that Emily and Jorge dated for four months between Oct 2019 and Jan 2020. She was 19 and he was 21/22, as other people noted the previous ages she gave did not match up and she has since stated that she got the ages wrong. During this, she claims that she experienced verbal abuse, that he often belittled her and in one of the messages he sent to her, he says he once yelled at her in front of her friends. Text messages Emily shared between her and her friends show that they had a similar outlook of these kinds of things. Jorge was also pro-life while they dated, and that he looked down on her for smoking weed, which was a coping mechanism of hers

Given all this and the poem people found, I believe it is very safe to say that Emily was in a toxic relationship with Jorge while they were dating

NOW!

After "The Remembering", Emily's poem about her experiences, was posted, Jorge DM-ed her to apologize, as well as several other things that weren't explicitly listed. It is important to note that though many people reading the apology saw it as genuine, and Jorge clearly saw it as genuine as well, it is ultimately up to Emily to decide whether it was, and she did not see it as so

Another thing I want to note is that the dates regarding everything are somewhat odd. Emily got the ages wrong prior, and admitted that, which leads me to also believe that her leaving out many of the dates (like when the apology was sent) is intentional. Since it wasn't stated when he DM-ed her (going off context clues, we can assume it was around the end of their relationship), it has led several people to believe that it was recent, when this is very much not the case. She also left out when Jorge blocked her on Twitter, again leaving people to think that it was recent

(Also on Jorge blocking her, sorry, I don't think it admits anything? To my knowledge it's not uncommon to block your ex after a relationship and their relationship was messy to say the least. Seems kinda like common sense to me. He's probably had her blocked for a while. I've heard of other people getting blocked when they bring it up, or that the topic is banned in the Epic server, I'm not on Twitter or in the server, so someone who is better informed on that, please help out with that)

Has Jorge changed after this? I don't know. I don't think we should be using social media to determine that, since as we all know at this point, what is posted can very easily be faked for the camera. I do believe that there has been at least some growth, since if he is as conservative as Emily claims, it is highly unlikely he would be dating Talya, who has been known to repost anti-Trump stories on her page. Like he says in the messages to Emily, he admitted he was wrong on several topics and that he is trying to grow from that, and I believe that to be mostly true. We are not aware of his true political beliefs, but a lot can change in six years

I don't believe Emily's intentions in all of this are pure. She phrased the main tweet as "bringing things to light" and that she was "sorry for doing such a thing", but in many of her other posts, she seems almost vengeful about it? Emily has been noted replying under posts bringing Jorge down, often being happy about it and encouraging it. One of her tweets, as I've said above, involves her wanting to ruin his career, and isn't above mocking Jorge, putting apology in air quotes and calling him a "loser" in other ones. It seems obvious she is still angry about the relationship and has a lot of feelings, which is completely valid, but it goes against what she stated prior, that being she feels bad about releasing this stuff about Jorge

I think, in the end, this should serve as a warning to not idolize celebrities. We don't know what goes on in Jorge's private life, and babying him, saying he's "just a man" is not helping in the slightest. He is an adult. He is not a child, he is well aware of tough conversations and the shit that can unfold in relationships. I also believe that we should wait for Jorge's response (if he is planning on doing one) before going forward and making snap judgements about his current lifestyle. You are not a bad person for liking/listening to Epic, but in the meantime, I advise listening to the cast's other songs not connected to Epic. Janani K Jha, MICO, and Teagan Earley are just some of the few that release their own songs, so, while we wait, maybe get your Epic fix from them and not Jorge directly. Let us deal with this situation with respect as it continues to unfold

[infinitewinderword]

Eternal Twilight⋆・ﾟ:⋆・ﾟ

happy 2 years anniversary for RUIN and for our boy Eclipse! I have been writing and drabbling about Infi and Eclipse's post-canon story for a while! and now is the day i tell you that i put the available chapters up on AO3! this is the first time i've ever written anything and releasing it while being fully proud-ish. i really enjoy writing them... i don't have beta-readers, so this is just everything from my pure angst pilled brain. i hope you like it too!

and if you want to see the first chapter to get you interested, here it is in this post!

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Chapter 1- losing purpose

588 words warnings: depression, dissociative behaviors.

infi has been working and accommodating to the "virus" that has been slowly taking over moon and making him act weird. lights are on most if not all of the time now, naptime has been pulled out of the schedule with no date set of it returning. she doesn't really get to talk to moon as much anymore, and she has been prohibited from approaching or even being in the same room as him when he's out during the hourly black out after the plex is closed. she was thrown off, yes, but it's what we could only do in a situation like this. she's sure they'll slowly sort it out. sun is acting agitated too. he already is like that sometimes, but you can tell that he's always on edge about the lights.

until one day there were just no job to go to anymore. 

the pizzaplex somehow burned down and collapsed in one night. and infi was left to find out during the morning that she was heading to the pizzaplex. seeing the building completely in ruins and police and firefighters surrounding the area not allowing anyone to go near

she stood still for a while. 

the fire was eventually put out. she stared at it the entire time. waiting to see if something will happen. until she was shooed away by the officers, a notice came in the email that afternoon about the compensation money for the sudden termination. she didn't shed a tear.

still in her uniform, she went to buy groceries at the convenient store some blocks away. picking and choosing the ingredients for what she felt like cooking that evening. her mind was completely absent from reality as she put a can of beer in the basket.

she decided to walk home that day. she wanders with her blank eyes staring off to somewhere unknown as she walks past the world around her then eventually reaching her apartment. putting her bag and things away, she settled down just how she would after a long day of work, sitting on the dusty couch in the middle of her space.

she sat still for the longest time. thinking about everything as it finally sank in that she will not get to see them anymore. 

"sorry i couldn't help much today..." was the last thing she got to say to sun before leaving the daycare for the last time.

the sun was setting. It cast a long shadow with its orange glow into her apartment from the small balcony of her room. the warmth hit her right as her eyes started pouring uncontrollably. tears, snot, drools, and whatever fluid a human body was able to spew out came all at once. she ran to the toilet and vomited out nothing at all. her sobs and cries fill the bathroom with little to no effort. everything felt impossibly heavy. she couldn't lift her head from the seat, nor her arms from the floor. the smell all subdued by all the fluids blocking her nose. 

it took her a while to finally get out of the bathroom. looks like she wouldn't be cooking today after all. 

with nothing else to do, she went back in to take a shower then unceremoniously cried herself to sleep. as she continues in the morning. and many more days to come.

---

it would mean the world to me if you go in and read the fic! i worked very hard on what we have so far, and i plan to write more :D thank you!!

[nevermore-lost-love-lenore]

just wanted to say I really like your headcanons posts! I wanna request one but I don’t know what to ask for, my faves are caregiver ava and little yelena ☺️☺️

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ | regressor yelena belova headcannons // (13)

★ thank youuu, I'm glad you like them!!! I've already posted some CG Ava headcannons here so I did regressor Yelena :3 I hope you like these and I'm sorry they took so long!!! 🙏🏻 (Also I haven't seen the black widow movie so this is more thunderbolts + hawkeye knowledge based)

credits - X / X / X

"Daddy I'm so alone..."

🦮 . . . She likes having her hair braided. Bucky does it for her (having sisters when he was younger and braiding Nat's hair)

🔪 . . . Her caregiver is Alexei however Bucky is happy to watch over her.

🧠 . . . Bucky will tell her stories about Natasha :(( 💔

🦮 . . . Struggles with owning belongings, for a while her room in the tower is pretty bare. She's not used to a) being allowed to express herself, and b) she doesn't really know what she likes

🔪 . . . When regressed she likes to sometimes just sit quietly with her pets. (Fanny and Cucumber)

🧠 . . . Bob is her go to 'playmate' to be with when regressed. He's usually younger than her so she gets to be a big sister (reminds her of Nat being her big sister)

🦮 . . . Her comfort little food is macaroni because she knows she can make it herself and she likes not having to be dependent on the others.

🔪 . . . She really likes Snoopy!!!

🧠 . . . Won't admit it but sleeps better close to people. Will crawl into Alexei's bed sometime, especially after a nightmare. Or there are days where any of the thunderbolts can be found in the morning sleeping in the upstairs living room. (Bucky, Bob and Yelena are often out there together, sleeping as a group on one of the sofa's)

🦮 . . . A canopy tent was purchased for the regressors of the tower - it is in the living room and Yelena uses it the most. It's kinda used as a calm down zone where someone can sit on their own but without the others worrying about them being too isolated.

🔪 . . . Yelena and Ava make bracelets together a lot- everyone on the team has at least one, some members have many. They all have one on their wrist at any point in time.

🧠 . . . Big littlest pet shop fan!!! She collects the toys and sometimes finds herself watching the show!!!

🦮 . . . Will go on bike rides to calm her head - John occasionally comes with her. He says it's just because he wanted to do something different than running that day but they all know it's because he wanted to keep an extra eye on her. (He knows she can take care of herself but he wants her to remember that she doesn't have to. If only he'd remember that for himself too)

[cow-in-the-sunset]

💌

How about something where Finnick, Joanna, Katniss, and Peeta all get to hang out post Mockingjay? Maybe tease the kids about their love life or make inside jokes about The Horrors™️

When Mandrake requests, I must deliver.

I was so happy to see this in my inbox because I've been DYING to write up little group therapy scene. So here it IS.

Small note: Finnick always felt to me like who Gale was meant to be for Katniss, and Johanna always felt like the older sister Katniss needed in her life. They both also care about Peeta so deeply. I love their dynamic and we were ROBBED from it in the movies.

Small trigger warning:

Jokes about suicide, drugs, overdose, torture - nothing that's not book canon.

The Group Session

Peeta filled up two paper cups from the coffee pot in the corner of the room. The coffee during those sessions was either too bitter or too weak, and since they only did these once a quarter, they never really got used to the taste. He splashed milk in both cups, and sugar only in the one, before joining Katniss back to where she was sitting.

She was sat still, her eyes glazed over, starring off into the screen in front of them. The light static and the buzz of the electricity always kept her on edge. Peeta pushed her coffee cup in front of her and she glanced back at him, lips pressed together in acknowledgment.

While Peeta had been diligent to join these group sessions every quarter, the same couldn’t be said about Katniss. It was true, after he’d come back to twelve almost two years ago, she had made progress in actually talking to Dr Aurelius. However, the moment her pardon had passed, and he suggested she got in contact with some of the doctors moving to district twelve, her talks with him became less and less frequent.

It all culminated in a bad episode a few weeks back, where Peeta found her hiding in the basement after a nightmare. She hadn’t been sleeping well, her hunting trips had slowed down due to the weather and a cold she couldn’t seem to shake had forced her in a catatonic state. That night, Peeta quietly bandaged her bloody hands up and cleaned up the mirror she had smashed through. The next morning, he was prepared to tell her off, force her into looking after herself again. But, it had been maybe overkill. Katniss herself – with her head down and eyes averted – told him she had already been in contact with their doctor.

It was Peeta’s idea, and a suggestion from Dr Aurelius, that Katniss was to join the quarterly group sessions again.

‘He knows we can just call them on the phone right?’ Katniss complained next to him. Peeta knew that she was aware the sessions were different. Her chats with Johanna on the phone and the letters they got from Finnick and Annie were always lighter, too careful not to say anything heavy. They were still finding the lines; the new boundaries they were creating for themselves. But during the group sessions? Everything was fair game.

The screen suddenly turned on. A flash of white and a loud buzz filled the room before three familiar faces appeared on the screen.

‘Hello everyone, thank you for joining us today,’ Dr Aurelius started. He always did a quick introduction but for the most part he remained quiet, muting out their conversations.

‘Katniss?’ Johanna smirked.

‘Hi,’ Katniss said in a monotone. This was a bad idea, she thought, Maybe I can still make a run for it.

‘Today we have Katniss joining us again but we are in the absence of Enobaria, Beetee, Annie and Haymitch, for various reasons. They will hopefully join again next quarter,’ Dr Aurelius said, ‘As always, I will be muting myself but please begin.’

There was silence for a moment before someone spoke.

‘Well the last few months have been weird. Our little boy is teething again which means there is not much sleep to go around. It’s nice to see you join Katniss and… I am sorry I guess?’ Finnick started the ball rolling.

‘Oh yeah if you’re here it must have been bad,’ Johanna butted in.

‘I am fine,’ Katniss argued back.

‘And I didn’t relapse on morphling,’ Johanna sat back on her chair, arms crossed on her chest.

‘Jo– ’ Katniss started.

‘Gross, worry doesn’t suit you,’ Johanna responded, ‘But I am three months clean?’ she added, trying to suppress the small smile on her lips.

Finnick and Peeta joined in to congratulate her.

‘I haven’t had an episode in six months and the flashbacks only happen one every two weeks now?’ Peeta said, scratching the back of his head.

‘Do you still not remember them?’ Finnick asked.

‘Glimpses. I- I am starting to remember more about,’ Peeta cleared his throat and adjusted his posture, ‘About what happened in the Capitol.’

There was quiet for a moment.

‘Holy fuck,’ Johanna said, ‘Do you remember when they chopped off my hair? What a look that was.’

There was a moment of shock for a second before Finnick started laughing.

‘You did make an ugly war prisoner,’ he said.

‘Not all of us could keep our precious locks and stunting looks Finnick. Your girl came back to thirteen so unscathed you had to get her pregnant.’

‘Unscathed is a bit of an overshot Jo,’ Finnick rolled his eyes.

‘Hey, out of the three of us, I don’t see her on drugs or trying to strangle you in the middle of the night,’ Johanna retorted back. Her face immediately fell in a panic when no one joined in on her joke but Katniss started laughing behind her hand.

‘Are you trying to one up each other?’ she asked.

‘And you have no standing in the game, Everdeen. You got depressed because your lover boy was captured.’

‘The official term was Mentally Disoriented if I remember correctly,’ Finnick added.

‘I am the reason you all didn’t get tried for treason,’ Katniss threw her hands up in exasperation.

‘And I bet there was a few months there you regretted that,’ Johanna winked at the camera. Katniss’ mouth stood agape but she could feel Peeta laugh beside her.

‘You too?’ she asked.

‘Is she wrong?’ Peeta challenged her, a playful glim in his eyes.

‘What does this matter now?’ she crossed her arms on her chest and looked away.

‘What happened to the “don’t suppress your thoughts and feelings”’ Finnick said mocking Dr Aurelius’ accent.

‘I am not suppressing anything,’ Katniss said.

‘Katniss, you are the most emotionally constipated person I know,’ Finnick smirked.

‘I should’ve left you to die in that sewer,’ Katniss said, immediate guilt setting on her chest. Before she could start with the apologies, everyone laughed.

‘There it is! See, you have to laugh about it or it’s so awful and heavy you will kill yourself,’ Finnick smiled, that dazzling boyish smile.

‘I don’t know if I can laugh about my sister dying,’ Katniss murmured. Peeta took hold of her hand, giving it a light squeeze.

‘Maybe not. I can’t laugh about… a lot that happened in the Capitol,’ Johanna admitted. Katniss had heard from others, the ways in which Johanna had been tortured – water boarded, electrocuted, assaulted – but never from her, ‘But I will laugh about them before it kills me.’

Katniss carefully studied over the twenty-four year old woman in the screen in front of her. With her short hair and her playful demeanor. There was still something dangerous and cloudy in her glare but the sadness of her roommate in thirteen was slowly fading.

‘You can’t let it kill you,’ Finnick shook his head, ‘Not while you are young and hot. Maybe at sixty? Oh to be clear, I am talking about the rest of us – Katniss, you’re fair game, sorry,’ he smirked.

‘Did he just tell me to kill myself?’ Katniss turned to Peeta.

‘I think he called you ugly first,’ Peeta responded, ‘Which is very much not true, he’s just messing with you,’ he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

‘Ewwwww, grossssss,’ Johanna yelled from the screen, ‘See now I have to go find some morphling. If I OD it’s on your conscious.’

‘Jo, please, I don’t need anything more on my conscious. If the list of people I got killed gets any longer I might never leave the house again,’ Katniss retorted back. Peeta noted that her smile had returned.

‘We all messed up here, Kat, but we get it. We might be the only people who do,’ Finnick said, softening his voice.

‘Even if I wasn’t captured and tortured?’ she asked shooting a glare at Peeta.

‘I think you being the figurehead of a revolution and me being sold to prostitution at fifteen gets us a pass,’ he said and winked at her.

‘So what’s your excuse, brainless? Why haven’t you visited us since you got pardoned?’ Johanna asked.

‘What was it? I think as Finnick put it I was “messed up”?’ Katniss responded.

‘I think the official term is Mentally Disoriented,’ Peeta corrected her, making the rest of them laugh.

It was good to laugh again, Katniss thought on their walk back home. She let her arm snake around Peeta’s waist. The dark clouds around them threatened them with another downpour. Katniss didn’t mind, the afterglow of the session still lingered on her skin. Through the dark clouds there it was, the small patch of blue. The promise that after winter, spring was just around the corner. That after night, sunrise was to follow. That they all would learn to laugh about it, before it killed them.

[anemicjellyfish]

Tags from prev:

So since posting this, I've actually been going back and forth on the idea. (The person I'm reblogging from always gives me good insight, so I've been keeping an open mind about my own weird ideas on how season 3 could go for Octavia.)

Also this has been in my drafts for MONTHS. I completely forgot about it lol sorry!

I still believe an arranged marriage is a reasonable possibility at some point, but I've changed my mind a few times on how I personally think they'll pull it off. The original idea is still okay, but I had time to play with it and bounce ideas off the inside of my head like the DVD player logo on idle.

I said originally it would be Stella and I'm not saying that's impossible. But I really think our established "Mastermind" Andrealphus might be the one to set something up. While both he and Stella have a lot to gain from Stolas being gone, Andy seems to be the one who is organized enough to put together a plan.

Stella's hiring of Striker was calculated, but to make a meme in my post, boy is she bad at math. Even Andy points out that (prior to Stolas' banishment), Via is next in line. But if Andy can keep Via out of the way, he can likely continue enjoying things as they are now. And not worry about Stolas coming back for about a century.

So, like I said, there's a few ways I'm thinking it could go. And most of it is practically fanfic at this point, so I'm sorry if I'm wasting anyone's time. I'll have a lot of extra time if Tiktok gets banned in the US...

Andrealphus arranges a marriage for Octavia OR Andrealphus encourages Stella to do so.

If Andrealphus arranges the marriage for Octavia, it's a pretty streamlined plot without being extra messy like the other idea my brain had

If Andrealphus encourages Stella to arrange a marriage, I like to think it leaves wiggle room for Striker to re-enter the story. Misunderstanding style. Andy tells Stella to handle Via's future so that they can live comfortably without worrying about some heiress being in the way. Stella interprets it as "hire an assassin to get rid of Via" because Stella has tried taking Stolas' future in the same way.

Now, I'm not super duper serious about that; it's more wishful thinking to keep that cowboy on my screen because I love his character and want more of him. But I will grasp at any straws that I can because he does have connections to both Stella and Andy now that the trial is over. Which leads me to yet another possibility for Striker...

Andrealphus hires Striker to kill Via. While Striker received immunity for his assassination attempt, I think Andy could easily hold that over his head for a while. And Stolas had that badass line in Western Energy: "don't you dare breathe a word about my daughter... I will destroy you!" I'm not outright calling it foreshadowing, but it definitely does put the idea in our heads that Striker could be a threat to Via's life/safety.

However, I once also considered Stella hiring Striker to kill Via. Only because I was trying to imagine conversations between Stella and Andrealphus. I had Andy in my brain saying, "Well, Stella, you handled Stolas all this time, surely you can handle Via for [whatever situation]." And Stella interprets this as, she's handled things with maintaining a marriage and ended that in divorce after an assassination attempt. Therefore, an assassination attempt is a totally normal thing to do in this situation, too. This was more of a joke tbh.

The migraine is really kicking in now and I always do this when I make a post but I'm ending it here before I say something stupider than what I've already said lol.

I think I had yet another option for how I think "arranged marriage for Octavia" could go, but I'm also balancing writing a few fanfics and waiting to see if future episodes will give more insight to Stella and Andy to make more guesses.

Also. Like... they might not even do that at all and then I look like a fool on the internet. In front of all of you... yikes, that's terrifying.

Random theorizing and/or speculation post idk.

So I've said it before and I'll say it again. Helluva Boss is pretty damn good at "Show, Don't Tell."

While it isn't entirely devoid of expositional dialogue, it really doesn't seem like they rely on it heavily. Even with a few heart-to-heart moments between characters like Blitzø & Fizzarolli in Oops and Loona & Octavia in Seeing Stars, big dialogue exchanges are kept to a minimum. Character development happens over time and through on-screen events rather than sitting down and talking it all out.

This, combined with the show's tendency to both 1, let events come full-circle and 2, show generational trauma as a way to let characters break free of the molds set for them, is why I think Octavia might get the "Stolas Experience" soon.

Now, I love Octavia. If I could pick a character to make sure the writing team doesn't traumatize, it's her. (This is a No Hate Zone for Octavia and Stolas btw.)

What I mean is that Octavia seems to have been kept from the same expectations that were put upon Stolas his whole life. She appears to make her own choices and express herself in ways that Stolas wasn't allowed. I have a feeling that, now that she is with her mother and uncle, she will be held to a similar standard as her father (at least until she's of age, which is likely 18).

I feel like minimal expositional dialogue will come in to bridge the gaps in her knowledge. Octavia getting told she's "just like her father" as an insult when she's not adhering to new standards.

To bring it to a head, I also like to speculate that Stella will try to arrange Octavia a marriage of her own. When Via pushes back on this, the "just like your father" line may come back. I also think Stella will deliver the final nail in the coffin of Octavia's opinion of her parent's marriage here.

My personal headcanon of the line is something like: "oh, for fuck's sake, Via. All Goetia marriages are arranged. It's not like Stolas and I ever loved each other. *laughter* Andrealphus, could you imagine? Stolas and I in love?! How ridiculous..." (mocking fades into the background as Via processes what she just heard) But this is just fanfic-level stuff that plays in the background of my brain.

Now, to skip ahead just a little. There are very few characters for Octavia to turn to. The most likely candidate for a lot of us is Loona. It makes sense, as they've already shared some screentime & Octavia got some solid advice then. And I don't disagree at all. It's a good choice.

But I like to think Octavia has something in common with someone she despises, but who could never hold hate in his heart for her.

Blitzø and Octavia have some unlikely common ground in severing connections with those they care about most through an emotional response to feeling unloved.

Octavia's song "I Will Be Okay" uses fire imagery to burn photographs to symbolize her readiness to cut off contact with her father after she came to the conclusion that he never loved her.

Blitzø set a literal fire unintentionally when his own father valued Fizzarolli over him, and likely felt that Fizz would never love Blitzø in return.

While the parallel between them isn't completely perfect, Blitzø is uniquely suited to understand a teenager who is scared, alone, and feels unloved.

We know a good deal about the circus fire, but Blitzø really hasn't spoken about it to anyone. It's unclear if he ever went into detail about it to Fizz, and he only vaguely referred to it being "traumatic" when Stolas brought up Blitzø's love of horses.

I personally like to think that Octavia will be the one Blitzø tells about it all. I think he'll obscure the details of a teenage crush to stay on-topic. But the loss of a loving parent (Blitzø's mom/Stolas) and being left with a horrible one (Blitzø's dad/Stella) is something that connects them in ways that both of them don't realize yet.

This doesn't have to fix things. Confronting traumatic events doesn't mean those events no longer happened. Blitzø carries the physical scars of his past with him everywhere he goes, and the emotional pain doesn't always heal without leaving scars of its own.

Octavia could slowly rebuild her relationship with her dad over time. It's not impossible yet. But she is slowly gaining an understanding of how things work in Goetic society; she will likely know soon that she was only born to be an heir out of precaution. So a part of her is always going to be the teenage girl who needs reassurance that she's loved, that she isn't the obligation that she thinks she is.

Sorry for another incomplete post. My thumb is hurting at the knuckle because I over-extended it the other day and it's hard to type on my phone with just one thumb.

[our-queer-experience]

on July 19th you reblogged a post that seemed to claim moral OCD isn't real, and i'm a little confused because you put so much effort into avoiding discriminatory and invalidating posts (which is why i love your blog and have followed you for so long.)

as someone whose life has been completely destroyed by the compulsions that come with an obsession with being a good person (an obsession i did not ask for, causing intrusive thoughts and compulsions that make me suicidally anxious daily) i'm really really really hoping that i am just misinterpreting or misreading the post. i'll be the first to admit i am not great at reading comprehension so please forgive me if i'm wrong.

from what i can tell, it seems to be claiming that moral OCD's role as a diagnosis is just to give privileged people an easy out for dodging accountability for their roles in the horrors of the world. it seems to even be saying that people who have this disorder are centering themselves and their guilt and making themselves into victims. i really hope i'm wrong but based on the tags people are leaving on it, it seems like it's just completely claiming this isn't a real thing that ruins lives. people are tagging it and making claims that people with moral OCD are all liars and bad people who "just want an excuse not to pay attention to the news." several are even saying that anyone who talks about having this condition just "doesn't care about other people." one person called us all freaks, another is saying "just shut the fuck up and fix your shit" like i don't wish more than anything for it to be that easy. someone is claiming that it's something "only privileged people have" and "no one who is really oppressed ever has it."

i really really really do not mean to be accusatory, but this post (or at least my interpretation of it, which again could be wrong) seems ableist. as i mentioned, moral OCD is very real and it impacts my life and my ability to function every day. this post felt really hurtful and ignorant, and that's not even mentioning the tags people have put on it. i love your blog and have followed you for a long time, so i was wondering if you would be willing to share your interpretation of the post? i know you do everything you can to avoid bigotry like ableism, so i want to make sure i'm not reading it wrong.

sorry about the long ask, and thank you for your time!

that is not at all what that post says and that is a long hop skip and a jump from like. the point of that post to my interpretation. which seemed to me to be pointing out how tumblr has latched onto moral ocd as a reason that anything that “manipulated you into feeling bad”- such as acknowledging privilege, paying attention to what’s going on in the world and feeling bad about it, whatever it is- and is now something convenient to accuse a post of baiting when it just made them Feel Bad. nowhere did it say people don’t have moral ocd, and i also hate those “reblog if youre not a pedophile and only evil people wouldn’t” because they’re stupid, but ive seen accusations of encouraging moral ocd in my inbox because i didnt tag posts about transmisogyny or i shared a homeless person’s gofundme and if everyone says “this post encourages moral ocd” as a code for “confronting real world problems makes me uncomfy so im going to use people with ocd as a sheild”. almost none of them have ocd!!! it reminds me of how people still hound me (less tho) to tag anything that could make them uncomfortable. plus, while i dont doubt some of those tags said that, most of what i saw was “lots of people who dont have ocd will say its moral ocd and thats why they cant share gofundmes” and stuff like that. it reminds me of how my posts on politics are often tagged with “compassion fatigue” and use a real condition (usually of therapists or other people who’s 9-5 is caring for people and not themselves) to justify being “not in the headspace to care about your issues right now”. it is being co-opted as a new excuse not to engage in politics or activism or even basic compassion.

and also. i have “ocd like tendencies” on my diagnosis, which at times have gotten really bad and really into the moral side of things. im also of the opinion that a lot of people are pathologizing discomfort and avoid the things that dont make them feel safe. and feeding into their own ocd or ocd like tendencies or anxiety in general. (not that the answer is to just jump headfirst into things that make you suicidal, but it’s just another part of the compulsions- if i get rid of this anxiety inducing stimulus i’ll be ok, but to get rid of it i have to think about it, which makes me think about other things that scare me, which i should avoid too. in other words, my mother bought a fire alarm for the house and once she was thinking about the house burning down, she bought one for every room and every time i make toast it stops beeping. she needs a therapist, not to unplug everything from the outlets whenever she leaves a room unsupervised).

also. a lot of people on the internet like to consider themselves activists. but at the first sign of being challenged, their first thought is to go back into the closet, to block everything that makes them scared or anxious, to avoid working with their community because there’s too much talk of politics. this is the same website that thinks rap is “just too violent” and considers itself antiracist. and im of the opinion that yeah, sometimes things are going to suck and we are going to be scared or angry and the goal isnt to seperate ourselves from the things that make us feel that way, but work to address them. (and no, that doesnt mean praxis is doom scrolling images of cecot prisoners. but maybe it starts with finding protests near you)

and last of all we’re talking about moral ocd and the bastardization of it on the internet, which im writting out at 1am with no proofreading while in a lot of pain, and you’re asking me to defend or explain i reblogged to a full week ago now. i post 23 times a day, all on a queue, which means that was 138 to 161 days ago. (thank you, calculator app). it would be very easy for me to develop a fear of sharing any kind of opinion, since most asks i get are NOT this nice. it IS easy to claim that it is “moral ocd” when people get frustrated at so-called leftists who don’t care, all while people with ocd focusing on morality are suffering from a wide ranging issues that are not at all restricted to the internet telling you that palestinian children are dying and homeless disabled people are about to be kidnapped by the state. there has to be middle ground between doomscrolling and blocking out everything sad because, like a stupid post i saw put it, “i’m not angry not because im not paying attention but because we dont need to be paying attention 24/7”. that is absolutely a copout and i also hate the culture of “holding people accountable” because i just KNOW there are people who will not read this, just like with the fandom misogyny post, but will feel comfortable telling me exactly why they cant handle doing anything political and why im ableist for telling them to care. because that has happened. so many times. and just like posts that say “ill block people who don’t reblog this post that tells me you’re not evil” are fucking tar pits, posts that say “it’s ok not to care about i mean hurt yourself by paying attention to the world you live in. you don’t HAVE to do anything about it” ALSO suck. and if i see one more post that says “how come no one ever notices when poc are impacted by violence in major ways but when a white trans person does, it trends” with replies that say “op this reeks of moral ocd :/ the reason i never know whats happening to poc is not MY fault” im going to start killing

[lavender-teardroplettes]

Speaking up about my Experience

Hi, it’s Si.

This post has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while now, well before the last callout post that made QLP quit developing Restart Heart and abandon their accounts. At the time, I just wanted to be free of them and not get dragged into a situation I wasn’t apart of. Now that things have settled and I feel like a can breathe again, I feel like I’m at the point where I’m ready to talk about my experience with QLP over the course of the last two years.

I’ll be clear, this isn’t to drag them further, it’s in the past now, they’re gone, they can’t hurt me more than they already have. This is more just to get things off my chest and an attempt to reclaim my peace. Sitting with it isn’t helping my mental health, I want to move on in a way that feels right to me. I won’t be sharing screenshots unless it’s absolutely necessary, but there are multiple witnesses and people involved who have seen and heard the full story or have witnessed events first hand being in mutual discords together. Most of the evidence to what I’m about to detail was erased when Lily nuked their discord servers, but I still have access to a great many I took personally while venting and explaining the situation to friends close to the situation.

I’m going to be blunt: a lot of this is stupid.

The amount of time it had dragged on, how all of this started, how much it’s affected not only me, but other friends and people dragged into the situation, but at the same time, I don’t think anyone imagined just how bad things were under the surface.

I can’t exactly point to what started the strain between Lily and me specifically, but a big turning part in our friendship was them (not so kindly) asking me to stop making fan content of Kenneth and, later, a falling out due to an rp group between them, UnknownHermit, and myself. I won’t be going into too much detail on all that happened here, but what I will touch on is a disregard for comfort and boundaries, jealousy over my fan ship working when theirs crumbled over their own story plots and actions/reactions to other characters (some that heavily included SA and a plot that essentially equated to emotionally cheating on their character’s husband), disregarding my and my character’s feelings repeatedly- including telling me “I’m sorry I have more time to roleplay than you” when I brought up that I felt left behind and that it was effecting my character’s stories in favor for theirs/focus solely being in them due to how often I work (32-40 hours a week in a kitchen)…..

I could go on, it was a messy situation. I would like to be clear that in the initial situation (ie when it was just the three of us involved) there wasn’t any one person at “fault”, but Lily viewed themselves as the victim. This will be evident further on in my post, but there’s a few events I have to touch on before we get to that point. I would also like to mention that part of the reason this dragged on for so long was because Hermy and I were trying to figure the situation out in a mature manner while still trying to maintain what, at the time, we viewed as an important and close friendship.

Oh, how we were fucking wrong.

During what I would say would be the middle of all this, Lily dragged us into a community situation. I’m not going to beat a dead horse: that could’ve been handled better by everyone involved and I’m sorry for my part in the situation and the hurt it caused. Tensions were already high, and it was easy to get swept in to what seems like a personal vendetta against someone that was also a former friend of Lily’s looking back on it now. What became of that situation was a discord server created for devs and creators to interact together, talk about community issues, and, most importantly, talk their issues out with each other in a less public and hurtful way as seen with what happened with that situation. Unfortunately, I never got to use this section, but after countless tries to actually communicate with Lily, it became evident that it wouldn’t DO ANYTHING. Not for lack of trying and effort, but for Lily’s lack of being mature and accepting fault and accountability for their own actions- much like how they’ve ran their actions coming to light in these past few months.

Side tangent: Lily made that venting blog because Hermy and I had confronted them on a vague post they made about me, though they claimed it wasn’t. Fast forward to the callout post by @the-n109-zone and reading through the posts on PrincessofHallowness, I could point out a few posts that were directly referencing either myself or Hermy that weren’t shared in the screenshots. I can confirm that this was their account.

Now, the next part of the timeline is a little tricky: one because there’s the part where I believed that what happened between Hermy, Lily, and myself was still between the three of us, and the actual fact of the matter that Lily was going behind our backs and not only badmouthing the two of us, but also LYING about us and the situation (both straight up or by omission and twisting things so it sounded better in their favor). I didn’t find out about this until much later (November 2024), so we’ll start with the Summer of 2024 where a lot of this came to a head. THIS is where the fault turns onto Lily’s shoulders in my opinion and where the rp group situation becomes a separate issue to where we are now.

During the Summer of 2024, Hermy pulled away from Florescent Red Studios, and Lily took that as an end of their friendship when that, at least for that moment of time, wasn’t the case and was Hermy setting another boundary for herself. This is all I will say about this as it’s up to Hermy whether or not she wants to give her side of the story, but the context is relative for what came next.

I didn’t notice it at first or all at once, but, gradually, Lily started interacting with me less and less both publicly and in private after Hermy and them stopped being friends. When they did interact with me, it was a mix of love bombing and lashing out at me; which as you can imagine caused more strain and confusion for the people who witnessed it first hand, as well as putting an awkward sort of tension between me and the rest of the group. At the time, I feel like I couldn’t say anything or speak up about it to anyone and was still trying to talk and communicate with Lily, as well as be friendly and interact with each other as we had previously before the rp group imploded. That, and I didn’t want cause a whole stink with something that still might’ve had a chance of smoothing out. Once again, I was oh, oh so wrong.

At some point, I realized that I was only being pinged or dmed by Lily to talk about racial stuff, particularly BIPOC topics, issues and the like. It wasn’t like they hadn’t asked for my input before on such topics, but it was pretty noticeable by then that they only wanted to talk to me if they needed me to “educate” for them. I confronted them on this, but it wasn’t taken seriously.

Here’s where I’ll add some screenshots for context

Within 9 days of each other, Lily awkwardly pinged me in a chat I wasn’t apart of to talk about AAVE. I don’t talk about it a lot, but I’m extremely whitewashed and it’s a big insecurity for me to not be as connected to my identity as a Black nonbinary man. This is something Lily was aware of, so at the time it really hurt me and stood out to me just what exactly they were doing. Then, 9 days later, I get this dm:

This never rubbed me the right way, including making it on ME to give them suggestions in how to fix their actions. I don’t think I have to explain to you why that’s wrong, but just in case: if you’re not a part of a particular race or culture instead of making it another person’s job to teach you, learn from the countless resources at your disposal instead of falling back on us (the POC) to make sure it’s “right”. Also, for the love of goodness, ask yourself what YOU can do to make people feel more included and how you can better YOURSELF to understand others around you.

Not to mention: if you’ve read both of their Juneteenth posts, there are little to no changes in the actual text other than showcasing more spites of other POC characters they had besides Bess.

And it didn’t just stop there. I asked Lily for space at least four times and never got it, the most they’d give me was a week or two before essentially forcing me to talk to them before I was ready to. I had a lot of emotions I didn’t have the proper time to figure out and ONCE AGAIN I wanted to try and find some way things could either end peacefully, or a way to move on without causing this big issue. I started to slowly come around to the discord less often because of them and how they would constantly put down any attempt to talk to others about what I was interested in. This includes but not limited to:

One of Ziggy’s ocs Anteo

Homicipher

Degrees of Lewdity (which I get is not for everyone, but we made a separate channel for them to block as well as a few people making side accounts so Lily avoid engaging with the content/discussion: they kept engaging despite saying they didn’t like it , and that made people uncomfortable for those of us who did play the game.)

Love and Deepspace (highly speculative that the real reason they didn’t like the game is because I was into it, much like everything else on this list.)

I won’t lie, it felt very isolating. How do you speak up for yourself when you feel like you can’t? I’m not a dev (well, just yet), I’m a small fan artist with like- 150 followers at the most. A small Black creator with what was one of the loudest voices in the community glaring me down from behind their screen, almost BEGGING me to do something about it so they could flip it on my head becuase I felt like I couldn’t connect or be friends with anyone they were friends or acquaintances with. And I only say this NOW knowing what was actually going on behind my back.

Now, I will say, it’s hard to really break my spirit in the way they tried to. For one reason or another, I didn’t end up leaving the server, or the community probably like Lily wanted me to. I stayed to my own little section in the server where I knew they wouldn’t pop in, and eventually through playing LADs, I became really close friends with @indycinders purely out of simping for the 4 available boys at the time. I was also talking with @papaziggy-devblog back and forth about little things here and there, mostly because Ziggy noticed a lot of the tension and strain and asked me personally what was going on. It took a while for me to really open up about EVERYTHING with both of them. While Ziggy was aware there was strain, they didn’t know the full extent of it until I became closer with Cinders and finally came to the breaking point after hearing the FULL story.

In November of 2024, after feeling like Cinders was someone I could actually trust for the first time in months outside of Ziggy and Hermy, I broke down to her about Lily and the falling out that happened. While I was prepared for the worst to happen, what I wasn’t prepared for was the “I know.” Thinking about it now still makes me tear up: the last time I had cried that hard was when my dog passed away in 2018 after getting hit by a car. That was the moment I felt myself break and acknowledged all the pain and hurt I had been feeling because of what Lily was putting me through.

And then the pain got worse when Cinders shared what Lily had been doing in private.

The whole time I had been suffering in silence, Lily was twisting the situation in DMs and private groups to make Hermy and I look like the villains, both in the rp group situation and what came after. Lily lied about why I stopped engaging/talking to people I would often chat with daily, lied about crossing our boundaries and going as far to say we were “over exaggerating” when trying to communicate with them about our issues with them, their writing, what have you.

Lily went as far to run to two other Indigenous POC when I confronted them about being a token to vent about the situation and essentially try and have them say that I was “wrong” for doing so and was dming mutual friends to stop playing games that they played and enjoyed talking with me about.

Being real and emotional for a second: can you even imagine how fucked up that is to realize? That you had the INKLING of an idea that this was the case but no proof to back it up?

It was a wave of both relief and panic: okay, I know it’s true, but what am I supposed to do about it? The most I could do was vent at the time, and I’ll forever be grateful for Cinders, Hermy, Ziggy, and a few other friends for becoming my biggest support group in a time where I felt like I had little to nothing. To this day, I still don’t know who else Lily might have done this with, but I was happy to be in a safe space finally and stayed there so I can process…. All of this.

So, what came of it?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Before the callout post, we were wrapping our brains trying to figure out how things could end quietly without a major blowup. And while I DID eventually end the friendship with Lily, I did it while not addressing all of the issues or standing up for myself. I’ll admit- I was tired and I folded instead of confronting them about what I knew at this point of time, and I’m kicking myself for it now and making up for it by sharing my experience.

SS of that conversation for clarity and just…highlighting that I was still giving them more grace than they showed me or ever deserved.

Keep in mind: I KNOW they’ve been pulling the wool over my eyes at this point. I know they’re pulling the nice routine to save face for their narrative. I just wanted to be done with it. But I wasn’t. They kept putting me down, they kept trying to turn our mutual friends against me even after we stopped being friends and I gave them plenty of space in mutual communities and servers.

Lily really thought people wouldn’t notice: both those who knew about the situation and were involved and those who didn’t know anything at all were starting to have their doubts even if they didn’t explicitly say my name.

I wanted to avoid this, having to make one of these posts. It’s takes a lot of vulnerability, accountability for your own actions, and knowing that opinions won’t be in your favor 100% of the time even if you’re telling your own truth. But….at least I’m doing that: telling the truth. I’m not hiding, I’m not running from my past self, I’m trying to be open and honest.

I wanted to be honest about where I’ve been and why I keep flipping back and forth between being motivated to make a comeback and then going silent for months, why my mental health has been so low lately, why I haven’t been creating as much as I have in the past, and that couldn’t happen unless I opened up about the abuse of my trust, friendship, and identity as a person of color.

I wanted to be honest about why I’ve stopped talking to many people I considered to be good friends because of how Lily was attempting to poison so many mutual friendships.

I wanted to be honest:

I have not been okay for so long that I’m finally starting to remember what feeling normal feels like now that they’re gone. It sounds harsh to me to say even with everything I’ve been through: but I can’t say I’m not glad that they’re gone and that someone else made a post before I was ready to. Putting their game aside, I really want to convey how badly this was effecting not only me, but Hermy, Cinders, Ziggy, and others close to them that weren’t aware of what was going on behind the scenes.

Personally: I don’t want Lily to ever come back, but unfortunately they’ve left not only their community, but particularly me and a few mutual friends, in need of something more than an apology: Lily owes us a game or a proper refund. I doubt either would happen, but it’s infuriating that they’ve abandoned Restart Heart because they can’t be a fucking adult. Continuing to be raw and allow myself to speak openly now that I’ve gotten through the bulk of this post, we’re owed SOMETHING. A final product or refund to those of us who have paid into their patreon, particularly those of us who paid for a cameo in their game, are owed something more than “I’m pulling the game, here’s an unfinished product and a spoiler” while still taking our money and running.

I’ve attempted to get a refund for the $50 paid for my in game cameo ONLY, not the additional payments of $5-$20 tier content , just to be tossed between patreon and my bank telling me to contact Lily, the seller, when that is not possible. Even if I DID and they saw the message, they wouldn’t respond as I’ve been informed that they’ve ghosted anyone they considered close to them.

Now, putting that all into context, and being one of the people close to the project and its development near the end of its lifespan….what can I say? I wish I could do something to make up for Lily’s failures and to give the community some sort of closure as someone who contributed to RH’s writing both in the main game, the dlc, and side game that I was supposed to be a part of.… but…. no amount work experience, both professionally and as a hobby, is worth being treated like this.

Nothing is worth being treated like this and being forced to quiet yourself and become someone’s attack dog.

Some of you wanted clarity, some of you want to trust in Lily still, but I can say for a fact that they have tarnished and burned any trust I have for them. I’ll be more civil than they have been to me and hope that one day they grow as a person, but that’s it. That’s all I’m willing to give them at this point.

I’m tired. I’m done.

….

I miss my friends.

I miss having fun.

I miss creating.

I miss the person I used to be.

I’m done being quiet. I want to do my best and enjoy creating and sharing my ideas again and I’m fucking done letting this cloud hang over my head.

I don’t expect anyone to forgive me or suddenly be friendly towards me again, but I at least want the chance to move on and be myself without this weird sort of pressure over my neck to keep me quiet anymore. I want to be seen for me, flaws and all, and not an extension of someone using my knowledge and words to push and add weight their own.

And, if I can…. I’d just like to reconnect with my friends again and others I’ve enjoyed talking to over the years. I’d also just like to move forward as a creator both in the yandere space and in other areas of interest. Hopefully by speaking up and saying something, I’ll actually feel like I’ll move on.

Even now as I prepare to hit the post button, I’m filled with clarity and a sense of relief instead of anxiety for the first time in a long time. And….if you made it this far….thanks for listening from the bottom of my heart. ❤️

One last note: don’t harass Lily’s former friends, that’s not fucking cool. We want to move on, if someone wants to talk about their experiences, then they will. Don’t force people to do anything they don’t want to. I’m only speaking up because I never got the chance to and it’s against everything that I stand and fight for to be silenced in the way I’ve allowed myself to be. Do not harass anyone, just….send a little loving and understanding if you can to those applicable.

[diabolicalworldwriter]

I wrote a deeply stupid Cinderella Boy Fanfiction about Buddy and Chase going on a picnic, if anyone would like to read :)

(spoilers up through Party Crashers - most references are just Still Waters or earlier but the dynamic is heavily influenced by recent episodes lol)

it is locked for anyone who doesn't have an ao3 account, due to AI concerns. sorry, not my ideal circumstance but I'm trying to protect my works as much as I can while still getting them out there

will come back if I find a second to draw any art of the fic specifically, and I really should post an art/sewing dump from the last few months of madness about Cinderella boy XD

[annabelle--cane]

no one has ever cared or asked but here are the intended character backstories for these faux bloggers:

bl0rbo-bleebuz: nineteen-year-old extremely good fan artist whose blog is 90% images of The Character and who blew up very quickly in a fandom boom. now they suddenly have about ten thousand people reading all their non-fandom takes as well, which goes about as you would expect.

johnwatersmasculine: vaguely kinky vaguely artsy personal blog that is really into the aesthetics of 1980s nyc queer culture but like exclusively white guy queer culture. blog is old enough that you can see they were super into transmedicalism and ace discourse circa 2018 but haven't really spoken about it since.

goncharovna: feminist film/lit blog that mostly posts gifs of shiv roy and helly r and three or four times a year gets in a big scrap about makeup and girl math. you search "trans" and exclusively get translated poetry excerpts and some news articles from 2020 about infringements on trans rights from moderately left wing newspapers. absolutely nothing else.

wheredidyougoflimsysteve: classic tumblr funnyman who has managed to keep posting through it all. 24/7 constant Posting while always maintaining the Bit to the point where their posts are fully inescapable. will occasionally have a moment of weakness at 3am and post "sorry if the jokes have been stale recently, my house just got hit by the third meteor this week so I've got to rebuild it by hand againnnnnn."

ibs-warrior-bracket: character bracket for ibs warriors that ended up having a pretty public breakdown after two rounds and vanished off the face of the earth after somehow getting into extended debates about about if steven universe romanticizes abuse and, if so, whether or not that should disqualify pearl as a candidate.

misogynyluvr: you see this one's url come up as a recommended account on the side of your dashboard and think "this must be a woman's #ironic blog title" then you check and It Isn't.

axolotlgirl-eyelash: you see this url in the poll and go to search it up to asses the situation but alas the user has already been banned. you search the url itself and eventually manage to find like half a callout post with a screenshot of a reply the user left saying "no I am not being a misandrist for asking you to tell me what exactly it is I've said that makes you think I love punting puppies and kittens into the sun." this screenshot is captioned "here you can clearly see them shamelessly sealioning me. the absolutely fucking gall."

actuallywarcriminal: finds and responds to every post critiquing the US military like it's their one god given mission on this earth

rosetylerpolycule: the most fandom-as-activism person you've ever encountered. known for regularly talking about how much they hate fan spaces' huge preferences for m/m over anything with women involved then you check their most used tags and it's wall to wall dean winchester. rose tyler is their icon and they have not mentioned her since 2022.

dogefoscari42069: actual self-identified fascist whose posts keep somehow fucking showing up on your dashboard because every so often they say something kind of reasonably true and entertaining about medieval european metalwork.

[mattspillowprincess]

Second Try

AN: Lowkey hate most of this :( 

WC: 573

Warnings: angst, unlabeled love, best friends to lovers, second chance, not proofread

“A large hot chai with vanilla cold foam for y/n!” The barista called out and I stepped up to the counter to receive my drink.

“Still copying my drink, huh?” I spun around and my mouth dropped when I saw who it was. Matthew Sturniolo. 

Matt and I went way back, but the lines were blurry. Like looking at the sky from under the water. Nothing looked exactly the way it should have. 

We were messy.

Chaste kisses under the bleachers before school.

A hoodie stolen and never returned. 

Sneaking out of second floor windows.

Long walks through silent streets.

Whispered words in the dark.

“One day, I’m gonna get out of this town.” 

We were more than friends, but never lovers. Something you couldn’t define. 

The look in his eyes brought me back to the present. 

“You have good taste.” I shrug and we stand there, unsure of what to say to each other. 

“You home for the holidays?” He asks and I shake my head. “I’m just here to visit some friends before I head to my parents. They moved, you know. It’s the first time I’ve been back here in years.” 

He sighs. “That’s what you always wanted isn’t it? You couldn’t get out of here fast enough.” 

“Well, it's not like there was anything keeping me here, was there?” I say bitterly. 

I’d always hated Sommerville. 

The fake people, the small houses, how everyone knew everybody's business.

I needed a place to spread my wings. I couldn’t stand to be claustrophobic anymore. 

I’d always talked about leaving, it was always the first thought on my mind. 

College, a fresh start, new people, new friends, a new life.

Matt didn’t want that. 

He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Maybe stay and work in his dad’s carpentry company. He was comfortable here.

He never asked me to stay. 

Even when it hurt every time I mentioned leaving. 

“I was here.” he says quietly, almost to himself. And I stare at him, really look at him for a moment. 

He’s changed, his hair’s longer, he's got a beard too. His arms are muscular, from thousands of hours of carpentry. 

But underneath, he’s still the same Matt. 

With dark circles under his eyes and headphones permanently stuck in his ears. 

The same Matt who would lay with me under the stars, talking about everything.

The same Matt who would brush my hair and hug me when I cried. 

The same Matt who cared about me even after all these years.

“I’m not going to lie and say that I would’ve stayed for you.” I start, and he looks down at the floor, hands clenching into fists. 

“But I’m always sorry I couldn’t take you with me.” He looks up at me, eyes hopeful.

“y/n…I’m sorry–No.” I cut him off. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. I’m the one who should be sorry. Do you want to sit down?” I gesture to some seats at the cafe. “Maybe I can explain.” He thinks for a moment, as if he's debating whether he wants to get his heart broken again or not, before nodding. “Okay.” 

And he pulls out my chair for me like he always does. 

Because he is the same Matt that he was when we were kids.

While I couldn’t be more different if I tried. 

We sit down and start to talk.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

I'm at camp until August 3rd! You need to scroll down to see my other works that will be posted! Ill update my masterlist when I'm back!

[sunny6677]

An Appreciation Post Regarding Those I've Met Or Have Spoken To Within The Epic Fandom.

I figured, maybe, some of the people I have met in this fandom or even some of the ones I've barely spoken to do deserve appreciation—not to mention, the ones I'm closest to. So, here is a list of those I've met in the Epic Fandom and what I like about them!!

(If I did not mention you, I am sorry!! I tried my best to include everyone, even those I had little interaction with.)

(Some of the ones I didnt tag are because I figured they wouldnt want to be, or because I am not their friend but I wanted to include them anyway—)

@av-the-art1st - They are a very talented artist, you know!! They have sketched some of the stuff I've posted as art prompts before, and anytime I see them draw something that was an idea of mine, I feel joy at such a beautiful representation of the thoughts I had in mind, or even a creation of their own based on my words. They are also very kind, and especially very funny. I think I've even noticed them always voting on my polls, so I do appreciate them a lot!

@rebootgrimm - I've been their friend a bit longer, but they are one of the funnest people to talk to around here!! They have great ideas, ones greater than I could even comprehend, and their original characters are very interesting to read about!! They have also always been very responsive to the stuff I've made!! It is very fun to interact with them anytime I get the chance to, and I generally enjoy being able to read anything they post.

@professional-procrastinating - Very kind and funny!! They are very active when it comes to my original character posts, and also when it comes to some of the Hermes x Tiresias content I make. They have also made very silly memes of my content, which I have always laughed at. They are generally very endearing as a person, and it is always very comforting to speak with them.

@fizzuh-strawberr - While I dont speak with them much, they are very nice to talk to, and I do really like the way they speak!! The ':3' emoticons for some reason always make me smile when I read over stuff they've said or commented on my posts.

@random-fandom-chaos - They have always been very responsive to my Hermesias content, like an endearing bluebird (as I've once said)!! They always go along with most of the stuff I've posted, and also give me very interesting ideas in return and are very supportive. They are one of the loveliest people I've ever had the pleasure of speaking to!

@discothefurry (I for some reason cannot tag them but I do hope they see this—) - They are very energetic, and I do appreciate getting to speak to them even if we do not speak much!! I also strangely like the way they talk with the all capital letters occasionally. It is oddly endearing. They are a cheery presence that makes me smile a lot.

@bluepochwriter - I do not speak with them much, but they have made me art for one of my AU's, and it was very nice of them!! Their lower case speech is endearing, and I like their design of Odysseus as well—especially how long the hair is. Their artstyle is also very nice.

@zippyskyfalls - I do not speak with them much either—but they are a very good moderator of the Eurylochus Support Group, and I agree with most of everything they say!! Eurylochus is a great character. I also have laughed or smiled in the few times we spoke, so I would say they are a very happiness inducing presence.

@unhinged-as-hell - I do not know if I'd be considered their friend or even remotely close to them, but they have made me laugh a lot in the few times we've spoken!! I like how they go along with some of my jokes or silly posts, and they are also in general a very witty person. I may not be very close with them, but I do enjoy receiving reactions or responses from them occasionally.

@leynaeithnea - While we dont speak much, they are very nice anytime we do. Also, the pattern of speech they have (like '...' after different sentences or perhaps making words longer like 'thisssss') is very unique!! I enjoy reading stuff they've said, and I also find their presence strangely calming since they are very kind.

@volcaniclily - They are very nice with me, and it is nice to talk to them!! And they are generally very nice, and I feel very happy when speaking to them. I also like their profile and agree with most of their takes. They are also very mature, and intelligent from what I've seen!!

@wrong-thyme - They make me laugh a lot for some reason, even if I am uncertain of why (for some reason I often picture them as Gakupo from Vocaloid due to their profile). But it is always nice to hear from them. I do see them regularly react on the different posts I make in a certain group, so I've grown quite accustomed to seeing them!! They are a nice face to see each time though. It is like greeting a friend even though I dont know if we would exactly be 'friends', and their comments on some of my AU stuff are always very nice to read!!

@fandomsfan1 - They are always really friendly, is what I've noticed!! Their profile is also very silly, and due to that, I cannot help but smile when seeing they've responded to something I've posted. But they are also very supportive and are very good at reassurance!! They, to me, are a very comforting presence.

@noxtel - I dont talk to them much, but I like seeing them!! I think they are one of the few people who asked me to tag them in a Hermesias headcanon post, and I found the way they asked that very funny for some reason. So I smile when I see them or receive a reaction from them.

@arcsncolumns - They always do seem rather alarmed at me being awake or not asleep—and it is always very funny to see. But they often interact with my Hermesias posts, and have very deadpan and witty humor from what I've seen, and it is always very nice to hear!! They are very lovely to me, and I appreciate them as a person.

@/oddyseye - I dont really talk to them much, but their long essays and different posts are always nice to read, and I generally do think they have a talent for writing with some of the things they post. And we also both agree that Eury x Ody is a good ship, and that Eurylochus deserved better in Epic, so interacting with them is a pleasure!! I also like their translations of different things—maybe its because I dont know Greek, but I find it very helpful and fascinating at the same time. Overall, I like reading the things they post.

If I did not list you, chances are if I've spoken to you, I appreciate you anyway!! If some who I have spoken to interact with this, I think I will add them to the list or add them their own part. Regardless, I really enjoy being in the Epic Fandom!! Its nice to know so many people like this, and all the people I know here have been very lovely. /gen

@/azureholymoly - I am distant with them, but its nice to see different stuff from them!! Its a little like encountering a friendly acquaintance who you dont talk with much, but still like talking to none the less. Also, they once joked around with me in one of my other posts—so they are very funny too.

@lordx-cycles - They have a very unique text style, and I like their way they capitalize their letters!! I also learnt they were a Magnus Archives fan, so that is very cool on its own. They are also very responsive when it comes to my Hermesias content, and due to their commentary and way of speech, it is always a pleasure to see them. They are very nice and lovely, just like everyone else on this list.

[thebunnihole]

General Dating Headcanons

Content: Gn!Reader, NSFW at the end, generally fluffy by angst keeps sneaking in

A/N: This fic is purely about Tim Wright from the series Marble Hornets. So, consider this your spoiler warning for that. If you're too lazy to watch the full series, there's so many recaps you should definitely watch. I personally really like Aydin_makes_things videos on it, but there's so many to chose from. Just pick one, watch it, then come back. Or don't, I'm not your dad.

♡ It takes a while to get Tim to consider dating you, to be honest. The only way he'll even CONSIDER going on a date with anyone is if it's post-Marble Hornets and he's had a few years to recover.

♡ If it's pre-Marble Hornets, he'll probably date you, but unless you guys break up before the events of the series, you're basically guaranteed to die bro I'm sorry agsjauakq

♡ The moment you get with him officially, though? Chillest boyfriend you'll ever have.

♡ You want to go out that day? Give him ten minutes to get ready, he'll be there.

♡ Want a certain meal for dinner? If he can't cook it himself, he'll call up the closest place that serves it.

♡ Wearing his clothes? Not even bothered. Finds it pretty flattering. Will actually just leave a few of his t-shirts or flannels lying around conveniently on your side of the closet or the bed or whatever.

♡But being recorded or photographed? Bans it. He's also really shady about his past, only giving the most basic of answers and shutting you down if you push. This leads to many arguments that go unresolved for a while.

♡ If he ever decides to buy a new guitar - or if you decide to buy one for him - he's absolutely learning your favorite songs. He's not incredibly skilled by any means, but he likes showing off and he likes how normal it makes him feel.

♡ Takes you out on long drives that end with you two in some secluded spot in the city. You're wearing one of his flannels, he's smoking a cigarette, and the only sound is the town ambiance.

♡ He canonically likes antique stores, so if there's one in town, guess where he's taking you? To an antique store! He picks you up after therapy and brings you to look at all the cool, old stuff people donated. Would let you "convince" him to go thrifting as an activity (he was going to go regardless).

♡ When you inevitably see The Operator, Tim's right beside you the entire time. He'll explain everything as slowly as possible so you aren't overwhelmed. He'll start rationing his medication so you'll always have an available dose until you find a good mental hospital so you can get your own. He refuses to let you go through it alone.

♡ And when he has his coughing fits, you'll be right there beside him, too. Rubbing his back and holding him close while carefully giving him his pills, getting him water for his aching throat, and holding his hands until he stops shaking. If he has a breakdown, or god forbid a seizure? You aren't leaving his side, and the moment he's able to, he's clinging to you like a vice.

♡ You'll have each other through it all, and Tim couldn't have asked for better.

♡ Now, this is where I'm going to get my ass beat, cause I'm going to say it: Tim would not be an aggressive dom.

♡ A dom? YES. That man couldn't bring himself to sub if he could, it gives him a sense of powerlessness that sends him spiraling. Mean? If you ask for it, he's willing to degrade you.

♡ But aggressive? Willing to hurt you? HELL NO.

♡ He wants to put the past and everything that happened during Marble Hornets behind him. Causing you pain? Slapping you? God forbid, choking you? All he can envision is his hands around Alex's throat when he killed him or the countless times he's attacked Jay when he wasn't in control or the long fist fight he got in with Brian that led to him ultimately killing his best friend... he's using the safeword and leaving to go smoke a cigarette.

♡ So, yeah... but, just because he doesn't like causing you physical pain doesn't means he's not a good or interesting dom!

♡ He fucks like he's running out of time. Like at any moment, he'll be ripped away from you or vice versa, so he makes every moment count with fast, precise thrusts meant to hit the places that make you see stars every single time.

♡ I'm talking overstimulation! I'm talking body worship! I'm talking desperation in every action!

♡ He kisses you like he's about to die. Teeth clashing, tongues tying, saliva everywhere type of kissing.

♡ Also? His dick? Big. I have to agree with the masses on this one, this man is PACKING. It's not ridiculously huge, we're not hitting hentai sizes, but it's the size that makes you momentarily wonder if it'll actually fit.

♡ He's making it fit, btw.

♡ Also, I once again have to agree with the majority that Tim is - in fact - a grunter. He doesn't talk or moan or whine during sex. He grunts. It's almost animalistic as he grasps onto your body like if he lets go you'll disappear, while bringing you to probably your fifth orgasm that night and grunting like a feral dog the entire time.

♡ While he definitely is not the king of aftercare, he cleans you up and brings a water to share. If you insist on cuddling, he'll let you lay close to him while he smokes a cigarette.

♡ He'll also never admit it, but if you're somehow able to mark him up? Absolutely in love. He'll tease the shit out of you, yeah, but he's secretly so happy with them. Something something the bites remind him he's human something something he likes being bruised because he can't bring himself to bruise you.

[mrsstealyogirlsworld]

Peter's Secret | Chapter: 3/tbd

Pairings: Peter Parker x Female Reader, Platonic OG 6 + Wanda + Vision + Bucky + Sam x Reader, FatherFigure!Tony Stark x Reader, MotherFigure!Pepper Potts x Reader

NOTE: I made reader Italian but I didn't add too much description so how she looks is up to you :) enjoy!!

not my gif!! all creds to owner! :)

Summary: After Age of Ultron the avengers stay together in the tower as they rebuild their team and the world. The team is still tense after the controversial decisions that were made regarding Ultron. Luckily for the Avengers they had Peter Parker, someone who made them feel a little more like a team, someone who would never lie to them...right? Peter's life was always chaotic, with him juggling his stark internship, AP classes, his friends, Spider-man, and most importantly Y/N. What happens when something happens to Y/N and he needs the avengers to help? What will happen when they all learn he has been keeping her a secret and lying to them for a whole year?

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, mentions of torture, nightmares, yelling, family fluff, trauma, and an asshole who won't take no for an answer (no SA)

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED OR PUBLISHED TO ANY THIRD PARTY SITE OR APP.

The next few days passed in a blur of medical tests, worried conversations, and gradual healing. Y/N's body had accepted the super serum, but the process had been traumatic. She slept for three days straight while Bruce and Tony monitored her vital signs and tried to understand what Hydra had done to her.

When she finally woke up, the first thing she did was ask for Peter.

“Hey, tesoro,” she whispered when he appeared at her bedside, her voice still weak but her eyes bright with life.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, taking her hand carefully. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she admitted. “But also… different. Stronger. I can hear Happy making coffee in the kitchen, and we’re on the fifteenth floor.”

Peter laughed, relief flooding through him. “Enhanced senses. You’ll get used to them.”

“Is that what you went through? When you got your powers?”

“Something like that.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault—”

“Peter Parker,” she interrupted, making his full name sound like a gentle scolding, “if you apologize one more time for something that wasn’t your fault, I’m going to use my new super strength to throw you out that window.”

Despite everything, Peter grinned. “There’s my girl.”

Over the following days, the Avengers slowly introduced themselves to Y/N properly. She’d known about them, of course – Peter had told her stories – but meeting them in person was different.

“So you’re the one who’s been keeping our spider boy grounded,” Natasha said, her and Clint settling into the chairs beside Y/N's bed.

“Someone has to,” Y/N replied with a weak smile. “He has a tendency to forget he’s not invincible.”

“I like her,” Natasha announced to the room at large.

Thor was gentler than Y/N had expected, speaking to her in soft tones about healing and strength. Wanda showed her some simple exercises to help control her new enhanced senses. Steve shared stories about adjusting to super soldier abilities, while Bucky offered more practical advice about dealing with nightmares and trauma.

Even Vision, was kind to her, bringing her books in Italian that he’d somehow acquired and engaging her in long conversations about literature and history.

But it was Tony who surprised her the most.

“You know,” he said one evening, sitting beside her bed while Peter had gone to shower, “when I was a kid, my mom used to make this amazing osso buco. Haven’t had anything like it since she died.”

Y/N studied his face carefully. “What was her name?”

“Maria. Maria Stark.”

“That’s a beautiful name,” Y/N said softly. “When I’m feeling better, I’ll make you osso buco. It won’t be exactly like your mama’s, but it’ll be made with love.”

Tony’s eyes got suspiciously bright. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Four weeks after the rescue, Y/N felt strong enough to be up and around for most of the day. Her enhanced abilities were settling into something manageable, and the nightmares were becoming less frequent. She still tired easily, and there were moments when the trauma hit her unexpectedly, but she was healing.

That’s when she decided to surprise her new family.

Peter found her in the kitchen at 6 in the morning, surrounded by the most incredible smells he’d ever experienced. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of leggings, her hair pulled back in a bun, bracelets chiming softly as she worked.

“Y/N, what are you doing up so early?”

“Cooking,” she said simply, not looking up from the stove. “This family has been taking care of me for weeks. Time I returned the favor.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Peter,” she turned to face him, her brown eyes sparkling with mischief, “I’m making enough food to feed Thor. Don’t you dare try to stop me.”

By noon, the entire common floor smelled like heaven. Y/N had prepared an entire feast: osso buco, risotto, homemade pasta with three different sauces, antipasto platters, fresh bread, and cookies and cannolis for dessert.

“FRIDAY,” she called as she put the finishing touches on the table, “can you ask everyone to come to the common room? Tell them lunch is ready.”

One by one, the Avengers trickled in, drawn by the incredible smells. Tony stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the osso buco, his face going soft with memory and gratitude.

“Y/N,” Steve said, looking overwhelmed, “this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Sit. All of you. This is what family does.”

They gathered around the expanded dining table – all fifteen Avengers plus Y/N, passing dishes and laughing and talking over each other like they’d been doing this for years. Y/N watched them with satisfaction, her heart full as she saw Tony close his eyes and savor the first bite of osso buco, as she heard Thor declare her pasta “worthy of Asgard,” as she caught Bucky actually smiling at something Sam said.

“This is incredible,” Bruce said quietly, and several others murmured agreement.

“My nonna always said that food made with love tastes different,” Y/N replied, reaching over to squeeze Peter’s hand. “You all saved my life. Gave me a new family. This is just… thank you.”

“Thank you?” Clint laughed. “Y/N, you’re stuck with us now. Hope you know what you signed up for.”

“A bunch of overgrown children with superpowers and PTSD?” she asked innocently, making everyone laugh. “I think I can handle it.”

Peter lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles softly. “Ti amo, Y/N Y/L/N”

“Ti amo anch’io, Peter Parker.”

“Alright, what are they saying?” Sam demanded. “No secret languages at the dinner table.”

“I love you too,” Y/N translated, grinning at Peter’s blush.

“Aww,” several voices chorused, making both teenagers turn red.

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable chaos, with stories and laughter and good-natured arguments about everything from cooking techniques to mission strategies. When they finally finished eating, everyone insisted on helping clean up, despite Y/N’s protests.

“Movie night?” Wanda suggested as they put the last dishes away.

“Star Wars?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Only if Y/N gets to pick which one,” Steve said diplomatically. “Her first Avengers movie night, her choice.”

Y/N looked around at all the expectant faces – her family, she realized with a start – and smiled. “Empire Strikes Back?”

“Perfect choice,” Tony approved.

Two hours later, they were all sprawled across the common room in various states of comfort. Thor had claimed one entire couch, Vision was reading in an armchair while pretending not to watch the movie, and the others were distributed across the remaining furniture and floor space.

Peter and Y/N had somehow ended up on the smallest couch, with her curled against his side and his arms wrapped around her. Her head was on his shoulder, and she was wearing one of his hoodies over her own clothes. Her jewelry caught the light from the TV, and Peter thought absently that he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his neck, so quietly that only his enhanced hearing could pick it up.

“For what?”

“For being brave enough to love me, even though it was dangerous. For coming to save me. For sharing your family with me.”

Peter pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for being worth saving. For being strong enough to survive. For making me better just by existing.”

“Sap,” she murmured affectionately.

“Your sap.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

Around them, the Avengers pretended not to listen to the whispered conversation, but more than one person smiled in the darkness. They’d started as a group of damaged people trying to save the world. Somehow, they’d become a family.

And now their family was a little bit bigger, a little bit stronger, and a little more Italian.

As the Death Star exploded on screen and Luke Skywalker learned the truth about his father, Y/N fell asleep in Peter’s arms, safe and loved and home.

It had been a hell of a year, but it was just the beginning of forever.

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A/N: Thats all for now! Part 4 will be out tomorrow! See you then!