#what about u my lovely? do u like panic ^.^?

[thejimmycultoffical]

We reblogging this without going it. Our bad. Answering for our Ooc, while we're in character. Ooc character answer / in character answer.

He does with his Father, but not his mother. / We don't have parents.

His best friend. / No one. But we love our followers.

He regrets a lot. / No.

He is. / No.

He's single. / Single.

He wants something either of his own accord, or something instant. / We're immortal.

Goldfish. / We don't eat.

He used to play soccer. / We don't participate.

He picks them. / No.

Never. / Never.

He thought about it, but no. / No. I suppose we could, but we would move straight to marriage.

No. / We don't sleep.

He hates the people who have hurt him and his friends. / We are in capable of hate.

He misses his best friend. / No.

He has 3 dogs and a cat. / No, but we always could get one.

He's stressed, tired, and sad. / Content with our many followers, and proud of their existence.

No. He hasn't kissed anyone. / No.

He isn't scared, he just doesn't enjoy their presence. / No.

Yes. But to change minor details. / No.

Never. / Never.

Sleeping. / We have an election on Saturday.

No. He might adopt one. / We are incapable of having children. We have cult members.

He had the basic ear piercings. / No.

Honors English, theater, and stagecraft. He generally had good grades in all his classes, so those are just his favorites. / We didn't go to school.

Yes. / No.

He's craving goldfish. / More cult members.

He doesn't think so. / We divorced Duolingo.

He was borderline cheated on. / No.

He doesnt think so. / Again, Duolingo.

The way the person who hurt him had no consequences. / @/officalverse-offical.

His best friend. She said so. They love eachother platonically. So does a few of his other friends. / Yes. My cult members.

Light pink. / Blood red.

He thinks he might, but only a little bit. / No.

The world ending. / We don't sleep.

His friends. / Our cat, out of happiness for the mass amounts of support we have.

Yes. / No.

He doesn't know. / We don't do either.

In some aspects, yes. / Yes.

Surprisingly, he hasn't. / We haven't and never will. We also don't age.

No. / No.

Pasta or chocolate. / We don't eat.

Maybe. He isn't sure. / Yes.

He cried and sent a very long text to his best friend. / We don't sleep.

No. / No.

He doesn't think so. / No.

0. / 0

Yes. / Perchance.

He likes Sun storms. / Cloudy.

He does. / No.

Yes. / Perhaps.

He thinks so, but it's never happened. / Perhaps.

His best friend, baking, cats, art, music. / Our cult members.

He's trans. He already has. / No.

He hasn't kissed anyone. / We haven't kissed anyone.

He'd panic and cry. He wouldn't know what to do. She is litterally his world, but he would never want to date her. It has always been platonic, and always will be. / We don't have a best friend. Yet.

Yes. His best friend. / We don't have really any close friends yet.

His best friend. / Most likely U-Haul Jesus.

His best friend. / No one.

He does. / We'd need proof.

His best friend. / No.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[astrolook]

💥 The Parts of the Natal Chart That Only Activate in Crisis💥

Note: These are all my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you more and leave the rest. Lemme know in the comments if it hits home! A single placement or aspect isn't enough to conclude and the whole chart has to be analyzed!

8H personal planets (Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars)

These planets don’t activate or play a significant role when ur life’s going well. They show up when you’re stripped, raw, broken open, or deeply connected.

If it's Sun -> It activates when u r experiencing an ego death, an identity crisis, a near-death experience, or being seen too deeply by someone (aka feeling exposed). Your strength doesn’t show up until after you've been humiliated or broken. You unconsciously test people: “Will they still love me when I’m ugly?” You don’t know who you are until life takes everything you thought you were. Finally, you would become someone with nuclear-level confidence, but only after destruction.

If it's Moon -> Ur emotions naturally live underground. It activates when you experience betrayal, heartbreak, ur parent's death, or su*cidal thoughts. Your calmness is often trauma-induced freeze, not peace. Being too close to someone feels threatening to you. You pull people in just to push them out. You absorb other people’s feelings but bury your own like a corpse. You bond through mutual wounds, not joy. Trauma familiarity > comfort. You don’t cry often, but when you do, it’s a full exorcism. Finally, your intimacy with someone would feel like a rebirth, but after a mental breakdown.

If it's Venus -> It activates after loss of ur innocence, through heartbreak, abuse, betrayal/ cheating and trauma bonding. Often triggered by transformational love or a long period of abstinence. You r terrified of shallow connections, so u knowingly get into toxic dynamics. Sometimes, you test love by destroying it to see if it survives. Once you heal, you become dangerously attractive. People feel you’re real because you’ve died for love and survived.

If it's Mercury/ Mercury Rx -> It activates through revelations, true colors of the people around you, manipulation and secrets exposed. Often explodes when things are unsaid for too long. Silence or when u r putting up with things/people. You speak in metaphors/indirectly as reality feels unsafe. You intellectualize pain so you don’t have to feel it. You're scared of being misunderstood, but even more afraid of being fully known. Your thoughts turn self-destructive when not expressed. Once healed, ur voice becomes powerful but only after you’ve used it to destroy something you put up with for way too long or kept under wraps.

2. Chiron conjunct the IC or Moon

You r parented by absence and pain is ur native language. It activates when u move out, when someone loves you well and u panic, after a breakup, or when you go “home” (physically or emotionally) and regress by 10 years. Actually, you don’t remember being comforted, you just remember being managed. You can be hyper-aware of everyone else’s moods but can’t name your own. Need feels like weakness. But you secretly crave someone who doesn’t need you to be strong. Finally, relationships would stop being distractions and start becoming mirrors. You start learning that healing isn’t fixing, it’s feeling. It's about recognizing that it was never your fault that you were wounded in the first place.

3. 12H planets (Sun, Mercury, Mars)

If it's Mercury/Mercury Rx -> You think in full novels but speak in broken drafts. You can articulate everyone else’s problems except ur own. You lie by omission, not to manipulate others but to stay safe. Silence is easier than risking misunderstanding. You keep secrets from yourself and dissociate mid-convo. When u go thru a mental breakdown, nobody would know. Finally, when activated, you either become a psychic, a poet, a writer, or someone who never speaks again. Your choice.

If it's Mars -> You let people cross boundaries because you can’t find your ‘no’ fast enough. You explode alone. Then say nothing in person. When you finally express anger, you scare yourself. You express rage in slow motion. Finally, when activated, you take up space and will learn to say 'NO'. You won't put up with BS anymore or won't let anyone walk over you.

If it's Sun -> You feel invisible to yourself. Compliments feel fake. Criticism feels like truth. Your sense of self is more fantasy than experience. You learn from others' mistakes. You don't know what you want in life but you KNOW what you don't want. You stand for everyone except yourself. You don’t feel proud of anything unless someone else says it first. You disown yourself. Finally, when activated, you would stop managing ur visibility. You will start saying what you mean. You won't care if you come off messy, loud, or bitchy but it will be real than ever.

4. North Node in the 4th/8th/12th

In the 4th -> Every success would start to feel emptier the more you ignore ur home life/emotions. You over-function in crises and under-function in your own healing. It activates when career feels like a prison, when u want to cry alone in a locked room, when silence is the only thing that feels honest. After healing, you won't give a sh!t about others' opinions about ur life and start living true to yourself and become the "home" you always wanted to have.

In the 8th -> You r not secure, just armored. You keep it “light” in relationships to avoid losing control. The universe will rip things away from you until you stop gripping. You can’t bypass emotional death with logic and self-help books. Healing lives in surrender. The version of you that survives will not be the same. Being witnessed while transforming is the real shadow work.

In the 12th -> Here, stillness makes you panic and silence feels like failure. You r scared of being ordinary. You're addicted to fixing yourself but you've never actually stopped long enough to feel yourself. You’ll try everything but surrender. You believe in healing, but don’t trust the parts of it that can’t be tracked. You’re haunted by the part of you that you’ve never dared to meet. Even if u resist, your transformation will come anyway. You r here to return to "source". You will realize it thru your dreams and visions and it will take u on a path that's beyond ur comprehension.

5. Saturn conjunct Moon

For u, neediness = weakness. So you built a structure around your heart. A moat. A fortress. A goddamn prison. When someone tells you, “It’s okay to feel that way,” and you freeze like they’re speaking a language you forgot. It activates when your coping mechanisms start looking like self-abandonment. You never learned how to feel freely, you learned how to hold it together. You r emotionally mature for sure but you r emotionally underfed too. Once activated, you stop holding the world together and will start holding yourself. You will stop chasing strength and start chasing softness. You give your inner child the safety they never had and that changes everything.

6. A 6H stellium

Seriously, the toughest of all. You didn't choose the grind. The grind chose you. You r the system. The function. The routine. Until one day…you break. It activates when u realize that you planned your entire life around what others need from you or how you can provide them. It activates when a health crisis forces you to stop “pushing through.” When you realize you’re more familiar with structure than softness. People would call you reliable, not soft. Be honest! Don't you have coping routines, backup routines, and burnout recovery routines? You attract problems and solve them to feel useful. Finally, when activated, you will realize that that structure isn’t supposed to punish you, it’s supposed to protect you. You will rewrite your routines around what nourishes you and makes you truly happy. You will no longer feel the need to fix others.

I left some placements as I can't write everything in a single post. Will do a part 2 if u guys want one.

💌For readings, check out my pinned post for pricing! ✨💌🪐

[undyingdecay]

love love love ur writing Sooo much .. maybe this is mean but the idea of threatening to leave bob and seeing him get all desperate and clingy and begging u not to ever leave hom… maybe that is mean but ouu 😈😈

(cw: reader is manipulative, could be read as pre-thunderbolts)

bob’s the type you don’t even have to raiseyour voice for — not really. you could say it soft, casual, in the middle of folding laundry or lighting a cigarette, and it’d still land like a punch to the gut.

"maybe i should just go."

and it’s like watching something in him snap, just shatter behind his eyes. his whole face crumples. he tries to play it off for maybe half a second — a strained laugh, a sharp breath through his nose — but you see the panic set in. see his fingers twitch, his knee start bouncing, the wet shine already threatening in his eyes before you even finish the sentence.

"what—what the fuck are you talkin’ about?" his voice cracks at the end, high and raw, and you could swear he forgets how to breathe properly in those moments.

the thing about bob is that he’s always convinced you’re to good for him. always carrying that half-drunk paranoia in the back of his throat, waiting for you to wake up one day and realize he’s nothing worth sticking around for. so when you so much as suggest it, it ruins him. completely.

he’s on you in seconds, grabbing your wrist, gripping it too tight like you’ll slip right through his fingers.

"baby—baby, no. no, you can’t. you can’t fuckin’ do that to me, alright? i’ll be better. i’ll—fuck, i swear, whatever you want, i’ll fix it. please."

and he means it. his voice is wrecked, thick with tears, words spilling out in a messy tangle of promises he’ll never quite keep but desperately wants to. his face presses to your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist so tight it almost hurts. you can feel his shoulders shake.

"i can’t—I can’t fuckin’ do this without you, you hear me? you leave and i’m… fuck, i’m nothin��."

and the worst part is? you’ll forgive him. because you always do. because watching him fall apart like that turns something awful in your chest, something half-mean and half-merciful. and he clings to you like you’re the last cigarette in the pack, mouthing apologies against your skin, already promising things he’s too desperate to mean.

"won’t raise my voice again. won’t fuck up. please, don’t leave me, sweetheart, please—"

and maybe you’ll let him suffer for a second longer before pulling his face up, making him look at you, eyes red and wet and so stupidly pretty like this.

"i’m not goin’ anywhere, dumbass."

and the sound he makes after that’s almost worse than the crying.

(but this only leads to the next time that you guys are fucking hes baby trapping you)

[goldfades]

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐓 ꩜ juju watkins ¹² (part 4/4)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 7.6k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | she was born to be great—legacy inked in her blood, she was a taurasi. committing to usc was supposed to be her moment, her name, her story. but this is juju watkins' court. and kingdoms don’t like to be threatened.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluffy softness, a lot of slow touches and yearning, injuries (srry...), mentions of panic attacks, post-game emotion, recovery/healing, HAPPY ENDINGGG!!!

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | whew, one month, twenty redbulls and five times of complete rewriting and editing later, its here!!! part four!!! the finale, with the perfect mix of angst and sapphiuc yearning, featuring my favs - taurasi and watkins<3 sorry for the long wait, but we're here and i hope u enjoy it!!

NOTE: i didn’t follow the real timeline of this years womens march madness (2025) cause it didn’t quite fit the story pacing-wise BUT i hope you can let that slide bc this was all about the girls and their journey :,) thank you sm for reading all the way through, i love these two with my whole chest

The Crumbl Cookie parking lot is nearly empty, the kind of quiet that only settles in L.A. when the sun’s starting to slide behind the hills and the evening haze curls around streetlights like smoke. You’re perched on the hood of Juju’s car, one sneaker tucked under your thigh, the other swinging lazily off the bumper. Juju’s beside you, legs spread, shoulders relaxed, her phone in one hand and a warm pink sugar cookie in the other.

“You got frosting on your cheek,” she says, not looking up from her phone.

You swipe at the wrong side.

She glances up, smirks, then leans in, thumb swiping the smudge gently from your skin. Her touch is soft. Unthinking, easy, like it belongs there, like this is normal now.

And it is, that’s the strangest part.

You’re not sure when it stopped being new, this comfort you feel with her. When it stopped being strange to walk out of the gym and immediately check where she is. When it stopped being conscious, the way your shoulder always angles toward hers. The way she always reaches for your bag before you can.

Maybe it was right after the Utah game. That moment in the hallway where you broke open and she caught every falling piece of you like she was meant to.

Maybe it was the days that followed — the quiet check-ins, the small touches, the way she started really seeing you and not just what the rest of the world expected from you.

Either way, this is just what it is now.

You and Juju, tied at the hip.

“So,” she says after a beat, still scrolling, “when are you gonna admit that I was right about the confetti cookie?”

You lift an eyebrow. “Never. It’s a mediocre sugar cookie in a fun little outfit.”

She gasps, dramatic. “Take that back!”

“Not a chance.”

Juju puts her phone down, fake-offended. “You’re lucky you’re the best shooter in college hoops right now or I’d bench you myself.”

You snort. “You and what authority?”

“I got pull.”

“I am the pull.”

She laughs and it’s real, and it sinks into your ribs like sunlight.

You tear off another piece of your chocolate chip cookie — classic, unbeatable and nudge her knee with yours.

“You know Coach said the same thing today?” you say after a moment, quieter now. “About being the best shooter.”

Juju tilts her head. “Yeah? How’d it feel to hear it?”

You shrug, licking sugar off your thumb. “Weird. Good, maybe a little scary.”

“Why scary?”

You hesitate. Then glance over at her, honest now.

“Cause it means I’m not just Diana’s kid anymore.”

She watches you for a second, then leans in, shoulder bumping yours.

“You haven’t been just Diana’s kid in a long time.”

You know that. You do. But hearing it from Juju makes it settle deeper.

The truth is, everything’s changed since that night in December. That one game — Utah, was supposed to break you. It nearly did. But it also cracked something open that needed air.

And since then, you’ve been on fire.

Not in the “playing angry” kind of way. Not in the “trying to prove something” kind of way either. More like, finally letting yourself be.

Letting yourself shoot without second-guessing. Lead without pretending you know all the answers. Letting yourself feel — fear, joy, pressure and not fold under the weight of it.

January was your cleanest month yet. 22.7 points per game, 54% from three, no turnovers in the last four games. No one's talking about your last name anymore.

They’re talking about your footwork, your passing vision, your ability to find separation even in double coverage. They’re talking about you.

USC hasn’t dropped a game since that night.

You’ve beaten Stanford on the road. Beat UCLA twice. Took Oregon in overtime and you sealed it with a step-back three that made ESPN run the highlight five times in a row.

And through it all, Juju’s been right there.

The two of you have become USC’s heartbeat. Different rhythms, her power and drive, your finesse and precision but in sync. She calls you her “shooting guard/emotional support sniper.” You roll your eyes every time.

But the truth is, this works. This thing between you. On the court, off of it.

She’s the first one to wrap an arm around your shoulders after a win. The first one to notice when your hands start to shake before tip-off. The only one who never treats your silence like a warning sign, but like a weather pattern she already knows how to read.

She sees you. And for the first time in your life, you’re letting yourself be seen.

You pop the last bite of your cookie into your mouth and sigh, content.

“This was a good idea,” you say.

Juju grins. “I always have good ideas.”

You hum. “Except for the time you tried to put hot Cheetos in your mac and cheese.”

“Okay, that was innovative.”

“That was vile.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

You’re laughing again, and it feels easy. Light. The way it used to before the weight of the season got heavy.

You stretch your legs out in front of you, leaning back on your palms, head tilted toward the stars that are just starting to peek out.

“Do you think it’s gonna last?” you ask, and you don’t have to say what it means.

Juju takes a beat.

Then: “I think we’re gonna make it last.”

You turn your head, look at her. She’s already looking at you.

There’s something steady in her gaze. Something that doesn’t flinch under pressure. Something you’ve started to lean on more than you probably should, but she’s never once let you fall.

Not since that night.

You nod, exhale slowly. “Okay.”

Juju stands, stretches her arms over her head, and then offers her hand.

“Come on, superstar. We got film in the morning.”

You take it, let her pull you up.

You don’t let go right away.

It’s mid-February, and the air inside the Galen Center feels electric.

Not the kind of electricity that zaps or surprises. It’s warmer than that — dense and humming like a storm still gathering in the distance. There’s a current running under the floorboards, through the sneakers squeaking across the hardwood, through every breath in practice. Every drill, every rep, every timeout.

March is close. You can feel it in your bones.

There’s a different kind of tension now. Not panic, not the spiraling weight that nearly cracked you months ago. This is sharper, focused, purposeful. The kind of pressure you want because you know who you are now.

And you’re not just chasing some win. You’re chasing everything.

The banners. The legacy. The story they’ll write about you when it’s all said and done.

You’re chasing the right to say: “We did that.”

You finish your last rep of shell defense and slap the floor, yelling out the rotation before the scout team can even make the extra pass. You see it all now, three steps ahead. There’s no more second-guessing. No more hesitation.

Coach blows the whistle and everyone resets. Sweat drips down your back, your hands on your knees, chest heaving but you’re grinning. Because you feel it.

This team can win the whole damn thing.

They’ve been doubting you all year. Not directly, not to your face; no one’s dumb enough to say it like that. But the whispers are always there. Every headline. Every pregame panel. Every bracket prediction.

UConn’s backcourt is deeper. South Carolina’s size is unmatched. LSU’s got more firepower.

You hear it all. You register it.

But you don’t let it get in.

Because this team — your team, doesn’t need to be anyone else’s favorite.

You just need forty minutes.

And that’s all you’re going to give, every damn time.

Coach huddles everyone at center court as practice winds down. She runs through the last few logistics for the week, reminds everyone that the committee’s watching every game from here on out. That nothing’s promised. That USC hasn't been to a Final Four in over three decades.

But you believe it now. Not in the story that’s already been told but the one you’re writing.

The one you’ve bled into. The one you’ve built, brick by brick since the day you stepped on campus. Since that night in your backyard in Phoenix with your moms, telling Di that you can do it. Prove it.

You lean into the circle, sweat-damp hair pulled back, towel around your neck, and glance to your right.

Juju’s already looking at you.

She offers a fist, and you bump it. Quick, solid. No words needed.

That night, you stay in the gym later than usual.

The lights overhead hum, the court echoing under your footsteps as you run solo sets with one of the assistants. Juju stayed for the first half-hour, stretching on the sideline while you worked on spot-up threes but she didn’t press when you told her you needed a few more.

She knows you well enough now to understand this is your rhythm.

That the game lives in your lungs and your legs and your bloodstream, that it doesn’t quiet down just because the sun sets.

You’ve been sharper than ever in February, your numbers show it but what drives you lately isn’t just stats or scouting reports.

It’s her. Diana.

You don’t say it out loud. Not to Juju. Not to Coach. Not even to yourself most days. But deep down, you know.

You’re trying to prove something.

Not that you’re her. You’re long past that lie.

But that you could lead something as big, as unshakable, as the dynasty she once captained. That you could do it differently, on your terms, in your own voice and still win.

That this team you’ve helped build, piece by piece, doesn’t have to stand in anyone else’s shadow.

That legacy doesn’t have to be inherited.

It can be earned.

You take your final shot from the left wing. It sinks clean through. You hold your follow-through.

You picture the net cutting, the confetti, the final horn.

You believe it.

“Still going?”

Juju’s voice floats in from the entrance tunnel. You turn, smile.

She’s already changed into sweats, holding a Gatorade and a pack of orange slices like she’s your personal trainer. Which, let’s be honest, she kind of is.

“Wrapped up,” you say, walking over to grab your bottle.

She hands you the snacks wordlessly, and you peel them open without hesitation.

“You ever think about it?” you ask between bites, voice softer now.

She raises an eyebrow. “Think about what?”

“Winning it. The whole thing.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

You nod. “Same.”

There’s a quiet beat between you. Comfortable. Charged.

“You think we can really do it?” you ask, but it’s not insecurity that drives the question. It’s hope. Raw and real and hungry.

Juju steps closer, tilts her head.

“No,” she says.

You blink, thrown for half a second.

Then she smirks. “I know we can.”

Your laugh escapes before you can stop it, full and genuine.

She bumps your shoulder with hers, eyes softening.

“And you — you're the heart of it. The reason we're here.”

You shake your head. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

And you know she’s right.

Because Juju’s the one person who’s never sugarcoated anything with you. Never treated you like some shiny thing, or a name she had to tiptoe around. From the start, she’s seen the cracks. The temper. The spiral under pressure. The obsession with doing everything right.

She’s seen it all.

And she still shows up. Every time.

That’s the part that gets you. That makes something warm flicker deep in your chest. Not the belief. Not the praise. The constancy.

The fact that someone like her — strong, grounded, golden, sees all your mess and still chooses to be here.

Still believes.

You don’t say any of that. But you nod.

And you whisper, “Thanks.”

Juju shrugs like it’s nothing, but her eyes say everything.

“You’re my teammate,” she says. “We all carry this together.”

And you do.

Because this year, it’s not just about you anymore.

It’s about every late night, every double-practice, every film session that made your eyes blur. Every teammate who picked you up when you were seconds from folding. Every assistant who believed in the team before the rankings did. Every fan who started chanting your name instead of your mom’s.

It’s about USC.

And you’re not just ready. You’re hungry.

Let them doubt you. Let them ride for UConn or South Carolina or whoever else they want.

You know what’s coming.

You’re sitting on Juju’s couch, half-curled up, hoodie sleeves bunched around your wrists and your hair still damp from the shower you took in her bathroom. She’s not even sure when it started; when you started just being here all the time. Leaving your slides by her door, borrowing her socks, knowing where she keeps the mugs without asking.

It used to feel like an intrusion. Back when she didn’t know what this feeling was, back when she swore it was just tension; competitive, inconvenient, complicated. Back when she used to call you “Taurasi” with a bite in her tone just to keep space between you.

But now? Now it feels wrong when you’re not around.

You’re just... in her world. Without ever asking for permission. And Juju hasn’t pushed you out. Not once. That should’ve told her everything.

You're sitting there now, sipping some mint tea like it’s your ritual, curled into her throw blanket that you say "smells like her," and you look at peace. Comfortable. Maybe even happy. And Juju’s chest feels too tight with it. The quiet, the ease. The fact that she wants to memorize every little detail of this.

The way your pinky curls around the mug. The way you hum when you read something funny on your phone, not even realizing you’re doing it. The way you don’t bother filling silence with chatter when you’re around her; just breathing, just being and somehow that’s louder than anything.

She’s sitting on the other end of the couch, pretending to scroll through film breakdowns on her iPad but really, she’s just watching you in the reflection of the black screen.

And thinking. Thinking too much.

You’re not just her teammate. That lie’s long dead.

You’re not just a shooter she depends on, or someone she has to look out for because you might take her spot at USC. You’re you.

And Juju — God, she likes you. Like, really likes you.

Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way. But in a real way. A quiet, persistent thing that tugs at her every time you do something soft. Something sincere, something vulnerable that no one else gets to see.

She used to resent that. Used to tense up anytime she caught herself staring too long or letting her mind go places it shouldn't. Back when she was still trying to keep her world rigid and clean and sharp, like the game. Like the plan.

But now? She’s stopped fighting it.

There was something about holding you that night — your body shaking in her arms, your breathing sharp and jagged, the taste of salt in her throat from your tears and realizing you trusted her enough to break apart in front of her.

That was it.

That was the moment it stopped being something she could rationalize away. Because in that moment, she didn’t feel like your teammate or her rival.

She felt like something else. Like something closer.

And she wanted to be that person. The one you came to when things cracked. The one who held the pieces, even when you didn’t know how to ask.

She still does. Always will.

You let out a sigh, soft and tired and let your head fall against the back of the couch, your profile glowing in the dim yellow light of the floor lamp. Juju watches your throat bob as you swallow the last sip of tea and she’s hit with the urge to tuck your hair behind your ear. To touch you.

She doesn't.

But she thinks about it. She thinks about it a lot these days.

Instead, she shifts a little closer, resting her arm along the top of the couch behind you. Not touching. Just there.

You glance over, lazy-eyed, voice soft.

“You good?”

Juju nods once. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You blink slow, the way you do when you're half-asleep but trying not to miss a moment. “About what?”

She could say film. Or practice. Or the Pac-12 standings. Something easy.

But she doesn’t want easy. Not with you.

So instead, she says, “You.”

And your whole body stills.

Not in a scared way. Just... like you heard something real and you're trying to decide what to do with it.

Juju exhales, slow and careful, and for once she doesn’t try to dance around it.

“I think I’ve been thinking about you for a while now,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “Longer than I wanted to admit.”

You blink again. But your voice stays steady. “Yeah?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

You shift a little, turning toward her on the couch, knees bumping hers now. Close, closer than ever.

There’s a pause. Full and warm and so quiet.

And then you ask: simple, honest and impossible not to love. “What do you think about me?”

Juju breathes in, her heart hammering so hard she’s shocked you can’t hear it.

“I think you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. I think you love this game so much it scares you. I think... I think you try to carry everything, all the time and you don’t let anyone carry you.”

You’re watching her now with wide, unblinking eyes.

She continues, voice low and full.

“And I think I’d carry it for you, if you let me.”

Your bottom lip trembles just once before you bite it back. But you don’t say anything. You just reach forward, careful and slow, and place your hand over hers where it’s resting on her thigh.

Your skin is warm. Familiar. Unshaking. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Juju doesn’t overthink it.

She just laces your fingers with hers.

And lets herself have it. The truth. The feeling.

You.

Not as a teammate. Not as Diana’s daughter. Not as the best shooter in college basketball.

Just as you.

You, in her hoodie. In her space, in her heart.

The gym’s quieter than usual. That sweet spot after practice when the sweat’s dried and nobody’s in a rush to leave. Just the echo of someone shooting free throws at the far end, sneakers squeaking lazily, a water bottle rolling somewhere out of sight. The air still hums with leftover energy, but it’s the good kind. Loose, easy.

You’re on the floor, back pressed against the bench, legs outstretched and one knee drawn up. Juju’s right beside you — close like she always is lately. Thighs pressed together, shoulders brushing now and then, like neither of you even notice, like it’s just default. Natural.

You sip your water and watch Kiki peel the tape off her fingers with surgical focus, while Avery stretches her calves like she’s got somewhere to be, which she absolutely does not.

Kiki groans. “I swear Coach is making us run suicides just to feed some dark urge.”

“She said it’s for mental toughness, whatever the hell that means,” Avery says, her voice mockingly high-pitched, doing her best Coach impression. “‘Close games are won on legs and lungs!’”

Kiki snorts. “Close games are won when people pass the damn ball but okay.”

That gets a few laughs, even from Juju. You nudge her playfully with your elbow, and she nudges you right back, a little smirk tugging at her mouth. It’s stupid, the way your heart does a flip over nothing. But this is what it’s been lately. Quiet touches, subtle glances, inside jokes no one else catches. It’s been easy to pretend no one’s really noticed.

Until—

Kiki pauses in mid-rip, eyes narrowing like something just clicked.

“Y’all always like this now?” she says, nodding between you and Juju with a raised brow.

You blink. “Like... what?”

“Like that,” she says, motioning with her whole hand at the nonexistent space between you two. “Sittin’ on top of each other like you’re fused at the hip.”

Juju leans her head back against the bench, letting out a groan. “God.”

Avery’s already grinning, stretching abandoned. “Ooooh, we saying it out loud now?”

“Don’t start,” you mumble, trying to hide the smile tugging at your face. But it’s there, clear as day and now you’re warm all over for some reason that’s got very little to do with the gym’s busted A/C.

“No, like,” Kiki says, grinning wide, “I’m just trying to understand. Wasn’t it, like, three months ago that Juju couldn’t even look at you without making that face?”

Juju throws a piece of athletic tape at her. “What face?”

“That face you do when you’re trying not to say something rude but it’s right there.”

Avery cackles. “She’d be like, ‘Yo, pass the ball’ but in a way that said ‘I hope you trip and fall after practice.’”

You’re laughing now, trying to cover it with your hand, but failing miserably. “Okay, that’s not true.”

“Oh it’s true,” Avery says, pointing. “You were no better either. Acting like Juju stole your scholarship or something.”

You glance at Juju, who’s got her lips pressed together, obviously fighting a smile.

“Y’all beefed like it was personal,” Kiki adds. “Now? Can’t get through water breaks without you two sharing a bottle and making goo-goo eyes.”

“We do not make goo-goo eyes,” you say, scandalized.

Kiki gives you a look. “Babe.”

Juju chokes on her water. “Did you just call her ‘babe’?” sorry... sir (love island brain rot, ifykyk)

Kiki shrugs. “Figured I’d say it before you did.”

The whole group breaks into laughter again, the kind that makes your stomach ache, that kind that feels like it could live forever if no one acknowledged how good it is.

But under the jokes, under the teasing, something lingers. A beat of awareness. You can feel it on your skin, in the space between you and Juju, suddenly not so invisible, like a bubble just popped.

You shift slightly, just enough to put an inch of space between your thighs. Not because you want to. Just instinct. A reaction to being seen.

Juju notices. Of course she does. Her knee finds yours again, casually. Intentionally. Like she’s saying, Nah. Don’t do that. We’re good.

And just like that, you breathe again.

“Wait, wait,” Avery cuts in, still smiling but with that sharpness in her eyes that always means she’s poking deeper than she lets on. “So what did change? Like, seriously. You went from ‘I might kill you in your sleep’ to ‘I’ll die if you don’t sit next to me on the bus.’”

You glance at Juju. She glances back.

And then she shrugs.

“We figured some shit out,” she says simply.

And no one pushes it. No one pries.

There’s a silence that settles over the group then — not awkward, not uncomfortable. Just... understanding.

Kiki leans back onto her elbows. “Well whatever it is, keep it up. You been playing outta your minds since the new year.”

“Facts,” Avery adds. “The way you two read each other on the court? Like some telepathic freak shit.”

You grin. “Appreciate it.”

“You should,” Kiki says, smirking. “I don’t compliment often. Not without strings attached.”

“What strings?”

“Buy me Crumbl later.”

Juju groans. “You just made fun of us. Now you want cookies?”

“That’s the price of love, Ju.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still smiling. That whole big, quiet kind of smile you didn’t used to have so often. Not before this. Not before her.

You let your head fall lightly against Juju’s shoulder. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just lets it happen.

And in the corner of your vision, you can see Kiki and Avery sharing a look but it’s not mocking. It’s not even teasing, really.

It’s warm. Affectionate. Like they see something soft here, something real.

You let it sit for a while, not saying anything.

And for the first time since this whole thing began since Utah, since your panic, since you started unraveling and Juju caught every thread, you realize something:

This isn’t just your little bubble anymore.

You’re being seen. You’re being known.

And somehow, that doesn’t terrify you like it used to. It just feels... right.

By March, the country knew your name.

They said it like a prophecy. Diana Taurasi's daughter, sharp-eyed sniper with the fastest release in college basketball. The girl who'd clawed her way out of the shadows, who could drill threes off the dribble, off a curl, off balance, off nothing at all. Who had started the season unraveling, brittle and breaking under the weight of expectation only to rise from it.

And they said Juju's name, too. Not like prophecy. Like fact, like foundation. USC's heartbeat. The court general. If you were the spark, JuJu was the oxygen that kept it burning, always in step with you, always knowing exactly where you'd be.

It hadn't always been like that. But since Utah, since the blood and the panic and the towel clenched in your hands like a lifeline, something had shifted between you. Not just in how you moved together on the floor, though that was part of it. You ran the court like you shared a brain now. She'd drive and kick without looking, because she knew you'd be there. You'd call off a screen because she'd already set the angle. Telepathic, like Kiki and the broadcasters kept calling it. Magic.

The media loved it.

They clipped every moment: the shared glances, the low fives, the way Juju tugged your jersey back into place when it got twisted up. They tweeted it with heart eyes and fire emojis, called you the best backcourt in women's college hoops. USC, undefeated in 2025, marched through the bracket with poise and grit, and always, always, with you and Juju leading the charge.

By the time you reached the Elite Eight, the noise was deafening.

UCLA again. A Pac-12 showdown on the national stage. You knew the stakes. Winner goes to the Final Four. And UCLA came out swinging, physical and mouthy and playing like they had something to prove, like they always did.

You felt it from tip-off.

Number 14, one of their wings, started in on you early. Cheap bumps, elbow nudges, grabbing your jersey when the refs weren’t looking. You didn’t react at first. Just did what you always did: moved, cut, got open. Juju found you three times in the first quarter for clean shots. Swish. Swish. Swish.

The crowd roared.

But 14 didn’t back off. In the third quarter, she caught you on a screen, shoulder clipping your nose hard enough to snap your head back.

You stumbled, hands up, blinking tears, and then there was shouting.

Juju.

She was in 14’s face before the whistle even blew. Chest out, jaw clenched, yelling. "You think that’s basketball? That’s what you wanna do?"

The ref stepped in but not before JuJu shoved 14 back, just enough to get called. Tech.

The bench stood. The crowd booed. You stood there dazed, blood in your mouth and heartbeat in your ears, watching Juju get pulled away by Coach. Watching 14 smirk.

But Juju never took her eyes off you.

You stayed in. Played through it. Didn’t say a word until the buzzer sounded and you won by six.

After the game, the press room lights were harsh. Cameras flashing. Questions flying.

They came for Juju first.

"Juju, that technical in the third, was that frustration or... something else?"

She didn’t blink. Just leaned forward, calm. "I protect my teammates. That’s who I am."

The reporters murmured, scribbled. Then another.

"There was no clear provocation on the replay. Can you explain why you escalated it to that level?"

You rolled your eyes, a low "jesus christ" leaving your lips before leaning into the mic.

"She escalated nothing." Your voice sliced through the noise.

Juju turned to you, startled.

"There was context," you sighed, steady. "I took an elbow to the face. Same player had been grabbing and hitting all night. Juju reacted because she saw what the refs didn’t. I was bleeding. You can check the tape. She was protecting me, that’s not a flaw. That’s leadership."

The room went still for a second too long. Then a few reporters nodded, typed.

Juju looked at you with something unspoken in her eyes. Not surprise. Not gratitude. Something warmer. Like trust, wrapped in awe.

You didn’t flinch under the lights. Not this time. After, back in the tunnel, Juju caught your arm. Pulled you just out of view of the cameras. Her hand was warm against your elbow.

"You didn’t have to do that," she said softly.

You looked at her. "Yeah, I did."

She searched your face like she was trying to memorize it.

"I meant what I said," you added. "You're not reckless. You're just real."

Her mouth curved up, barely. "You saying I'm your hero now?"

You smirked. "Maybe, just a little bit."

And then, quieter, after a beat:

"You were mine first."

The words hung there, fragile and glowing, somewhere between a confession and a promise.

Juju didn’t speak. She just stepped closer. Close enough to bump shoulders. Close enough for her knuckles to brush yours.

"Final Four, huh?" she said after a pause.

"Final Four."

"Guess we’ve got more to prove."

You nodded. And in the silence, in the closeness, in the echoes of cameras still flashing somewhere down the hall, there was peace.

The building hums like it’s alive.

Over nineteen thousand people packed into Rocket Mortgage FieldHouse, and it feels like every single one of them is watching you breathe. Final Four. USC vs. South Carolina. The matchup everybody’s been talking about for weeks. Powerhouse against powerhouse. Dawn Staley on the other sideline. Cameras following every twitch of your face, every flick of your wrist, every stumble.

You tell yourself you’re ready. But tonight, it’s not clicking.

The game is ugly; gritty in a way that makes your chest burn. Not the good burn. It’s missed reads, loose rebounds, forced shots, bad rotations. South Carolina plays like a brick wall with fast hands. And you — you're forcing threes too early in the shot clock. You're second-guessing your curls off the screen, you’re watching your passes instead of snapping them.

Still, you stay in it. Mostly because Juju’s in it.

She’s loud on defense, aggressive on the boards, calling switches like she’s been doing this since birth. Her voice cuts through the chaos: “ICE IT! I GOT HIGH!” Every time you trip on your own feet, she’s there, low five, tug at your jersey, a look that steadies you.

It’s only the third quarter when it happens.

A scramble for a loose ball — one of those pinball sequences that makes everything feel like slow motion. You and JuJu both dive. She gets to it first, palms it clean and the moment she starts to rise, a South Carolina forward crashes into her from the blind side. It’s not dirty. Just hard.

You see the whole thing unfold from a few feet away.

Juju’s legs tangle awkwardly beneath her. Her head snaps back. The ball skitters away but you don’t even look to see who recovers it because Juju doesn’t get up.

Not right away.

Your body moves before you even think. You’re sliding across the court on your knees, grabbing her wrist, calling her name. “Ju—hey, hey, Ju, you good?”

She blinks hard, face twisted. One hand gripping her knee. Her mouth’s open but no sounds coming out and that’s how you know it’s bad. Juju doesn’t do silence, not on the court.

The trainers are running toward you, but your body blocks her like instinct. You press a hand to her shoulder, trying not to shake. “Hey, look at me. You’re okay, yeah? You’re good.”

But she’s not good, you can see it all over her.

Her face is pale. Her jaw’s clenched like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. She tries to sit up and winces so sharply it makes you flinch.

The ref’s whistled the play dead. Coach is calling your name from the sideline but you don’t look.

The trainers get there. You don’t move until one of them gently pulls you aside. Juju tries to wave them off, of course she does but even that looks like it takes all the energy she has.

You’re standing now, hovering, your hands twitching at your sides, heart thudding like a drumline in your chest.

She looks up at you when they start examining her knee. “I’m fine,” she lies, and you almost believe her, because you want to.

“Ju…” Your voice breaks without permission.

And that’s what undoes her.

Because her face softens in a way that has nothing to do with pain. “Don’t,” she whispers.

But it’s too late. You feel it in your throat, hot and scraping, that crushing weight behind your ribs. You turn slightly, trying not to show it, pressing your forearm to your face like it might stop everything from leaking out.

She gets helped up. Can’t put weight on the leg. Walks off with the trainers, arms around their shoulders, jaw clenched to hell. You’re still standing there at midcourt like your feet are cemented to the floor. The arena’s loud again, but it’s like someone stuffed cotton in your ears.

They sub you out two minutes later.

You don’t fight it.

You sit on the bench and press the towel against your face like it might hold you together. Coach comes by. So does your manager. Diana’s yelling something from the tunnel. None of it registers. You’re stuck on the image of Juju walking off. The wince. The way she didn’t even pretend to smile at you like she always does.

You feel hollow.

South Carolina keeps scoring. You stop looking at the scoreboard. Doesn’t matter. The last buzzer sounds and they’re storming the court, arms in the air, screaming into the rafters. You stay in your seat. Someone tries to pull you up for the handshake line but you shake your head and stand on your own.

It’s a blur after that.

People moving around you. Cameras shoved in your direction. Your name called a dozen times. Diana’s there, trying to get to you through the press wave but you don't hear her the way you normally would. It's like your brain is underwater. You're not listening. You’re looking for Juju.

You push past security. Your manager grabs your wrist. “You gotta do media.”

“No,” you say, already walking. “I can’t, not now.”

“You’re required for the podium—”

“Then fine me.”

You don’t stop. Don’t even glance at the cameras filming you now. You just want to find her. You need to find her. The panic’s rising again and it’s not like last time, not sharp and loud but slow, creeping, like you’re sinking inch by inch in a lake with no bottom.

You turn a corner in the tunnel, and there she is.

Except this time, she’s not just sore. Not limping with ice and a joke on her lips. She’s lying flat on the trainer’s table, both hands pressed hard against her face like she’s trying to hold it all in — everything. The pain, the fear, the devastation.

The room’s cold, too cold. You swear you feel it in your teeth.

The moment you see her like that, something inside you ruptures.

The world dulls. Your feet are moving, but the hallway stretches longer than it should. The sounds blur, trainers murmuring in low, clinical voices, someone scribbling notes, a bag of ice crinkling loudly in the silence and it doesn’t feel real.

You knew. Somewhere deep, you already knew. But you didn’t want to believe it.

Not her. Not Juju.

You stop just inside the door. She doesn’t see you at first. Or maybe she does but she doesn’t move. Her forearms cover her eyes. Her chest rises, then stutters. Like she’s trying not to cry, trying to keep it together like she always does.

But she’s shaking. And when a sharp breath cracks from her like glass, it slices through you.

You step forward — quiet, slow. “Ju.”

She drops her arms fast like you caught her naked. Her eyes are red, but she’s trying to wipe them with the sleeves of her hoodie, trying to sit up like it’s no big deal.

“I’m fine,” she says, voice scratchy and wrecked. “It’s not... It’s just a sprain. Or hyperextended. I don’t know. They don’t know yet.”

You don’t believe her.

Not just because of the limp you saw. Or how fast she went down on the court. But because JuJu doesn’t lie, except when she’s scared.

And she’s scared.

You shake your head slowly. “Don’t do that.”

She flinches like the words hit too close to bone. Like she knows exactly what you mean. “I can’t—” Her throat closes. She pushes the words out anyway. “I can’t hear it yet. I just... I need a second before I hear it out loud.”

You nod, because you remember. You remember exactly how it feels to know before you know. That waiting room space where everything hurts but you still cling to some broken piece of hope like it’ll save you from the truth.

You step closer. She’s still trying to keep it together, barely. Her jaw’s locked. One hand grips the edge of the table like she might fall off. The trainers start to say something, maybe about swelling or scans or timeline but you shoot them a look and they step back, giving you the space.

You sit beside her on the edge of the table, your thigh against hers. Her knee is already wrapped, elevated. Her sock’s still half-pulled off, her shoe lying on the floor like evidence of the war she just lost.

When you don’t say anything, she finally whispers, “It tore. They didn’t say it yet but I know. I felt it go.”

And just like that, her voice breaks completely.

You can see it happening to her, the panic rising fast, brutal, like a wave swallowing her whole. Her breathing turns shallow. She grabs the edge of the table again, her other hand trembling. “I—I can’t breathe, dude. I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

“Ju,” you say softly, cupping her face, forcing her to look at you. “Hey. I got you, okay? Just look at me.”

Her eyes find yours and lock. Wide and glassy and raw.

“Breathe with me,” you whisper. “Just like this. In. Out.”

You do it with her. Hold her gaze. Anchor her.

And slowly, god, painfully slow — she starts to follow. Her shoulders shake. She curls toward you like her whole body is folding it but she’s breathing.

You wrap your arms around her, both of them, tight. You pull her head to your shoulder and she doesn’t resist. She just crashes into you.

You hold her while she falls apart.

She cries like she hasn’t cried in years. Quiet but uncontrollable. Her fingers clench in the fabric of your hoodie like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go and all you can do is rock her gently, your own eyes stinging, your chest aching in the same spot it did that night in Utah when everything cracked inside you.

You whisper everything you she had said to you back then.

“It’s not your fault.”

“You didn’t let anyone down.”

“You’re not broken.”

“We’re gonna get through this.”

You don’t say she’ll be back soon. You don’t lie. Because she’d see through it. Juju’s never been the type to need lies. She just needs you.

So you stay.

Long after the trainers leave, long after the hallway quiets, you stay.

And when her breathing finally steadies, when her hands finally unclench, you feel her exhale into your neck and whisper something so small you almost miss it: “I don’t want to do this without you.”

Your chest caves in but not from pain. From how deeply you understand.

You tighten your arms around her. “You’re not going to.”

You stay there on that table with her until the lights flicker low and the noise dies outside the room. When she finally lifts her head, eyes still red but calm now, you see it.

The same thing she saw in you two months ago.

Not the player, not the tough girl with a highlight reel. Just you.

And now it’s your turn to see her.

Not the starter, not the anchor, not the legend-in-the-making.

Just Juju.

And somehow, even in this, especially in this, you’ve never loved her more.

It starts slow.

Not in the dramatic kind of way that feels like fate crashing down on you but in the quiet, steady way that feels like healing.

It’s weeks of alarms going off early and you making Juju smoothies she’ll fake-complain about. It’s her leg in that massive brace and your hand always there to steady her when she moves, even when she says she doesn’t need help.

You take her to PT every morning, even on the days when she wakes up grumpy and doesn’t want to talk. Especially on those days.

And she never says it, not out loud, but you can feel it in the way her hand lingers longer on yours now. In the way her eyes stay soft when you sit across from her during iced coffee runs after rehab. In the way she lets herself lean into you when her painkillers make her sleepy.

You don’t leave her side, not once.

You stayed when the team flew home, you stayed through her surgery, you stayed during the nights when she couldn’t sleep because the dull ache in her knee turned sharp with every shift in her sheets.

“You’ll come back stronger,” you whispered to her once, forehead pressed to her temple, while she blinked away frustrated tears after her first full bend. “Next season, you’ll make all of them regret ever thinking you’d stay down.”

She didn’t answer you right away. Just grabbed your hand and held it like a lifeline.

And now, it’s mid-June.

The sun in L.A. is hot but soft. Late afternoon light spills gold across Juju’s backyard. You’re both sitting in the shade, under the striped umbrella she made her brother wrestle out of storage.

Her brace is off now, replaced by the black wrap she hates but tolerates. She’s sitting back in the chair with her leg stretched out across yours, iced tea sweating in the cupholder beside her.

You’re leaned sideways, head resting on her shoulder, fingers tracing lazy lines across the scar on her knee like it’s part of her story now. Like you’re learning it by touch.

Because you are. The last few months haven’t been easy, but you made a home in the in-between.

You stopped being USC’s firecracker shooting guard. She stopped being the anchor. Somewhere along the way, it became just you. And her. And this.

The light shifts again, and she nudges you gently. You look up.

Juju’s eyes are already on you. Her lips curve into the kind of smile that feels like it’s just for you now.

“Hey,” she says quietly like anything louder might break the moment.

“Hey,” you echo, equally soft.

For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of summer — wind brushing through lemon trees, a neighbor’s distant music playing through cracked windows, the slow creak of wood beneath your feet.

Then:

“I used to hate you,” she says suddenly, almost laughing but not really.

You smirk. “I know.”

“I really did. You were cocky as hell, thought you knew everything, shot like you had something to prove every single second.”

You tilt your chin toward her. “Didn’t I?”

She pauses. Her voice drops just enough to feel like something new. “You didn’t have to.”

The silence this time stretches longer. There’s something behind her eyes, something you’ve seen growing there for months but never dared to name.

Until now.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” you say. Your voice doesn’t even shake. “I’m here next season. And after that, wherever you are.”

Her breath catches, just a little.

And then she nods. Almost like she’s been waiting for you to say it. Almost like she believed it already, but needed to hear it out loud to let it settle.

You shift, sitting up a little straighter. Her leg stays draped over yours, but your hands find hers again.

She looks at you like you hung the moon. Like she’s seeing you for the first time all over again and when she leans in, slow and careful and heart-forward, you meet her there.

The kiss is gentle. Not rushed, not burning. It’s the kind of kiss that says: I see you. I know you. I’m not going anywhere.

You stay there like that, lips pressed against hers, until the warmth on your skin fades from sun to something deeper. Something more permanent.

When you pull back, her forehead rests against yours, and she lets out a shaky laugh. “Took us long enough.”

You smile. “We were so dumb.”

“Speak for yourself,” she mutters but she’s grinning now, full and easy.

And you don’t say it out loud, but this? This means more than a trophy ever could.

Because you didn’t win the natty, but you found each other.

And after everything, after Utah, after the blood and the pressure and the fight to survive—you know now:

That’s the win that matters.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[finniestoncrane]

Would u do yandere/obsessive themes for all the riddlers?

Literally was staring at that in ur request info cuz I fuckin WISH they were obsessed with me like I am with them :) hehehehehe especially YJ Eddie my ass can't shut up about him HELP xD

Riddler Headcanons hnnnnnng i love to imagine a world where every one of these little freaks is obsessed with the object of their affection to the point where they gotta keep them SAFE AND PRESENT lest their ego suffer 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: yandere themes, obsession, threats, violence, kidnapping, imprisonment, desperation, so many sexual things omg

arkham

ok his obsession is. unhealthy. and guess what? he deals with it in an even more unhealthy way!! and it was never for a moment anything close to being sweet...

maybe at the beginning, when he was trying to lure you in, trying to convince you that he wasn't about to murder you at any given moment, but that ended pretty quickly

but then he realised that he enjoyed your company and GOD!!

how dare you remind him of his pathetically human nature, his needs and desires that he was so sure he was above given his superiority

it's a fine line between love and hate, and he's straddling it so hard his balls are in agony

could you just do him a favour and either die by his hands so he can stop thinking about you or have the decency to be his dirty little secret?

literally cannot stop thinking about you, but while those thoughts give him a tent in his horrid cargo pants, they are incredibly violent in nature

btaa

hello!! you are now the lucky recipient of at least 50 "secret admirer" gifts every day! each one more absurd and impractical than the last!

it's got the the point where every time you hear a plane, you panic about what he's written in the sky for you this time

he'll never reveal himself though, because he's stuck in a cycle of trying to impress you but failing miserably and then convincing himself he can make it right with just one more gesture

so you have an apartment filled with plushies and chocolates and your doorbell gives you hives when it rings these days

it's just a precaution, because he needs to mark his territory. he has to ensure that any potential rivals in love can see that you have someone willing to do THE MOST

and anyone who tries to outdo him will suffer the swift consequences

young justice

he's always thought of himself as superior to everyone, intellectually of course, so there's never been much of a reason for him to be jealous of anyone

until he met you, and he realised that there were a lot more areas for a rival to compete with him than just intelligence

trying to figure out a way to keep them away from you, to have you all to himself, took a LOT of his brain power. and it's not exactly great when huge brains and a paranoid mind come together

i mean, if you thought you were surprised when he kidnapped you then just imagine how it felt for him when he suddenly realised what he was doing. and by that point, he'd already gone too far

but this could work!! now you're with him and you're his, all his!!

dano

oof, he's like "they won't treat you right!!" was dressed up in a big jacket with cling film on it's head

he's so happy to pretend to be your shoulder to cry on, the one that you go to when the world just seems to be cruel and unbearable

he'll be there for you, to comfort you, to dry your eyes and cheer you up. because it is unfair to you! how can you have been through so many dismal relationships? each one of them ending with you being completely ghosted?

it's fine, none of them were right for you clearly, they weren't good enough for someone like you. someone he thinks is perfect

he never has to reveal to you the lengths he went to in order to get rid of them, that he's the reason they never called back. pretty difficult to do that when your hands aren't attached to your arms and your arms aren't attached to your torso and your torso isn't attached to your head

no, you'll never know, just keep crying over them and eventually you'll realise that he's the one who's always there for you

gotham

you'd think he was just the usual soft boy with an adorable little crush, but he's actually the incarnation of "if i can't have you, no one can" and he is so more than willing to prove this frequently

all of that time spent doing favours for you, ones you didn't even know you needed!! organising your files, making sure your office smelled nice, putting your favourite hand soap in the bathroom closest to you, breaking into your apartment and leaving you fresh milk for your coffee

you would think you would be more grateful, but you weren't, at least not enough for him, your attentions were still with other people

being polite to them, doing little favours for them instead of returning them to him, laughing at their jokes

it's a little bit unfair how you think you can be nice to everyone around you instead of focusing every bit of your attention on him

so he really has no other choice but to eliminate them, one by one

and if that fails? he'll just get rid of the problem at the root, which means that unfortunately, you'll have to disappear...

zero year

horrid little man, he's learned everything he knows from shitty pick up artist videos and thinks he can keep you by "devaluing" you

so expect a lot of backhanded compliments, the kind of thing that makes you think you're not good enough for him in a way that keeps you very close and actually lowers you to his level rather than the pedestal you deserve to be on (which he is aware of)

but when you realise that he's not actually being nice, and that he's really just a bit of a waster? and you stop letting him treat you ilke that, and grow a spine, and threaten to leave him?

i mean, OBVIOUSLY he's going to have to think of a way to take away that choice!! he can't have you able to just get up and go whenever you feel like it

he has to have you, because that's what you are to him: a posession, a trophy, a reward for his efforts in "chivalry"

[noctunis]

OMG DO YOU LIKE P!ATD?

YES I LOVE P!ATD ! !

[gomzdrawfr]

Gomzzzzz hello!!! I’ve been lurking in your blog for like, over a year now and I just wanted to say, your art is so freaking amazing and cute....the big cheeks!! I’ve always struggled with confidence in my own work, to the point where sharing anything felt almost impossible (stare at my stuff for hours only to delete them) But seeing you do your thing? I decided to try posting too. Okay it took a while but when I did I was fully expecting it to get like… 2 likes, max. But then YOU reblogged it, and my phone basically exploded. I’m not even kidding—my notifications were wild, and for the first time, I actually felt proud of something I made. It might sound silly and you probably don't know which art of mine you reblog but it really hyped me up and frankly...i found back the feel to draw again. I can't thank you enough for doing what you do, for making cod space a better and nicer place (your reblogs on others are always soooo positive and top tier)

Anyway, I’m keeping myself anonymous because, uhhh, social anxiety vibes and don’t want to overwhelm you;w; but I hope you know how much you’ve impacted people like me just by being yourself. I’m wishing you the absolute best for 2025!! zapping you with my beams to give you braincells for your school stuff

you deserve all the good things fr

-🦈

🥹

CryING iN THE CLUB— (my room)

Shark anon, thank you for the sweetest words, I really needed this today…and I’m so proud of you for finding back the love to draw again. I hope 2025 will be a blast for you too man!! Remember to take rest and have a good year ahead

[hana-bobo-finch]

wasps are suddenly the cutest and coolest little fellas I’ve ever seen and I blame bug fables for this

[red-dyed-sarumane]

void (oc) & ryuusei are so funny to me. little trauma man(genderless) gets a celebrity crush of the god of space & spends all of their time making photo edits of said god to post online. we're talking aesthetic filters with sparkles & flower stickers added. said god ends up becoming their best friend & is not only aware of this but finds it really funny & encourages them every time theyre like "maybe i should stop doing this since i know you personally".

[wingdingle]

ok i figured it out finally. the secret to becoming friends with somebody is to keep doing smalltalk and asking how peoples days are and listen to them and share your own experiences and be genuinely curious about theirs, until you find people who also want to be friends with you enough to talk to you outside of the setting you regularly meet in, and then just initiate communication on a regular basis (at least 5 times a week or some shit idk.) also assess their comfort zone before talking about like social taboos . like ask them if they are ok hearing smth youre unsure about before you say it. also you dont necessarily succeed every time but dont get discouraged theres always more ppl and more room to grow =]

sidenote: try to make sure that when you make conversation it isnt exclusively about things you feel negatively about and keep an open mind about peoples interests, even if you dont necessarily agree with them - some people dont know some tjings are offensive bc theyre just too busy living their lives to stay on top of everything, but you can always explain that thought about it being offensive, just dont shut them down right away... imagine how youd feel if someone shut you down when you were talking about something you liked

[yappacadaver]

and it's like despite all the awful shit he's done and continues to do, like, i get it. he's employed like 24/7/365. he never got to live a life, despite spending a childhood clinging to the hope of having one someday. He knew companionship and love but lost it and can't ever get it back. His circumstances are so anomalous and gruesome that it completely isolates him from pretty much every other human being on the planet. he knows hell is real and he is basically guaranteed to go there if he can't break this demon curse thing.

like it doesn't make the kidnapping and spreading the curse around any better, but i do get it.

[coridallasmultipass]

.

[bruisedboys]

ENDGAME — send me a dialogue prompt from this list, this list, or this list, + a character from the list above for a blurb! HI can i get bucky x reader where reader is absolutely oblivious "please correct me if i've been reading this all wrong but..." but bucky has been trying ALL of his 1940s flirting methods and hes tweaking (i'm imagining his eye twitching) because hes been so obvious about it and she cant tell

hi angel!! thank u so so much for your request it was so much fun to write, hope u enjoy!

congressman!bucky x fem!reader, 1.3k words (reader is a little shy and a lot oblivious)

Apart from outright telling you, Bucky doesn’t know what else he can do to show you how much he likes you. He’s tried everything, from flowers on your desk to flirting with you over paperwork, to impromptu lunch with you during your break. He doesn’t mind waiting for you if that’s what you want, but he’s starting to think you actually haven’t realised how he feels about you, despite his many attempts.

You take his flirting like he’s joking (he’s not, he’s completely serious whenever he tells you you look pretty, or that you’re an incredible secretary and he wouldn’t have anyone else), and you don't flirt back, not on purpose, anyway. You’re not stupid, but you’re maybe a little unassuming. He guesses this is a result of you not being pursued much, or in the proper way. Which, of course, he thinks is absurd, when you’re that pretty.

“Hi, doll,” he says, looking up from his laptop. He gives you a once over, “You look nice today.”

You stand in the doorway of his office, looking lovely as ever with a stack of paperwork pressed to your chest. “Hello,” you say, smiling. “Thank you.”

Bucky likes your smile. He likes everything about you. He gestures to your paperwork with his head. “What’ve you got for me?”

“The documents you asked for, the ones you wanted printed?” You cross the room and place the stack on the corner of his desk. “Sorry I took so long, the printer was playing up.”

Bucky couldn’t care less about the printer. You look almost abnormally pretty today, in a cream coloured sweater and a brown skirt, your hair pinned up out of your face. He stares at you a bit too long before he remembers himself.

“That’s okay,” he says. Again, he could not care less about the printer when you’re in his office looking like that. “Thanks so much, doll.”

You smile at him and shrug one shoulder. “Just doing my job,” you say sweetly. “Was there anything else you wanted?”

Bucky can think of a lot of things he wants. You, being at the very top of the list. He decides on the spot that he’ll finally tell you so, tonight if he can. He taps a vibranium finger on the desk like he’s thinking.

“Hmm,” he hums, dragging it out as he pretends to think. He takes his time pretending before meeting your gaze, “Are you free tonight?”

You roll your eyes. “Bucky,” you say.

Bucky loves the way his name rolls off your tongue like that. He grins.

“What?” He asks, laughing a bit, “I’m serious, are you doing anything after work?”

You squint at him like you’re trying to figure out whether he’s joking or not. “No,” You say slowly. You fiddle with your bracelet. “Why?”

“I want to take you out,” Bucky says simply. “For dinner. Would you want to?”

You stare at him. “Are you joking?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No. I want to go somewhere nice with you and talk,” he explains.

Something close to panic crosses your features. “Are you firing me?” You ask.

“What?”

Bucky’s baffled. He has no idea why you think he’d be firing you. He’s just asked you on a date. You’re the best secretary he’s ever had (he’s only ever had one, but he imagines you’re the best out of all the ones he could’ve had). He very clearly likes you enough to keep you around for as long as he wants. Why you think he’d want to sack you is beyond him.

You get nervous then, embarrassed. You screw your hands in your sweater. “I— so you’re not firing me?”

Bucky feels suddenly so fond for you he almost stands up and kisses you. It burns in his chest like starlight, makes him feel nineteen again. It’s been a long, long time since he’s felt so young. It’s sort of electrifying.

“No,” he tells you, shaking his head. “Of course I’m not firing you, why would I do that? I just want to take you to dinner, doll.”

“Oh,” you say softly.

Bucky grins. You’re so cute. So oblivious. It drives him nuts for more reasons than one. “Is that a yes?” He asks you.

You rock on your feet and bite your lip. “Yeah, okay.”

“Perfect,” Bucky grins. “Do you like Vietnamese? I know a place.”

-

You’ve spent the majority of the day at work worrying about your dinner date with Bucky. You’re not sure if you should call it a date. You don’t know what to call it, actually.

You like Bucky. He’s kind, hard-working, handsome. He’s also intimidating and a bit scary sometimes. You know he doesn’t mean to be, but you’re flighty at the best of times, and he only makes it worse. He’s always saying and doing things that make your heart pump in a way you don’t quite understand.

You’re still a little scared he might fire you. Or tell you he’s replaced you. But so far, he’s only walked on the outside of the sidewalk, held the door for you, and refused to let you see how much anything on the menu costs.

All this only gets you thinking about all the other nice things he’s ever done for you, the pretty flowers that appeared on your desk last week, the time he gifted you a necklace because he, “thought it would look nice on you”. You’ve never thought about any of it for too long, not wanting to get your hopes up about what it all means.

“I’ve lost you,” Bucky says, sitting across from you. He’s taken off his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair. You can’t stop looking at his vibranium arm and the way it reflects the warm glow of the lights overhead.

You blink. “Sorry.”

Bucky smiles at you. “That’s okay. What’re you thinking about?”

You bite your lip. “Nothing,” you lie.

Your lie must show on your face (you’ve never been good at hiding anything, let alone from Bucky, who seems to have the uncanny ability to unravel you like a spool of thread), because Bucky gives you a knowing look.

“C’mon, doll, what is it?” He reaches across the table and takes your hand in his flesh one. He’s warm, but you’re warmer. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, “You can tell me anything, you know.”

You look at your joined hands on the table and feel a bit dizzy.

“Um,” you start lamely. You can’t look at him, so you stare at his shoulder instead. “Please correct me if I've been reading this all wrong, but… is this a date?”

Bucky goes silent and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing. Maybe the flowers and the necklace and everything else was merely a kind gesture between friends. Maybe this isn’t what you think it is, and you’ve gone and—

“Oh, honey,” Bucky says, saccharine sweet. “Are you kidding me? Of course this is a date. If you want it to be.”

You don’t know what to say. Of course you want it to be a date. You just never considered that Bucky would want that, too. You realise, suddenly, that you’ve been a bit foolish. You’ve no time to think about it because Bucky pushes his hand further up your arm to hold your forearm, leaning closer over the table.

“Do you want it to be?” He asks quietly. Gently, like he won’t be mad or offended if you say no.

You don’t want to say no, not at all. In what world would you? You nod your head, “Yes, I think so.”

Bucky grins so big it changes his whole face. “Okay,” he nods. “A date it is.”

He leans back in his chair but doesn’t let go of your hand. You feel so giddy you could burst, your chest fizzing with the feeling. Your fear it’ll spill out of you all at once.

Bucky looks equally as happy as you feel. “I’m glad you said so,” he says, and there’s a teasing edge to his tone that you’d hate if it wasn’t coming from him. “I’ve been wanting to take you on a date for ages, did you notice?”

You can’t say you did. At least you know now.

[milo-is-rambling]

Weight talk tw I guess idk how to describe the post sorry im a little high

It’s so weird being around people who talk about weight problems (IOP) and like idk it brings up weird shit in my brain almost anxiety that I should feel bad about myself somehow like I’m doing this wrong being confident idk. Weird self doubt thing that happens when you’ve loved yourself (hmm. Rephrase. I don’t care about being fat. let’s say that.) and then you’re in a room full of people having a group discussion about how they avoid living their life in happy ways because they don’t want to become like you. But you love yourself. But everyone in your life since you were little has been dieting and talking about weight and specific numbers (someone was anxious about gaining seven pounds! SEVEN. If they saw my scale they would shit themselves. I put on seven pounds taking a big bong rip Jesus fucking Christ seven pounds. I wanted to rip my hair out.)

Next time weight issues come up in IOP I’m stepping out of the room. Like idk how to explain it cause it’s like not a trigger but I guess it is ? But it’s just so weird like the way I’m triggered makes me want to cry why does the world hate me for being fat what the fuck !!!!

[krystella-shifts]

EVERYTHING IS CLICKING FOR ME Y'ALL!!! *ੈ✩‧₊˚

The only post you'll ever need for LOA. Literally.

It's so easy to manifest literally so easy once you do this. JUST SIT BACK AND RELAX, BE IN RECIVING MODE INSTEAD OF CONSTANTLY FEELING LIKE YOU HAVE TO DO SOMETHING. Yes sometimes it can be hard when you feel panic that you have to manifest as fast as possible but trust me once you TRUST, it'll all fall into your lap at the snap of a finger! Literally. You'll even feel better and happy instead of worrying and feel like waiting forever. The universe/god/your higher self, whatever you believe in is telling you or teaching you that the way isn't through worry, stress, pain, suffering. The way is through ease, love, trust. Once you understand this you'll ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS be able to manifest without any effort. Yes, no need for that 21 days challenge, no need to set a reminder for every hour to affirm, no need to try hard to visualise every teeny tiny detail. Just have this inner knowing and relax. That's the cheat code. How easy is that? You literally have the cheat code and it doesn't require ANY effort outside and the most minimal effort inside.

Now let me explain all the manifestation techniques in more detail.

Every manifestation technique has one goal:

Think about any technique. Affirming, visualising, scripting,etc. All of these are for what? To remind you, you have your desire. YES not to get something. That's why Neville said feel it real is very powerful technique. Cuz that's what happens when we receive something right. But what we do in loa is we feel it rn and get it rn, and because the 3d is in the past, yes it's our past assumptions, that's why we say it's not real. So when we feel it real we already have our desire in the present, but the 3d is not in the present. So don't react to it. Just remember that. And after a few days of having our desire we don't get THAT excited, do we? So when you think about it again you don't have to feel anything or do anything cuz you already have it. AND THEN WE JUST SIT BACK AND RELAX. Again the same conclusion. Cuz that's it!

ALL YOU NEED TO EVER DO:

Decide what you want. And feel having it.

Remind yourself that you have ___ either saying it in your head, writing it down, etc

RELAX. SIT TF BACK. YES YOU DON'T NEED TO DO ANYTHING.

Whenever you think about ___ always remember you have it. And think naturally. How would you think having ___ cuz you do now.

Remember the 3d is a product of your past assumptions. Just like how we see the stars 8 years later of their actual form. Just like it takes 8 minutes for sunlight to reach the earth. If you remember this you won't ask "where it is" you know it is here. And yes u can manifest Shifting too.

Allow it to come to you. I don't chase i attract.

Yes that's what it means. And I am the living proof for that 😌💅🏻✨ I am literally living my dream life and bestie you are too. That's all you need to manifest (aka yourself). It's very simple but if you have any questions feel free to comment and keep me updated on your manifestation journey and success stories cuz I'd love to read them and know if my post helped you 🤭🥂 (atleast you can do that for me, right? ;p)

Love, ... redkittyjellyfish? Wait i need to change my user name 💀 (ps. I changed my user from redkittyjellyfish - Krystella-Shifts (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠) )

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

i watched My Neighbor Totoro for the first time, here's my chronological viewing experience:

woo-hoo! dusty old japanese house with japanese architectural details aplenty

these kids got some ENERGY my goodness

family dynamic's adorable. peak quality dad humor

kids: our house is haunted. parents: that's so cool!

hell yeah, wrinkled old lady rep. we need more friendly old women with potato faces and warts like storybook witches. the backbone of society, these ladies

Plot Summary: Small Child Bothers Local Wildlife

sacred tree sacred tree sacred tree

Introducing Totoro! nobody said this fucker's got TEETH???

Uh-Oh! Inadequate Parental Supervision Detected

(you misplaced your four year old! you're not supposed to do that)

4-year-old: i met a magic forest spirit. dad: oh shit fr?

4-year-old: *angrily hugs sister* missed u bitch

this small child has a smile like a toad. like a really really cute toad. like the cutest toad in all existence. i love her she's perfection please just let this child be happy

rice paddies are so pretty....so back breaking....rice is such a prissy crop

*my crush is stranded in a rainstorm* takethisumbrellait'syoursnowBYE *runs away in panic im so good at flirting*

Giant Chinchilla Learns To Hold Umbrella, Is Fucking Delighted By Experience

take this, it will help you on your quest! *hands u trail mix wrapped in a leaf*

LO-FI HIP HOP STUDY LIST!

crouching down to peer at dirt--A++ top notch foundational childhood experience

mom has a big ass forehead

honey! the chinchillas are performing Rituals in the backyard again

help yeah let's jack and the bean stalk this shit

huh so we're all just climbing aboard the giant chinchilla's tiddies now ok

class trip!

the pure adrenaline of Vegetable Gardening

no! the small child is crying! she is bawling her eyes out. no no no. i can't cope with this. emotionally i cannot cope 🥺🥺🥺

i've only had Mei one hour but if anything happens to her i will raze this earth and everyone on it

please someone make this small child smile again

oh no the tall child is crying too

i can't take this. my heart can't take this.

i need a drink

small child running determined to deliver magic veggies to the hospital. this kid is my hero

she is also unsupervised. so, so unsupervised

babe you are FOUR

godDAMMIT ghibli, you cannot give me watercolor sunsets while a small child is missing. u are killing me. my heart is giving out. this is me, experiencing heart failure.

Totoro to the rescue!

no wait CATBUS to the rescue!

i admit i initially thought the cat was a creep. alice in wonderland prejudiced me. i have revised my notions of smiling cats

i've decided the cat is a metaphor for the magic of a robust public transport system

MEI'S OKAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and so is mom. she's a lovely lady im sorry for what i said about her forehead. it's a noble forehead.

happy ending YES bitch!!!!!!

ok. ok ok ok. that was magical.

(as a first-time adult viewer i was worried i wouldn't be able to Access the Magic. but i could and i did and it was incredible. that was culture. that was ART. joy distilled into animated form. holy rites of childhood. i understand now. how glorious, this world we grow out of. how full of marvels. i'm going outside to smell grass and sun and get dirt under my fingernails. miraculous.)