#I have Never. Not a once. Gotten a mean anon for my shit

[kakusu-shipping]

I’m kinda insecure about one of my f/o’s because, 1. He’s a teenager (and I’m an adult), and 2. He’s kind of a meme character. I’m worried people will think I ship myself with him as a joke, but I’m not. I really, really like him!

This is the Internet and it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks ever.

Well that's my go to response anyway, but I do understand the hesitation, especially with a canon minor character, feels like you gotta dance around certain people for that, and it makes the whole thing feel kinda exhausting. Though I'll say, it's probably not as scary as you think it is, it's easy to fall into this hole on the internet that if you make even the slightest misstep people will scream for your head, but it's really not that bad, I promise. Maybe I'm just lucky though, or off most people's radar.

The other half though, the worry people think you're self shipping with them as a joke? Honestly, if people think that, it's probably fine all things considered? Like I get it kinda sucks not being taken seriously, kinda hurts, but at the end of the day your F/O knows you're serious, and you know you're serious, and that's what matters.

Every character is someone's unironic Fictional Other. There are people out there who'd unironically want to Marry Shrek, or Nagito Komeda, or Sans Undertale and the Oncler together. And like!!! Good For Them!!! I love that for them!!! Shrek and Sans love them back!!

So if you're comfortable with it, take a deep breath, and love loud.

[san8ny]

can you pls write nerdy ellie? it can be sfw or nsfw

HOT! HOT!

?: Ellie is alot of things: She’s well articulated, She’s liked around campus, but for the life of her, she cannot get laid. It’s gotten pretty embarrassing, maybe you can help? - NSFW - Excuse me for any spell checks!

!: My mutuals have really yummy fics about nerd!Ellie so please let me know if you’d like any recommendations. - Thank you for your anon, means sm to me baby

You stare at her with an incredulous expression, the sight alone being one of pure unbridled shock upon this new-found discovery.

“Never?”

“Never.”

She reaffirms after you, running a nervous hand through her auburn tresses to ease the silent tension in the air. Ellie Williams, all around “good at fucking anything,” is a virgin. The thought alone was something that poked curiosity and incredulity. You knew she was quite kept to herself, often times busying with books and videogames, but this was something you didn’t expect. I mean, she was with Dina at one point.

You don’t want to make her make her more uncomfortable than the topic is, so you give her some form of comfort; “It’s quite normal, honestly, I don’t even blame you in this society.”

That earns you a laugh and a slight snort from her, throwing her head slightly back. “Yeah?”

You return a chuckle, shrugging, “Yeah, but you’ve atleast kissed before, right?

She immediately quiets down, olive-toned cheeks flushing with a light wash of embarrassment.

Holy fuck.

If you weren’t shocked before, you were gawking now.

“D-don’t look at me like that, man..” She groans, tossing her glasses onto the coffee table as she buries her face in a nearby decorative throw-pillow. “No, no— I don’t mean in a bad way, just surprised.”

“Surprised?” She murmurs softly, staring at the dim dorm lightbulb that hangs above them, “That’s a first. Dina usually calls me forcibly celibate.”

You want to curse yourself at the noise you let out, eyes watering as you slap your mouth with a cupped palm. Ellie side-eyes you with a scoff as she gets up from her seat, “Yeah, Yeah, Alright—“

“I’ll be serious! I promise.” You call out, reaching for her wrist to sit her back down, to which she does.

“Have you ever, like, considered it, though?”

Her interest piques at this turn, reaching for her glasses back, “What? Having sex?”

Well, duh.

Ellie hums, thinking about it for a second, “I wouldn’t be opposed to it..” She trails off, wiping her lenses with the corner of her graphic-tee, before putting them on. “Only to someone I really like.”

“Aw, that’s actually really sweet, I actually had a friend once who—

“Which is why I want you to fuck me.” She bluntly puts, staring at you four-eyed.

. . .

“Come again?” You cock your head out, “You want me to..?”

She inches forward, nodding like a bobblehead, “Yeah! It makes sense. You’re my friend, and I like you, so it’ll work.” You sigh, shaking your head, “Ells, it doesn’t work like that. What if you regret it?”

“So you’d agree to it if I don’t regret it?” She smiles, tone a bit ecstatic as she sees you entertain the idea.

She really was putting you on the spot, huh?

You stare at her for a bit, studying her face. She seemed enthusiastic about getting the opportunity to even lay hands on your soft skin. Saying you were pretty was an understatement, you were the epitome of wet-dreams; She was head over heels pretty much in-love with you, and the idea of even losing such a prize position like her virginity to you symbolized things she could only dream about.

You roll your eyes as you both kneel on her mattress, her fiddling with your bra like it’s the most complicated thing. “This shit is a death machine, holy smokes.”

Holy smokes?

When she finally succeeds, she’s jittery and giggling to herself, scooting back into the pillows to get a good look at your beautiful breasts. “They’re so fucking hot, ohmygod..” Next thing you know, she’s cupping them softly, kneading the fleshy dough in circular motions, gaze fixed on the way your back arches ever so slightly, eyes fluttering. So she is doing something, right?

She leans her head down, giving your perked areolas experimental licks, opting to suckle them when you give her the green. Your hand finds itself buried in her hair, massaging her tender scalp while she works her tongue on your sensitive buds, closing her own eyes at the pure idea she might be making you feel good.

After a while, you pull her off your tits, pushing her down onto the sheets as she looks at you confused. Poor baby doesn’t understand sex is transactional because she’s too busy giving you her all. You smile softly, leaning over her, legs on each side of her torso as you give her a kiss on the lips, the brief ‘smooch’ sound music to her ears as she opens her heavy lidded eyes back again; they’re filled with neediness, a surge of wanting to be touched more.

By the time you’ve readied her for the real thing, littering her body in soft bruising marks, her voice slightly higher pitched with each ‘uhn!’ she lets out, brows scrunched together and lips slightly ajar, coated in a sheen of saliva from how you kiss her with reassurance you’ll take care of her— she’s telling you with pants, no, begging— “P-please, baby? ‘Can’t take it anymore..”

She means her bottoms, fabric cruely soaked and covered in her own arousal from all the attention you’ve been giving her; Ellie feels lightheaded, tears brimming her crinkled eyes when you thumb her through her boxers. However, words cannot explain the feeling that rushes through her when you lean down and lick a fat strip through the cloth, eyes locked on hers. She hiccups a gasp, shuddering as the cold air hits her mound when you pull the elastic band from the side.

“I wanted to eat it through it, but I think you’re a bit impatient for that, so i’ll cut to what you want.” You whisper, warm breath fanning over her sensitive pussy. By the time you dig in, she’s whining at volumes you literally need to reach up her torso and cover her mouth.

“Uhn! Uhn—! F-fuck—?”

What sorcery did you have on her? Genuinely? She can’t believe she’s been withholding herself from such pleasure, your tongue trudging through her gummy folds making her want to die and come back again. She can barely even think straight, letting out muffled wails against your hand, saliva seeping through and rolling down your wrist in dribbles. You’d be disgusted, but the sight alone boosts your ego, you had her whipped.

Was it mentioned she’s already orgasmed before you even went near her cunt? That’s right, she already came once while you two were kissing. You definitely knew she’d atleast finish early, but damn were you surprised when she shook against you, humming against your lips rhythmatically.

“Am I making you feel good, baby? Can you talk f’me?”

She could barely hear you, and here you were, asking damn questions. Nonetheless, she gives you a small huff in response; alluding that she was somewhat conscious.

Once you deliver her to cum, she’s shivering against the sheets, balling her fists up as you rip both a cry, and orgasm out of her. “A-Ahnnnn..?!.”

Rest of the night, you two went at it like animals; Ellie insisting you teach her everything there was to know about sex in a singular sitting— ..fucking? To say you both tired eachother out would be an underemphasis.

You ruined her.

When you both seemingly knock out, well, atleast you, she slowly sits up, biting her bottom lip in anticipation as she gazes around your naked body, you were gonna sleep over..

She seems more excited at the prospect you’ll stay the night than the fact you two have been literally keeping the entire female dormitory quarters up— likely going to be hit with a personal visit by the RA.

Who cares, not Ellie for sure. She’ll happily flaunt the fact she’s (finally) got some, just to show off.

God, was she a geek.

[gothhabiba]

@ anon

I think it might be actually dangerous to publish your ask, but I'm sure from my response people will be able to tell what it's about anyway.

You're full of actual, absolute shit if you're pretending not to know by now that verification processes to ensure the legitimacy of Ghazzawin's fundraisers have been undertaken, and that details about what these processes entail have been shared by several people. Several people, some of them currently in Gaza, put themselves through countless hours of work video-calling people, judging their knowledge of dialectical Arabic, seeing their faces and their children's faces and their living conditions, seeing IDs and bank information, asking invasive, personal questions that they didn't want to be asking & that the people responding probably didn't want to be answering, and physically visiting people in Gaza and video-recording their interactions, just so that people like you could be sure that these fundraisers were legitimate. If you're ignoring all of the blood & tears that went into that process just so you can hand-wring about scams, no one needs to be concerned with convincing you of the legitimacy of anything, because you were never going to donate to these people anyway. You are just looking for any plausible-sounding excuse not to do what you already didn't want to do.

If, by some miracle, you actually didn't know about the verified fundraiser spreadsheet (which is frankly still blameable bc, where on earth have you been?), then there it is. The post of mine that you're referring to never even mentioned responding to asks; using this spreadsheet is an absolutely valid, reasonable way of donating directly to families.

Now let me treat some of your statements as though they were questions (which, they were not).

How do people in Gaza have internet access?

Internet infrastructure in Gaza is very robust (e.g. in what cables are made of, how deep they're buried, amounts of redundancy in the system, &c.) because they have been getting bombed by Israel all the fucking time for decades, so they expect this infrastructure to be put through a lot. There have still--if you've been following the situation at all--been several outages caused by damage that Ghazzawin have needed to repair. Though I do have to say that I find it odd that you doubt Ghazzawin have internet access, but also say that you buy eSims...?

A lot of people right now are indeed connected via eSim, which to my understanding only need to connect to wifi once, right when they're activated. People put themselves at risk to connect to eSims because they need to get a good wifi signal, which usually means walking for several miles trying to find high ground. One of my contacts once urgently called me (this is the only time he hadn't just texted) because he had been told his friend had found a signal and so they needed an eSim right then, before they went back to their tent.

I've been trying for some time to connect another of my contacts in Gaza to an eSim, but we're not having success. At Crips for eSims for Gaza they / we (I'm on the server getting advice and helping out but I'm not using their funding; I'm using what people on tumblr have given me to purchase eSims with) keep a constantly updated sheet of which eSim providers use which networks and which networks work in which areas--because the situation is constantly changing. Because my contact doesn't have an eSim on a personal phone, she has to go to a central location to be allotted three hours of internet access from someone who has managed to get connected. Lots of people, on their fundraising posts and pages, specify exactly how they've gotten internet access, how difficult it's been for them to get it, and how stressful it is to be relying on this tenuous connection, spending hours away from their families (at high risk of being shot at by IOF soldiers the whole time), just to message people for hours straight and then go home again.

2. How do people in Gaza have tumblr accounts?

This is a stupid question. Anyone with an email address who is capable of picking a username and password can make a tumblr account. I have personally helped several of my contacts in Gaza with the process.

3. How do people in Gaza know to come into people's tumblr accounts?

This is also a stupid question. I don't really see how you could ask this question if you saw Palestinians as, like, real humans beings. You understand that people talk to each other, yes? Like with words? As soon as a few people had success fundraising to evacuate Gaza on tumblr (nearly a year ago... this news has had a lot of time to spread), obviously they told other people about it.

One of the ways that Israel conducts its genocidal war is through the destructiveness of frustration and boredom. It's a strange situation because everything is extremely dire, urgent, terrifying, and dirty, but there's also seldom anything to do. People are singing, telling stories, going to the beach, inventing games and contests, to entertain children, but also to entertain themselves. And this is the situation--with a bunch of desperate, bored people packed into a tiny piece of land--this is the situation that you think it's impossible for people to talk to each other in? Come on.

If you want to donate to Anera and World Food Kitchen and buy eSims, that's fantastic. Please do that. But if you are as ignorant of the particulars of what this situation is like as your ask makes you appear, then I hope you refrain from speaking on what the situation is like.

I've been nattering on for a long time so here's my call to action:

Decide what you're capable of giving right now, or the next time you get paid

Scroll down on the vetted fundraiser spreadsheet and find someone very low on funds, or with injured children who urgently need treatment or evacuation, and give that money.

AND / OR give it to the PCRF or the IRW

[theseinfernalangels]

hey ! i’d love it if you could do prompt #28 with sawyer !!!!

28: One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

A/N: Funny story — I have two people who asked for this. Thank you, anons! I audibly giggled writing this. Warning for suggestiveness.

The first thing you register is a low humming noise next to your head. It’s quiet, husky, and almost absentminded, the tune almost unrecognizable in the haze that clouds your tired mind. 

The second? A light but solid pressure circling your lips, like someone was trying to memorize the shape of your mouth solely with their fingernails.

That, you realize, is precisely what it is. With a breathy sigh, your eyes squeeze together before you open them blearily. Usually, you need a moment or two to adjust since you usually sleep facing the window — but then, you realize, it’s not morning. It’s pitch black outside, which means you haven’t been asleep for long. Then, they drift to the sight in front of you — one that makes your breath hitch instantly.

Sawyer lays on his side, one arm under his head while the other continues to trace the perimeter of your mouth. You can’t see him too well, but you can make out the line of his shoulders against the faint light from the window, as well as a blurry silhouette of curls against the headboard. Even in the dark, he looks sweet as can be. Without thinking, you pucker your lips in an almost-kiss against his finger.

The humming stops abruptly, replaced by a light shifting in the sheets. His voice, soft with exhaustion, falls upon your ears like a lullaby. “Did I wake you up?”

You smile a little, nuzzling closer to him. “No,” you whisper. “I was close enough to being awake, anyway. How was your watch?”

You feel him lean in a bit closer to press a kiss to your hairline, his finger restarting its previous motions. “It was fine. Boring, but fine.” He pauses again to flick his wrist, summoning a mage light that emits a light pink glow. Now, you can finally see your lover, although the light is a bit dim — probably for your sake. 

You hum thoughtfully as he once again starts tracing your lips. “That’s good. A boring shift is better than absolute chaos.” You take a moment to drink his image in, although you do that pretty much all the time, anyway. His hair is a bit mussed up, and his freckled face screams that he wants nothing more than to sleep, but you know he’d rather go a week without sleep than miss out on talking to you, so you decide not to say anything for the time being.

“I’d welcome it.” Sawyer adjusts his position next to you. “It’s not like I have much to do on my agenda anyway, besides putting my shit away and then seeing you.”

You frown a little, blinking up at him sleepily. “You don’t have to come if you’re tired, baby. You deserve the rest. I know you picked up extra training time to help the first-years.”

“What I deserve,” he murmurs, his finger pressing a little more into your skin, “is to see my favorite girl, in my favorite place, at my favorite time of day —which is what I’m getting right now. Don’t worry about me. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

You can’t help the tired grin that spreads across your face as his words paint your cheeks red, hidden in the glow of the mage light. You didn’t know how you’d gotten so lucky to have Sawyer tumble into your life, but you’re filled with so much joy that you couldn’t even start to question it. Perhaps you should start praying to Zihnal again. 

“Careful,” you giggle. “I’m starting to think you might be in love with me, or something.”

He chuckles quietly, his eyes never leaving yours as his finger trails away to hook under your chin. “Or something.”

You both watch each other for a few moments, his green-lit gaze illuminated in the faint glow behind him. Your breathing picks up a little when his eyes dip to your lips and back up, silently asking for something you know he wants more than anything.

“Sawyer?” You ask, tilting your head up slightly. His eyes go half-lidded, the finger under your chin twitching ever so slightly.

“Yes, darling?”

“What time is it?”

He tilts his head in thought. “I’d say around midnight. Why?”

You go quiet for a moment. “How early do we have to be up tomorrow?”

He blinks before a daring little smile starts tugging at his lips, one that only shows when he thinks of something mischievous. “Depends on how close you want to cut it,” he says, his voice lowering a bit. “Normal time if we call it quits now. Maybe half an hour later, if you’re really daring.”

Something sly glimmers in his eyes as he lowers himself to face you, nose-to-nose. “You wanna be daring tonight, huh?”

His voice so close to your ear sends a chill of excitement down your neck, the shyness you usually hold giving way to pure want. You let him tug you a little bit closer before you reply. 

“Light me up, Sawyer Henrick.”

He doesn’t wait a second more to slam his lips on to yours, pulling you into him and consuming you in erupting flames of pure desire. His teeth sink into your bottom lip and then tug lightly, eliciting a breathy whine from your throat. It’s a game of Give, Give, Give and Take, Take, Take, but tucked away in the safety of your room, with no one but you, Sawyer, and a mage light, you’d be willing to give everything to him if he asked.

Your hands rise and curl around his shoulders, anchoring you to him as he tilts his head again to kiss you deeper, his hand leaving your chin to brace against the back of your neck gently. His soft-but-bitten lips work magic against yours, tugging and sucking and pressing deeper with every moment you’re held against him. Your lungs burn a little, but you can’t find it in you to care as his free hand finds the small of your back, pushing you all the closer to his warmth.

You’re forced to pull away after what feels like forever, your chests simultaneously heaving from the lack of air. He presses his forehead to yours, searching your eyes for what you know is reciprocated wanting.

“Was that…?” He takes another second to breathe, his swollen lips trying to find words to ask you when he goes absolutely mindless around you.

It’s your turn to grab his face, pulling back down to yours. “Kiss me again,” you demand breathlessly, “or I’ll fall sleep without you.”

And, as always, Sawyer obliges.

[loveswrites]

Hi! Hope you are doing well !🫶🏻

I was wondering of you maybe could write a poly! Volturi fic? I really like your work 🫶🏻

Winter War Poly Volturi X Reader Pt 1

Word Count: 800

Time it took: I can't even tell you I don't even remember ngl I just finish it today.

To anon: Hello my love, I am doing well I hope you are as well and if not I hope you will be when You read this. I am so glad you enjoy my writing! So Here you go. I hope you enjoy <3

“No you can’t go.”

“I’m the queen! literally, why wouldn't I go?” You yelled. You had been fighting with your loves for about 30 minutes now. There was this ‘war’ coming so said Cauis. A girl named Bella and some vampire Edward had ended up long story short making a baby. It's not human and now it’s our problem. They had made a ruckus before in the castle but you had only caught the end tail of it, And by it I mean the fight. The only thing that could be heard besides Bellas scream and Edwards threats were your “Damnnn!” and “Shit you getting your ass beat!” And that was that.   

But now you're hearing about them again and they have been the only names who have been running through the dry cobble walls of the castle. And you're sick of it to say the least. Bella this, Bella that, Edward this, Edward that, The Baby, I’m sorry the monster. That’s all you’ve been hearing, It’s like you're in high school all over again. You graduated so why does it feel like this? 

So when you heard about them preparing for a fight you were the first one who was up and ready to go. Finally end this long drug out gossip and let you go back to your everyday life of being a queen. But to your surprise you were immediately told no. You’ve barely ever been told no since you met your loves. So you’ve gotten used to always hearing yes so at that moment when you didn’t, you didn't know what to do with yourself besides look at your loves like they lost their minds because excuse you? 

What do you mean no? Maybe becoming the queen had something to do with this new found spoiledness you had. But it’s not your fault that they promised you the world with everything you wanted inbetween. 

You thought as queen you had the right to be at these meetings or wars. And you were told that you do. So excuse me for having only one thought run through your head. 

Why can’t I go? Why can’t I go? Why can’t I go? That’s all that has been ringing in your head. 

“It’s not safe!” Alec yelled back at you. Making you immediately roll your eyes. 

“You act like it’s ever been safe for me!” You yelled back. Why would he say that like it’s an excuse or something new?

“You can get hurt.” Jane said also not agreeing with you going. 

“I can get hurt everyday! I could get hurt now, I’m human!” You yelled, taking a breath to add to your statement but you were cut off

“Exactly human! You're human! How could you possibly help us during this time like we need your help or anything?!” Cauis yelled.  

“Morale support! We all need it!” You yelled back.

“That doesn’t help us if someones trying to take our head off.” Felix stated.

“I don’t know, it might help me.” Dem said shrugging. 

“Oh my.” Marcus groaned, shaking his head with his eyes closed.

Long story short the world can only give you what you take from it. As you walk through the thick cold fluffy snow you can't help but feel proud of yourself. Your childish thoughts are filled with I got what I want. You can't tell me. You knew like hell this was extremely dangerous and you could end up more than dead to no return. But the fact that you've been crowned queen and you've never stepped out to come with your loves to settle a.. disagreement with other vampires upset you. How can I be worthy of being queen when I never get my hands dirty? Not even once. That's why you fought so hard to come here today with your loves. You also couldn't help but think fucking hell it's cold as shit out here. Your toes grew numb with every step. Which prompted you to turn and ask the closest one of your loves.

“So Are your toes constantly numb?” You asked Caius. Who immediately sighed deeply.

“You beg to come here and yet you ask such a stupid question.” He replied, speeding up his walking knowing damn well you won't be able to catch up to him.

“Hey It's not a stupid question! I'm genuinely concerned about the blood flow in your toes! It's important!” You yelled at the back of his head which he shook.

“Okay you can pick me back up, I don't want to walk anymore!” You said to no one in particular. 

“About time.” Jane picked u up and all you could hear was the loud whistles of wind in your ear.

Let's go see what all the drama is about shall we?

[2demondogs]

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

[readychilledwine]

Rhys w a small reader with a big mouth?

Little Girl, Big Mouth

Rhys with a mouthy reader headcanons

Warnings - implied smut, reader could be seen as trashy but Rhys loves it

A/n - This anon actually came from an IRL friend. She texted me about it, and I had her clarify if she meant a gossip or big mouth as in a girl who is prone to talking shit and fighting. It was talking shit and fighting, so thanks, Sammie 💕💕

Ps- I will figure out what your username is 👀 but you're very sweet for doing this the way the rest of my followers do instead of just texting me first😭

You aren't a doormat. He refuses to let you be seen as one. Even if that means you get into a verbal argument here and there.

Those verbal arguments have gotten physical.

My baby daddy always tells me not to write a check he can't cash (if you don't know what that means, it means don't start a fight that he can't finsh.) You don't have that problem with Rhysand.

If you stand, mouth firing off insults as someone else is, he will stand too. Ride or die, he won't let you fight without him.

And that is if the man isn’t already behind you, warning the male standing over you without even having to speak that if he lays a hand on you or speaks out of line, he will be finding out why Rhysand is proud to be half illyrian.

You do know time and place, but if someone insults your male, your family, or your court first, all bets are off.

Your mouth is equal opportunity. High fae, lower, male, female, high lord? You don't care. All bets are off the table with you. No one is safe.

Beron? Constantly roasting him. Asking him if beating his wife helps him feel like a real male. Keir? Verbally torn apart. How pathetic he must be to think he has some pull when he lost out on being high lord.

Hell, illyrian males aren't even safe from you. Not when three immediately are behind you the second they feel your mood change.

And it isn't that you can't fight. You are well trained and can more than hold your own. He just prefers you let him.

He's only held you back once. It was from Amren, and he hardly caught you in time before you jumped on her.

Cassian was disappointed. He wanted to watch two tiny females wrestle it out. He said it would be better if pretty lacy outfits were involved, but he was ready to settle for you in your dress and Amren in her two piece outfit.

Rhys did not stop you, nor Amren, from tackling Cassian for that comment.

He will throw you over his shoulder, ignoring you as you scream for him to put you down while still running your mouth as you're carried out of the room. But only if family is involved.

Mother knows they are no exception. You all get on each other's nerves from time to time. Besides Azriel. You could never fight Azriel.

Rhys loves it. He loves how spicy you are. He loves how much fight and sass you have. He loves how it's always to people who are mean.

He does love fighting for you as well. Sometimes, he asks you to pick fights when it's someone he has been itching to get his hands on.

He rewards you throughly when you oblige him.

"Where's that big mouth now, darling?" While your back is arched off the bed, and your mind is just a haze. "Thought you had so much to say earlier."

He loves making his girl with so much to say and so many opinions go dumb for him.

He loves it when all you can think to say is his name and barely thrown together words.

He loves putting your mouth to other uses if you start in on him, too.

He'd keep you tucked under his desk for hours, putting your mouth towards something actually useful if you two fight.

And that's rare. Your opinions are normally shared and mutual. It's why you two work. Otherwise, you would be constantly at each other's throats with how vocally dominant you both like to be.

Overall, he'd change nothing about how sassy you can be. He loves you as is. Even if it means you bandaging his hands after a trip to Illyria.

[gilverrwrites]

Okay, since you asked... here are some thoughts 🤭

Dogs are devoted creatures. It's like they have an innate instinct to try to earn human affection. They crave it. They've been conditioned by us for tens of thousands of years to crave it.

Jason craves it. It's why he gets into the passenger seat of the Batmobile. (That and the promise of a home, of warm food and a warmer bed.) As Robin he proves his worth as a companion. Before it all goes to shit he's gotten a taste of what it's like to be useful, cared for, loved.

Once he comes back he's not so cute anymore all of a sudden. Now he looks mean, the kind of scarred and ugly people cross the street to avoid. During his "time away" he's been kicked one (maybe a hundred) too many times to trust.

But he cannot escape the gnawing need for affection. The need to be told he's good. So when he somehow finds someone sweet, someone nonthreatening, he tries to relax into it. You're patient with him, treating him gentler than he believes he deserves.

The problem is that old habits die hard and he still snaps when he feels like he's being backed into a corner. When well worn neural pathways start to fire he bares his teeth and snarls something harsh at a person who he deep down wants to please. He doesn't know why he does it and regrets every word as they're spat from his lips.

Jason always comes crawling back, head lowered in shame. He looks like he expects you to kick him. You never do.

“I get mean when I'm nervous, like a bad dog” — Mitski Jason Todd

This has been sat in my inbox since before I changed up my rules, but I can't put of posting it any longer, I feel so selfish hogging such a well articulated, spot on character examination.

Bravo anon, and thank you for sharing it.

[mychlapci]

Broody Carriers!! There's this fic on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58022971#main (I'm on mobile so I'm not sure it'll work, it's called Brooding Brain and is a Jazz/Prowl fic.) and it scratches my brain so good. Just what I needed to add to my personal headcanons regarding carriers.

Personally, I prefer mechs laying eggs over live birth. Makes more sense in my brain and some species, like chickens, get broody when it's time to lay some eggs. Prefect to add to my egg-laying carriers. And because my favorite pairing is TFA Megop (as you might have noticed from some other asks you've gotten lately, I'm just going to refer to myself as Rozie Anon from now on) most of the word vomit I'm throwing at you is based on them.

So, Optimus is usually the one to get sparked, so I'm gonna focus on his brooding state. (Imagine this is some vague peacetime au and Megop is already established as conjunxes.)

At the beginning when he first gets sparked - once he's gotten over the shock and subsequent urge to murder his conjux - things are going pretty smoothly for the first trimester. His body is reconfiguring itself to better support the bitties and is putting on weight due to the cravings of various material. From hard metals like iron and titanium to soft, precious, metals like gold and silver. Energon prepared in different ways like extravagant, well-crafted and nutritious, 5-course meals or just the raw crystal to munch on. (I like to imagine he has a small hoard of various, common to hard-to-find, non-perishables. Gold and silver nuggets, coins, and chains, crystals either energon or otherwise, even shed armor pieces that would have normally been smelt down. It's like a little dragon hoard :3c)

His hips have widened with his growing belly and his thighs are thicker to accommodate for the shift in weight. He has the same pregnant thought process of "Oh Primus, I'm getting fat, I'm fat! My conjux is never going to want to touch me again!" Megatron has to reassure him that he's just a beautiful as before and honestly to him, he looks even more so, if that was even possible.

Second trimester comes around and Optimus is starting to get achy. He's starting to get more and more moody and, well, broody, as time goes on. He's crafted a wonderful little nest which Megatron pitched in for finding the right size frame, mattress, and buying a shit-ton of material for it. (He's a warlord, it's fine, he's got the funds to spare, anything for his wifey.) Optimus starts complaining his back and feet ache, his protoform has gotten more sensitive, and his titties are finally swelling. Megatron pulls out all the stops for him, back rubs and foot baths, massages (that often turn into back-blowing sex), milking his swollen titties, and just generally spoiling his wife rotten.

Optimus finds that it's getting harder and harder to concentrate, he's reluctant to leave the nest, and he starts getting more snippy and aggressive with anyone other than Megatron. He once snapped at Strika for something minor and then began apologizing profusely, only for her to laugh and say that she knew he didn't mean it, he's brooding and can't control himself. In fact she says Lugnut's brooding state was worse when they had their bitties. He's really more of a hissing kitten compared to Lugnut.

By the time he's in his third trimester and his due date is coming up, all his higher brain functions are shutting down quickly and his core temperature has risen. He rarely ever leaves the nest anymore and can really only get out one word answers for things like "fuel", "energon", "cuddles?", and "spark". The only time where Optimus is more or less cognizant at this point is when they're spark-merging. Spark-merging for a Carrier, especially with the sire of the sparklings, is one of the main ways to properly stabilize the sparks. It takes a lot of strain on the Carrier's spark to support the clutch (for Optimus, a clutch of five), and sharing sparks with the sire or another mech with a close relationship helps lift that stress. It's also a good bonding experience for the bitties even before they hatch.

Optimus is still getting railed and milked even while broody though. With his higher brain functions shut down, all there is left is instinct, and he's become Horny As Fuck. Being horny and broody at the same time makes him insatiable. Megatron is the only one who can properly satisfy him because he's the only one who can get close enough to him without the threat of getting mauled. He was basically getting fucked 24/7 before, but now Megatron has to tie Optimus up and set a sex machine on him so he can take a break.

Finally, his bitties are ready to be laid. The eggs are bigger than expected so it's a tight squeeze and long labor. Megatron is by his side the whole time, coxxing Optimus through the whole process with Ratchet as the mid-wife (the only other person that was able to get close to him). And once the eggs are out, Optimus immediately sets upon laying on them, all his vents open to dump as much heat as possible on them. Eggs need to be kept at a very specific temperature, which is why incubators were created, but it would take a few months before Optimus would be coherent enough to allow them to be moved to an incubator.

After those months are up and Optimus has started coming back to his senses, Megatron is able to convince him to move the eggs to the incubator. And once they're safe and secure, it doesn't take long for Optimus to regain his composure. He's still a little moody and occasionally takes an egg or two out of the incubator to place in his pouch (I like to think they also have a marsupial-esque pouch to carry the bitties while their either still in their eggs or still small enough to fit, the pouch can get up to forging temperatures for eggs), but is otherwise back to normal.

Until Megatron knock him up again.

ohhh inch resting... broody carriers are certainly fun, and i draw extreme satisfaction from imagining a tuckered out Optimus all splayed out over his precious eggs... He's all hazy and hyper-protective of his clutch, not even Megatron could tear him away from them. It's best to leave the happy little carrier alone...

[imaginespazzi]

Part 1: Don't Be A Stranger

Masterlist - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

But if (my) world was ending, you'd come over right?

(In which UCLA anon's roman empire became this writer's roman empire and we've finally reached the beginning)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort and a little bit of Fluff

Words: 8.4 K (other parts will be shorter....maybe)

TW: Swearing, Alcohol, Injuries, Alludes to Sexual Content

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Gonna keep this as short and sweet as possible but we've finally, finally gotten to the UCLA fic. A huge shout out to UCLA anon, because this is their master idea. Couple of things, I've never been to LA or UCLA and therefore some things are out of whack. The timeline is also a little out of whack but I swear I will try to keep it as consistent as possible. In the mean time, just ignore some of the inconsistencies pretty please. As always, feel free to let me know what's bad, what's good and what else you'd like to see. I hope y'all enjoy this first part and let's get another W today!

August 2021

where are you 

i literally have to be at the airport in an hour paige where are you 

dude 

are you on your way?

you better be driving and that’s why you’re not answering 

PAIGE

i’m sorry about last night i shouldn’t have said that 

but you said a lot of shit too so call it even?

this isn’t funny where are you?

i have to leave in 15 mins 

are you actually not coming?

wtf????

this is actually bullshit

get over yourself bueckers 

wow 

fuck you

just landed 

thought you might like to know 

sorry my plane didn’t crash i guess 

September 2021

dude enough okay 

can you just call me back??

i just wanna talk 

i know you're mad i get it but i miss you   

November 2021 

hi i’mma be in dc over christmas

nvm 

idk why i’m trying again  

maybe i should block you 

this is kinda pathetic of me what the fuck 

December 2021

i thought i saw you today but idk

couldn’t have been you cause if it was 

would you really not even say hi?

i’m done trying paige 

merry christmas i guess

March 2022 

i misz you 

lyke a wot

love uuuuu pppppp

even if ur a bwtich 

pkese pick up 

ignore that 

people drunk text exes apparently i drunk text you 

wait 

i don’t need to tell you that 

you already ignore it all anyways

 

August 2022 

i heard about the acl 

i’m sorry 

idk if it means anything, but if you wanna talk

nvm 

***

September 2022 

When the doorbell rings, on a quiet Thursday afternoon during a rare moment of alone time, Paige expects it to be a lot of people. One of her parents deciding that they actually weren’t going to leave her alone. Someone else in her family showing up out of the blue to provide comfort. Maybe one of her teammates popping up to keep her entertained. She even thinks it might be some random fan who got too invested and figured out the address for her air BnB. It’s the saddest testament to how broken they are, that the idea of it being Azzi Fudd standing outside her door, never once crosses her mind. But there she is, when Paige opens the door, dressed in ripped jean shorts and a light blue tank top, the girl that had been her best friend, and maybe a little bit more. 

Silence stretches between them as Azzi fidgets with her hands and Paige continues to stoically stare at her. It’s been almost a year since they’ve seen each other, even longer since they’d last shared a happy smile. And you’d have to go back to before she’d told her about her future plans, to find the last time Azzi had properly looked Paige in the eyes.  

“Hi,” Azzi says finally, mustering up a small smile. Paige doesn’t know if hearing that voice, soft and subdued but still so familiar, fixes a crack or breaks her heart even further. She wills herself to be polite in response, to match Azzi’s polite greeting with a greeting of her own. But there’s clear discord between her mouth and her head, because her words are harsh and hollowed. 

“What are you doing here?”

Azzi swallows, smile disappearing as she immediately digs her fingernails into her palms and Paige feels the guilt settle into her stomach. It’s like the night before all over again. If she closes her eyes, Paige can still hear her voice loudly echoing in Azzi’s childhood bedroom. She can hear the angry words that she’d hurled at her best friend, each one like a well-aimed arrow piercing the other’s girl's heart and tearing into Paige’s own soul. Some would call what she’d done self-preservation. She’d call it her biggest mistake. 

“I um-,” Azzi sucks in her bottom lip, “I was in the area and thought, maybe I’d check in.”

“How did you even know where I was?” Paige hates how cold and accusatory her voice sounds. It’s a version of herself she doesn’t quite know how to deal with, one that hasn’t ever appeared for anyone other than the girl in front of her, “I know I didn’t tell you.”

Any semblance of calm is gone from Azzi’s face, as she seems to realise that she’s not going to be getting any cordiality from her old friend. 

 “And we’re off to a great start,” she mutters under her breath before replying to Paige’s exact question, “no you didn’t. Your dad-”

“You talked to my dad?”

“Yeah. I mean you know Drew looks up to Jon and José so much and they still talk and stuff and he came over- Drew I mean- and then your dad was there and we just got to talking and you came up and yeah. He told me and well I live here, kinda, so I thought- well I thought maybe you’d like some company?”

As Azzi’s rambling explanation comes to an end, Paige doesn’t miss the tinge of hopefulness in her voice at the last bit. The younger girl shuffles her feet, as she stares at the blonde expectantly. 

“I don’t-” Paige struggles to draw in a breath as the voices in her head argue, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her words are met with silence as Azzi stares at her blankly. 

“I- you,” she blinks rapidly, clearly at a loss for what to say at the blatant rejection, “I can’t come in?”

“It’s just- I’ve had a lot of people visit you know,” Paige bullshits, suddenly feeling very exhausted, “and my family were here a couple days and my friends are coming soon and-”

“And I’m neither of those things,” Azzi says, her tone low and breathy. 

“That’s not what-”

“It is,” Azzi closes her eyes for a brief second, when she opens them, the flash of hurt in them feels like a dagger through Paige’s chest, “it is like that and it is what you meant and it’s- it’s fine.”

“Az-” Paige chokes out, feeling her lungs collapse when the other girl moves to leave, “please,” and she’s not even sure she’s asking for, but it’s not this. It’s never been this.

Azzi stops and when she turns back around, there’s a determined look on her face.

“I just-” she rubs her face, composing herself before focusing her eyes on Paige, “you’re the strongest person I know. And you’re going to come back from this, better than ever. I know it. The whole world knows it. Because you’re Paige Bueckers. You’re something else.  You’re the hardest worker, you’re just- you’re the best.”

“You don’t-”

“Just- just let me finish okay and then, then I’ll go or whatever but Paige, you’re all of those things you know? Strong, brave, the best fucking player- but, it’s also okay if sometimes-, if sometimes you aren’t. It’s okay because this- this is hard, I know it is. So if sometimes you’re not strong or-, or brave- or not feeling like working hard- it’s okay. And if there are moments where you- where you want to give up, that’s okay too. It doesn’t make you- it doesn’t make you any less than what you are. It just makes you human, and it’s okay you know- to be human. It’s okay if- if you hurt and it’s okay if you’re not okay. It’s- it’s okay.”

The two girls stare at each other, eyes shining with tears, as Paige let’s Azzi’s words wash over her. She’s been told a lot of platitudes about her injury, from her coaches to her teammates to her family. And she knows she has plenty of people in her corner, who root for her and who genuinely do believe she’ll have the greatest comeback ever. But the motivational speeches get draining after a while and all she’s wanted to do for the last couple of weeks is wallow. Then she felt guilty about wallowing, that little voice in her head yelling at her to be productive and work on getting back to herself because that’s what everybody expected. Paige hadn’t even realised how badly she needed someone to give her permission to not be okay, not until the only person who’d ever known that part of her, had finally said the words she so desperately needed to hear.

The thing is, when she was younger, Paige used to keep everything bottled inside. She’d always been hyper aware of her privilege and her problems had always just seemed so insignificant in front of her parents’ or her friends. So she’d kept them to herself, trapping herself in a web of her own burdens that sometimes threatened to strangle her. And then she’d met a girl at a USA basketball camp when she was 15, a girl who had gently flicked her fingers and Paige’s walls had fallen like dominoes. She hadn’t even known she was drowning, until Azzi had shown up with a lifeboat.

“I just-,” Azzi breaks Paige out of her trance by breaking the eye contact between them, “I didn’t know if anybody had said that to you yet and I just- I wanted you to hear it.”

In the span of a minute, a thousand and one phrases take birth in Paige’s mind and then die on the tip of her tongue. She opens and closes her mouth, trying to express even one of the myriad of emotions that are swirling like a tornado in her brain. But nothing comes out except a litany of incomprehensible noises. And Azzi seems to find the wrong answer in the silence, giving the blonde a timid nod. 

“Take care of yourself P,” her voice catches on the familiar nickname, as she shoots Paige a sad smile, before beginning to walk away. When Azzi chose UCLA, she’d lit Paige's heart on fire. So, Paige had drowned their friendship. And while all this time Azzi has struggled to breathe, Paige has burned but god, is she so fucking tired of it. 

“Fuck, Azzi wait,” Paige curses, hobbling to catch up to the brunette, who stops with a sigh but doesn’t make a move to return. Stubborn as always, Paige thinks, continuing her way over. When she does catch up, she’s not fully sure what to say and so,  “I uh- I’m out of milk.”

Azzi raises her eyebrows in question, crossing her arms protectively around her chest. 

“I can’t drive,” Paige explains slowly, “or walk obviously.”

Realisation dawns on Azzi’s face, “you’re asking me to drive you to the grocery store?”

“I guess,” Paige shrugs, trying to be nonchalant. 

“Seems like the kind of favour someone asks of their family, or their friends,” Azzi emphasises bitterly, never one to let go of an opportunity for sarcasm. 

Paige flinches, “right, I kinda deserved that one.”

She gets a raised eyebrow in response that very much says “ya think?”

“I’m trying here,” she says quietly, and Azzi’s hard demeanour softens, “I’m raising a white flag Az, calling a truce or whatever but it kinda needs to go both ways.” 

“What do you think me coming here was supposed to be?” the younger girl says exasperatedly, but she’s smiling again. It’s the third one Paige has gotten out of her today, and finally, she smiles back. They look a little foolish, standing in the apartment hallway, cheshire-cat-grinning at each other like idiots, but it feels like something has clicked into place again.  

“I’ll go grab my wallet, you go heat up the car.”

“It’s like 110 degrees dude.”

“Bro shut up, you know what I mean,” Paige huffs and when it makes Azzi laugh, she feels like she’s floating. It’s not as if she hasn’t been happy in a year because won’t you look at that, her world did keep turning after that one decision. But this is different. She feels airy and light, like she could jump off a cliff and fly instead of fall. 

“Well hurry up, I have things to do outside of just being your chauffeur.”

“Poor passenger princess, how the roles have reversed,” Paige mocks and it earns her an ever so familiar fond eye roll and for the first time in a year, she feels free. 

***

When she gets downstairs, Azzi’s leaning against her car door, a pair of sunglasses shielding her eyes. The hot California sun shines brightly against her tan skin, and Paige’s heart stutters because fuck, Azzi is golden. She looks every bit reminiscent of the girl Paige still has memorised and yet, every bit the promise of a girl Paige wants to learn by heart. 

“Nice car,” Paige smirks, alerting the younger girl of her presence.  

“It does the job,” Azzi says, looking up with a smile of her own, opening the passenger door for Paige to get in, “not all of us are raking in NIL deals to get the big guns, but we make do.”

“Steph Curry brand ambassador say what now?” the blonde girl teases as she slides into the car. When she looks up, Azzi’s frozen in place, “what?”

“Nothing I just-” she’s wearing sunglasses, but Paige knows Azzi's trying to avert her gaze, “I’m kinda surprised you know that.”

It’s Paige’s turn to look away, their newfound comfort giving away to that old awkwardness, “I keep up with most basketball news.”

To Azzi’s credit she doesn’t push. Instead, she makes her way into the driver seat without another sound. She’s about to connect her phone to the aux but Paige beats her to it. 

“Hey,” Azzi squeals, making grabby hands, “my car, my rules, my music.”

“Nuh-uh injury privileges,” Paige gloats, sticking out her tongue. 

“That’s not a thing.”

“Is too.”

“Fine, we’ll listen to your crap music.”

“I resent that,” Paige retorts, as Drake blasts through the speakers. The sound of it makes Azzi groan, and she dramatically bangs her head against the steering wheel. Paige spends the rest of the car ride singing at the top of her lungs. Azzi spends the rest of the car ride alternating between shaking her head and joining in with the singing. It’s like they’re back in 2020 all over again, back before they found themselves in the whirlwind of life, back when they were just Paige and Azzi.

*** 

Their trip inside the grocery store takes less time than the ride to get there, even if Paige takes her time dilly-dallying in the dairy section, pretending she’s going to get anything other than just regular milk. She’s overly conscious of the fact that their time together might be coming to an end, that this time she might actually have to deal with saying goodbye. But she’s not ready to go back to missing Azzi just yet. 

“Maybe you can show me your dorm,” she says quietly, once they're both back in the car, playing with the hem of her shirt. Beside her, Azzi draws in a sharp intake of breath, clearly not having expected Paige to want that of all things. In all honesty, the idea of stepping into the world that had stolen Azzi from her is not all that appealing to Paige but she wants to hold onto this moment just a little bit longer. 

“You wanna see my dorm?” 

“A chance to see how the non-blue blood peasants live? I’d never pass it up.”

“Non blue blood,” Azzi scoffs, "Ever heard of John Wooden?”

“I was talking about women’s basketball but yeah I have heard of him. I won the award last year. Over you,” Paige smirks, wiggling her eyebrows. 

“Not everyone’s a phenom their freshman year,” Azzi retorts fondly, unable to mask the hint of pride in her voice. 

“Well we’ll see this year-” Paige stops herself, cold seeping into her lungs, as she remembers why she’s in the stupid state of California in the first place. The lighthearted mood in the car goes tumbling out the window as her words hang like a dagger in the air. 

“Paige,” Azzi whispers, trying to wrap that one syllable in comfort. She reaches out to touch the blonde’s shoulder but must think better of it because her hand hovers mid-air for a second, before she pulls it back. Paige is suddenly hyper aware of the fact they haven’t touched yet. It’s a reminder of the fact that whatever progress they’ve made today, there’s still so much they haven’t even begun to unpack. 

“It’s fine,” Paige’s voice is steely, “just drive.”

Azzi opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, before simply nodding and starting the ignition. She’s clearly holding back and Paige doesn’t know how to feel about it. There’s a part of her that wants Azzi to push her to talk like she would before, but there's another part of her that knows this new rope they’re trying to string between them is fragile. 

They ride in silence to Azzi’s apartment, both of them too caught up in their own thoughts to bother with music this time. As the UCLA campus nears, Paige can’t help but hate it just a little bit. She’s aware she’s being petty. Acting like Storrs, Connecticut is some hub of beauty is probably a stretch of the imagination for anyone but she’s determined to dislike this place out of principle.

“Hmm not too shabby but like where’s the fucking cows?” Paige jokes, as the car comes to a stop in front of Azzi’s apartment building. She steps out gingerly, pretending to inspect her surroundings, making tsk-tsk noises at the most random things. 

“I’ve seen your apartment Bueckers, don’t even try,” Azzi retorts. 

It shouldn’t surprise Paige to see one of Azzi’s teammates when they enter her living room. It’s just like UConn really in the sense that there’s always someone there when you walk in but something about seeing Charisma Osborne just chilling in Azzi’s space suddenly makes it more real that the younger girl is definitely a UCLA Bruin. 

“Oh,” Charisma gives Paige a once-over, clearly not having expected to see her, “hi Paige.”

Paige waves, shuffling her weight on her crutches, unsure what to say. It’s not like she doesn’t know Charisma, they’ve literally won a gold medal together for USA basketball. She’s even met the girl a couple of times after and she likes her, she does. But her bitter brain is focused on the fact that this is one of those girls who had gotten Azzi as their teammate, one of the girls who got to see Azzi everyday. All things Paige had not gotten. 

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing company Az,” Charisma says pointedly, looking at Azzi and Paige bristles at the use of the nickname. She’s being all sorts of ridiculous but at least she’s self-aware of it. 

“Last minute decisions,” Azzi replies airily. The two girls lock eyes and Paige can tell they’re having some sort of unspoken conversation and now the green-eyed envy monster is out in full force. 

“I insisted on seeing her dorm,” she says finally, breaking into whatever staring competition the two UCLA guards are having. 

“It’s not a problem,” Charisma reassures, standing up from her position on the couch, and coming over to give Paige a tentative hug, “I just didn’t know you were coming. But it’s good to see you, Paige.”

“Yeah,” Paige tries to muster up a proper smile as she leans in to return the hug but it comes out more like a grimace, “you too.”

“We’re gonna go chill in my room,” Azzi says, beckoning to one of the doors in the hallways and Paige obediently follows her, waving a half-hearted goodbye to Charisma. She’s secretly pleased to have Azzi back to herself. 

The room is nothing out of the ordinary except it has Azzi all over it. She’s in the pink comforter that is thrown haphazardly over a clearly not made bed. She’s in the unicorn plushies laid delicately over a dark blue couch. She’s in the little flower stickers that outline the mirror on the far side of the room. There’s a wall dedicated solely to pictures and fairy lights on one side and Paige is immediately drawn to it. A familiar ache reverberates in her chest as her eyes flicker over the pictures of Azzi’s family. She’s missed them. Then there’s the photographs of Azzi in her UCLA uniform, her teammates surrounding her and Paige has to resist the dangerous urge to rip those off the wall. Be happy for her happiness, the logical part of her brain yells, not seeming to realise she’d left any chance of that in the dirt a year ago. As she tears her eyes away from those offending pictures, they land instead on a whole other set of photographs and she feels her heart catch in her throat. 

It’s a set of three images of her and Azzi, taken at various moments. Paige brushes her thumb against the one of the two of them with their arms around each other at the Minnesota  state fair. Azzi’s beaming at the camera and Paige is beaming at Azzi. They look so young, so naive, so happy. 

“I’m on your wall,” Paige breathes out, turning to face her best friend, “Fuck, I’m on you wall.”

“Of course you are,” Azzi affirms, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world but she shuffles nervously, giving away the reality behind her stable demeanour. 

“I never answered your texts. I didn’t call you back,” Paige lists quietly as the first tear falls from her eyes; she’s been holding them back all day, “and I’m on your fucking wall.”

Azzi looks away, unsure how to deal with the fact that apparently they’re no longer tip-toeing around the past. She doesn’t know how to tell the blonde that there had never really been a second thought about whether or not those photos were going up on the wall.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs finally, “you’re my best friend. You’re always gonna be my best friend. Ride or die right?”

“Ride or die,” Paige repeats in a whisper before she all but throws herself at Azzi, practically moulding herself into the younger girl’s body. Caught off guard, Azzi stiffens for a second, before relaxing into it. It’s late outside and the sun has set, but in this moment, the world shines the brightest it has in a year as two stubborn girls finally find their way home to each other. 

***

That night, Azzi asks her tentatively if she wants to stay over and of course Paige agrees. Lying awake next to a familiar stranger, she lets herself finally remember the day things had first started unravelling.

November 2020

“You’ll probably get one of the upstairs apartments, so we probably won’t actually be living together which is good because can you imagine if I had to see your goofy ass 24/7?” Paige puts a dramatic hand to her forehead, as she leads Azzi into her room.

She’s too caught up in her excitement having Azzi at UConn, and planning what’ll happen next year, to notice that the girl in question isn’t participating at all in her enthusiasm. Paige has been waiting for what feels like a year (in reality it’s only been a few months) to finally have her best friend come visit. The minute the car had pulled up, she’d taken it upon herself to start her sales pitch all over again, missing the sympathetic smiles she’d gotten from the rest of the Fudd family as she pulled Azzi away to show her the glories of the campus. 

“Did you see my assist to Christyn today?” Paige gloats, falling onto her bed with a smirk. 

“It was pretty great,” Azzi concedes. 

“It was fucking perfect thank you very much. I set her up perfectly, exactly how she likes it.”

“Right.”

“And then did you see how excited the team was for her? For everyone? Never gonna find a greater group of girls.”

“They seem wonderful P.”

Paige furrows her eyebrows as she catches Azzi still lingering by the door instead of joining her on the bed. The brunette fidgets with the sleeve of her sweater, chewing on her lips.

“Are you allergic to my bed?” Paige waits for some smartass response. When she doesn’t get one, she frowns, instincts going haywire, “Az, you good?”

“I- '' Azzi looks away, swallowing nervously, “I need to tell you something and I- I’m not sure how you’re gonna react.” 

“You get a boyfriend or a girlfriend or something in the last few months that I don’t know about?” She says it light-heartedly enough, but the thought of it sends a sharp sting through Paige’s heart. In hindsight, she thinks maybe she could have dealt with it having been that. 

“What? No. Just- just don’t- dont take it personally okay. Like you can be upset about it but- but don’t hold it against me yeah? My parents- they said- they said you’d get it. You’d be upset but you’d- you’d get it because you- you get me right?”

Paige’s chest hammers as she watches the younger girl draw in a deep breath, “you’re scaring the shit out of me right now.”

“I’mcommittingtoUCLA” Azzi says all in one breath, the words blending together. 

She’s sure she’s heard it wrong. There’s no way. After all this time, after all their conversations, all the pitches, how hard she had worked, there was no way this was going to be the end to all of Paige’s efforts. 

“What?” she whispers, crossing her fingers that she has in fact misheard. 

When Azzi averts her eyes, she knows she hasn’t, “I’m committing to UCLA.”

The first time Paige and Azzi met was somewhat awkward, what with Azzi’s shyness and Paige being slightly overeager to make a new friend. When they’d become bus buddies, they’d progressed to being casual acquaintances who could small talk and share smiles. And then the flight back to Minnesota happened and everything had changed. Every moment after was filled with conversation or laughs or a comfortable silence. Until this one, where the sudden silence between them foreshadows an ominous future.

“Say something,” Azzi says finally, her voice shaking. 

Paige stares at her for a second before, “you named your dog Stewie.”

“What?”

“You named your dog Stewie. After Breanna Stewart who played at UConn. It’s not-” Paige wracks her brain, hands flying animatedly “it’s not Meyers or something, after someone who played at fucking UCLA. You named your dog after a UConn great. How are you going to take him to UCLA with you?”

Azzi stares at her, clearly not having expected that level of questioning of all things. Who could blame her when Paige herself feels a little insane. 

“This is a joke right? You’re fucking with me? Ha ha ha very funny,” she claps deliriously,  “hilarious prank seriously, like hats off you’ve outdone yourself but enough okay? Say sike right fucking now.”

Azzi makes a strangled noise, “it’s not a joke Paige. That’s- that’s my decision.”

“Then change it,” Paige yells, catapulting off the bed.

“Paige-”

“Have you told UCLA yet?”

“I wanted to tell my family and you first.”

“Oh wow, how kind of you. How fucking generous of you to do that Azzi,” Paige bites back sarcastically and Azzi flinches. 

In a flash, Paige’s expression goes from angry to desperate, “you still have time to change your mind . Please just- just think about it again okay? You still have so much time and you know what, stay here for a couple more days. Spend time with the team, with the coaches, with me and you’ll see-. UCLA just sounds nice you know? California, the sun, I get it, of course it’s tempting. But just- just stay here okay? And you’ll see this is where you belong,” she leaves the, with me, unsaid. 

“Paige,” Azzi’s voice cracks. She takes a step toward her and then pauses. It’s the first time in a long time that Azzi’s hesitated when it comes to Paige. It won’t be the last. And when she looks at Paige through her long eyelashes, tears threatening to fall from her dark brown eyes, Paige knows she’s lost. 

“No,” she’s pacing now, chest heaving up and down in a combination of frustration, anger and misery, “this is not fucking happening. We’re not doing this. I made you a whole recruitment video. Did you watch it? Do you know how long it took me to make it? Has the last year been a fucking joke to you?”

“Of course not-”

“Don’t even. Because clearly- clearly it has. Must’ve been hilarious watching me beg and plead with you when you already fucking knew you were going to committ somewhere else.”

“That’s not fair,”  Azzi’s voice rises at the accusation, “I had no idea where I was going until a couple of weeks ago. You can’t seriously think that low of me.”

“Not fair? You know what’s not fair, Azzi? We’ve been talking about playing together, about finally being on the same team, the same fucking state, for years. What’s not fair is you throwing all of that away on a whim.”

“I’m not committing to UCLA on a whim. This is my whole future we’re talking about. You don’t even know how much thought I’ve put into it. And I’m choosing what’s best for me. You can’t hold that against me Paige. You can’t.”

They stand on opposite sides of the room, taking in harsh staggered breaths and glaring at each other. The tension in the room is electric as the string connecting them frays. Paige and Azzi bicker, they don’t argue. Or at least, that’s how it used to be. 

“Az?” their stare down is broken by a knock on the door as Katie Fudd lets herself in. Immediately, as she stares between her daughter and the girl who’d become just as important, Katie knows what has happened, “we’re going back to the air BnB, are you staying here?”

The answer should be obvious, like it used to be. Of course she would stay here. It was meant to be a no-brainer. But before Azzi can say that, Paige intervenes and the string snaps. 

“She’s going with you,” the blonde says firmly, before turning her back. She won’t let Azzi see the tears, she won’t. For her part, the brunette stares at Paige’s back silently for a couple of seconds, before a mask of determination slips on. 

“Fine. If that’s what you fucking want,” Azzi sneers before brushing past her mom, eager to get away and hide her own tears. 

When Paige turns back around, Katie is already looking at her. The older woman walks the length of the room and pulls the younger girl into a hug that she readily melts into. Paige sniffles as Azzi’s mom soothingly rubs her back. 

“We’re driving back tomorrow morning,” Katie whispers quietly into Paige’s hair, “I know you’re mad sweetheart but come say goodbye okay?”

And she does. She shows up with only half an hour or so remaining before Azzi leaves, but Paige shows up. They hug stiffly, exchanging maybe a sentence or two but in that moment it’s enough. They’ll call later when Azzi gets home and it’ll be awkward for a little bit but they’ll break through. They’ll figure out a way to go on without having to talk about the “big thing”. They’ll hold on as long as they can, until they can’t anymore. 

***

September 2022

After the night Paige stays over at Azzi’s apartment, they're attached at the hip for the next few weeks, just like old times. They’ve fallen into a routine of sorts. Azzi shows up without fail every day after practice to pick Paige up from her rehab, and then the rest of the younger girl’s time is Paige’s. The first time she’d seen the brunette leaning casually against her car, Paige had had to stop herself from jumping into her arms. She’d played it as nonchalant as possible, joking about Azzi being stalker, but inside, she could feel it again, the dangerously familiar tap of this is all I’ll ever need. 

On days Paige doesn’t have rehab, Azzi still shows up right on time on her doorstep with a board game or food or something.  It’s gotten to the point where every time the doorbell rings, Paige opens it expecting Azzi. The couple times it’s not, she tries and fails to hide the disappointment on her face. It earns her an eye roll from the delivery guy but it’s worth it for the laugh it elicits from Azzi when she tells her the story. They fall back together as if they’d never fallen apart. And what’s more terrifying than finding out that she’d never truly gotten over old Azzi, is realising how easy it would be to fall in love with new Azzi. 

When Caroline, Nika and Piath come to visit the weekend after, all three of them can immediately tell that something's changed. Their teammate seems lighter, as if she’s finally found a sense of calm. But their incessant prodding and raised eyebrows are only met with shrugs from a tight-lipped Paige. It isn’t until Azzi calls, and Nika snatches the phone out of Paige’s hands, gasping at the callerID, that they finally figure out why their point guard has a new kick in her step. 

“You should invite her out with us tonight,” Caroline is the first to speak, giving Paige an encouraging smile. 

“Carol,” Nika hisses, “we can’t just invite the enemy.”

“She’s not the enemy,” Paige defends immediately, “we don’t even have a rivalry with UCLA.”

Nika scoffs indignantly, “of course she is. She picked a different school over us. Over UConn! That’s weird. Who even does that?”

“Lots of people do,” Caroline, who occasionally texts Azzi (albeit she’s kept that somewhat of a secret), supplies helpfully, shrugging when the Croatian glares at her. 

Piath nudges Paige when she notices the other girl has gone quiet, “ignore Nika. She doesn’t mean it, you know that. If you wanna invite her, invite her.” 

And she does, she wants to so badly. It’s insane really because it hasn’t even been a full day since they’d last seen each other but Paige swears something inside her has been missing since. There’s something awfully terrifying about letting Azzi back into the UConn version of her world, the world that the younger girl had once rejected. Still, if they’re going to try this again, she supposes sooner or later, it’ll have to happen. 

“Put her on speaker,” Nika orders when Paige grabs her phone back from her. 

“Nika,” Caroline, younger only by age, warns, pulling the other girl away, “we’re supposed to be cheering her up, not making life harder.”

Azzi answers on the third ring, her voice teasing  “miss me already?”

Yes, Paige thinks, sometimes I think I miss you even when you’re right here next to me, sometimes I think I’ll miss you forever. But she doesn’t say any of that. 

“Not a chance,” she scoffs instead, “besides you called me first.”

“Butt dial.”

“Mmmhmm I’m sure.”

“Shut up,” Azzi laughs and Paige is glad her teammates aren’t here to see the goofy grin that appears on her face at the sound of it, “I just wanted to see if we were doing something tonight?”

“Yeah- umm- you remember I told you about the girls coming down this weekend. They- uh- they wanted to go out tonight and uh- you could come along?” 

There’s a pause on the other end and Paige knows Azzi’s going through the same thought process as her. 

“I don’t wanna intrude on your time with your team P-”

“You wouldn’t be intruding,” Paige cuts in immediately and although she figured her teammates were definitely eavesdropping, Nika cursing about her being “pussywhipped” followed by in-sync shushing from Piath and Caroline, gives them away. 

On the other end of the line, Azzi’s quiet again, “it’s okay P, you go have fun with your friends. We don’t have to spend every night together. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

What she doesn’t say is that maybe they need to learn how to live like that again, how to live apart again. Paige is almost done with the LA part of her rehab, something both of them are still in denial about. It’s only a matter of time before they return back to their two separate worlds and neither of them are sure they’ve managed to repair their friendship enough to not slip back into their foolishness again. 

“But I wanna see you tonight,” Paige whines, her tone teetering on the edge of sounding like a desperate girlfriend, “please.”

“Paige-”

“Pleaseeeeeee. I’m literally injured and begging Az, it’d be mean to say no.”

“What does your injury even have to do with any of this?” Azzi sighs exasperatedly, “but yeah okay fine calm down Bueckers. Send me an address, I’ll be there.”

“You don’t wanna come pregame here?” 

“Dude, let's not push it, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah okay see you,” Paige pauses, “hey Az?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m really happy you’re coming tonight.”

“I’m really happy you’re happy P.”

***

Azzi Fudd is a menace. See, people often get fooled by her soft-spoken nature and shy demeanour, but Paige has been around her long enough to know the truth. In the beginning it was the witty quips the younger girl always had ready whenever they were having some ridiculous argument. After that, it was the direct pranks that wreaked havoc on Paige’s life. But tonight, in Paige’s opinion, tonight is Azzi’s worst offence. She had to have done it on purpose, had to have known the sheer effect it would have on Paige to see her dressed like that. The red criss-cross tank top fits her like a mould and the way her ripped jeans shorts cling to her hips leaves little to the imagination. Her diamond belly button piercing shines against her skin, taunting Paige. She wants to touch, she wants to feel, she wants to do all the unspeakable things in her mind but she’s forced to just watch. 

What she hates most though, is that everybody else is watching too. Since Azzi’s walked into the club, Paige has had to fight the urge to strangle every stranger who had given her best friend an appraising once-over. Some of them let their eyes linger long enough to give her time to plot out the perfect murder strategy (it’s the only way she can stop herself from actually committing a crime tonight). And, as Azzi dances with Caroline, hips swaying to the beat and holding the other girl a little closely, Paige has the irrational urge to hit sweet, kind Caroline of all people. 

The thing is, Azzi’s been a little too attached to Caroline since she got here in Paige’s opinion. And she gets it. Piath, bless her soul, is trying but has always been a little awkward around new people. Nika is definitely not trying, loyally holding onto a grudge on behalf of Paige. Which leaves Caroline, who’s already familiar territory and the younger girl has grasped onto her like a lifeline. But enough is enough Paige decides, as she slips out of her seat with a determined look. Smoothly, she cuts right in between Caroline and Azzi.

“Nika’s a little wasted and I don’t want to deal with,” it’s a blatant lie but Paige knows appealing to Caroline’s more motherly instincts will get her what she wants. She gets a raised eyebrow in return, her teammate clearly catching her ruse because Nika looks visibly fine. But it works anyway and Paige gets Azzi to herself. She reaches for the other girl’s hand, twirling her just so she can hear that stupid silly laugh, and then pulling her back so she’s facing Paige. 

“You having fun?” 

“Always have fun with you P,” Azzi replies. She’s clearly tipsy but there’s no hint of insincerity in her voice. It makes Paige’s breath hitch. 

“Yeah?” she whispers, taking a step closer, “more than with Carol?”

Azzi giggles, “more than anyone.”

The song in the club changes and as the crowd adjusts to it, someone jostles Azzi and immediately Paige grabs at her hips to steady her. As she finds her balance, Azzi’s giggles subside, realising just how close she is to the blonde now. They’re stuck in slow motion as the world dances around them. The combination of adrenaline and alcohol pumping through her veins is what convinces Paige to test the limits. One hand still squeezing at Azzi’s bare waist, revelling in finally getting to touch, she brings up her thumb to trace around Azzi’s lips. The younger girl gulps, but when she doesn’t try to move away, confidence pulses through Paige. Her heart is beating frantically out of her chest, years and years of want and need that she’d shoved as far away as possible, desperately fighting to get to the surface. 

Pushing herself closer, so their chests are now pressed to each other and Azzi’s hands have no choice but to latch onto her biceps, Paige places a delicate, teasing kiss to the corner of Azzi’s lips. She wishes she could record the whine it elicits and listen to it on loop for hours. Smirking, she moves to place another one on the other side, this time pressing her lips a little harder, a little longer. Azzi’s eyes are closed shut, hands gripping onto Paige so tightly, she knows there’ll be a mark on her biceps tomorrow. She cups Azzi’s face with both hands now, her own eyes shutting involuntarily, as she finally, finally brushes their lips together. 

This time, the strangled noise that leaves Azzi’s throat, is one Paige wishes she could forget as the younger girl rips herself away from Paige, the force of it creating almost a foot of distance between them. It doesn’t take long for the familiar sting of rejection to make itself home in her heart. Azzi’s eyes are brimming with tears as she manically shakes her head. Without a word, she rushes through the crowd, making a beeline for the exit, leaving Paige confused and craving for another taste. 

***

It takes Paige a second to gather her thoughts before following the brunette. She ignores the confused glances from her teammates, making some bullshit excuse about fresh air as she fights her way outside. When she gets there, Azzi’s leaning against the wall, eyes closed as she takes in long deep breaths. 

“That’s not usually how girls react when I try to kiss them,” Paige says after a second, trying to make light of the situation, even if her heart is heavy with anxiety. 

It’s the wrong thing to say because Azzi scoffs, “you kiss a lot of girls don’t you.”

“Yeah and most of them kiss me back,” Paige bites back. 

She’s taken aback by the fire in the darker-skinned girl’s eyes as Azzi finally opens them, heaving herself off the wall. 

“I won’t be one of your groupies Paige. I won’t be one of your desperate one night stands. I won’t be just some other hookup. I won’t!”

Frankly she’s a little offended Azzi would even think that of her. She’s aware of her reputation. In fact she’d probably fed into it a little bit, exaggerating her escapades to Azzi on the phone her freshman year, when they had been on the verge of combusing and she’d been desperate to get a rise out of the younger girl. Last year though, last year was different. But Azzi doesn’t know that. 

“I don’t want you to be any of that,” she replies feebly. 

“Then what, do you want me to be?” Azzi’s voice rises with each syllable. 

Paige stutters, the words getting stuck in her throat. The truth is she wants Azzi to be everything. The truth is, Azzi already is everything. Except there’s too much between them and she just can’t say it. They stand in silence until Azzi finally breaks it.

“I think these last few weeks of summer might have been the best of my life,” she says miserably, “and that might be the worst thing ever you know? Because it’s not real. You’re gonna go back to your world and you’ll- you’ll stop replying to my texts and you’ll stop- you’ll stop calling me and I- I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“That’s an awful lot of assumptions you’re making about me,” Paige is on defensive mode now, feeling a fight brewing. 

“Because that’s what happened. Go back through your fucking phone Paige. Look at all the times I tried. And all the times you never did. You just- you cut me out Paige.”

“That’s not fair. You chose fucking UCLA. Over me.”

“No,” Azzi corrects immediately, anger seeping into her tone, “I chose UCLA over UConn. You made it about yourself.”

Paige swallows back a bitter response in favour of trying to prevent a full-fledged argument, “okay, okay let’s not- let’s not do this okay. It’ll be better this time- I- I won’t ignore your calls or texts or you okay? Just- can we just go back inside please?”

“That’s the thing,” Azzi’s anger is gone, replaced by a sad wistful smile, “I don’t know if I believe that you will,” a single tear rolls down her cheek, “I- I don’t fully trust you and you haven’t fully forgiven me. So where do we go from here?”

It’s a lie what they say about the truth setting you free, Paige thinks as Azzi’s words squeeze at her heart, because all it’s done is unleash shackles of despair that holds them both hostage. It had been easy the last couple of weeks, to pretend the last year had never happened. It had been easy for Paige to pretend that she was over what happened, to ignore the part of her brain that still felt so utterly betrayed. 

“Azzi, what are you saying? You don’t- you don’t wanna be friends?” Paige feels nauseous even saying it. 

“No I-” Azzi chews at her bottom lip, “I’m saying this- us- we’re too fragile to complicate even more. I barely- fuck- Paige, I barely survived losing my best friend. I don’t think I could survive losing something more.” 

The worst thing about it all, is that it makes sense. And really, Paige doesn’t know what she’d expected to happen if Azzi hadn’t pulled away when she did. They’d kiss, maybe give in and do more and then what? Shake hands and walk away? Or make false promises that would ultimately lead to resentment? No, Years and years of something deserved better than either of those masochistic endings. It makes sense, it does but it doesn’t mean Paige has to like it. 

In front of her, all the fight evaporates from Azzi’s body, as the younger girl leans back against the brick wall of the club, sliding down and pulling her knees to her chest. She looks every bit as miserable as Paige feels and all the blonde wants to do is wipe away the stress lines creasing against the younger girl’s beautiful phase. She moves to sit down next to her best friend, shuffling so their shoulders are pressed together and intertwines their fingers together. A sigh of relief escapes her when Azzi doesn’t immediately pull away. Instead, she squeezes their hands tighter, as if she’s scared that if she lets go, Paige will disappear. 

“You didn’t lose me you know,” Paige says softly after a second, nudging Azzi’s shoulder when the other girl lets out a noise of protest, “I know, I know it feels like you did. It felt like that to me too except- every time something good or bad happened to me, I heard your voice or- or maybe I just really wanted too. We got lost a little bit but I didn’t- I didn’t lose you and you didn’t lose me. There’s a difference. I don’t think we could ever lose each other like that. Not really.”

When Azzi turns to look at her, the golden glow of the street lights illuminate the emotions in her eyes. She gives Paige a soft smile, “well Bueckers, if basketball doesn’t work out, maybe you have a future in poetry.”

“I could do whatever I wanted,” except what I want to do the most. 

It doesn’t take long for the Uber Azzi’s already called to start pulling up and that familiar ache of longing creeps into Paige’s spine. She knows tonight isn’t their final goodbye; they still have a couple more days. But those days will be spent ignoring and pretending, unlike tonight and the firm grip they have on reality. They rise off of the cold pavement together, dusting themselves off. It takes a second of awkward glances before they’re surging into each other’s arms, squeezing each other so tightly that it’s hard to breathe. Paige wills herself not to cry, hiding her face in the crook of Azzi’s neck. 

“We’ll be okay,” she whispers, unsure if it’s more for her benefit or Azzi’s. 

The unwanted beep of a car is the only reason they reluctantly pull away, hurriedly wiping away unshed tears, they pretend the other can’t see. Azzi musters up a brave smile, before slowly moving away and it takes everything in Paige not to crumble and begs her to stay. Azzi’s halfway to the car when she turns back and it feels like Paige can breathe again. The brunette’s face is conflicted for a second before turning determined, as she starts walking back up. 

“Az-”

Paige’s confusion is stifled as Azzi fists her shirt, pulling her into a searing kiss. It’s desperate and needy and it’s only a few seconds before the dark-haired girl is pulling away again, but it sets Paige’s entire world off balance. 

“I just-” Azzi’s breathing is rapid and uneven, “I’ve wanted to do that since I was fifteen and- just- fuck- I just-,” she blinks up at Paige, “I hate- I hate leaving things unfinished and for fucks sake if you don’t call me back this time Bueckers- just- don’t be a stranger.”

Paige doesn’t get time to answer, she doesn’t think she could even if she did, because Azzi scurries away almost immediately. She stops when she gets to the car, turning back to give Paige one final look, a look that will haunt Paige forever, before getting into the backseat. As Paige watches the back of Azzi’s uber gets smaller and smaller, her tongue darts across her lips as she tries to memorise the faintest taste of Azzi’s strawberry-flavoured lipstick. And she knows, she’s so utterly and completely and terribly fucked.

[veethefreeelf]

Hello, I was wondering if I could make a request for jeonghannie 😢😢, how would he react to seeing you breastfeed your baby in front of him? And then he just wants to have sex and suck your tits like the baby 😢😢

Sorry Anon for 2 things. One, I took forever with this request and two, I might have gotten carried away (2.5K words, yikes). Anyway hope you enjoy it ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ Also big thanks to @leejihoonownsmyheart for giving me the courage to post this CHEERS 🥂

You’ve always wondered if you would be a good mother. Not because your childhood was bad, but because you never saw yourself as such a figure in anyone’s life. You were always the baby of all your friend groups and it took you quite some time to consider yourself an actual adult and not just an overgrown kid. 

Now, looking at the little angel in your arms, you find yourself wondering how you could ever have had such a thought. Sure, she just barely came out of you but overall, things have been pretty smooth. You have the instincts down but what you have better than anything else is the person whose eyes are looking at you two with so much adoration that you could just crumble right then and there.

“Well… Are you just going to sit there and stare at us?” you asked teasingly.

“If I could help I would angel, but pretty sure breastfeeding is going to be an ‘only you’ task” he said as he smirked. You smiled at each other and as you continued feeding your little angel you looked back at your relationship with him.

Yoon Jeonghan. Before you met him, you never had been one to settle down. You had been in relationships sure, but nothing that had lasted more than 6 months max. You always ended up realizing the person in front of you just wasn’t your forever person and you had to move on. At one point, you even considered the fact that maybe you just weren’t built for love. Well, romantic love, you knew when it came to your friends and family, you loved fiercely and unconditionally, however, when it came to romantic relationships, things just… fizzled down and you always ended up realizing you had never felt true love before.

But boy did that all change when you met him. You were crazy about him from the very beginning and you tried to keep him away to try and protect your fragile heart. But he was having none of it and kept breaking through your walls with ease and he did it consistently and with purpose, because what you didn’t know was that he had been just as crazy for you as you were for him, since the very beginning. 

Five years later and looking at the little family you two have built, you find it funny how you could have ever had such ridiculous thoughts about yourself and how you could ever have doubted him. 

And, at this moment, after five years of knowing Jeonghan, he still manages to surprise you with the next sentence that comes out of his mouth while staring at his perfect girls. 

“So, baby, when is it my turn?” he asked with such a shit eating grin. You lifted your head and stared at him. His eyes had that familiar spark they usually have when he wants to absolutely wreck you, and he is darting his beautiful orbs between your eyes and your breasts where your baby girl is currently finishing up her meal. 

Once you realize what he means, you start laughing and ask him “Do I look like an open buffet to you, Yoon Jeonghan?”

“Hmm… You do look like a five-course meal, angel” he teases.

“Wow… That was incredibly cheesy even for you, Hannie. Oof… I think you might be losing your spice, baby” you teased.

“Losing my spice, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that later tonight won’t we, angel?” he said as he crossed the room to you.

He kissed you in your temple and held your baby girls’ hand and said “When she’s done with her dinner, I’ll get her to sleep, angel. You can go and do your night time routine, yeah? Look nice and pretty for me, hmm?”

You knew exactly what he meant and you swallowed hard. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased him before but also, who are you kidding? You want this as bad as he does.

Once your baby girl was done, he picked her up to have their own bonding time as he always puts it. Jeonghan is the proudest when it comes to bonding time with his daughter and he takes it very seriously. He always makes sure to be the one to get her to sleep and, on nights where he can’t be present, it always eats away at him and he feels incredibly guilty for missing out on his baby girl’s bedtime.

You go through your night routine (shower, lots of skincare, lots of hair care) and you are now standing in front of your closet wondering what kind of night this will be.

Is it a normal underwear kind of night? Is it a lingerie kind of night? Or maybe a Hannie shirt and nothing underneath kind of night? You choose the latter. From the look in his eyes earlier, this calls for the option that will make him the craziest for you, and he has always said, there’s nothing better in this world than looking at you wearing just his clothes and nothing else. A possessive little thing he is, but in the best of ways.

You go to bed waiting for him but you find yourself so tired that you start to doze off. Later, you wake up to his lips on you. He feels so warm and he is kissing you so delicately, you think you might still be dreaming.

“Sorry, angel. Baby girl took longer than usual to fall asleep. Hmm… I was just going to let you sleep but I got here and you’re in my shirt and smelling so heavenly, I couldn’t help myself” he said as he continued kissing down your neck and climbing on top of you. 

“Hannie…” you moaned.

“Yeah, angel. You want me to continue or you want me to let you sleep? Your choice, baby, but choose now before I go insane” he says leaning his forehead in yours.

“Want you, Hannie. Don’t stop, please” you whispered. 

He sat back on his knees and took his shirt off. You kept staring at him and wondering how you even got this fucking lucky. You’d have to pray to all the gods and the universe tomorrow.

“Angel, you can’t look at me like that. With those innocent eyes when I know that what’s going on behind them is not even close to being innocent”. 

You sit up and start kissing him. Properly, taking your time. It feels like ages ago since you last just sat and kissed like this. Deeply, so profound that you forget everything else around you. You then start kissing down his neck as he starts massaging your breasts. You stop for a bit and he senses your hesitation. 

“What do you think, angel? Is it my turn now?” he asks, looking you in the eyes as he keeps caressing your breast with one hand and holds your face with the other. 

“What… What if it… You know… Comes out?” you asked in such a low voice you almost sounded like a scared child. 

“Angel, you’re my wife. The mother of my child. You are my whole world. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. This is the most natural thing in the world and I want you so fucking bad. I want them” he says while massaging your breasts now with both hands.

“I want them so bad. I’ve tried hinting at it before but I didn’t know if you were ignoring it or if you weren’t getting the hint. But I want all of you. You know how sexy it is that you carried my child? That you brought our baby into this world? Fuck, everytime I think about it, it drives me fucking insane” he says while leaning his forehead in yours.

“Hmm… Mommy kink, Hannie?” you say, now smiling.

“More like a You kink, angel. Everything about You, always” and before you can tease him again about that line, he starts kissing you, taking your (well, his) shirt off of you and, in no time, you are in the position you were in when this all started.

He is kissing down your neck and his fingers are moving closer and closer to where you desperately want him to be. He kisses your chest, just below your collarbones and he starts running his fingers through your folds.

“Fuck… You are so wet, angel… It seems I’m not the only one wanting to try this huh?” he says in such a cocky way. You wish you had the strength to tease him back but you are getting way too desperate for his touch.

“It’s you, Hannie… The way you talk about me… About this… Fuck, please, keep going” you are now whining and getting more and more desperate.

As he starts slowly touching your clit, he moves his mouth and his free hand to your breasts. He quickly latches his mouth on one of your nipples and starts kissing it, devouring it. He’s making such sloppy noises, if it was anyone else in the world you would be so fucking embarrased but he keeps humming and moaning as he suckles and makes out with your tit.

You find yourself getting closer and closer, the fire in your core is igniting fast, too fast for your liking.

“Hannie. Hannie. I’m.. I’m close. Slow.. Slow down, please” you pant, barely making sense. He then pushes one finger… Then a second finger into your pussy and keeps reaching into that one spot inside you that makes your mind go completely blank.

“Shhh, let go, angel. Fuck, I can feel your cunt squeezing around my fingers, you’re dripping on me. Just let go, I got you” he whispers while still latched to your nipple and staring you in the eyes. 

He kept going, getting sloppier, getting louder and staring at you like you are the most precious piece of art. His fingers have set the right pace and he has his thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure. Everything sounds so filthy and it’s what pushes you over the edge with a moan of his name.

He helps you come down from your high and is now kissing you all over your face and whispering “good girl. You were so good for me. I love you so much”. When you are back down on earth, you start kissing him back and you can feel just how hard he is. It must be painful at this point. He’s practically humping you and moaning praises while kissing you. You reach down to palm him through his (still very on) pants and you start massaging his cock.

“Hannie… You’re so hard, baby. Get those clothes off and get inside me. I can’t wait anymore…” you whispered in his ear between kisses.

He groans and quickly strips down. He’s now sitting back on his heels in the bed with you between your legs and he pushes your legs open. As open as they can be and he starts staring at you while running his hand through your leg. He takes his other hand and starts stroking his cock while staring down at you.

“Fuck, angel. One of these days, you’ll kill me. Look at you, all fucked out from me sucking your tit and touching you. I’ve barely started with you and you’re already so wrecked” he keeps stroking himself and staring at you. You lick your lips and start pouting.

“Hannie… You can make yourself come on me any other day, but tonight, please, fuck me. I need you inside of me, so bad” you say in your best innocent voice that you know drives him crazy.

“You sure you’re ready for me, angel? Don’t want to overwhelm you” he says. Then two things run through your mind. One: he looks like he wants to fucking wreck you but he is still giving you the option to stop him since he knows that after the birth of your girl you both have been very careful and well, for lack of a better world, vanilla in bed due to doctor’s orders and some of your fears. And two: you are the luckiest woman alive.

“Please, Hannie. I’m ready, I’m so ready. I need you now. I need everything. I’ll give you everything” you moan while staring back at him so he knows that you fucking mean it.

He leans over you, kisses you deeply, tells you he loves you and starts rubbing the tip of his cock on your pussy. He holds your hand above your head and stares into your eyes as he pushes himself into you, finally. You’re both panting and giggling and kissing, like teenagers. 

At first, he starts slow. Long, well-timed strokes. Holding your hand and your hip in position, making sure your legs stay as open as possible for him.

“Faster, Hannie. I’m not gonna break. Please” you moan. 

“Hmm.. My angel wants to get fucked hard, huh? Seems like my angel is a little slut tonight, isn’t she?” he said as he started speeding up and fucking you harder and harder and you moan louder and louder.

He slaps your thigh. “I need words, slut. Fucking tell me what you want. Tell Hannie what you want”.

“Fuck… Hannie… I‘m a slut tonight. Your slut… Please…” you said, completely and already fucked out of your mind.

“Shit… That’s right… Mine… All fucking mine” he says and groans. He’s getting closer and so are you.

He removes your hand from his and grabs on to your tit while his other hand is now rubbing circles on your clit. He starts sucking on your tit that he overlooked earlier tonight and keeps massaging the other. He starts rubbing your nipple and making out with your other tit and nipple. Again, getting sloppy, making the most obscene sounds. 

He senses you’re close. He knows, he can tell by the way you are moaning, by the look in your eyes and by the way your pussy is squeezing his cock. He’s not going to last much longer either, not like this and he goes in for the kill.

“Is my angel close? I know you are, I can feel it. Fuck… I’m right behind you” he speeds up, latches back on to your nipple and for the final blow, he slightly bites down on it and that’s when everything erupts. You come with a cry of his name. You’re shaking and panting and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything so pure and beautiful.

He comes then with a groan and keeps whispering ‘I love you’ over and over again.

You just lay there together, you don’t know for how long. You’re holding him, one hand running through his hair and another running up and down his back. He lifts his head and looks at you. He then surprises you again with what comes out of his mouth.

“I knew you were gonna love that. You’re tits have always been so sensitive, specially your nipples, angel” he starts laughing against your neck.

“I guess it’s an open buffet after all” you said and you both burst into laughter still tangled together.

[impossiblekittydelusion]

not the same anon but I’ll be off it to say this;

the logo is a reference to cm punk’s favourite BAND who had what I believe was a Coca Cola logo, and he “liked the beverage too”. It is also thought because he has a straight edge, his whole thing is that he is drug free and alcohol free, that wrestling is addiction. Oh by the way? The band? Yeah, it’s a punk band called Bad Religion, the band that plays his damn entrance music

next he DID play more into the punk style, not the whole crust jackets crust pants patches and stuff, but he still played into it a when he was younger, now he’s gotten older, he’s a bit less, but he still listens to the music and more importantly; he actually follows the ideology

he’s been on stage multiple times in transgender supporting, shirts that say “abortions rights are human rights” and is a feminist for christs sake, if ANYTHING he’s been fired before for his boldness and protection of his fellow workers, getting into a “altercation” because so many workers were being ignored for their medical needs and he’s been fighting against that, he’s acknowledged the firefighters in wild fires, he’s literally against the MAGA influence that WWE is infected with

tell me you know NOTHING about cm punk without telling me. it’s fine to not like the character he plays, he’s literally called “chick magnet punk” but ffs the dude IS punk, and if you don’t know what punk fully is because you ARENT punk, then you can’t be shocked when people make accusations, the green day comment was a bit strange, but it doesn’t change nothing. - algae

first of all - I respect that you're not gonna shout at me on anon. Thank you.

Also, i dont really care about the reference. It's still a massive logo for a mega corp on his shoulder. Like theres no way around that, especially in a way that vibes with the anti capitalist anti establishment ideals of punks.

Second of all - I don't know if you don't know or don't care, but he said he and Colt Cabana would train this woman to wrestle and instead exploited her, regularly and purposefully injured he badly enough to bench her for months, bragged about it, and then couldn't even be bothered to remember her goddamn name.

Interview

Transcript

THAT is what I have issue with, and that is why I'm calling him abusive. I loved his feud with MJF, and although I wasn't really partial to his persona, I was a kind of lukewarm fan. I liked how he sold, and I liked him with mjf. But watching that interview made me sick to my stomach. The way he spoke about her ("I couldn't even tell you her real fucking name. She is the "Bikini Girl". That is strictly what we called her." ""I HATED her" and Cabana too: "maybe we got her in the ring once and, you know, made sure to hurt her so she'd be out another 2 months") was horrifying. It doesn’t matter what you have to say after that, all the feminist words in the world don't mean shit after years of abusing someone like that, especially whe hes shown no remorse. Also, all the cheating? And that reporter that punk went off on for saying the women's locker room didn't feel safe around him? Yeah, he sure sounds like a feminist.

Genuinely if you watch them talk about it (starting at 55.50 hopefully the time stamp takes u there automatically) and you're fine with that I don't think this is in any way a conversation worth having because we are never going to see eye to eye.

But listen, I don't think I can stress this enough: I WAS a cm punk fan, I liked the guy and posted about him on here until I heard this interview that everyone else seems determined to bury. Its not like i hated him and his gimmick on sight, I was a fucking fan before I saw the interview.

[strangegardendelusion]

andres dumb plan hinges too much on the idea of "stolas will come save blitz because he loves him and then hold himself accountable so i can take his legions! obviously!" when theres like. no implication that anyone really knows what blitz and stolas's relationship is, or that they even care about each other, especially not when stella said, "he finally realized that filthy little beast was only using him to gain access to his grimoire", like, what about that implies that stolas would give a shit if anything happened to someone who was "using him"? thats right - it doesnt! if andres plan had been properly executed in the stupid ass way he set it up in the episode, then blitz wouldve been executed, and fuck all wouldve happen to stolas after. if anything, hed be treated like a hero who was used unfairly by some low life, who was then slaughtered on tv to remind the lower citizens of hell not to fuck with the upper crust. imagine if that had happened, forcing stolas to go back to his home by himself; no stella since they divorced, no via since shes turning 18 soon, and no blitzy, ever again. maybe they shouldve just done that tbh, that way he could take over the show completely, since thats obviously what viv wants so damn bad. (also, stolas possible redemption arc when he realizes his actions actually DO have consequences!) or, i dunno, if she had the maturity to let other people look at her 3 year old script without surrounding herself with yesman, she mightve realized that she couldve kept EVERYTHING she wanted and still had the same ending, at the price of having stolas do the bare minimum and say, "he didnt force himself onto me, i.. forced myself onto him." the ending with all the imps hating stolas would make sense (because they know hes a rapist), blitz being able to even acknowledge any care he has for stolas might make more sense if he'd even SAY what he did wrong to blitz in front of EVERYONE important in hell, being a way to make up for his manipulative behavior and him hiding his face at ozzies, especially if stolas said, "i'm so sorry, blitz. for getting you into this mess, for everything ive done to you.." after blitz says thank you when they return home. (thats just the way i'd write it, because i cannot fucking stand that blitz says, "thank you, stolas, for saving my life," when blitz, at minimum, has saved stolas's life 3 TIMES AND HAS NEVER GOTTEN A THANK YOU ONCE BEFORE THIS POINT and was even INSULTED over saving him the best he could, because blitz needed to be there for his DAUGHTER first like a good dad, which is obviously something stolas has never comprehended since his sacrifice and willingness to die for his former forced sex slave in mastermind proves that, but stolas saves blitz twice, the second time being when hes holding himself accountable for his own actions that nearly got his "lover" killed to begin with? oh, heres a gold star, a thank you from the guy you forced to have sex with you to keep food on the table for his family, and a free imp to wash you just like when you were 12 i mean a totally not trauma bonded bf!)

Honestly, anon, interesting points all around! I didn't even think about all you said before you mentioned it.

Now, having blitz died is a very interesting idea

I mean, it would be very cool to see how each character reacts to his death, like having loona experience her sadness by turning it into anger and having millie and moxxie grieving with each other the best they can.

It would also be very interesting to see stolas hitting the deep end as he realized how his life is falling apart

I could see stolas trying to reach out to everyone blitz knew, and nobody wanted to do anything with stolas

From then on, the series would follow stolas as he deals with everything

[a0random0gal]

"healthy" doesn't always mean good in fiction. Eremika's unhealthiness is what makes the ship compelling and interesting. It's built into the core of the story. Also your "healthiest ship" requires ignoring that he emotionally manipulated her into keeping her mouth shut about his genocide plan and threatened to have her memories erased. Historia never expressed any interest in him that way. Men and women can in fact just be friends.

Ohh boy, you're bold anon, I have to hand it to ya.

Yes healthy doesn't always mean good, in fact it can actually lead to some very boring ships, but that is still a perfectly good thing to look for in a pairing.

In contrast unhealthy can be interesting, but mostly leads to abusive relationships that get glorified by the fandom in spite of their toxic nature, and in this aspect Eremika is no exception. These two are just awful for one another.

He headbutts her, call her names, tells her he hates her (I know he didn't mean it, but it wrecked her emotionally so my point stands) put her in a situation that could have gotten her killed, never confided in her regarding his plans etc...

She was an overbearing mama who constantly treated him like an incompetent child that couldn't do anything on his own.

What's compelling in a relationship with this dynamic:

"Eren eat your veggies!"

"Eren put on a coat, or you're gonna catch a cold!"

"Eren don't run you're gonna trip!"

Oh and don't get me started on this

She literally deluded herself for years into believing that everything he did was somehow tied back to her. Even Armin, Reiner and Berthold gave her the 🙄 look.

Also her entire character revolves around him and it makes her super boring and robotic. Even after he dies she spends her life worshipping his grave and dies with that gosh darned scarf on her neck. She only took it off once ( when she gave an ounce of development) before cruelly snatching it from the hands of a dying girl that was using it for comfort (something I'll never forgive her for).

She was originally meant to break away from him but alas, good writing died after 134.

Annd the story never revolved around them. Mikasa only became the protagonist in the last chapter out of fucking thin air and it looked soo forced. Lmao Hisu had more parallels with Ymir than Mikasa of all people.

The only time their relationship mattered was at the end of season 2, but after that we got nothing important.

Last thing on this dumpster fire of a ship... They're boring asf.

Like I know some unhealthy relationships that are toxic and all, but the characters have chemistry, and it can make up for the awful shit they can do to eachother. Eremika has no chemistry. I would rather watch paint dry than think about them romantically.

Regarding Erehisu... Have we read the same aot chapter? Or just the same conversation between Eren and Historia? Because I don't think so.

He emotionally manipulated her to keep her mouth shut

What? When did this ever happen? She chose to stay silent. Hell he didn't even need to tell her his plans, it was quite risky, since she could have snitched on him to the Mps and ruined everything.

He chose to confide in her cause he knew she wouldn't tell, cause she was the worst girl in the world who saved him, the girl who chose her selfishness over the world already, in that cave when she saved him, when she told him that she would always be his ally, that they were enemies of humanity.

She never wanted the future that she was destined to if she accepted the 50 year plan. She had accepted it for the greater good. Something selfless that only Christa could have done.

He knew that, and reminded her of who she really was. A selfish, normal girl like everyone else.

She was shocked by the genocide that awaited them if they followed Eren's plan but ultimately chose it over sacrificing herself and her future children. Totally in character, no manipulation involved lmao.

He threatened to erase her memories

Nope. She was upset so he offered to lighten her burden by erasing her memories if she wanted to. It was a proposal made out of empathy for her shock. No threats, where did you see em?

She was never interested in him

Say what you want about her feelings for him, interpret them how you please, but you can't deny a connection from which feelings could blossom. This meme perfectly sums up my thoughts about this:

Yes men and women can be friends, I just don't see it this way for Erehisu. Actually I could tell you the same thing for Eremika. Better as siblings lol.

[velvetvexations]

I figured it out, I figured out how to explain part of the link between tankies and trfs and in fact how they even almost got me once upon a time.

It's the essential oppositional thinking, where everyone else's grass is greener - a step beyond your usual black and white, "X is bad, Y is good," all the way into "X is bad, therefore its very nature is bad and it can be nothing but bad, and Y is considered its opposite, so Y is good and will always be good."

Being a woman is good for them, therefore being a woman Is Good, it is objectively good, this is a universal fact, therefore it is ALSO an immutable universal fact that being a man is inherently bad. Good old fashioned oppositional sexism, in a pink hat, just like every flavor of radfeminism.

And in international politics? It doesn't seem like a coincidence that most tankie trfs are American:

The US's economic system is fucked, and we've probably never been the good guy in ANY international relation, therefore any country that has an adversarial relationship with the US government must be wholly inscrutable.

Russia was a utopia, actually, until they just RANDOMLY decided to start hating gay people out of nowhere, and if we could just get her back to her glory days everything would be amazing, and no this is totally not a RETVRN statement about a fantasy past what are you talking about? This is simply the truth, because we know that the US government doesn't like them and hated them even more then, and the US government is Bad, therefore anyone the US government doesn't like must be doing EVERYTHING right.

China has never had a problem with corruption and state-sanctioned violence and disaster mismanagement. We know this to be true, because the US has those things, and the US government is unfriendly with that of China, so we are opposites, so if we are Bad they must be Good. They must have gotten everything right.

If that's the level you're operating on, it feels like a very natural conclusion, and when you're just learning how deep the rabbit hole of "sexism is more than just 'get back in the kitchen' jokes" and/or "America is usually the bad guy in the international politics game and imperialism really fucking sucks" goes, it's easy to end up slipping into that level without realizing it.

I mean, if the other guy was ACTUALLY doing bad things, then why didn't people just expose THAT instead of making shit up for propaganda? (@ my younger self: because they thought the actual bad stuff was the okay part, dipshit (lovingly).)

String Theory but for internet leftist assholes. Congratulations, anon.

[darrys-laundry]

i’m so sorry, someone sent me an anon and i accidentally deleted it.

i was trying to do far too many things at once while i was at work, but i did read what you said! and i have thoughts!

darrel curtis’ self-flagellation is so important to me, because he loves his brothers. he does.

there’s a stretch of time following everything that’d happened in windrixville, bob’s death, johnny’s, dally’s, etc. that darrel would let either of his brothers tear into him. he’d think he’d deserve it.

pony blames himself for their parents' death.

…if he’d just gotten that frosting for darry’s cake.

darry thinks, i’m the one that killed them. they brought me into this world, and i’m the one that took them out.

in trying to celebrate me, and the anniversary of my birth, they died.

if pony needed to take his anger, or his grief out on darry, darry would let him. he’d think he’d deserve that too.

he’d be still. because he’d hit pony first, after all, back in the middle of the dining room. it’d only be fair. an eye for an eye.

there’s a song off the twisters soundtrack i really like, by jake kohn and wyatt flores:

‘the clouds start caving in, and these walls are paper-thin,

counting all of my sins, like it’s judgement day,

locked in a household war,

battleground’s the living room floor,

i’m not sure what i’m fighting for,

but i’m tired of trying to be who you need me to be’

(in case you want to know, later lyrics include, ‘let the rain come pouring down, i’m not afraid to drown, just hope you make it out before i do,’ which i think is true. we know darry feels like he’s treading water, we know he thinks he’s ready to throw in the towel, but for as much as he’d blown up in runs in the family reprise, he’d still get his brothers into the lifeboat first, you know what i mean?)

wyatt flores’ discography actually goes very hard.

he has a couple songs that remind me of pony and darry’s dynamic:

‘you woke from a dream last night,

thought we had had that fight,

i finally said goodbye,

like you think i will,

you saw it clear as day,

backpacks in a chevrolet,

i can tell by the look on your face,

it’s still killin’ you,

i hate that you wonder,

if i still love you,

well, i don’t say it all the time,

god knows i never say it right,

right now feels like a damn good time to start,

i’d rather drown in the darkest water,

i’d rather burn in the devil’s fire,

than to ever think of tearing us apart,

i’d rather break my bones,

than break your heart’

which, like, in the book darry is haunted by the fact that pony has nightmares. he’d hate to be the reason. he’d hate to know that all of those things he’d said in the heat of the moment continue to terrorize pony in his dreams. and he’d fucking take it all back if he could.

(also, like, the parallel of ‘i’d rather burn in the devil’s fire,’ and ‘i try to keep you from the fire, but it’s me who’s getting burned.’ darrel says that shit because he’s mad, because he knows it’ll hurt, because it’s this voice in the back of his head that he’s tried to keep quiet, because he won’t let himself feel a goddamn thing, and then boom. he’d never leave his brothers like that.)

wyatt’s featured on ANOTHER song that’s so fucking darry:

‘another day, another regret,

try to remember how the night went,

oh, this horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me it didn’t go well,

lost a couple of my friends,

and in the morning try to mend,

can’t fix what’s in pieces for my selfish reasons,

tryna run from myself,

i let a lot of people down,

they’re not surprised this time around,

they say i’m a ticking time bomb,

way too fucking far gone to probably get some help,

take me as i come,

or don’t take me at all,

i’m gonna let you down,

i’m gonna lead you lost’

anyway, yeah.

i hope this finds you anon!! sorry i deleted your ask, but yeah.

those are my thoughts.