#I would kill and die for them without question

[amellderiva]

You know what makes me go a bit feral about solrook (or even just a non-romantic relationship between Solas and Rook)? Sure, the verbal sparring, the "I suppose I had you," and that devastatingly delivered "Please, Rook. I do not wish to fight against you," are all excellent contenders. But you know what really sends me spiraling deep down into a rabbit hole?

This bitch here.

"When you see the old world restored..."

When you see it. Not if. When. And as far as I'm aware (correct me if I'm wrong!), it's a line given to every Rook, regardless of how they treat or react to Solas, whether they hate him, pity him, or walk some shaky line in between. And that opens the door to so many beautiful implications.

It means Solas came to care about Rook, no matter what. Yes, he was furious that the ritual was disrupted, furious about the horrors they unleashed (because blaming Rook is easier than admitting the ritual was dangerous and poorly planned to begin with). Yes, he saw them as inferior, a meddlesome mortal playing with powers they couldn't comprehend. A means to an end he would exploit without hesitation. Yes, he used blood magic to make them believe their beloved mentor was still alive – after he killed him – and likely felt little to no remorse about it in the beginning. Yes, he betrayed them at the first opportunity, condemning them to what he believed to be a permanent stay in the Fade Prison, and he did so even if there had been something like a bond forming between them. Because to Solas, Rook was just a pawn to be used on the board – a rook to be castled by the king. And then they came back, just when he needed them most. And Solas is grateful. Relieved. A little stunned, honestly, because how did they succeed where he failed? And even though he still plans to betray them, still believes he has to, he no longer takes pleasure in it. This time, it hurts. This time, it costs him something. ("I'm sorry for this final betrayal… but I will do what I can to minimize the damage.") But at the very least, he can comfort himself with this: Rook will survive. Rook has to survive. If the world ends – perhaps when the world ends – they'll be there. And when they see it, when they understand what he has tried to achieve, they'll know it was all worth it. They have to. Because if they don't… then he'll be forced to confront the reality of what he's done, and all the means he has sacrificed for the end. Even then, Rook will be there. When. Not if.

It means he can't even imagine Rook dying. Not because it's impossible, but because he can't let himself believe it. He knows there will be casualties. The question was never if, only how many. He's accepted that price, planned around it, braced for it. ("But the return of my people means the end of yours," he says to the Inquisitor, admitting that it's a wrong answer, but resigned to it all the same.) He's told himself this a thousand times. He's heard the pushback – from Felassan, the Inquisitor, Varric, even Rook – and dismissed it all. He made his choice a long time ago, and he's ready to sink with the ship. He killed Felassan. He killed Varric. He accepted that the Inquisitor and every friend they shared might die. But Rook? Rook is the one life he can't picture losing. Even after he's hurt them, even after he's betrayed their trust, used blood magic on them, locked them in a torment of regrets. He can't, doesn't, won't see a future where Rook's dead, and dead by the choices he has made. His mind just… won't go there. When. Not if. Sure, if Rook tricks him, fights him, chooses defiance, he lashes out. His anger suppresses his reason, his pride overcomes his wisdom. But that's just instinct. But "when you see the old world restored" wasn't instinct. That was a slip. That was real.

And this, kids, is why I'll never understand how anyone walked away from Veilguard thinking Solas doesn't care about Rook. Obviously to each to their own, but that's just such a strange conclusion to reach, when, in my opinion, he very clearly does. By the end, they're one of the few people he still manages to care about. Maybe not the most – Mythal probably holds that title, even now – but enough that a future without them is simply unimaginable.

[amorphousgreydragon]

Do Sayaka and Homura hate eachother (in the timeloops)?

or, "why does Homura ask Sayaka for permission to kill her for Madoka's sake?"

To answer this question, I will take a look at the scene in episode 9 "I was such an idiot" where Homura decides to execute Sayaka, and show just how much deeper it is than most think:

A lot of people I've heard and even myself think/thought that Homura doesn't care about Sayaka or is frustrated by her, which I believe are both false.

We know that since Homura chased after Sayaka's soul gem after it was thrown away that she does

1. take chances for Sayaka's sake- she isn't just waiting for the magical girl to die, she hasn't given up on other girl like she tells Madoka to because for the pinkette's sake, of course Homura would be a hypocrite, lying only supported by her cold, detached attitude which she has consciously fostered through the entire series beforehand.

2. She does care for Sayaka, for this would have been the perfect time to destroy the azurette's soul gem without any of it even being watched by Kyubey, since he was just as surprised by Madoka's actions as everyone else was.

Now, I will move on to the scene in question:

It starts with Homura coming up to Sayaka after she's done killing a familiar. Homura talks about how Sayaka needs to conserve magic, needs to take care of her own soul gem and hunt witches instead to preserve her own life. Sayaka says she doesn't need to help herself because she plans on dying, either by running low on magic, not having the strength to fight witches anymore or having low magic in itself cause her death. She falls to her knees infront of Homura, she accuses Homura not to care about anything, she insults Homura's kindness all the while expecting the ravenette to run away afterwards, simply shrugging Sayaka off and leaving her to die.

Stopping here, there are already several things to go over: first of all, Sayaka here is starting to curse the world and has already been shown to lash out at others, even Madoka for the first and last time ever. The reason why this apparent hatred of Homura is taken at face value while Madoka's is not is because while Sayaka immidiately shows that she regrets being mean to Madoka, she doesn't get a scene to show it with Homura (which wouldn't happen in this timeline anyways). Point is: Sayaka looking through Homura and only seeing stuff she hates is taking her words at face value while forgetting everything leading up to this point. Sayaka is starting to abandone everything and everyone herself in that moment. She is haunting mirror to what might eventually become Homura if the timelines go on, and that's Sayaka's way of addressing it.

Homura rejects this with her words but is pained by Sayaka's words still as we see from her expression. Homura does care about Sayaka, she doesn't grieve being unable to save Sayaka anymore for her own health, but she does care. She's never stopped caring. I think what happened with this scene is that people project their own feelings onto Homura, both those of frustration at Sayaka's unwillingness to be helped and at Sayaka insulting Homura. People are frustrated at Sayaka for feeling and acting the way she does in this scenario which causes them to use the emotionally reserved and cryptic dismissal of the girl's perspective by Homura as confirmation that the ravenette feels like them, the audience.

My counterpoints to that interpretation follow now:

At that point in the scene Homura decides to execute Sayaka, proclaiming her devotion to Madoka's safety as absolute, while the azurette stares shocked.

The way she decides to do this is suspect: first, she bends down to Sayaka's level and then lets her hand light up with a purple glow- a purple touch that would kill her. This is already very strange for killing an already downed magical girl, seemingly taking more magic than should be necessary while also putting up a lot more of a show than necessary, but it gets stranger. Homura slowly comes closer to Sayaka, reaching out with her glowing hand, as if daring the other girl to do something. In the end, before Homura reaches Sayaka Kyouko appears and holds the other girl back. Spurred on by Kyouko defending her, Sayaka slowly walks away, drained but still going. After only a few moments, Homura bluffs her way into escaping Kyouko's hold, after which neither meet Sayaka again until the moments before she becomes a witch.

This scene shows in my eyes that Homura cares a lot about Sayaka because she has no reason to let the other girl live like that and she also had no reason not to use a gun.

The reason she didn't use a gun is this: Sayaka before exclaimed how she doesn't care about her own life anymore, and Homura wanted to give the girl a chance to prove herself wrong. Homura wanted to provoke the girl into showing self-preservation, into showing any kind of attachment to the world, anything she has left to fight for like how Homura fights for Madoka.

In the end, just like all the times Homura and Sayaka butt heads, the ravenette avoids hurting the knight in any way. We never see Homura try and hurt Sayaka, the only thing we see if her knocking the azurette out cold to avoid confrontations with Kyouko and then we see her agree to "fight" Sayaka, which we never see her do, which I would doubt her intentions were at that point given the fact she saves her life right after.

Besides Homura's words we have no reason to believe she would have killed Sayaka in this scene unless the fallen knight let her do it.

In the end, Homura gets what she wants, in a way. Kyouko's care for Sayaka in this rare moment gives the azurette the boost enough to escape with her life, which is why I believe the ravenette let her go in the first place: with timestop it would have been easy to chase her down if she was serious about killing someone who she loves and cares about.

But in Homura's mind, this is enough. She doesn't want to hunt Sayaka down like an animal, she doesn't want to end the story and not believe there is something else that could happen ever. She doesn't want to give up on Sayaka, the only time she does is when Sayaka gives up on herself, well and truly.

Sayaka finds a magical girl to go on for, even for just a moment, but on the train, the very next scene, she loses her faith in humanity. And Kyouko doesn't need her to live. Humans do. Humans need heroes, Humans need magical girls to protect them. But when Sayaka loses the last shred of hope in even her duty as a magical girl, nothing else is left to make her suffering, her sacrifice, her life have meaning.

When she tells Kyouko that she was just an idiot what she's saying is that the redhead never should have saved her. Never should have cared.

Should have just let Homura kill her, right then and there.

And here comes to the second headline, the reason why this post is tagged "Homusaya"

Sayaka doesn't have a reason to go on anymore, but Homura shows her she does have a reason to die. Homura offers Sayaka an escape. All the other girl needs to do to live is to back away, all she needs to do is affirm she wants to continue living, that she does have something left to fight for, and Homura would back away, maybe even help the girl to her feet, hopeful.

And when she doesn't, Homura offers her hand, her touch, offering Sayaka to die peacefully instead.

Sending her off with the knowledge that her death would protect Madoka. Sending her off with the knowledge that Homura cares. Allowing the knight to leave her burdens behind while Homura holds her.

Idc what anyone says that's hella romantic

[centipede-rain]

Ring the bells that still can ring

Lux Imperator | Mr. Ring-A-Ding x Reginald Pye

Words: 1129

Warnings: none

Summary: It’s not so bad, existing like this. Ever since Helen died, Reginald Pye has been stuck in a limbo anyway. How could he possibly continue on, after the person that had given everything meaning is gone? And even if he could, why would he? What for?

No, he’s fine here, in the dark cinema, alone with his reels and flickering images, following the demands of that strange creature.

I wrote this for @thirteens-pocket-watch who has all the best Reggie Pye opinions and ideas :3

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66581398

Days blur together, with no one but him- it as company.

Of course there’s also the replica of his dead wife - light taking shape, simulating life - but that, too, is him in some way. Reginald pretends it isn’t so, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know.

Night after night he puts on movies for the thing pretending to be a little cartoon man, come to life.

It’s not so bad, existing like this. Ever since Helen died, he’s been stuck in a limbo anyway. How could he possibly continue on, after the person that had given everything meaning is gone? And even if he could, why would he? What for?

No, he’s fine here, in the dark cinema, alone with his reels and flickering images, following the demands of that strange creature.

Not that the monster demands horrible things, really. No blood offerings, no leading victims into its den. It has killed though – he has witnessed it. Innocent cinema goers, vanished forever, trapped on film. Their terrified little faces staring up at him from the cellulose.

He has met the grieving families, has been questioned by the police about his own role in the matter. They think it was him, that much is obvious. He can’t blame them. A whole cinema full of people, all of them vanished without trace, with him as the sole survivor. How ironic, that the man who wants to die is the only that remains.

The police can’t prove anything, can’t find the bodies. That’s why they’re forced to leave him alone eventually, driven even deeper into social isolation than he already was, free to return to his den of loneliness.

Well, he might be lonely, but he isn’t alone.

Mr. Ring-A-Ding, as the creature insists on calling himself, is always there with him. Telling corny lines, dancing along to jingles that are eerily familiar. Dredging up memories from years and years of watching silly cartoons since his early childhood.

That’s the worst of it, how familiar he is. How, despite the danger Reginald knows him to be, he feels almost… safe.

Reginald is still terrified of him. He’s always terrified, of everything.

Those feelings coexist inside him, a confusing and nauseating turmoil that keeps him awake at night.

Not that he could sleep very well before that. No, sleeping has always been difficult.

Perhaps he even sleeps better now, on a little cot in the cinema, than he ever did at home, with her gone.

The home that they shared, too haunted by ghosts to ever truly find peace in. The memory of her smiling face, lurking behind every corner.

How strange that he sleeps better here, where she is real in a way. Smiling and taking his hands, twirling him around in a dance, like they used to do.

But it’s not her. It’s even less her than the echoes of her memories, reverberating through the halls they used to live in. Her skin a touch too gray, her smile a touch too sweet, lacking mischief. Her skin (well, “skin”, because it’s not, not really) abuzz in strange ways, making his hands go numb where they’re linked.

And all the while, he sees the cartoon man that had given this gift to him, watching. Lifeless pie cut eyes, a wide grin, cartoonish little hearts popping up above his head. Half approval, half mockery.

And Reginald knows. He knows that he’s most likely only watching to puppeteer his mirage the proper way, keep the illusion alive for him. He knows that in truth, he is dancing with that thing and not his beloved Helen. But that doesn’t mean he is strong enough to let go.

It’s strange. Mr. Ring-A-Ding hadn’t needed to bribe him, in order to make him stay. He had already spared his life, and inadvertently burnt down all the other bridges left in Reginald’s life. With everyone thinking him a murderer, he had nowhere else to go but this strange dark room with its terrifying otherworldly inhabitant.

And yet, the cartoon had decided to chain itself to him not (only) through threat but through promise.

And it works, in a way. Despite everything, Reginald keeps coming back. Keeps playing movies for him, entertaining him, feeding him.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of all is how social he creature is. Starting up conversations, listening intently, pretending to care. About his thoughts, emotions, experiences. Pretending so very well. But it doesn’t, not really - does it? Can it?

Oh but why does it keep doing it, despite having nothing left to gain from him. Why does it ruffle his hair, laughing jovially when he flinches. Boneless limbs, detached from any real life logic, moving too fluidly. A two dimensional body, somehow existing in a three dimensional space. Wonky dimensions, his size waxing and waning like the moon, mostly depending on his mood.

When Reginald sleeps, he no longer sleeps alone.

Mr. Ring-A-Ding, or whatever has stepped out of the big screen that day, is there with him.

Sometimes it’s terrifying, the cartoon all warped and twisted, its grotesquely stretched form easily dwarfing him. It insists on lying on his little cot with him, holding him close like some kind of toy. Too many arms, wrapped around him. The prickle of tv static on his skin, the soft blue glow illuminating the dark room, reminding him of sleepless nights spent in front of his tv, watching those very same cartoons of Mr. Ring-A-Ding.

It’s a strange dreamlike mix of terrifying, oddly nostalgic, and surprisingly gentle. Because the monster holds him so very carefully, whispering sweet things, petting his hair when he cries. And it shouldn’t feel comforting, not in any way. But he’s been so alone since Helen died, and now he isn’t. Now someone is holding him close, and he’s just been so terribly touch starved. And it’s not like he could get away anyway, even if he were brave enough to resist or complain.

Other nights, Mr. Ring-A-Ding is small, curling up with him like a cat. It’s almost cute, almost wholesome. It’s harder to tell himself that he’s not here because he wants to be, then. Harder to pretend he’s being held hostage, and not pathetically clinging to whatever scrap of positive attention he can get.

Sometimes he reaches out, petting the cartoon like it so often does to him. He had been so very hesitant, the first time he had done it. Afraid of the reaction, afraid of repercussions, afraid of making Mr. Ring-A-Ding angry. But he had only widened his eerie cartoon grin, snuggling closer. Eyes aglow like lanterns, strange energy buzzing softly under his hand, more subdued when he is content.

Reginald isn’t happy. He never will be again, without Helen.

But perhaps he, too, can be content.

[serpentface]

What’s the Janeys/Brakul death scenario?

So like upon review I mostly just was going to kill them off for Couya + Faiza + Hibrides’ character development (#FEMINIST WIN!!!!!!!).

The background situation of their death scenario is something that will happen either way:

Throughout the story, the pilgrimage requests tribute from the towns it passes through (mainly food and other supplies). This is a common practice for pilgrimages and the travels of royalty, and Imperial Wardi civilians are used to the concept (just not so much during a famine). Some people give fully willingly (a lot of people believe in the pilgrimage's goals/and or the necessity to keep its high status participants fed), most are at least partly coerced (usually not via direct threats, but the pilgrimage contains a couple hundred soldiers, the Usoma, and Odonii leadership. The threat is implied), some are Fully coerced via threats.

In the latter third of the story things are not going well. There’s been a lot of internal struggles among the soldiers and dissatisfaction with pilgrimage leadership (mostly Stavis), men are starting to defect and a large body are getting outright mutinous. The group has also lost much of their food supplies and things are getting desperate (they've been starting to eat their own pack khait and oxen)

With this going on, the pilgrimage sends three soldiers to exact tribute from a farming village in the province Lobera. They meet a group of men acting as representatives for the village, who flat out refuse to give tribute. Things escalate into an outright fight, the soldiers are better armed but few in number and are killed.

One of the village elders finds out that this happens and panics, knowing that the men who killed three of the Usoma’s soldiers (one of which is her son) have signed their own death sentences, and possibly that of others. She attempts to persuade the families to preemptively flee, and then takes the village's one remaining skinny old plow ox to carry the bodies of the dead soldiers back to where the pilgrimage is camped. She supplicates herself before Stavis Amanti and begs for mercy, saying they don't even have enough food stored to feed themselves, much less to give, and that the men thus considered the killings righteous self defense. She shows that she’s returned the bodies for rites as an act of goodwill, and offers the ox in tribute, the most valuable thing she can provide. She begs that the Usoma accepts this as tribute and spares the men's lives, and that the pilgrimage moves on without taking anything else.

Stavis bids her safe passage away from the camp (without confirming or denying that he's accepted her plea), and the heads of pilgrimage confer on what to do. The killing of the soldiers is a violation punishable by death, but this would be like, a notably bad PR move. Meanwhile a contingent of soldiers (including some major side characters I haven’t introduced) break off and lead a raid on the village to avenge their fallen brothers and loot supplies. Others get drawn into the fighting, and it devolves into a full on massacre.

A couple families had fled at the elder’s suggestion, but most refused to leave their homes. Some of the villagers believed they would be left unharmed if the killers were given up, others had been preparing for a reprisal and armed themselves with everything available. But they have few actual weapons and none are trained combatants. All of the remaining men and adolescent boys get killed, one woman manages to take out a soldier using a shovel but is killed, most of the other women and girls are spared murder but several are assaulted. The village is looted for supplies and kindling for funeral pyres.

Stavis Amanti has no fucking idea what to do. The soldiers defied orders and killed Imperial Wardi civilians, but the current climate amid the pilgrimage would make it EXTREMELY Bad for him if he demanded their punishment (but also potentially very bad if he didn't- not all the soldiers participated in the massacre and many were horrified). Faiza encourages him to exert authority in a measured response by having the ringleader of the mutineers killed but sparing the rest, and offers to publicly back him in hopes of avoiding full on mutiny.

The raid reveals that the villagers had been hiding more grain than they claimed they had (as in like, enough to feed their people on starvation level rations for a few weeks). Stavis takes this as an opportunity to justify not punishing the mutineers (as the villagers DID technically have something to give, and execution IS technically the punishment for refusing the order of tribute (though not execution of the entire community)), but insists that their Galenii bless the village dead and their men build pyres for the civilians as is honorable conduct. (This attempt to make amends is not particularly appreciated by the survivors.)

The pilgrimage holds a funeral for their own dead soldiers. The village ox that was given in tribute is killed and butchered for the funerary feast.

----

In the Bury Your Gays route, Brakul is one of the three that gets killed during the tribute extraction. Janeys loses his fucking mind when his body is brought back, and tries to slit his own throat on the spot. Couya stops him by wrestling him to the ground while Janeys screams threats at her and the old woman in a very pathetic public spectacle. He is deprived of all sharp objects.

While the pilgrimage leaders are conferring, he hovers miserably around Hibrides (who is also not feeling so great about all this). He's suddenly very interested in her pregnancy for the first time ever, asks to feel the baby (which has been just starting to kick). She's like "fuck off", but he strongly implies he's planning to commit suicide asap and she concedes and then is like Okay I Let You Feel The Goddamn Baby Now Leave Me Alone Holy FUCK.

Janeys turns his attention to fucking murdering anyone tangentially involved in this happening. He’s among the initial raid party, plays a major hand in it turning from its ostensible 'find and execute the ones responsible, subdue the rest, steal their food' directive to a full massacre by directing his men to immediately attack the first man he sees. He and his group capture three young men as prisoners and demand that they be slain at the soldier's funerals as is wartime custom (this isn't wartime). Janeys additionally demands that he should get to do it, as the only kin of any of the dead men. Once that's done he immediately cuts his own throat and bleeds out. They wind up getting cremated at the same time so things work out how Janeys wanted it.

At one point I realized that this is kind of just The Iliad?

----

So like obviously whether they die here or not has little impact on THESE events, but a lot of the endgame revolves around Couya Faiza and Hibrides and these deaths would be very significant to THEM in varying capacities. It affects the trajectory of the final stretch of their arcs and adds a lot of layers to the ultimate Couya/Faiza conflict. I also liked their deaths being kind of random and shitty and meaningless because that in of itself is kinda ~thematically resonant~ with the story. (A lot of tension between the lack of intrinsic meaning to events and the profound levels of meaning ascribed to them).

I'm almost definitely not going with this version of events though. Janeys and Brakul don't have much active involvement in the endgame and don't Really need to be alive for it as it stands, but I think the version where every main character (except Faiza she's doomed) survives to see What Has Been Wrought and living to experience the fallout ultimately works better.

[thequeervampiric]

the one Big Theory I have about yellowjackets is that the ladies will return to those woods - I can't hear "no return" over and over again (no return, no return, no reason) and not think that. why would they go back? what would be the point? but of course they'll go back - how could they not?

the question is, then what? I imagine them wandering around the places they did so many years ago, and wonder whether they'll feel the same. whether they'll feel the kinship and shared spirituality in those places and think, oh, yeah. this is what it was like. this is why.

and then what? could they just leave after that? maybe this time, leaving will feel different. it will feel like their choice.

but still, surely some closure must be had. but how? their one assurance, their one absolute was death. is death. but they don't necessarily want to die. they want to embrace the wilderness. embrace each other. though death was at the center of it all, a large part of their existence in those woods had been staying alive.

but they can't stay. even if they wanted to, that part of their lives is past and gone. but it changed them permanently. they can't just go on as they have been for all these years, like it never happened, like they'll ever be normal.

I'm dying to know how they'll reconcile that.

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. Hear Israel (the state and supporters, Israel the icon) I should outlive it long enough to bury it. (old yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.

[voidimp]

today i am thinking about... oc drink preferences

i will not be elaborating further at this time i need to think on it more

but on a related note im trying to figure out how that even Works for oli & jules (& whatever other vampires i have) bc they cant really... consume normal food & drink? i mean they can. they just get. varying degrees of ill, with jules being the most affected. so im like... maybe i could rework that a little bit? not drink related but maybe they can all eat meat... idk if cooked would be fine or if it would have to be as rare as possible. oli is still the only one who has to eat human meat (i think i did decide cooked is fine in that situation but its not As Good as raw) but i feel like i could justify the blood/meat connection for the rest of them. also thinking abt how jules literally. eats random mushrooms like right out of the ground for funsies. (sometimes he has a good time. sometimes he has a really really bad time. he keeps a journal about it.) & he really shouldnt be able to? maybe fungi dont count somehow... too close to meat perhaps

but anyway ok back to drinks. maybe at a certain alcohol content it like negates the whole getting sick thing? somehow?? like its maybe not a good excuse but its something. i cant really think of how to justify it but like theyre already vampires its not like realism is a requirement. something something blood/wine idfk. wine here being a very loose stand-in for anything alcoholic i guess. maybe it has something to do with how alcohol can get in the bloodstream. idk i just want them to be able to get drunk without having to drink an already drunk persons blood lmao. or maybe its just only solid food thats an issue? and like. certain herbs & spices. but maybe eating garlic bread is worth getting violently ill sometimes. so as long as its Drinkable they can tolerate it for... some reason... that doesnt really make much sense but it at least opens up Options for like. mixed drinks. anything thats not just Plain Alcohol. idk

this got so fucking long lmao if anyone has any Thoughts or Ideas feel free to share

[lesbians-all-the-way-down]

My life won't be complete until I name the other lead in the historical fiction I've decided I'm going to write.

[sugusatosluut]

In every universe?

In every universe..

Synopsis: Angstrom Levy has caused mass destruction to the world by unleashing many invincible variants across your mainstream world. The remaining variants find out you’re alive in this universe and Mark takes matters into his own hands to protect you.

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, blood,

Mark breaking up with you was not on your plate of things you were expecting. You’d seen it coming from a mile away. He got with you, then shortly after being with you he had an awakening after Angstrom attacked his family. He spent most if not all his time with Eve Wilkins instead of you, his girlfriend. The one time you complained, he broke up with you. Not only did it hurt, but his choice of words weren’t something you could argue with. Not to mention, his unresolved internal conflict of having to choose you or Eve.

‘I just want to protect you, y/n. It’s better for both of us this way— just at least until I figure everything out.’

Those words were the last you would hear from Mark Grayson, that was until the third day following the attack of the Invincible Variants. They were dispersed across the world, violently killing and playing with their victims until they got bored and destroyed everything in their path. For three days they attacked and for those three days you didn’t hear from Mark. All you knew was that your town was under attack now. You were hiding out with William and his boyfriend, thanking the heavens that there was a clear path to your weirdly untouched apartment. On the way to your apartment a building collapsed, the bricks barely scathing you and William. You were both hurt though. A few cuts on William’s arm and a deep gash on your head. It wasn’t enough to stop you. You weren’t special and you weren’t a super, so you weren’t any help to begin with anyways. That didn’t stop you from trying to make sure the people closest to you and even Mark were okay.

Your mainstream Mark stopped in front of you.

“Y/n are you okay? God your head let me see.” He tried to see your wound.

“William needs help more than I do. Go see him.” You said pointing to William. Without any hesitation Mark went to check on his friend. You took advantage of that time to get away, seeking solitude as at least William and his boyfriend got to safety. Mark most likely would stop by after to get you to safety too… or would he just go fight with eve? You honestly couldn’t answer your own question or reassure yourself with confidence about this.. but this wasn’t about you. The world was in trouble. You made it to your apartment, breathless and your head was pounding still. The gash causing a horrible migraine.

Angstrom Levy was debriefing with the variants.

“I want this world in fear of invincible. I want everything he loves taken away from him. His mother, his brother, Atom Eve, that y/n girl..” he said. Immediately regretting that he slipped up. The fear in his eyes became evident when looking at the variants.

“Y/n’s alive?” Mohawk Mark had a look of utter regret and fear in his eyes.

Sinister Mark rushed in to grab Angstrom by the throat.

“You’re going to tell me where she is. You lie, I’ll know and I’ll kill you.” He said between gritted teeth.

All the Marks were sent into a panic. This was huge. The emotions were so intense. Most of them were dead, the remaining Mark’s now had only one mission. Find you.

“Don’t think she’ll be happy to see any of you.” Angstrom smirked.

Meanwhile in your apartment, you lied down on the couch, arms spread out and head tossed back with a wet cloth over your head. Your vision was just so blurry at this point it was useless to get up. You felt like you’d probably die. You closed your eyes, feeling a presence shortly after. You opened your eyes slightly, lifting the rag. You recognized the bottom of Mark’s suit just barely.

“Mark..?” You asked weakly.

You lifted the rag up higher, noticing it wasn’t your mark, it was sinister mark. Fear struck your heart, your body throwing itself off the couch. This felt like agony, you were already down and this could be your final moments. You struggled to move after falling off the couch.

“Y/n.. you look bad let me see it.” He said crouching on the floor to get closer to you. He reached out and you shut your eyes tightly. The fear paralyzing you. You shouldn’t be feeling this scared of mark but after what you’ve seen, you couldn’t help it. You were expecting to feel the weight of Mark’s strength crushing your throat but instead you felt his rough hands caress your cheeks. He took his gloves off to touch you.

“You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He said. The shock of seeing you was more than enough for him to decide he wanted to stay.

“You hurt all those people- when you hurt people, you hurt me.” You said wincing.

Sinister Mark completely stopped what he was doing. You said it again.. you said it in his world before the Omni man in his world killed you in cold blood. He lifted the rag off your head.

Mohawk Mark and semi-long haired Mark arrived in your apartment as well. They looked timid, completely opposite of what you’ve been seeing. They came up to you, checking on you.

“She needs help. I’m not letting what happened to her happen again. I just can’t.” Semi long haired Mark said as he propped you up on the counter.

“I’m fine—“

“No! You’re not.” They shouted at you in unison.

You flinched.

Sinister mark tended to your head wound with the needle and thread you had in the kitchen.

“What the hell is this? Why are you acting like you guys didn’t just kill millions of people?” You asked.

“You died in my world—all of our world’s y/n. This is the only world you’re alive in. I came to bring you back home. It’s clear the Mark of your world is a complete idiot. What the fuck is wrong with him? You’re supposed to be with him, he’s supposed to be protecting you!” Mowhawk mark explained.

“Mark and I aren’t together anymore, he’s with eve, wait a minute— I’m dead?” You asked.

“Mhm” sinister mark said.

“In every universe?” You asked.

“In every universe.” Semi long haired mark said.

“He’s with eve? God I hate her, I’ve always hated her.” Mowhawk mark said.

“This is why you need to come home with me.” Mowhawk Mark sighed with a hand on his head.

“With you? She’d thrive better with me. She’s coming with me.” Semi long haired mark argued.

“No. She’s not leaving with either of you, she’s coming with me-“ sinister mark butted in

“Why? So dad can find her and kill her again in your world?” Mowhawk mark shouted.

The Mark’s strted to argue, leaving your wound dressed and treated, they started to argue more, the arguing turned to shoving and shoving turned into knocking out half of your building, you tumbled, falling out of the building and hanging on. You slipped, one of the Mark’s picking you up and saving you. It was Mowhawk Mark. Everything was fine until sinister Mark knocked you both out of the sky. They fought eachother as you plummeted, closing your eyes tightly hoping the impact would just kill you. A pair of arms grasped you tightly.

It was your Mark.

“You’re okay- you’re okay. Let me take care of this.” He said as he placed you down on the ground. It was fairly quick, he left you to kill both of them but they disappeared in a flash, Mark coming back to you quickly. He picked you up and held you tightly. In the heat of the scuffle between the mark variants, your wound reopened, blood was dripping down your head and your clothes were dirty and torn. Mark set you down in his bedroom, the two of you sitting in silence. Mark was standing, pacing trying to get you some clothes and a towel to run a shower for you. You showered and washed the blood off of you, mark tended to you carefully.

“Let me take care of you.” He said lowly.

Mark cleaned out your wound and fixed it up neatly. You were zoned out the whole time, letting him do whatever he needed to help you. He couldn’t do this anymore, the feeling was overwhelming. He needed to do this now especially after what just happened.

“I’m sorry y/n. It’s you and it always has been. I’m and idiot and I shouldn’t have tied myself up in how everyone else is expecting the future to go for me. I know what I want in my future and that’s a life with you. I shouldn’t have gotten upset with you, I should have chosen you. You have every right to be upset with me, but I want you to be in my life, I want you to be my wife and have my kids, I want that in our future. I could have lost you and that scares me. I cant live without you, you’re my soulmate a-a-and that’s okay if you don’t feel the same but that’s how I feel about you.” He whined.

You looked him in his eyes, those sweet deep puppy dog eyes of his. A part of you always knew that you and Mark would be in eachother’s lives in some way, but this was him saying he wanted it in the way that meant he’d protect you, that he’d be with you permanently.

Your slow blink worried Mark, his soft hands touching your cheeks. You closed your eyes, his hands were so soft compared to the other Mark’s. You melted into his touch with your eyes closing. He kissed your nose, then your lips softly. You were kissing eachother passionately, the warmth of his lips making you blush. Your body relaxed, opening for Mark to lay you down passionately. His touch burned with intensity. His kisses made your skin tingle as you had sudden flashes of the Mark’s that destroyed your apartment. This was your Mark, so why do you feel so intense?

You placed a palm on his waistband, sliding your hand down his pants. You held his hardness in your hands as he kissed you, repositioning your bodies so that you were on top of his own. You slid your shirt off, your boobs bouncing as Mark’s oversized shirt came off of your damp body. You were stark naked sitting on top of him. He looked at you in all your glory as you helped him remove his suit. He was holding your body closed, your chests smooshed together as you made out. Your wetness pooled, allowing him to slip it in with ease and comfort for the both of you. He groaned, giving you love bites and hickeys as you relaxed and allowed him to slam into you. You slipped your arms over his own and pushed him down into the sheets. His arms going above his own head. You were riding him intensely, but he was already so close. He grabbed your hips, locking them in his biceps as he slammed into you. You were both close now, Mark’s pants and huffs taking over the once noiseless room. He slowly ground his hips into you, the pulsing signifying that he was just so close. Your stomach tightened and your grip on his shoulders tight. You both came in complete silence as you dropped onto the bed next to him.

“I don’t want to be cliché but I love you. I always have and I always will. In every universe.” He said as he cuddled you, moving your hair out of your face and kissing your temple.

“I love you too Mark.. in every universe.”

[kingkaisen]

TELL ME || Levi A.

even during the battle to end the rumbling, levi can’t help but think about you.

“Tell me, Y/N . . . Are you proud of me? Or are you disappointed? Did I fight hard enough? Could I have done more?”

Unanswered questions continued to appear in Levi’s mind as he glanced down at the blood splattering onto his fingertips, dripping from his mouth.

“Will I see you again someday? How long do I have to wait until I can know the answer to that?”

The pain in his leg was horrific. Awful. Indescribable — there weren’t any words in existence that could accurately detail the burning, aching sensation that made him wish he could chop off his own leg to escape the misery.

Even so, as one or two of his comrades held onto his limp body — he couldn’t tell who or how many, thanks to his blind eye — he did nothing but cough up blood.

“If I died today, I wouldn’t mind. Not if I get to see you again. I promised you that I’d always keep fighting — that’s what I said, right? I wish I didn’t make that promise, because I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired . . .”

As Levi rode on the back of Falco’s winged titan form, he realized something.

The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the agonizing heartache he felt every second of every day since he watched you die.

He hated himself for falling in love.

He hated himself for not being strong enough to save you.

Being known as Humanity’s Strongest Soldier felt like an utter joke. Like he was being mocked.

It was all he could think about as he looked down at the kids — no, they were adults now — fighting titans on Eren’s skeleton-like form, desperately attempting to stop the rumbling.

It was like he raised them. You both did.

But you didn’t get a chance to see them grow.

If you were still around, you would have known that Connie did indeed get taller. You won that bet. Levi owed you a new tea set, as he thought that the hilarious kid would stay the same height forever.

You didn’t witness Armin start to come out of his shell a bit, either. He was the commander now, could you believe that?

The shy kid who you thought of as a son — who followed you around like a lost puppy during his early days as a scout — was now Levi’s boss. And the colossal titan. How silly.

Jean had turned out to be a great leader as well, fighting for humanity instead of for himself. You would have been proud.

He only grew out his hair because you weren’t around to help him trim it. He could do it on his own, but he didn’t want to. Not without you.

Mikasa was exceptional then, and she was exceptional now. You were the only person she trusted to wash her scarf whenever she was too busy to get around to it.

Reiner and Annie were fighting too.

Everyone was fighting. All to stop the rumbling.

Even if it meant killing Eren.

“Could you do it, Y/N? Could you have helped us take Eren’s life?” Levi wondered.

You wouldn’t have supported the rumbling. That was a fact. Even so, you adored that kid, almost as if you were possessed by Carla’s ghost.

And he adored you too.

Your death was one of the horrific events that pushed Eren to this unspeakable point.

Both Eren and Levi witnessed it.

A titan snacking on your body as if you weren’t a person, but grapes at a picnic. Both of them were too weak to stop it.

They could only watch. Watch as you were eaten alive.

—

When the fight ended, your face was among the many ghosts staring at Levi. His old comrades were all satisfied. He didn’t have to fight anymore. He could just live.

But he couldn’t rest.

That came later. It came when Levi was an old man, sitting alone in his wheelchair at his favorite place in Marley to stare out at the glistening water with his one decent eye.

Old age claimed his life as the sun started to set, its beautiful orange rays shining over the water.

And you were waiting for him. You and all of his old comrades.

He pushed himself right out of his wheelchair. He could walk again. He could see again. He was young again.

His wrinkly skin melted away. His gray hair was once again black. His scars no longer existed.

Slowly, he walked towards you, the love of his life. The person he never got a chance to grow old with. Start a family with. Experience peace with.

When he wrapped his arms around you, holding you after so many years of trying and failing to remember what it felt like to touch you, he knew that he could finally rest.

[kedreeva]

Silly question but how would you rate different gamebird chicks on a scale of "no brain cells, head empty" to "wait! I think I just saw a thought happen?!"?

You've mentioned before that turkey poults have the survival instinct of a chicken nugget, and I've raised coturnix chicks before which are like...death seeking missiles. Are other gamebird chicks as dumb? Are any recognisably better suited to not immediately kamikaze-ing into the nearest water fountain/single square millimetre of loose tape/one cold spot they can find in the brooder?

Peafowl chicks rate the highest. I know I talk a lot of shit about them, but outside of not eating unless shown the food (which IS a valid survival behavior, for avoiding toxic things in their native environment), they're not prone to doing anything actively stupid. They have great eye sight, they tend to look before they leap (and can fly if they do get into trouble). They have a sense of time ("bedtime" is a concept they have! Every hand raised baby I've ever had has had a strict idea of when they think it's time to go to bed and will scream at me until I agree). They will return themselves to the heat when it's time, I've never had one fail to do this or start screaming because they're on the cold side of the brooder and don't know how to move 1 foot to the left to get warm. I've never had one drown in the water dish even though they get a bowl or are raised outside with a pond/big water bowl. They can coexist with just about any other bird, which is great because their only flaw is they need to be shown food for the first few weeks, and adding something like a chicken will cause the chicken to show them where to eat. And because peafowl are large, all the other babies will follow them around for everything else. For creatures who grew up in an environment where very little (predator wise) can kill them, they're surprisingly adapted to not dying in really stupid ways in captivity. They ARE fragile in other ways (pick up parasites easily), but that's not a matter of stupidity.

Coturnix are so far the worst, and I am including Turkeys in this metric. Turkeys are at least hardy in a brooder setup, even if they are very stupid outside with mom. Coturnix on the other hand have to have a tiny lip to their water dish so they don't get into it and drown or chill (and they still do their level best to get into it, even with the tiny lip where they can barely reach the water, I sometimes check on them and find one Mystery Sopping Wet.... how..... and why...... and also HOW). I have watched one grab a drink of water, throw its head back to swallow, choke, and die immediately. There is NOTHING you can do for them if they fail at drinking water, by the way. If you pick them up too soon after they drink, or any other time, there's a non-zero chance that they immediately panic-vomit any water in their system, choke on it, and suffocate/die instantly so you have to be careful about handling them while they're doing their very best to make that as difficult as possible (and this lovely trait persists into adulthood). They cannot have access to anything they can get caught in/under, I have to put barriers in their cage and not give them a cold spot in the brooder until they're a few days old because they will CHARGE to it and sit there until they die screaming about how cold they are while 1 foot away from the heat. They still throw themselves at this barrier because they can see through a 1mm gap to either side that cold death awaits them with open arms and they desire it so badly. It's why they always look like this:

If you have them standing on your hand they WILL just walk off - nay, run full tilt off - without regard for if there is anything below them to fall ONTO, and they are fully capable of beaning themselves so hard upon impact that they die. I had to find a stuffie that was very light and a stuffie that was very heavy, because a medium weight is just light enough for them to shove themselves into the shavings beneath it and suffocate because they can't get out again, and they will also actively seek to do this. They have to have a solid-sided brooder because if they can stick their head through a gap a) they can probably get out of it if it's just a little bigger than their head and b) they will get stuck in it and break their necks if it's just a little too small.

The vast majority, 99% of them, are extremely easy to raise, and doing a minimal amount of guardianship in their brooder will protect them from themselves, but they do have a deep and abiding desire to be dead, I think, and there will be some you cannot save from themselves. No other game birds/fowl I've raised are like this- not peafowl, not turkeys, not pheasants, not chickens, not bobwhite quail, not even guinea keets... the closest would be button quail and even they are not death-seeking missiles until they're a bit older.

[azzibuckets]

reputation, or, all the ways i’ve loved you

or, love is immature and heady and new and blissful and hard and exhausting and it might kill you but in the end—love endures.

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

summary: paige and azzi in various stages of love, as told through reputation by taylor swift

a/n: as a celebration for 3k followers, here’s my longest fic yet! don’t know if this style is for me so we’ll see if i ever write a long one again lol. nevertheless, i hope you guys enjoy :)

word count: 9k

masterlist | oneshots masterlist

⋆⑅˚₊ i. dancing with our hands tied - i loved you in secret / first sight, yeah, we love without reason

July 2018

Out of all the things Azzi Fudd expected her father to do after telling him the big news, laughing was probably last on the list. Actually, scratch that — it wasn’t even on the list to begin with, because what kind of father takes their child’s health as a joke? Certainly not Tim, who’s forced Azzi to take her daily vitamin gummies for as long as she can remember, the nasty ones that taste too sour to resemble the Trolli eggs they’re supposed to be a dupe of.

But here is Tim Fudd, the man who raised her, lines crinkling around his eyes as he guffaws so loud he starts pounding his own chest. Azzi would be worried for his lack of oxygen if she wasn’t so incredulously offended. “Dad? Did you hear what I said?”

“Oh, I heard you.” Tim pauses to take a breath before starting to laugh again, tears slowly beginning to form at the corner of his eyes.

“What’s so funny, then?” Azzi questions snarkily, hands on her hips in the perfect pose of sassy teenage indignance.

“Azzi, honey.” Tim straightens up as his breathing ebbs back to normal. He moves to place a comforting hand on Azzi’s shoulder, but she jerks away, not at all in the mood for his antics. “You’re not sick,” he says gently. “I think you might have something else.”

Azzi wrinkles her nose, running through all the meticulous shelves of research stored in her mind. She’d gone through every possibility on the Internet, taking methodical notes on every potential disorder, anamoly, or illness that could be afflicting her body. She'd been pretty sure she’d scoured them all, but maybe she had missed something in her overzealousness. “You’re saying I didn’t get a hypoglycemic episode?”

“Sweetie, do you even know what hypoglycemic means?”

Azzi opens her mouth to answer, wanting to say that she does, in fact, know that hypoglycemia is an indicator of low glucose levels in the blood, and that if left untreated, her bodily functions will not have enough energy to continue, and her organs will fail, and she will die a long and painful death, and her understanding of the word hypoglycemic makes it all the more astounding as to why her dad won't take her illness seriously, but before she can can even begin her tirade, her dad winces and puts up a palm. “Actually, never mind. I don’t want to hear all about your self diagnosis, as funny as it is.”

“It’s not a self diagnosis if everyone on the Internet says I have all the symptoms of hypoglycemia!” Azzi argues, but even she knows the argument is weak.

Tim massages his forehead, lips twitching with the exertion of holding back a second round of laughter. “And what did you say your symptoms were again, hon?”

“Excessive sweating, even when I’m like, standing still and it’s 60 degrees out. And dizziness. And my fingers start to shake sometimes! Difficulty concentrating, and tingling lips.” Azzi lists them out on her fingers, smiling triumphantly when she’s finished. Take that, Dad.

“Mm.” Tim rubs his chin in thought. “And when exactly do you experience these symptoms?”

“Well, the last time I can remember is when I was hanging out with Paige at Grandma’s on Wednesday.”

Tim coughs into his arm, loud, and it sounds suspiciously like a wheeze. Azzi squints at him, suspicion written across her face. After recovering, he prods, “Do you remember any of the other times this has happened?”

“I don’t know, I can’t think specifically. It happens a lot. Umm…” Azzi thinks back. “Maybe last week, at the fair? I’m trying to remember.” She closes her eyes, trying to prompt memories of that airy feeling in her head, the rollercoaster in her tummy, the buzz in her chest that had started the car ride over to the fair, right around when they’d picked Paige and her brother up.

It had gotten increasingly worse as the day went on, peaking during the afternoon when they’d been on the bumper cars. She’d been squished into the same car as Paige, the car offering only a very small seat to service two basketball players suffering from summer growth spurts, all long limbs and awkward lank. As a result, the sides of their feet and thighs and arms had been touching and overlapping—Paige almost fell into Azzi’s lap when Jose crashed into them especially hard, golden hair spilling across Azzi’s face and pale hands landing on her thighs. She remembers the smell of fruity shampoo and the feeling of feathery strands tickling her cheeks making her even dizzier than bumper car itself, her nerve endings lighting up, every point on her skin ultra sensitive as sweat had started to pool in her armpits and in the palms of her head. And when Paige's palms had rubbed up and down on her thighs — God. She'd almost died.

Azzi shudders at the memory and opens her eyes. “Yeah, definitely at the fair.”

“The fair?” Tim cocks an eyebrow. “You mean, the fair we went to last week?”

“Yes, Dad, that’s what I said,” Azzi responds, growing increasingly frustrated.

“The fair we went to with Paige and Drew?”

“Yeah.” Azzi crosses her arms in defiance. “Is that supposed to be relevant?”

Tim makes an unncommital sound in his throat. “So you’re saying you don’t get any of these symptoms, say, at home?“

“Well…” Azzi purses her lips. “I guess recently I've been having difficulty concentrating all the time. Wherever I’m like, at home or school or whatever.”

“What makes it hard to concentrate?” Tim cocks his head in genuine curiosity. “What’re you thinking about?”

Azzi doesn’t have a ready answer. What does she think about? She tries to draw from her memory again, but gets distracted by the sort of hilarious, muddled irony of trying to think about what’re you usually thinking about. Then she realizes she’s making an expression again, the expression Paige has coined as her “thinky face” whenever she’s trying really hard to work out a homework problem or come up with an outfit to wear. The first time Paige had mentioned it, Azzi had frowned at her. “I don’t have a thinky face,” she’d replied.

“Oh, you totally do,” Paige said, glee written across her face — her typical attitude whenever she gets to argue with Azzi about something and be right.

“No, I don’t,” Azzi argued, but she’s already accepted that it’s a useless fight. It always is with Paige, who's stubborn and hard-headed and so much like Azzi that she looks at her best friend sometimes and think she's found her soulmate. Platonic soulmate, of course.

Paige smirked at her. “Azzi Fudd so has a thinky face.” She leaned in closer, so close that Azzi could see the glimmer in the deep blue of her eyes and the way her long lashes fluttered. “It’s okay, though, I think it’s pretty cute.” Then she’d pulled back and started talking about some stupid NBA game she’d watched recently, a topic Azzi usually tuned out anyways but this time especially didn’t pay any attention to because she was too disarmed by the fact that Paige had just called her cute. It shouldn’t have felt weird; her friends at school and her teammates called her beautiful and cute and adjectives much more crazy all the time, but still. There again went that same dry feeling in her throat.

“Azzi?”

Azzi blinks as she’s pulled back to the present. “Huh?”

“Maybe you are really sick.” Tim sends her a weary look. “But I just asked you what you usually think about, remember? Do you have an answer?”

“No." Azzi shakes her head grimly. "I couldn’t remember.”

Tim is the one to squint in disbelief this time. “Honey, what were you just thinking about? That’s probably it.”

“Oh, Paige? I was thinking about something she told me the other day. But it’s nothing. Before I was trying to remember, but I couldn’t think—" She’s cut off with an uncomfortable realization that’s starting to dawn in her as a very, very large pit balloons in the bottom of her tummy and begins to ache.

And at the same time this horrible understanding is beginning to come to light in the back of Azzi’s brain, Jose stands up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, watching TV. “You’re stupid, Azzi,” he snickers as he walks by them to grab a snack. “I’m only twelve and even I know you’re not sick.”

“Shut up, Jose,” Azzi replies back angrily, still staring at her hands — the very same hands that had held Paige's, and trembled and moistened in sweaty nervousness. No.

Jose, her little twerp of a brother, sticks his tongue out. “Your lips aren’t tingling from hypoguyseema, dummy.”

“Hypoglycemia,” Tim supplies unhelpfully.

“Your lips are tingling because you wanna make out with Paigey.” And the words don’t really register in Azzi’s heads, not right away at least, she honestly only reaches out to slap Jose from her instinctive, older sisterly awareness that he's being an annoying smart ass like usual, but still he runs away, out of her grasp, singing obnoxiously at the top of his lungs, “Paige and Azzi sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-"

“Shut up, Jose!” She picks up a pillow from the couch and chucks it at him, narrowly missing his retreating figure and instead hitting a vase that slowly toddles in places before falling to the ground with a dramatic crash.

“Azzi, you know we don’t throw things in the house for a reason,” Tim reprimands, exasperated at the childish scene in front of him, but when he turns to look at his daughter, her head is in her hands and her shoulders are shaking.

Tim has loved Azzi since he’s met her as a bumbling little toddler who instantly attached to his hip. He knows Azzi is sweet and sensitive and soft, a girl who has the gift of easily picking up on others' emotions but also is vulnerable to having her own shaken up. So he bites his tongue and makes a mental note to resolve the sibling conflict later. Right now, his daughter needs him; without a word, he collects Azzi into his arms and lets her tears fall on his shirt sleeve.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” and he doesn’t have to say anything else for Azzi to understand he’s not just talking about now — that this shocking and indescribable feeling that Azzi has only been able to name now, is okay, that Azzi, for who she is, is okay.

And yes, Azzi is able to name the feeling, but yet she buries it under her skin. Just because she realizes she has a crush on Paige doesn’t mean she has to act like it — and it especially doesn’t mean Paige, who definitely doesn't like her like that, has to know, she reminds herself.

And although the "illness" never goes away, although she never stops being nervous, and her fingers never stop trembling at least a little when Paige kisses her goodbye on the cheek, Azzi becomes really good at acting. Really good. At first, she couldn't sleep at night, overwrought with anxiety because no matter how good she became at pretending, Jose and her family have never been the best at keeping secrets. But she finds a way to control it definitely not by threatening to take away and sell her brother’s gaming console if she ever hears a peep about how much she damningly wants to kiss Paige, and time passes, and Azzi turns 17, and it’s been two years of knowing Paige, and she thinks that she might be a little bit in love at this point.

She knows how her crush started: an infatuation at camp, impressed by the white girl's agility and speed on the court, the ease and practiced experience with which she directed the team on the court, turning them from a group of girls who'd never played together before into one that worked the ball seamlessly to a gold medal. Of course, in the very beginning, she'd always been hyper-aware of the fact that Paige was just so pretty, a mischievous smirk ever present on pretty pink lips that looked too soft, eyes always bright and hair, even when messy, like a halo around her face.

Then Paige had decided to come into Azzi’s life and do things like go with her family to the fair, and the infatuation had turned into something closely resembling love. And it's not like there weren't many other things that made Azzi fall so fast and so dangerously, like how kind Paige was to the JV girls on her high school team even when they could barely shoot free throws, to the way she was so freely open about her adoration for Azzi, always having to saying something about good she thought Azzi looked.

It was safe to say that Paige had wormed her way into her team then her life then her family then her heart, settling in there like it was home and she’d always belonged there. Paige was someone who could make her laugh, but was always up to talk about serious things, and also was just so sweet to Azzi. Azzi had never met someone who had been all of those things, and now she was positively enthralled. So, even at age 15, even at age 16, and 17, Azzi is completely and utterly fucked.

⋆⑅˚₊ ii. dress - all of this silence and patience / pining in anticipation

April 2019

Azzi hadn’t planned on going to prom.

It was only her junior prom, anyways, and it happened to be the same time Paige was coming to visit, which meant she was going to be booked and busy. Her friends had pushed her to go, but how could she tell them she’d rather be with Paige, playing 1v1 in an empty gym where they always guarded a little too close, hands fisting shirts, always with. heavy breaths into the back’s of each other’s necks and fingers skimming palms?

But then James had made her a poster, standing at her front door with a big smile on his face and flowers in one hand. And she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings, and what did she have to lose? James was nice, and cute enough. His hands were soft and Azzi didn’t mind holding them.

Which is how Azzi finds herself at the Lincoln Memorial, walking painstakingly up the steps in her tight heels. Her mom had gotten a makeup artist to come doll her up, and it’s her first time wearing eyeliner, or any eye makeup at all. She thinks she could get used to this smoky look, the way her lashes look full and dark. It’s not often she gets to express her feminine side, with basketball taking almost all of her waking minutes - she hasn’t ever gone to homecoming or any other dance, and sweats and her shirts are typically her go to outfit. So she admits that this wasn’t a terrible idea, to get dressed up and pretty for once. It certainly helped being able to watch Paige’s reaction (all blushes and wide eyes, thank you very much) when she’d stepped out of the bathroom, glimmering and gilded in a shiny dress that slotted open to show the rich brown of her thigh.

Azzi knew that Paige found her attractive. And although she’s spent years wishing such an attraction went beyond a nere appreciation of her body and her face, she’s long accepted the fact that the love Paige has for her is purely platonic. Strong and steady, sure, but heartbreakingly platonic. Still, Azzi, gets a kick out of making Paige nervous.

Azzi winces as she stumbles for the fifth time, the sole of her foot throbbing and screaming to be let out of the confines of her heels.

“I told you you should’ve brought sneakers and carried your heels,” Pige says from behind her, and Azzi fights the urge to turn around and throttle her. Usually, her best friend would usually offer to do that for her, but Azzi can tell she’s using this opportunity to try and test James — and by the shit-eating smirk on Paige's face, Azzi knows that failing would be generous to describe how he's doing.

Azzi glances beside her and places her hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle. Paige sticks out like a sore thumb as she walks casually behind them, hands stuffed into her Nike sweats. She’s wearing her bright pink EYBL sweater, her hair slightly messy from lying around all day, but she still looks confident as ever, totally unperturbed by the long gowns and tuxedos surrounding her.

“Alright, smile!” Tim and Katie hold up five different cameras, capturing about a million different angles of the group of teens. Paige stands next to them, watching as they pose, but it doesn't take long before she begins to grow bored. “Why am I even here?” Azzi hears her complain quietly to her parents.

“Because when you stay with us, you’re part of our family, and being part of the family means coming to support each other in big moments," Katie reminds her, ruffling Paige's hair.

“Big moments, my ass,” Paige says under her breath as to goes to carefully fix her hair. “I’ve never even been to prom. It can’t be that good.”

“Paige.” Katie sends her a warning glare, effectively shutting her up. Paige has a very comfortable relationship with Tim and Katie, they're basically a second set of parents for her, but she knows her limits.

“Be a good sport, kid.” Tim adds, and claps her on the back. With a long and drawn-out sigh, Paige follows begrudgingly as they move from place to place to take more pictures, hands staying in her pockets and face remaining indifferent.

“Alright Paige, get in there!” Katie puts her camera down to encourage Paige with a nod.

“I’m not even dressed nice,” Paige grumbles, but she sidles in anyways, hand hovering hesitantly over Azzi's side before brushing down her back and finally settling firmly on her hip. The dark haired girl finds herself leaning away from James and into Paige’s touch, her hand burning into Azzi's skin even through the layers of her dress.

“One of you two alone?” Tim asks, a teasing smile on his face. Azzi narrows her eyes at him.

“Aw, you don’t want one with me?” Paige grins, her tone light as she starts to leave.

“No, I do, wait,” Azzi stumbles over her words, flustered, as Tim starts to laugh into his hands. She reaches for the blonde’s hand and tugs her back to her side where she belongs. “My dad’s just being annoying.”

James steps out, and Paige immediately relaxes, head naturally tilting towards Azzi's as they both smile for the cameras. “Aight, I think that’s good,” Paige says after another round of photos and cooing by Azzi’s parents. She takes a step back, shoving her hands back into her pocket as her eyes skim Azzi’s body. Azzi meets her eyes once they come back up, and she wills Paige to say something, anything, but the blonde only swallows hard before looking away.

“Az, I’m gonna go with your dad to get the car,” James tells her. “You good going with your mom back home? I’ll be there to pick you up in like, half an hour.”

The car ride back to her house is silent. Paige picks at her cuticles, while Azzi sits ramrod straight in her seat, not wanting to mess up her hair or wrinkle her dress. When her mom pulls into the driveway, she reaches over and pinches Paige’s side. “Can you stay for a sec? I wanna talk.”

Paige, who had been already attempting to get out of the car, sits back down into her seat, eyebrows raised in a question. Azzi doesn’t speak yet, and their breathing is the only sound in the car. Paige crosses then uncrosses her legs, peeking at Azzi before returning her gaze outside the window, clearly impatient for the younger girl to begin talking.

Azzi fingers a strand of her hair. “Do you think I look pretty?”

Paige’s lips quirk at the question. “That was not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What were you expecting me to say?” Azzi asks, slightly defensive.

“Nothing,” Paige replies too quickly, but Azzi senses a tinge of relief in her tone. She shifts in her seat, edging slightly closer as she examines Azzi’s face. Her knee accidentally bumps into Azzi's ribs. Azzi hates when her best friend starts looking at her with her full attention. The heavy weight of blue eyes always causes her heart to flutter, and she begins to squirm self-consciously under her gaze. “Stop that.”

“You asked me if I thought you were pretty,” Paige retorts. “Can’t blame me for looking.”

God, she’s so annoying. Azzi pushes her, but Paige catches her hand, sandwiching it between her own and bringing it captive to her lips. “Of course I think you look pretty, Az,” Paige laughs. She presses a single small kiss to her knuckles. “You know I do.”

“Well, you didn’t compliment me tonight, and you always do.” Azzi ducks her head as she feels the warmth in her cheeks give her away. Damn it.

“Always want my validation, huh,” Paige teases, trying to meet her eyes, but Azzi looks away still, stubborn as always, and her expression sombers. “You look gorgeous, Azzi, seriously. I mean, you’re always gorgeous,” Paige tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, but Azzi’s not sure there was even a flyaway to begin with, so Paige ends up just ghosting her fingers down from her temple to her chin. “But…” her gaze falls down, and her eyes alone say enough words to finish her sentence and a thousand more. Paige leans in, eyes half lidded, and Azzi shuts her eyes, preparing for the usual affectionate kiss on the cheek. She shudders when she feels lips on her neck instead, at the soft spot below her ear, lingering for a few seconds before it’s gone all too soon. Deep, unguarded heat blooms from that spot, spreading from her neck to her chest.

Azzi realizes they’re still holding hands, and she gives Paige's fingers a squeeze for the hell of it. Encouraged, Paige moves in even closer, hands moving to the headrest for support. Azzi is caged in by Paige’s arms, and Azzi sort of likes it, and she sort of wants Paige to start kissing down her neck like in the movies, maybe leaving a mark or two, but she’s met only with a kiss on her cheek, right near the corner of her mouth, so close that if she’d moved to the right just a couple millimeters their lips would’ve touched.

Paige’s lips part just a bit, her tongue poking out to lick her bottom lip. Her breathing whistles out unevenly. “Have fun tonight, Azzi,” she says, eyes flicking down, and Azzi swears they pause at her lips. She pops the door open and slides out, walking slowly back inside all cool and collected, like she didn’t just leave Azzi absolutely ruined from just two kisses.

Azzi bangs her head against the headrest, perfect hair be gone, and groans.

༉‧₊˚✧

When she finally gets back home, hair messy from dancing, calves sore from jumping around, Azzi is just a little tipsy, softened at the edges. Most of the effects from pre-gaming with her friends have worn off by now, and all she feels is the loose warmth in her chest, a warmth that floods down to her toes when she opens her bedroom door and sees a lump on her bed. Blonde hair peeks out from beneath her purple blanket. Azzi giggles when she lifts it and sees Paige with her mouth ajar, snoring away. Her glasses are perched messily on her nose, laptop on her thighs still open. She takes a quick picture for blackmail purposes before grabbing her pajamas to go change.

Azzi blames the alcohol for the way she can’t stop smiling to herself the whole way to the bathroom. It’s been a hectic day, and the thought of being able to curl up in bed with her best friend, being able to soak in the warmth of her body heat and bury her face into her neck and finally relax, gives her more satisfaction than she’d like to admit.

By the time Azzi has finished getting ready for bed, Paige, constantly moving while awake and in her sleep, has sprawled out in the center of the mattress. Azzi climbs in gingerly, but despite her best efforts not to disturb the older girl, she stirs.

“Azzi?” The blonde rolls over and snuggles into a pillow before she seemingly remembers where she is and shoots up in bed, looking as startled as a deer caught in headlights.

Azzi can’t help but snicker. “Yeah?”

Paige blinks groggily at her, clearly needing a moment to get her bearings. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to fall asleep in here.” She fidgets with the end of her shirt, almost as if she’s embarrassed to have been caught in Azzi’s bed like this, and Azzi gets a sudden surge of cuteness aggression.

Deciding not to turn it into a big deal (she'd never want to scare Paige away from sleeping in her bed, God knows how much she loves it） out of the goodness of her heart, and the sore muscles in her body telling her to just sleep, Azzi says quietly, “You don’t have to go.” She pulls the comforter over her chest as she watches Paige breathe heavily, her shoulders and back flexing in her hunched over position.

A moment of silence passes before Paige responds. “Okay.” Lying back down is an awkward process, actions hesitant as the older girl overthinks where to go. She finds the very edge of the bed, arms pinned to her sides as she stares directly up at the ceiling. And it’s not like Paige and Azzi have never slept in the same bed, but they’ve never intentionally slept together, limbs intertwining only in the dark of night when they pretend to be asleep and ending when one of them wakes up first in the morning and is able to separate themselves before they have to deal with the awkward ordeal of waking up snuggling. Neither of them have ever really considered the fact that it shouldn’t be awkward for people who are really just friends to cuddle—but for them, it always has been, even the slightest of touches meaning too much and too little.

So Azzi waits for Paige to settle into bed and close her eyes before she takes the initiative to scoot closer in. She pauses a little when her best friend stiffens, and starts to regret maybe overstepping. But then Paige reaches out for her. She stares at the ceiling, not looking at Azzi, but her hand tugs Azzi’s wrist, bringing her closer until she’s fully curling into Paige’s chest. Paige's arm falls around her shoulders a little awkwardly. But she's warm, her chest solid, and Azzi thinks it's perfect.

Azzi has almost drifted fully into unconciousness when Paige whispers, “How was prom?” Her lips graze Azzi’s temple as she speaks into her hair, and Azzi shudders at the feeling.

“It was fine.” She presses her forehead sleepily to Paige’s neck, skin against skin, feeling her pulse thrum steadily. The fresh scent of Paige's deodorant and body wash is simple, a thousand times familiar, but still her favorite in the world. “Missed you,” Azzi admits, the tenderness in her own voice making her cringe a little.

Paige squeezes her closer in. “Missed you more." Her thumb caresses the younger girl's jawline, soothing her to sleep. "Maybe next year will be more fun.”

Azzi doesn’t say that prom was only fine because she could only think about Paige the entire time, and that things probably wouldn't change in a year if they hadn't for the past three. She only hums softly in response.

“Good night.” Paige drops a kiss on her hairline, so briefly and so casually that Azzi almost misses it.

“Night.” Azzi snuggles closer in, heart racing, and she sleeps.

⋆⑅˚₊ iii. so it goes - i'm yours to keep and i'm yours to lose

May 2020

Paige knows before it happens.

It was hard not to. Azzi had been acting distant all week, smiles tight and eyes a little less shiny whenever she’d spoken to Paige. The blonde had just assumed it was because she was having a hard time saying goodbye—what she didn't know was that Azzi was saying goodbye in more ways than one.

The morning of, Paige is the last in the house to wake up. She pads downstairs, still in her pajamas, to find her family and Azzi at the table, eating waffles. Drew is babbling about dinosaurs or something, whipped cream all over his nose and chin, while her dad mans the waffle maker and her step-mom packs a bag of snacks. Azzi is sitting next to Drew, cross-legged and domestic while feeding him between bites of her own food, and it strikes a feeling within Paige she can’t quite place yet.

“Good morning to my two favorite people,” she crows, her volume much too loud for 9 in the morning as seen by the winces on everyone’s faces. She throws one arm each around her little brother and best friend, pulling them in for a group hug, and she finds a hint of the old, familiar softness in Azzi’s eyes before it’s quickly replaced by the distant, guarded expression she’s been wearing for too long. Paige’s stomach heaves a little, but then Drew smears some whipped cream on her nose, eliciting a tickle war, and like usual, the feeling gets pushed to the side.

“Paige, there’s a stack of waffles for you on the table. Try to eat pretty quick because we have to leave soon,” her dad motions for her to sit down, and Paige dutifully obeys. Her eyes light up when she sees the bottle of syrup, and she proceeds to grab it eagerly before drizzling a concerning amount onto her breakfast.

“Paige, you’re gonna make yourself sick,” Azzi reprimands, but Paige only kicks her hard under the table before digging in.

“I’m packing some food for your plane ride,” her step-mom says. “Do you want Slim Jims or apple slices as snack?”

“Can I have both?”

“You only have room for one.”

Decisions, decisions. “Slim Jims.”

Azzi wipes her mouth with her napkin. “Hey,” she says quietly when the adults fall back into their own conversation. “I need to talk to you before you leave.”

“Oh yeah, I was gonna talk to you anyways. I needed to tell you something.” Paige was going to give Azzi the letter she wrote a couple weeks ago. She’d written and rewritten it only about a hundred times, then copied the final letter to fancy card stock paper in her best hand-writing, even adding a couple quick sketches of flowers and rainbows and hearts. It looked pretty awesome, if she did say so herself. Anddddd it also said a bunch of things she wasn’t ready to say out loud, so Paige’s current plan was to say her good-bye before shoving the card in Azzi’s hands as the last thing she’d do before jumping in the car and leaving. And then she’d spend the entire plane ride with her dad going batshit crazy thinking about Azzi reading it.

But still, it would be worth it. Paige was so sure Azzi felt the same — how could she not? She felt the way Azzi’s heart rate picked up whenever they touched, knew the way Azzi looked at her when she thought she wasn’t looking wasn’t normal for just best friends, especially since summer, when everything had between them had changed. It had started off with a kiss, and quickly evolved to something messy and tangled between the two of them that they’d labeled as “friends with benefits”, a label that Paige thought did their dynamic injustice. But still, it had been four years of knowing each other and almost a year of being more, and Paige was finally ready to let Azzi know. No more friends with benefits — girlfriends.

But Paige, so caught up in her thoughts, doesn’t see Azzi’s face drop, the younger girl’s tendency to overthink clearly leading her own train of thought. So she continues to eat her waffles in blissful ignorance as Azzi sits back quietly.

༉‧₊˚✧

“I’m just so ready, ya know?” Paige tosses her charger in the backpack. “I think that’s everything on my packing list,” she muses to herself quietly, gaze sweeping around the room with an air of finality. Then she looks up at Azzi and smiles. “The college experience, the whole nine yards.” She takes a seat on her bed and pats the spot next to her, indicating for the dark haired girl to sit with her. “Even though there’s still COVID and I won’t be able to do the really fun stuff—" she imagines playing in front of a sold out crowd at Gampel, and the smile on her face dims just a little at the feeling of missing out, “—still, I’m just so excited. I can’t stop like, bouncing around. You get it, right?” She flops down on the bed, hands folding behind her head as she closes her eyes and imagines it all.

Azzi is silent beside her, still sitting upright. Paige can’t see her face, so she nudges her knee. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Azzi’s voice is unsteady. “I get it.”

Paige opens her eyes and sits back up. “Bro, are you good? I didn't wanna say anything, but you’ve been kinda acting weird lately.”

“Listen,” Azzi says. She’s fiddling with a loose thread on her sweats, and Paige swears her fingers are shaking. “I know we haven’t really talked about it directly, but–" she takes a deep breath to steady her voice, “I want it to be clear between the two of us. Clean cut, you know?”

“Clean cut?” Paige echoes, lost.

“Yeah. No messy stuff and wondering what we are. So that you can go do your own thing at college, without feeling bad or- or like you owe me anything,” her words trail off into a gasp, “and I can do mine.”

Paige is even more lost. “Azzi, what are you talking about?”

Azzi bites her bottom lip, her nervous tic. “I’m saying that we should end this — whatever this is. Friends with benefits, casually sleeping together, whatever you wanna call it." She inhales sharply. "It’s probably the best for both of us.”

Immediately, she hones in on the word casual. Casual? Paige had never thought that whatever they had going on was a casual thing. Maybe unknown, unfamiliar, new—but never casual. She thought it was the most sacred thing in the world. A bitter taste forms at the base of her throat when she realizes that maybe she’s read it wrong all along. But Paige would never want to pressure Azzi into something she doesn't want. “So you’re saying - you’re saying you wanna end this?”

“Yeah." Azzi finally turns her head to her, and her face is marked by tear tracks. "You know, for your college experience. And for me.”

Devastation.

That's the only word Paige can think of that comes even close to what she's feeling right now.

She feels numb, and stupid, and god. How could she ever been so foolish to think that Azzi could like her back? Could want Paige in the same, aching, all-consuming, nonsensical way that she wanted Azzi? She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out but a broken "Okay."

“Okay?” Azzi sounds incredulous before she shakes her head and catches herself. Clearing her throat, she mumbles, “So, um, we good?”

Paige is thrown. Completely, utterly thrown. “Yeah, we’re good. I guess.”

Her dad calls for her downstairs, and when she stands it seems like she’s watching herself move in third person. “Well, thanks for visiting this past week and saying goodbye. I had fun.” Her tone is strangely flat, void of any emotion, unrecognizable even to herself. But when your heart has just gotten broken before it had to chance to even beat, how can self-preservation allow you to be on anything but auto-pilot?

“Yeah, me too.” Azzi sounds defeated, and Paige wonders if it’s because she’d felt trapped this entire week, had hated whenever Paige had pulled her aside for a quick kiss. The mere thought of Azzi feeling uncomfortable around her makes her nauseous with guilt.

So, Paige does the only thing she knows how to do. She shoulders on her backpack, but her suitcase and duffel bags are already in the trunk, so she doesn’t have anywhere to put her hands, and they hang limply by her side. She doesn’t even know if she should give Azzi a hug. “We’re still…we’re still best friends right?”

“Of course.” The smile Azzi flashes is meant to be reassuring, but the way it doesn’t reach her eyes makes it anything but. “I’ll come visit you soon,” she adds as an after-thought, seemingly wanting to remedy the situation, but Paige doesn’t even hear her, already leaving before she can finish her sentence. Having to stay any longer, having to look and let go of the sight of Azzi in her bed, in her room, in her home, would make her break down on the spot.

So Paige leaves without really saying good-bye, and she cries the entire plane ride to Connecticut.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi: just said goodbye to paige

Azzi: my flight's in a couple hours

Azzi: see you soon

Azzi finishes texting her parents before shutting her phone off and snuggling deeper into Paige's blankets. Everything had turned out so different than she'd expected a week ago. She'd came to Minnesota eager to spend a few days with her best friend before sending her off to college, with this persistent, nagging hope in the back of her brain that maybe this would be the moment where she could finally tell Paige about her feelings.

Then the moment she'd arrived at the Bueckers' home, Paige had started going on about how excited she was for the college experience. She hadn't said it explicitly — no, Paige was too kind to tell Azzi directly, but Azzi knew everything her best friend couldn't say. That she wanted to end these things, because she wanted other, better things: other girls, other people, other relationships.

And besides, letting go of Paige now is the only way to save herself in the future, Azzi reasons to herself. Being stuck in this weird limbo of being her best friend who also kisses her would only make it so much harder to see and hear about Paige with other girls in Connecticut. It was better to snap it in half now, while she still could, to leave her pride somewhat intact so that she wasn't hanging onto Paige while Paige was trying to shake her off.

Azzi had ended it before Paige could, and that was that.

⋆⑅˚₊ iv. dress - say my name and everything just stops / i don’t want you like a best friend

February 2022

“I’m gonna go hang out with Kiki after this.” The corner of Paige’s mouth twitches when Azzi stiffens in her arms.

“Oh, okay.”

Paige drums her fingers against Azzi's waist. “Just wanted to let you know.”

“Well, now I know.“ Azzi sidles out of her arms harshly. “Gonna go pee.”

The deeply entrenched lingers of doubt becomes to crawl in her mind again when Azzi leaves, but unlike a year ago, when Paige had left her house for the airport in tears, she has experience. Experience in reading people and picking up when they show all the tell-tale signs of a crush: the flush of cheeks, the stuttering whenever Paige flirts a little too hard, the way she subconsciously leans into her touch whenever they’re sitting next to each other. And the signs of jealousy — all the signs she sees in herself whenever Azzi talks to anyone but her. And honestly, even if Paige didn’t know for sure, it’s getting to a point where she can no longer ignore the tension between them. Ever since Azzi has joined her at UConn, even though they haven’t slept together, per se, their relationship has been more than when they were; the press of mouths to cheeks that linger longer than necessary, the grinding at Ted’s that start before either of them are really drunk but pretend to be for the sake of forgetting. And, in all honesty, Paige really can’t see Azzi talking to another asshat. Hence, their current situation.

When Azzi comes back, oversized shirt wet with the stains of washed hands, Paige has finished gathering up her courage again. Azzi makes a point of sitting down far out of reach at the other end of the couch instead of returning to Paige’s arms. Definitely jealous, she thinks to herself.

“Might take her out to a nice dinner or something,” Paige says, picking up right where she left off. Then she decides why not be more of an annoying shit, and asks, “Actually, can I borrow your car?”

Azzi’s eye twitches. “What do you need my car for?” She does a damn good job of forcing her tone into one of disinterest and indifference, but from the way her jaw ticks, Paige knows she’s anything but.

“Mine’s low on gas and the restaurant I wanna go to is far. Wanna give her princess treatment, you know?”

The younger girl is positively scowling now, eyes in slits as she channels all her anger into glaring at the TV. “And why are you telling me all of this?”

Paige scoots next to Azzi and throws an arm around her shoulder. Time to make her move. Tracing circles on her shoulder with a finger, she says slowly, “Because I wanted to see your reaction.”

“My reaction?”

Her laugh comes out breathy. “Azzi, I can tell that you’re jealous.”

Her best friend’s eyes close briefly, and Paige’s heart drops a beat. Reading Azzi has always came naturally to her, pure intuition for someone she’s always in sync with. Not to brag, but she’s perfected knowing exactly how to push Azzi and where her boundaries are, but this time maybe she’d gone too far. Paige is two seconds away from apologizing until the dark haired girl opens her eyes again and says firmly, “I’m not jealous.”

No turning back now. “No?”

“I’m really not.”

“So if I took your car, and went to pick her up, with a bouquet of flowers, maybe even some chocolate, and took her to a fancy restaurant…you wouldn’t mind at all?”

A strangled sound leaves Azzi’s mouth, so quiet Paige almost misses it. “Not at all.”

“And if I took her back to her house-“ Paige’s voice drops a note, all husky and raspy, “and I took her to her bedroom, and I kissed her-“

“Paige-”

“And I touched her-,”

“Paige, stop.” Azzi’s chest heaves. Paige looks away, trying not to get sidetracked by the way her tiny tank top dips on her cleavage and leaves a little too much to the imagination. The younger girl shrugs Paige’s arm off her shoulders and stands up, backing away as if being any closer to her will make her explode. “Fine, you win. You know I’m jealous.”

Paige’s smile is triumphant. “That’s all you all had to say, baby.”

Scoffing, Azzi turns around and marches into her room, but Paige is quick to follow. “I’m not hanging out with Kiki after this,”she says, breathing down Azzi’s neck as she almost steps on her heels, but her best friend speeds up. “I haven’t hung out with Kiki since before you got here.”

“So?”

“So,” Paige emphasizes, and realizing she has only about five seconds before Azzi reaches her room and slams the door in her face for being, she admits, sort of an asshole, she says all in one breath, “I-wanted-to-make-sure-you-felt-the-same-because-I-have-feelings-for-you-and-I’ve-had-them-for-a-while-and-I-really-want-to-take-you-on-a-proper-date-and-hopefully-become-your-girlfriend-because-I-don’t-wan’t-you-like-a-best-friend-and-I-honestly-go-crazy-thinking-about-you-with-anyone-but-me-but-if-you-don’t-feel-ready-for-more-yet-then-it’s-okay.” She’s panting by the time she finishes and doesn’t realize that Azzi has fully stopped in her tracks before she’s stumbling over her feet and crashing into her, sending the both of them falling to the ground.

Somehow they both end up with their backs against the carpet, looking up at the ceiling. Azzi is still breathing hard next to her, from speed walking or falling or from Paige getting on her nerves, Paige isn’t sure which, but she waits patiently for her response, trying to ignore the stupid noise in her head saying maybe your dumbass got it all wrong again.

Finally, finally, after what seems like ten minutes, Azzi opens her mouth. “You’re stupid,” is all she says, then she rolls over and kisses Paige on the mouth.

Not what Paige was expecting after her grand love confession, but the plumpness of Azzi’s bottom lip captured in between hers makes it hard to complain about anything at all.

They kiss for twenty minutes, or maybe forty. Paige loses track of time, and honestly, she could do this forever without getting tired, but she came to Azzi's apartment tonight with a game plan, and she has to stick with it, so she pushes her best friend away a little to end their 10/10 makeout session.

Smoothing the frizz of Azzi’s hair back with her palm, she whispers, “I’m gonna take you on a date, okay?”

Azzi grins and kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

“Tomorrow. Are you free?”

Azzi moves to her cheek, tongue leaving wet trails on her face. “Don’t act like you don’t know my schedule.”

“Okay then. Tomorrow at six.” Paige traces the dimple of Azzi’s smile with the pad of her thumb, memorizing the indentation she loves so much. “That was lowkey easier than I thought it’d be.”

“Making my life hell for the past twenty minutes was easier than you thought?” Azzi bites down hard on Paige bottom lip, teeth scraping into her soft skin, and the blonde winces.

“Sorry,” she replies unapologetically. “Just had to make sure. Plus, you’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Azzi smirks against her mouth. “’I go crazy thinking about you with anyone but me,’” she mimics in a high pitched tone.

“Who you tryna be?” Paige grumbles, but there’s no heat in her voice.

⋆⑅˚₊ v. don’t blame me - i get so high, oh, every time you’re loving me

“It’s too early in the goddamn morning for you to be cheesin like this,” Nika complains as they stretch out on the cold floor of the gym.

Paige grabs her foot and leans toward it, shaking out the stiffness in her hamstrings and calves. “You’re just jealous I got a hot date and you don’t,” she responds, unable to take the grin off her face.

Nika grimaces. “Please never say that ever again.”

“Who’s this hot date?” Azzi plops down next to them, her thigh brushing Paige’s as she extends her knee, and Paige shivers.

Nika mimes putting a finger down her throat, and Paige waves her off. “Only the prettiest girl in the world," she says, not giving a shit about how cheesy the words coming out of her mouth sound.

Azzi wrinkles her nose, but her eyes shine with affection. “Have I told you you’re stupid?” She slides her hand over Paige’s, giving it a quick squeeze before moving it as quickly as it came.

“Only a couple of times.” Paige takes a swift search around for prying eyes before leaning in close to Azzi. “Just to be clear,” she whispers, “you like me? Like, like like me?”

“I feel like we're in middle school again, but to answer your question, last I heard of, yeah,” Azzi says, a smile threatening her lips. “Unless anything has changed since ten hours ago?”

“Nahh, nothin.” Paige gives Azzi’s earlobe a quick nip. “'Cept for the fact that I’m nervous as hell thinking about tonight.”

Azzi giggles at the ticklish feeling before CD steps into the gym, clapping her hands and directing the girls to start warming up. Paige sends her a wink before jogging to the front to take charge.

⋆⑅˚₊

They’re the last ones in the locker room, and Paige waits only a few seconds after the last of their teammates leave before she’s pushing Azzi against the wall and and kissing her. Paige’s cheeks are flushed and rosy from practice, hair coming loose from her bun and wild strands framing her face, and Azzi drinks it all in.

“Look so fuckin good just practicing, it’s unfair,” Paige mumbles in breaths, unable to keep her mouth away from Azzi’s for too long. Her hand wanders down Azzi’s back, fisting up her jersey to stroke the bare softness of her waist before trailing down to cup the swell of her ass. She squeezes hard, and Azzi moans into her mouth, a little breathy sound that drives Paige absolutely feral. It’s only when a door bangs outside that they realize how incriminating they’d look if someone walked in, and they separate, gasping.

“We should probably go,” Azzi breathes out, unable to take her eyes off the swollen wetness of her best friend’s lips.

“Probably,” Paige agrees. Then she takes off her jersey, movements slow and sensual. Her shirt rides up in the process, giving Azzi a glimpse of milky white skin and muscled abs, and Azzi really can’t blame herself for what she does next, not when Paige looks like that.

⋆⑅˚₊ vi. new year’s day - but i stay when you’re lost and i’m scared and you’re turning away

August 2025

Paige wakes up to three missed phone calls. She’s only able to swipe up and see that they’re all from Azzi before her phone immediately dies. She curses. Worst fucking timing in the world. She rushes to plug her charger in, tapping the black screen aggressively as if it’ll make it turn on any after. Her head still pounds from the chaos of the night before, her mouth dry and gross. She’s not sure if she even brushed her teeth after coming home from the club, the way her breath still stinks of alcohol.

She thinks about finally getting up to take or shower or do anything that’ll make her feel less disgusting but then finally, finally, her phone comes back to life. Her hearts starts pounding harder when she’d realized she’d missed not just three calls, but a series of texts.

11:45 PM

Missed call from Azzi

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: hey u good?

Azzi: lmk if u need a minute

11:58 PM

Azzi: lmao did u forget

12:10 AM

Missed call from Azzi

Azzi: seriously paige

Azzi: at the fucking club again

12:22 AM

Azzi: call me when ur up

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Paige squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t even really remember last night—it’s a blur of hazy smoke, one too many shots, and bassy music thumping so loud she swore her eardrums almost burst. But after the win at home, that much needed win, when the team had started making plans to celebrate, Arike promising that drinks were on her, she’d told Azzi that she needed to cancel their previously scheduled Facetime for that night. Didn’t she?

She scrolls down, heart ricocheting in her chest when she sees the unsent text in her message bar. She must have exited it out or closed her phone before she could’ve pressed send. Cursing under her breath, Paige slides on her glasses and calls Azzi.

The phone rings three times before it’s answered. “Hello?” Azzi’s voice comes out dry and scratchy. She sounds like she’s just woken up, or is sick, or maybe a mixture of both.

“Baby, hey.” Paige runs a hand through her hair but gives up when it gets tangled in a knot. “I’m so sorry about last night. I meant to text you and I forgot to press send and there was a ton of shit happening at once. I should’ve double checked that it sent, and I’m- I’m sorry.” Paige isn’t sure what to do but keep apologizing, but she's only greeted with silence on the other end. After a couple of beats, she says hesitantly, “Azzi?”

Her girlfriend exhales slowly on the other end, the tell-tale sign that she’s trying really hard not to lose her patience. Not a good sign. “Okay.”

“Just...okay?” Paige repeats, slightly confused at the lack of anger or really any emotion at all in her tone.

There’s rustling on the other end of the line before Azzi’s voice comes out clearer and louder. “What do you want me to say?”

“I - I don’t know. Are you mad?” Because Azzi isn’t yelling at her, or saying anything in particular, just sounds resigned, and Paige doesn’t know what to do with that. She’d rather Azzi show any kind of emotion than this. She can't read this. She can't navigate this.

“Christ, Paige, you’re so dense sometimes.”

“You have every right to be mad with me, but I don’t know, you sound—”

“You think I want to be mad at you? You think I wanna spend one of our, what, four phone calls a week arguing with you? Fuck.” There it is.

Paige rubs her temples. “I know.”

“I’m not tryna be your clingy girlfriend from home,” Azzi continues. “Trust me, I’m really fucking not. Ever since you left I’ve been trying to respect your new life, your new schedule, letting you have space to enjoy your rookie year without having to feel suffocated. But please, please tell me I’m not insane for thinking that it’s unreasonable for you to cancel a call not even for basketball, but for shit like partying at a club?” Azzi pauses. “Honestly, I feel like I’m the one initiating our conversations most of the times. It’s like you’re putting in zero effort.”

“I understand that you’re mad but it’s a little ridiculous of you to just say I never put in any effort, Azzi.” Paige has never lashed out like this, never spoken to Azzi in this tone that sounds like anger and bitterness and exasperation fighting over each other to be heard, but Azzi's words strike something deep inside of her that hurts. “You think I like being this busy, this exhausted, having this little free time to talk more than a couple of hours? Throughout everything I’ve been trying to make you feel like a priority because god, Azzi, you are, I love you so much, and it hurts that you think I’m not even trying.” Her voice chokes an embarrasing amount on the last word, and she tosses her phone on her pillow to run her hands over her face in an effort to collect herself.

“Oh, my bad, Paige. Sorry for being such a burden and an inconvenience in your busy life,” Azzi spits out bitterly.

Paige can't help but jump to her own defense. “You didn’t even wanna come down to Dallas last month when you were free. And it's not like I can go up to you. If one of is putting in less effort, Azzi, it's sure as hell not me.”

“We had pre-season workouts, Paige, you know that.”

“I also know that they’re not mandatory and it wouldn’t have killed you to missed one. You could’ve worked out with me down here.” Somewhere deep inside, Paige knows she's being unreasonable, that Azzi has never asked her to skip practice for her and so neither should she, but she remembers the hurt that had coiled in her stomach, dark and tangled, when Azzi had refused to come down for even just a couple of days after not having seen each other in almost three weeks. If it had been her, she would’ve taken the first flight, Paige thinks, and it hadn’t taken much to spiral down the rabbit-hole of doubts—that Azzi didn’t miss her the same way she did, that Azzi was perfectly fine living her life in Storrs while Paige lived hers in Dallas, that Azzi didn’t care enough about Paige to want to visit her again. And when she’d been scrolling on Tiktok, seen videos of her girlfriend with her teammates that weekend, laughing and smiling with them when it could’ve been her—the spiral had turned into something much worse in her mind.

“So you expect me to drop everything for you but when it’s your turn to actually do something, to, I don't know, call me first for once, all of a sudden you’re too busy and tired?” Azzi accuses.

“That’s not even what I said!" Paige argues. "And I don't call first because I know you always call at a set time. Why are we even keeping track of who calls who first? If we're resorting to this, what's even the point?"

“What’s the point?” Azzi’s voice trembles. “What’s the point of this relationship, you mean?”

No, no, no. “Come on, Az, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Paige pleads.

“You asked me what the point of our relationship was, Paige, don’t scramble now.”

“Because apparently you think it’s all one sided! And you’ve clearly been feeling like this for a while!” Paige swears under her breath. “How long have you been resenting me for this? Thinking that I don’t care about you, that I don’t care about us?”

“Don’t yell at me!”

“I’m not yelling!” Paige pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to get herself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down. “Az, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I really am. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

“It’s not even about last night!” Azzi explodes. “How are you still not getting that?”

Seeing the time on her watch, Paige grits her teeth. “This conversation isn’t getting anywhere and I have practice. Can we talk later?”

“It’s always later with you.” Azzi’s voice is oddly high pitched, strained as if she’s trying to hide something, and Paige realizes that she’s probably crying. Fuck. She hates this, the distance, the ease of throwing angry accusations over the phone when you can’t see their face crumble from the impact of what you've done. Azzi sniffs. “Whatever. We’ll talk after. Call me when you’re done.”

“Okay.” Paige opens her mouth to say one more thing, but the line ends before she can. Fuck. She throws her phone on the bed, but it slides off the mattress and tumbles to the ground with a smack. Picking it up, she sees two cracks running through the screen. It looks almost as ugly as she feels inside.

Perfect. It’s 7 AM and her day already sucks.

As soon as practice is over, she shoots Azzi a text.

Paige: done for the day, lmk when ur free

Read

She checks her phone for the next couple of hours, waiting for a response, but to no avail.

Paige: are u really ignoring my texts

Paige: lmfao thought we left this petty shit back in high school

Paige: u said u wanted to talk and now u don’t want to?? i really don’t know what u even want from me

Azzi calls her a couple minutes later.

“That’s how I feel,” Azzi says tightly. “That’s how I felt last night, when I stayed up until 12:30 waiting for you to call.”

“Aight, next time tell me if you’re gonna call just to pick a fight, ‘cause then I won’t fuckin pick up,” Paige fires back, and she knows before she says it that it'll just make everything worse, but shit, she's so tired of arguing, for having to walk on eggshells whenever they talk, and she knows Azzi is too. And she's been in a terrifically awful mood all day, going stir crazy at her girlfriend's lack of response to her texts; she wants to resolve it more than anything, to make everything okay again, yet it seems like Azzi is holding onto that anger for her and she doesn’t know why.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, I don’t even know why I miss you," Azzi says scathingly. "Honestly, maybe we should take a break. This clearly isn’t working.” And those words are so sudden, so heavy and unexpected, that Paige can only fall silent in response.

Breathing hard, Paige touches her cheeks. She’s never been a crier, but all of a sudden the sleeve of her sweater is damp and her vision is blurring and her head is spinning.

“Paige?” Azzi says her name softly and regretfully.

“Yeah,” she says numbly into the phone, pretending as if Azzi suggesting a break—Azzi, in effect, wanting to end things—didn't just crush everything inside of her.

A sob comes out over the line. “I - I just miss you and I just said a bunch of shit that I didn’t mean and I feel so horrible. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Paige swipes angrily at her eyes, willing the tears to stop flowing. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Then Azzi whimpers, a small and deadly sound that pierces right through Paige’s heart, and despite everything, she just wants to reach through the phone and hold her. “I don’t wanna take a break. I love you, and I’m not used to fighting with you, and I just want you to be here.”

Paige is quiet for a moment, head swimming. “I’m sorry too. Listen, it’s late. Let’s just sleep on it and talk tomorrow, okay? When we both have clearer heads.” Paige would never call their relationship fragile, she feels like that would be a disservice to their years of fighting for each other, but it’s definitely not in a good place right now. And she's so consumed by her anger she’s not sure what might come out of her mouth if they keep going at it, and she doesn’t want to risk it.

"I love you," Azzi speaks quietly. Paige closes her eyes, turning the words over in her mind as a reminder. She loves you. You love her. That’s all that matters. "More than anything or anyone in this world, I love you."

"I know." Paige’s voice trembles. "I love you too."

The call ends, and Paige has never in her life felt this helpless; the only thing she can do from a million miles away is stare listlessly at the black screen on her phone. The two of them have always had their arguments, but it would always be resolved within a couple of days. Now, the distance makes it so much more complicated, because it had been easy—too easy to say all those things to Azzi that she really didn't mean. She supposes they both took part in it, intentionally calling instead of Facetiming so they could avoid dealing with the fallout or taking accountability by blaming it on the emotional and physical barriers separating them.

Christ. Paige reaches for the jar of melatonin on her bedside table. She's gonna need double the dose tonight.

⋆⑅˚₊

Azzi doesn't know what came over her.

Maybe it had been from the pure exhaustion of the past few months. Living in Storrs is like being surrounded by constant reminders of Paige—in Werth, in Gampel, even in her own fucking dorm. And she's always been stable and secure in their relationship, but it still hurts only being able to hear about Paige's new life without really being a part of it.

Then she'd gone and suggested a break, quite possibly the dumbest thing she's ever said, and for an agonizing second of silence over the phone, she'd been scared that Paige would agree, that Paige would say, maybe this is best for us, and end it all right then and there.

But she hadn't, and Azzi had apologized, but she knew it had done nothing to fix the impact of her words.

Which is why it's 2 AM, but she's still up, looking at flights to Los Angeles on her laptop. Paige has a game against the Sparks, and she can only stay for one day, so she's searching for tickets that will allow her to arrive right before the game and leave the early morning after.

Bingo. A last minute flight that leaves in six hours. Azzi calculates the timing in her head; the plane ride is 8 hours but LA is 3 hours behind, meaning she'll arrive at around 1 pm PST. It'll be too late by then to catch Paige before the game, and she wouldn't want to distract her anyways, so she'll have a few hours to make it to the game, watch, before hopefully having the chance to talk to Paige that night before both of them have to leave for their own cities. Azzi completes the purchase, then starts to pack her backpack.

LA is sunny and warm, and uplifts Azzi's spirits just a little. She takes an Uber to a restaurant to get some food in her stomach before taking another Uber to Crypto Arena. She wasn't able to secure a very good seat, so she pulls her hoodie tight over her head and hopes that the cameras don't see her. With red-rimmed eyes and deep bags under them, she looks worse for wear, and the last thing she wants to do is to be displayed on the big screen for everyone to see.

The first three quarters fly in a flash; Paige has a rocky start before she picks Rickea's pocket late in the second and scores, setting off her momentum for a solid 14 points by the end of the third. Azzi has always loved watching Paige play, but this is only the fourth or fifth time she's gotten to watch her girlfriend play professionally, but she's still in awe of how Paige moves so naturally on the court, already a leader on both ends despite being a rookie.

Azzi is on her phone during the break when the crowd starts to cheer. Looking up at the commotion, she fights the urge to groan when she sees herself on the screen, looking confused as hell. Contorting her face into a smile, she awkwardly waves and flashes a thumbs up before the cameras thankfully pan towards a celebrity across the arena.

Then she sees Paige, who had by some chance saw Azzi on the screen. The blonde is searching the arena, hands on her waist as her eyes sweep the crowds. Her mouth is tight, set into a firm line, body posture rigid, before one of the assistant coaches taps her on the shoulder and redirects her attention to Chris.

As soon as the game is over, Paige is walking around the court, evidently still scanning the arena for her. Knowing that the older girl doesn't have her phone, Azzi makes her way down the stairs, a task made much slower by her compression boot. Finally, she makes it down, but then she's stopped by a security guard who raises a brow at her.

"Hey, Azzi!" A familiar voice rings out, and there's Cameron, eyes bright as she makes her way through the throng of people on the court. She motions for the security guard to let her through the rope, and Azzi slips in. Wrong blonde, but still, Azzi is glad to see her.

"Cam! It's nice to see you," Azzi greets, pulling in the taller girl for a hug. "Looking good back on the court."

"Thank you, thank you." Cameron brushes off her jersey in faux humility. "Still getting used to it but it feels really good."

Azzi knows all too well what returning to the game feels like after an ACL, so she smiles sympathetically at her old friend.

"What brings you to LA?" The older girl leans in conspiratorially. "Here to see your girl?" Cameron is one of few people who'd witnessed the birth of their friendship into something more, and usually Azzi would be laughing with her, but the bleakness of it all makes her only have the strength to offer a weak smile and a "Yeah."

"Azzi." The two of them turn around and see Paige, who still looks slightly confused as she moves quickly towards the two of them. Azzi takes in her girlfriend, her hair falling apart from her bun, sweat beading on her chest and neck. Unsure of what to say or do, they look at each other for a second before Paige reaches out for a hug, both of them stiff before they fall into the familiarity of each other's arms. Azzi nuzzles her head into her girlfriend's neck, not caring that her cheeks come away damp from Paige's sweat. She'd missed Paige, terribly so.

Paige is caught up in staring at Azzi when they separate before she seemingly registers that there's a third person. "Hey, Cam," she says, dapping her up.

"Paige," Cameron pats her on the back. "Gave us hell tonight." Paige chuckles, and the two players pull apart, but Paige's gaze quickly returns to examining Azzi. Cameron looks between the two of them, observant as ever, and raises an eyebrow at the tension she senses hanging in the air. "Oookay. Well, I gotta go now, but it was nice seeing the both of you. Enjoy LA, Azzi. Good game, P."

"Yeah, you too," Paige says distractedly. "It's nice having you back on the court."

Then Paige and Azzi are alone, but not really alone because they're surrounded by athletes and media and fans and more than a couple of cameras pointed at them. Paige seems to pick up on the cameras too, when she reaches for Azzi's hand, then draws back, overthinking her actions. "Let's, uh, go to my car?" she suggests. "We can talk?"

Azzi nods, and they fall into step back to the locker room. They're silent as they walk, neither really knowing what to say, until a familiar curly-headed face intercepts them in the hall. "Paige," Rae Burrell intones, a smirk on her face, "Nice to see you." Azzi immediately tenses up, slowing down in her steps, but Paige's hand moves to the small of her back, a quiet reassurance, as she guides them along, trying to move past the Spark. "Rae," she acknowledges with a mere nod.

"Azzi, fancy seeing you here. How you doing?" Rae asks, all sugar and sweetness as she starts walking beside them.

"Just peachy," Azzi drawls. Her hand lands meaningfully on Paige's bicep, firm and smooth under her hand, and she draws her girlfriend closer. Paige wraps an arm around her waist and kisses her temple without even sparing a glance at Rae, and even though there's a million things they need to work through, though apologies are needed and solutions must be made, Azzi knows that through it all, they are the surest thing in the world.

Finally getting the hint, Rae nods. "Alright, see y'all around," she mutters, an ugly frown on her face as she ducks into a side room.

"She doesn't give up, does she?" Azzi grumbles, hand falling from Paige's arm when she realizes that the older girl is likely still angry from last night. But Paige grabs her hand and brings it back, an apology that's silent and the first of many, and squeezes her closer.

"No, she doesn't," Paige affirms. They've reached the locker room, and Paige lingers for a moment before going inside. She pulls Azzi in by the waist and presses their foreheads together. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Only for today," Azzi says, and disappointment fills Paige's eyes before the events of the night before flash in her mind. "It's good," the older girl responds gently. "You're traveling sixteen hours just to be here for a few, and I appreciate it."

"I'm sorry," Azzi says, the apology tumbling out of her mouth. The need for Paige to know how much she regrets everything is too much to bear, and she starts to continue apologizing, but she's shut up by Paige's mouth suddenly on hers, moving softly, intentionally, urgently, perfectly. Her lips are so, so soft, and Azzi has missed this so bad.

Paige gives her one last kiss, forceful and emphatic, before looking at her, soft and sweet. Azzi exhales. They're gonna be okay.

[monserelates]

Extra Credit; James Potter

⇨ f! reader x james potter

⇨ summary: For seven years, James Potter and Y/N have battled for the top spot at Hogwarts—dueling in essays, out-charming each other in Charms, and exchanging biting remarks sharp enough to cut through goblin armor. But when Professor Flitwick pairs them for a final NEWT project, they’re forced to work together. As rivalry turns into tension, and tension turns into something far softer, James realizes he doesn’t just want to win anymore—he wants her.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, mutual pining, one-sided rivalry, academic rivals, lmk if I missed something!

a/n: this is inspired on a post i reblogged, i can't quite remember the username but it gave me a really good idea so credits to them!

⇨ word count: 4.2k

The corridor outside Professor Flitwick’s classroom buzzed with post-exam nerves, students crowding around the enchanted parchment hovering just above eye-level, names scrawled in fine ink.

“Oi, move it, Remus—can’t see!” James shoved his way to the front, dodging Peter’s elbow and Sirius’s bored yawning. “What’s the damage?”

Remus stepped aside with a faint smirk. “You’ll love this.”

James leaned in. His eyes scanned the top of the list.

1st Place: Y/N Y/L/N — 97% 1st Place: James Potter — 97%

He groaned. Loudly. “Oh, for Merlin’s bloody beard—again?”

Y/N’s voice floated past his shoulder, honey-laced and smug. “You sound surprised, Potter.”

He spun around, already bristling. She stood there, hair pulled back with ink-stained fingers, a book tucked under her arm and a look on her face that said I already know I’m better than you, but it’s cute that you keep trying.

“I was hoping you’d finally crack under pressure and miss a question,” James said, folding his arms. “You know, let me win alone for once.”

She arched a brow. “Sorry to disappoint. But I’d rather be buried alive in centaur dung than hand you the top spot on a silver platter.”

Sirius gave a low whistle from behind them. “And they say romance is dead.”

“Shut it, Black,” they snapped in unison.

James turned back to her, expression narrowing. “Admit it. You’d die without me pushing you.”

Y/N smiled, all teeth. “I’d thrive. You’re the academic equivalent of a hangnail.”

“Elegant,” he said dryly. “You writing poetry now?”

“No, but I am writing our Charms paper alone if you don’t keep your ego in check.”

He blinked. “Our what now?”

That was when Professor Flitwick waddled out of the classroom, a parchment rolled in his hand.

“Excellent work this term, everyone! For your final project, you’ll be working in pairs—chosen at random, of course!”

Y/N and James both stiffened.

“Please tell me he’s joking,” she hissed under her breath.

James was already shaking his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Flitwick wouldn’t.”

He would.

He did.

“Potter and Y/L/N!” Flitwick called cheerily. “You’ll make quite the team. Fire and fire. Try not to burn the castle down.”

Sirius let out an obnoxious laugh. Peter snorted behind him. Remus, ever the peacemaker, looked like he was already preparing a disaster management plan.

Y/N’s eye twitched. James looked like someone had kicked him in the shin.

“Great,” she muttered, brushing past him.

He turned to watch her go, jaw clenched.

This project wasn’t going to kill him.

But she just might.

..

The library was silent. Unnaturally so.

Even Madam Pince seemed to have retreated into the Restricted Section, leaving behind only the echo of ticking clocks and the occasional ghost of an annoyed sigh from Y/N.

James sat across from her, leaning back in his chair, wand spinning lazily between his fingers.

“So,” he said, dragging the word out like a curse, “how exactly are we starting this joint paper on advanced protective charms?”

Y/N didn’t look up. “By not waiting until the night before it’s due.”

“Wow. Genuinely stunned by that creativity,” he deadpanned.

Her quill paused.

“If I hex your tongue to the roof of your mouth, will you be more productive or just quieter?”

“I don’t know,” he grinned. “Wanna test it?”

She didn’t answer. Not with words. But the flick of her wand did knock his textbook to the floor.

James smirked as he picked it up. “You’ve always had terrible impulse control.”

She tilted her head. “And you’ve always been too comfortable being second best.”

Something flickered in his eyes.

Flash. First Year. Y/N raises her hand just before James. She gets the point for Gryffindor. He scowls across the room. Professor McGonagall smiles quietly at her parchment and murmurs, “This’ll be fun to watch.”

Flash. Third Year. They both volunteer to represent Gryffindor in the inter-house spellwork trials. Slughorn chuckles, “Can’t have one without the other, can we?” James wins by half a second. Y/N doesn’t speak to him for two days.

Flash. Fifth Year. They’re assigned opposite sides in a mock Wizengamot trial. Y/N obliterates James’s argument with cold precision. He stares at her across the room like he’s seeing her for the first time. Professor Vector nudges Flitwick. “They’ll end up married,” she says matter-of-factly. Flitwick grins. “Or kill each other first.”

Back in the present, James squinted across the table.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like working with me?”

Y/N looked up at last, brow arched.

“Do you ever get tired of pretending you don’t like me?”

Silence.

And then—tick, tick, tick—the library clock sounded louder than ever.

For the first time that night, James didn’t have a comeback. Just the ghost of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She blinked, caught off guard by the stillness of it.

They sat in the flickering candlelight, ancient books between them, parchment abandoned, and for a breathless second—neither was trying to win.

It was almost peaceful.

Then—

“Fine,” she said briskly, breaking the spell. “We start by researching counter-reversal layering. You handle the incantation roots, I’ll take defensive overlap theory.”

“Bossy,” he muttered.

“Efficient.”

He watched her dive back into her notes like her heart hadn’t just paused mid-sentence.

James Potter, top of the class, Chaser, chaos incarnate, leaned back in his chair and thought: I’m so completely screwed.

..

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual din of lunch hour: clattering cutlery, enchanted platters refilling themselves, and the occasional bang from a misfired spell at the Slytherin table. But at the Gryffindor end, the tension was less about house rivalries and more about two seventh-years sitting much too close for anyone’s comfort — or sanity.

“Your footnotes,” Y/N said, calmly buttering a roll, “are almost as weak as your wandwork.”

James choked on his pumpkin juice.

Across the table, Sirius cackled. “That’s what we’re starting with today? Already?”

Remus didn’t look up from his book. “They’ve been arguing since breakfast. She insulted his margin spacing.”

Y/N lifted her cup. “Because it was criminal.”

James wiped his mouth, scowling. “Funny, coming from someone who thought a Confundus Charm had four syllables.”

“I was twelve.”

“And yet, here we are. Still wrong.”

“Still smug.”

“Still smarter.”

“You wish.”

“Every night.”

There was a brief, stunned silence.

Marlene dropped her fork. Dorcas blinked once. Twice.

Even Lily looked up from her schedule, eyes narrowed.

James cleared his throat, ears flaming. “That was—that came out weird.”

Y/N tilted her head, amused. “Bit desperate there, Potter.”

God, he loved when she called him Potter. He'd never admit that out loud, of course.

Sirius leaned forward, elbows on the table like he was watching a Quidditch final. “Do either of you realize you flirt like people who think books are foreplay?”

“Shut it, Black,” they snapped in perfect unison. Again.

Lily sighed dramatically. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Dorcas smirked. “At least the idiots have chemistry.”

Remus turned a page. “Explosive chemistry, judging by the time they set their project notes on fire.”

“That was her fault—” James started.

“You jinxed my inkpot—” Y/N shot back.

Peter looked between them, biting into a treacle tart. “Are you two even working on the Charms project or just verbally hexing each other until something explodes?”

“Bit of both,” James muttered.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’re efficient.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“And you’re predictable.”

He leaned in, a little too close, voice lower. “You keep memorizing my spellwork patterns. Don’t act like you don’t watch me.”

She held his gaze, unbothered. “I study my competition.”

“And yet you never beat me.”

A slow smile tugged at her lips. “Top of the class says otherwise.”

“Tied,” he corrected, grinning despite himself.

Sirius threw a bread roll at them. “For Merlin’s sake, just snog already so we can eat in peace!”

The roll bounced off James’s shoulder. Y/N smirked but didn’t look away.

“Not until he learns how to cite a source properly.”

“I will end you.”

Lily leaned toward Marlene. “Ten Galleons says they’re shagging by the end of term.”

Marlene smirked. “Two weeks. Tops.”

And across the table, as James muttered something snarky under his breath and Y/N volleyed it back with a wicked smile, the rest of their friends could only watch the slow-burn disaster unfold like a well-scripted duel.

Except with more footnotes. And far more tension.

..

James slouched against the desk, flipping his wand through his fingers with the kind of practiced boredom that drove Y/N insane.

“You know,” he drawled, “if you’d just let me finish the Scintillating Shield Charm instead of shouting over me about pronunciation, we wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N didn’t look up from the scroll she was untangling. “If you knew how to pronounce ‘scintillating,’ we wouldn’t be here.”

“I do.”

“You said skintillating.”

He scowled. “It’s a regional dialect.”

“It’s a load of bollocks.”

Lightning flashed outside, throwing jagged shadows across the room. The flickering torches made everything feel too quiet, too intimate, like the walls were holding their breath.

She hated it.

He hated that he didn’t.

Professor Flitwick had locked them in for an hour—“To encourage cooperation,” he’d said, smiling in that way small professors with big ideas often do. The charm on the door wouldn’t lift until the classroom was properly reorganized, scrolls alphabetized, and the explosion mark from their earlier duel cleaned off the ceiling.

James pointed his wand upward. “Scourgify.”

Nothing happened.

He frowned. “You try.”

Y/N stepped beside him, barely suppressing an eyeroll. “Tergeo.”

Still nothing.

There was a beat of silence.

“…Did we maybe, possibly, irreparably damage the ceiling?” he asked, very quietly.

She gave him a look. “Did you maybe, possibly, reverse the wand movement like an idiot?”

“Oh, please, your grip on counterclockwise patterns is dodgy at best.”

They were close now. Too close. Close enough for James to notice the freckles on her nose. Close enough for Y/N to hear the hitch in his breath when her sleeve brushed his.

“I’m going to kill you,” she muttered.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“Like a migraine.”

He smirked. “You know, you flirt worse than you duel.”

Her wand jerked toward him automatically. “Say that again and I’ll—”

The tip sparked—literally. A small shock burst out, fizzled, and ricocheted off the wall, lighting an entire stack of scrolls on fire.

Y/N shrieked. “James!”

“I didn’t do anything—you sparked first!”

“Put it out!”

They scrambled together, casting water charms and batting at the flame with their sleeves. It smelled like burnt parchment and panic.

By the time the fire was gone, they were both soaked, breathless, and covered in ash.

James doubled over, laughing. “You tried to murder me with your wand and nearly took down the curriculum!”

Y/N pushed hair from her eyes, glaring. “I hate you.”

“Sure,” he said, still laughing. “Right up until the part where you don’t.”

That quieted her.

He straightened, grin fading just enough to soften. “Why does it matter so much?” he asked, voice low. “Beating me. Being better.”

She blinked. And for a moment, she looked almost tired.

“It’s not about you,” she said, quieter now. “It’s about... proving I deserve to be here. That I’m not just lucky or a fluke or—”

She caught herself, lips pressed tight.

James stared.

“You’re not,” he said, after a second too long. “A fluke. You’re terrifyingly smart. Annoying as hell. But brilliant.”

Her eyes flicked to his, unsure. Searching. Then—

“Your ceiling charm still sucks.”

He grinned. “And we’re back.”

They worked in silence after that. No more bickering. Just two wands, two minds, side by side. The air still smelled a little like smoke.

When the door finally unlocked with a click, James turned to her.

She was already halfway out.

“Y/N.”

She paused.

“I don’t mind losing to you,” he said. “Just... don’t burn the castle down doing it.”

She didn’t smile.

Not exactly.

But she didn’t slam the door behind her, either.

And James stood there, watching the spot she’d left behind, thinking that maybe—just maybe—he was starting to lose for real. And not just in grades.

..

The clock above the fireplace chimed softly. Once. Twice. Three times. Four.

James blinked blearily from the stairwell, squinting into the dim glow.

He hadn’t meant to come down. Had just wanted water or maybe some space from his own brain. But something had felt off—too quiet, too still.

Then he saw her.

Y/N sat curled on the far end of the couch, surrounded by towers of parchment, textbooks spread like fallen soldiers, quill dancing madly across a scroll. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, half-defeated messy bun that somehow made her look even cuter. Her robes were wrinkled, ink on her wrist, candlelight flickering against the sharp cut of her jaw.

She didn’t notice him.

Not at first.

She was mumbling spells under her breath, voice hoarse, like she’d been at it for hours. Notes surrounded her in a chaotic constellation—diagrams, equations, citations in perfect form.

James stepped closer, slowly, like he might scare her off if he made too much noise.

She jumped anyway when he said her name.

“Y/N?”

Her head snapped up.

Merlin, her eyes were bloodshot.

“Potter,” she said, voice scratchy. “Go away. I’m fine.”

He didn’t move.

“You look like you haven’t blinked in two hours.”

“I haven’t,” she said flatly.

He raised a brow. “Should I be impressed or deeply concerned?”

She sighed, pushing her notes away with more force than necessary. The quiet crackle of the fire filled the silence between them.

“I need to get this right.”

James stepped closer. “It’s not due for three days.”

She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the ink-stained page like it might disappear if she blinked too hard.

“I don’t care,” she muttered. “I’m not giving them a reason to call me lucky. Or distracted. Or… just second to you.”

He exhaled. “Is that what this is? You think it’s about me?”

She finally looked at him. Not angry. Not smug. Just… tired. And honest.

“Everything I do, Potter—every extra footnote, every late night in the library, every time I correct you—it’s because I have to be better. Not just than you. Than everyone. Or else I’m just the girl who almost kept up.”

James blinked. The pieces rearranged themselves in his mind. She wasn’t competing with him.

She was surviving against something bigger.

And suddenly, the game wasn’t fun anymore.

“I don’t want you to lose,” he said, quietly. “Not like this.”

Y/N scoffed, looking away. “Spare me the pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he said, stepping in front of her. “It’s respect. You fight harder than anyone I’ve ever met. I just—” he ran a hand through his hair. “—I didn’t realize it cost you so much.”

She paused.

And for the first time, she didn’t have a sharp retort. Just silence.

Just the sound of the fire cracking.

Then:

“I don’t know how to stop,” she admitted.

It was soft. Honest. Unapologetic.

James sat beside her, careful not to disturb the paper maze.

“You don’t have to stop,” he said. “But you don’t have to do it alone either.”

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t lean into him, didn’t cry, didn’t collapse like some tragic heroine. She just… let the silence settle. Let herself be seen.

That was all.

And somehow, it was enough.

James reached over, plucked a scroll from the pile.

“Your citation format is unnecessarily aggressive, by the way.”

She snorted. “Still better than your spell diagrams.”

They stayed there—two stubborn, brilliant, exhausted minds—side by side in the flickering dark. Not competing.

Just existing.

Together.

..

The Great Hall, transformed for the final Charms presentations. A raised platform. Judges' table filled with Professors. Rows of students buzzing with whispers. The pressure is suffocating — and they look like they were born to handle it.

James adjusted the cuff of his robes with a confidence that barely masked the adrenaline. Y/N stood beside him, spine straight, wand steady, jaw set like a general before battle.

Professor Flitwick clapped his tiny hands. “Our final presentation: Potter and Y/L/N.”

A hush fell over the room.

They stepped forward in tandem. No glance exchanged. They didn’t need to. Their movements were already in sync.

James gave a low bow. “Today we’ll be demonstrating integrated layering of advanced defensive charms—”

“—with a focus on counter-reversal timing and double-helix incantation structure,” Y/N finished crisply.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Even McGonagall raised a brow.

James flicked his wand. A glowing outline of a shield structure shimmered in midair.

Y/N followed, weaving a second spell into it without hesitation. The colors spiraled together — blue and gold, steady and brilliant — forming a lattice that pulsed like it had a heartbeat.

James cast again — a simulated hex, fast and sharp.

Y/N intercepted before it reached the shield, layered her charm directly into his, countering and absorbing the impact without a ripple.

Flitwick sat forward in his chair.

Their final flourish: a timed counterstrike that bent around the shield like a ribbon, hitting a target dummy with such precision it vanished in a burst of light.

Silence.

A long, stunned silence.

Then—

The hall erupted in applause.

Even Dumbledore looked mildly impressed. (Which, from him, might as well be a standing ovation.)

Flitwick beamed. “Brilliant! Flawless structure! Seamless transitions! I daresay — top marks, without question!”

McGonagall folded her arms, trying not to smile. “I suppose constant arguing has some academic merit after all.”

James looked at Y/N. Really looked at her.

She was glowing.

Not just from pride — though she deserved every ounce of it — but from something gentler. Softer. Her gaze met his, steady and quiet, and for the first time since First Year…

They weren’t rivals.

They were equals.

They were a team.

He leaned toward her slightly, voice low, words just for her.

“If beating me means that much to you,” he murmured, “I’ll let you win. Just this once.”

She didn’t hesitate.

She kissed him mid-sentence.

Quick, firm, certain.

When she pulled back, the corner of her mouth lifted.

“You already did.”

The applause roared on, but James barely heard it.

He was too busy watching her walk off that stage, head high, magic still humming between them like a promise.

He followed.

Because after all those years of chasing first place, he’d finally realized:

He’d rather come second if it meant coming with her.

Okay some extra blurbs because I really enjoyed writing this trope w James

Sirius Black: Official Ship Captain:

Gryffindor Common Room, midnight. James is sulking. Sirius walks in and sighs theatrically.

Sirius: “You’ve got it bad.”

James: “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sirius: “Oh, please. You looked at her like she invented magic. And then she corrected your Aramaic pronunciation and you got all flustered.”

James: “I was not flustered.”

Sirius: “Mate, you turned red. You went through five shades of blushing, and I think one of them was maroon.”

James groaned. “Do you ever shut up?”

Sirius: “No. But you should probably snog her before she ends up with someone who pronounces Aparecium correctly.”

Jeeealousss Jamesss

James: internally "Stay cool. You’re cool. You’re not gonna do something irrational—"

Y/N laughs at something the Ravenclaw says.

James: already walking over "I am absolutely going to do something irrational."

He slides into the conversation like a thundercloud in a Quidditch uniform. “Hey, Y/N. Just checking—didn’t we agree that anyone who uses revision flashcards in public is automatically disqualified from intellectual conversation?”

The Ravenclaw frowns. “That was uncalled for—”

James: “So was that tie.”

Y/N: “James.”

James: “Sorry. Reflex.”

Y/N gives him a look but she’s smiling. A little.

Y/N and her girls

Y/N flopped back on her bed with a groan. “I swear, if James Potter says ‘we’ scored the highest one more time, I’m going to hex his ego into next Tuesday.”

Lily raised an eyebrow from her mirror. “You mean our James Potter?”

Marlene snorted. “The one who only learns Latin verbs to outdo you?”

Dorcas, teasing: “Or the one who stares at you in Potions like you’re the answer key?”

Y/N tossed a pillow at her. “I hate all of you.”

“Sure,” Lily said, stretching. “And that’s why you spent thirty minutes fixing your hair before ‘accidentally’ running into him in the library.”

Y/N opened her mouth. Closed it.

Marlene grinned. “Just admit it.”

“I don’t—” Y/N hesitated. Then, quietly: “I don’t know what it is. I just… when we argue, I feel like someone sees me. All of me. Even the parts I don’t show anyone.”

Dorcas leaned over. “That’s not rivalry, babe. That’s a relationship with extra steps.”

Lily smiled softly. “You deserve someone who matches you stride for stride. Even if he’s a little smug about it.”

Y/N blinked at the ceiling, heart doing that stupid tight thing again.

“…I think I’m in trouble.”

Marlene tossed a Chocolate Frog at her. “Big trouble. Massive. Keep us updated.”

Jealous Y/N

Y/N flipped a page in her textbook with unnecessary force.

“Wow,” Dorcas said beside her, not looking up from her Divination charts. “That book really hurt you, huh?”

“I’m fine,” Y/N snapped.

Marlene leaned back, eyes flicking to the hearth. “Totally. It’s not like Potter’s arm just accidentally brushed that girl’s shoulder or anything.”

“She’s sitting in his chair,” Y/N said flatly. “Who does that?”

“She’s just talking to him,” Lily offered gently.

Y/N didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on the way the girl was giggling. Touching James’s forearm like she’d earned it.

That was her armrest. She’d leaned there during their study sessions. She’d fallen asleep next to it once.

She slammed the book shut.

“I’m going to bed.”

Marlene smirked. “Oh? Thought you were waiting to ask James something about Flitwick’s notes.”

“I changed my mind,” she said crisply.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard it—

James’s laugh. Loud. Warm. The one he only did when he was really amused.

Something sharp bloomed in her chest.

She turned around before she could talk herself out of it.

Walked straight across the common room.

“Potter.”

James looked up, surprised. “Y/N. Thought you were—”

“I need your notes. The Charms appendix.” Her tone was clipped. Dismissive. Cold.

He blinked. “Uh, yeah—yeah, they’re upstairs.”

“Then go get them.”

James tilted his head, brows lifting. The Ravenclaw girl shifted awkwardly.

“You alright?” he asked slowly.

Y/N’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. Just forgot how… generous you are with your time lately.”

James stood, and for a second something flickered between them. Tension. Electricity. History.

Then he leaned a fraction closer.

“Say what you actually mean,” he said, too softly for anyone else to hear.

Y/N didn’t blink. “You’re not nearly as charming as you think you are.”

He smirked. “And yet here you are. Pulling me away.”

Her hand brushed his wrist, casual and not casual at all. “That seat’s not hers, by the way.”

James’s smile faltered. “No?”

She met his gaze, unwavering. “No. It’s mine.”

Then she turned and walked upstairs like nothing had happened.

And James, still standing there — watched her go, grin slowly blooming like fire behind his eyes.

The Ravenclaw girl cleared her throat. “Was that…?”

“Yeah,” James said absently, already halfway to the stairs. “That was her being polite.”

Prefect's Closet

“Nice going, Potter,” Y/N hissed, stumbling into the tiny closet as the door slammed behind them. “Brilliant plan, truly. Five stars.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t want to get detention again because someone can’t stop hexing Slytherins in broad daylight—”

“I was defending your honor, you absolute git—”

They were chest-to-chest. Breathing hard. The light of his wand cast flickering shadows on the cramped walls. He smelled like cedar and adrenaline.

She jabbed a finger at his chest. “This is your fault.”

He caught her hand mid-air. “Then punish me.”

Silence.

Breath. Crackling tension.

Then—

She surged forward.

Their mouths crashed, all fury and teeth and too many things unsaid. It was messy — glorious — her back hitting the wall with a thud as his hands found her hips, anchoring like he’d been waiting seven years for permission.

Her fingers raked through his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him groan into her mouth.

“You’re so—” kiss “—infuriating—” kiss “—and smug—”

“And you love it,” he rasped, chasing her lips again.

She didn’t deny it.

His hands were everywhere — tugging at her jumper, fingertips skimming bare skin beneath her shirt. Her legs bumped a bucket, nearly tripping them both.

They laughed. Breathless. Dazed.

And then he kissed her again, slower this time, but no less intense — a hand cradling her jaw like he needed to memorize the shape of her.

“Say you hate me now,” he whispered against her lips.

She smiled darkly. “I hate how good you are at this.”

He bit back a grin. “Let’s test your theory.”

He kissed her like he wanted her undone — and she let him, melting into it, into him, into years of denial crashing all at once.

The closet was too small. The air too thin.

And somehow — not nearly enough.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @strlightfilms @natalia42069 @glittervame @junebug-is-on-jupiter

[valentinaagarcia]

twisted wonderland characters as things i've heard in the locker room.. pt.2

(bet yall werent expecting this😈 anyways yes i am on the boys team because there was no girls team and it is NOT like k drama)

("yuu" is what i responded to what i heard)

-----

floyd: back up against the wall and bend over

jamil: WHAT

-----

(for context they were doing tigress poses from kung fu panda🔥)

kalim: ching li chong lang

riddle: okay that's just racist, you can't say that when there are people of color in the room man

yuu: why are you all looking at me im not chinese???

ace: why are you assuming it's chinese? racist.

yuu: oh so that's how it's gonna be? kill yourself.

-----

jack: okay guys we actually need a strategy to win this match

floyd: coach send me a dick pic

everyone: HE WHAT?!?

(coach meant to send that to his wife and we had an assistant coach for the entire week because he couldn't face any of us😭)

-----

jamil: you all go assault eachother with balls, i'm out.

ace: lowkey bet, deuce come over here buddy

deuce: in public??

epel: for free??

jack: why is nobody questioning that they've done this before?

leona: how do you know they've done this before huh?

jack: hm.

ruggie: .... HOW DO YOU KNOW???

-----

kalim: yuu..so you know that girl that i was talking about?

yuu: yeah whats up?

kalim: so last weekend i saw her at a gathering...

yuu: ohhkaayy.??? so did you talk to her

kalim: ask me what type of gathering it was.

yuu: ...????what type of gathering was it?

kalim: a family gathering.

-----

yuu: yo whats going on i really gotta piss why are you all hogging the toilet?

lilia: they all shared ace's pocket pussy but noone cleaned it

yuu: okay what the fuck.

lilia: yeah, they used eachothers semen as natural lube

yuu: i didnt ask you to continue.

lilia: they might have some sort of penis disease

yuu: why didn't i become a cheerleader.

-----

jack: okay guys cant we just be a normal football team PLEASE

jamil: i am tired of trying to play footbal only to get fingers shoved up my ass.

vil: you've gotten fingers shoved up your ass?

jamil: look i know your new to the team but.. you haven't? ace, floyd.. are you going easy on the rookies

floyd: nah i broke into his house yesterday

ace: yeah and i hit up his girlfriend

-----

cater: yo i heard rumors that yuu used to be a man

trey: no way? YUU

yuu: what?

trey: did you have a penis before?

yuu: no but if i did it would for sure be bigger than yours

-----

ace: bruh sometimes i forget that yuu has a coinslot

jack: ace shut up.

-----

yuu: bruh sometimes i forget that ace has a penis

ace: i said i'm sorry, your just so masc..

yuu: i will hit you.

jack: yeah its not her fault that she's buff! its okay to have insecurities yuu-

yuu: die

-----

floyd: i mightve just snorted fiberglass guys

jade: oh

-----

rook: people with homophobia are so pretty

epel: isn't it heterophobia?

vil: its fucking heterochromia

-----

deuce: yuu.. this might be shocking but your the only girl that i can talk to without stuttering with

yuu: not shocking at all.

-----

jamil: what the? WHY THE HELL IS THE WATER FROZEN?! FLOYD

floyd: wasnt me!

jamil: ACE??

ace: dont look at me

jack: jamil calm down i froze them so the water after training could be colder but it didnt melt fast, sorry

jamil: oh no worries man

floyd & ace: THE FAVORITISM???

-----

lilia: look at malleus.. poor guy, cant believe hes goalie

leona: YO malleus!

malleus: hm? *gets fucking knocked out by the ball*

sebek: OH MY GOD.

lilia: goodnight malleus

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ!ᴛᴏᴍ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⚔︎ You Promised.

Short Summary: he is ruthless when he kills, doesn’t show an ounce of mercy. Cold and quick with it—if you are lucky. Because for most captured Order members, he likes to drag it out. Not because they are the only remaining resistance against his father. He’s stopped caring about that a long time ago. No. They took something from him. The only person he has ever truly cared about. You.

Warnings: 18+ only! angst, mentions of death, violence, murder. Tom is Voldemort’s son. dub con if you squint? brief rough sex, praise, unprotected piv, creampie

A/N: I think I bent the meaning of assassin a tiny bit. Anyway, this is my participation for week three of @acourtofchaos’ Festival of AUs!

wordcount: 3,1k

You were aware going out to hunt that one rare potion ingredient that night was a mistake. Yes, it was only available during full moon and then only for two to three hours—but you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t be the only one looking for it. And running into Snatchers really wasn’t something you wanted to risk.

But when Harry himself came asking whether you could look for them that night, you knew how urgent it was. The Order was so close to running out of healing potions, and if you denied—

You sighed and agreed.

Later that night, you and three others made your way to the Forbidden Forest, the only place nearby where you could find the rare flowers you were looking for. Not too deep into the forest, you find what you were looking for—blooming in bright purple, surrounded by fireflies.

The forest was eerily quiet at that time, except for the crunch of branches each time you took a step and the occasional screeches of birds nearby. Though, when you heard the distinctive sound of apparition somewhere not too far away, you stilled, froze. You tried to convince the others to leave, as you’d surely have enough for the month to come—yet nobody wanted to listen, there were more—just a few more—just a little further into the forest—

Until you were surrounded by the very people you warned them about before you left.

Outnumbered by at least five.

There was nothing you could do—your wand was taken faster than you could react. And without a wand—you were helpless.

—

Hours later, and you all find yourselves lined up in a basement—knees scraping against the cold, rough ground beneath you. Hands tied behind your back, scratchy cotton material secured over your head, blocking your vision.

This is it. You are going to die today.

Back when rumours spread that most killings are done by one single person, you didn’t believe them. Surely no human could muster up the strength to kill day in, day out.

Right?

Except—

No.

Tom wouldn’t.

Couldn’t have—

However, the longer you are left waiting, the more time you have to think about it all—you haven’t seen him since you left Hogwarts, since the war started. It’s been more than a year, and a lot has happened since. A lot has changed. He might have changed.

Then, your thoughts slip to just Tom.

How people, including yourself, would be afraid to even look at him—Voldemort’s son.

How he’d always be top of the class—except for that one time you were.

And the next time too.

How it would turn into a rivalry, a bitter fight over who would score higher on the next exam.

How most of your nights were spent in the library from that point on.

Tom would be there too. Never leave before you did.

How he would steal glances at you from the other side of the library.

How glances would turn into stares, stares that you noticed, that made your cheeks grow hot, that made you question whether you actually hated him as much as you told yourself you did.

And how that hatred turned into something completely different when you outscored him on a Defence Against the Dark Arts paper. His subject. The one nobody had ever even come close to him. When you smirked at him as soon as you realised, and he had this unreadable expression etched on his face.

How, as soon as that class ended and everyone had left, he pushed you against the cold stone wall of the corridor. Accused you of cheating. Accused you of Merlin knows what.

“I hate you,” he whispered, and then, just a second later—his lips crashed on yours. And it was even better than what you had imagined all these nights in the library—how your lips moved in sync with his, how eager he was to feel more of you, hands slipping under your blouse, leaving goosebumps in their wake. How you leaned into his touch as though this wasn’t the son of the most feared wizard of Great Britain, probably the entire world.

Fuck, you wanted this more than anything else.

And when you broke apart—both of you gasping for air—he would breathe a soft “Merlin, I hate you so much.”

“I hate you too.” You replied, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips.

And you’d kiss again.

How from that point on, you’d study together. You were just trying to help each other—that’s what you told anyone asking. Tom would always tell you how nobody could know.

Students started giving you strange looks. Because how could you possibly spend time with someone who seemed to care about no one and nothing except himself and his studies?

They didn’t know. It was better that way, you told yourself.

How, in free periods, he’d always come to find you. Push you into the nearest classroom, lock the door behind you. Lips on yours before you could even complain. Ripping your blouse open because he was too damn impatient to unbutton it—and you’d scold him for it every single time—and he would just do it again next time.

“There is a simple spell to repair it. There is no spell to spend more time making you feel good, sweetheart.”

And with his lips trailing kisses down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, right at the spot he knew would have your knees grow weak—any rational thought left your brain in an instant.

He’d kiss down the valley between your breasts, fingers slowly making their way underneath the lace of your panties, preparing you for him.

He treated you like you were made of glass—which even surprised you sometimes. The quiet, nerdy boy who’d have witty answers to all questions. Who’d only have to look in the direction of students nearby to silence them, make them leave.

Tom was always careful with you.

Except if you outscored him on an exam. Then, he wasn’t as careful.

You didn’t mind that, though.

It all had to stay a secret, he liked to remind you of it. That nobody could know, not even your best friend, who would pester you with questions if you came back past curfew from one of your “study sessions”. You couldn’t tell her. Nobody. Not even your parents, who didn’t know anything about the wizarding world. You wondered if it was because of that. Judging by the way the corner of his mouth twitched whenever you mentioned your muggle parents, you had your answer.

Your love was forbidden—but so, so delicious.

—

You hear the door to the basement creak open, and what you guess to be five Death Eaters approach you with heavy footsteps.

You don’t know if you are lucky or unlucky when they pass you, instead start on the other side of the line.

Make you witness the death of some of your closest friends.

Their blood-curdling screams and unheard pleas as they are left bleeding to death on the cold, wet stone floor.

Because—whoever does the killings—and you are pretty certain it is only one of them—doesn’t use their wand, but a knife.

Too many killing curses are known to have long-term effects, after all.

But with each victim more—you feel as though they do it with pleasure.

And Merlin, you weren’t ready to die that way.

You don’t have much time left to think about it before a firm hand tugs at the material over your head, tilting your head backwards.

“Last one.” An unfamiliar voice remarks somewhere to the left of you, and not even a second later, you feel the cold, unyielding metal of a knife press against your throat.

You don’t want to give whoever it is the satisfaction of any reaction—but when the sharp blade scrapes against your skin, drawing the first drops of blood—you can’t help the soft, pained whimper escaping your lips.

As if stunned, the hand holding the knife stills, and they let go of your head.

Instead, the material covering your face is cut, and you blink a few times as your eyes adjust to the different lighting—and when they focus, your heart skips a beat.

You are met with a pair of dark brown eyes you would recognize under thousands of others—his.

Tom’s.

“Fucking hell.” He mutters under his breath and doesn’t waste another second thinking. He draws his wand and turns around. Spells fly in all directions, and you duck—the room lighting up in green, red, buzzing with electricity.

Then—silence.

For just a moment.

He takes your hand in his, and the next second you apparate away, finding yourself in a small, cozy place hidden somewhere in the woods. The wound on your skin burns, but he doesn’t let you touch it.

“Let me do this.” He insists, and with just two or three spells muttered, it stops bleeding and the pain fades.

You study him for a moment. It’s really him.

“Tom.” You whisper. Silent, careful.

He finally looks at you. Not like he did back at Hogwarts. He looks different now. Sharper features, older, more mature, with a scar right above his left eyebrow. You want to ask what happened, want to trace it with your finger, want to kiss it.

Kiss him.

His eyes are cloudy now, and he’s lost the spark he used to have whenever it was just you two. And—he has become what he promised you he wouldn’t.

Just like his father.

Maybe they were right, after all.

His grip on your shoulder tightens, and you wince softly as the rough wood bites into your back.

“You told me you wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks. That you would be careful.” He raises his voice, and it almost breaks. “Merlin, you fucking promised me.”

He sounds more disappointed than angry when he says it.

He’s right. You did promise him. Right before the war, you promised each other two things. One, you’d be careful, wouldn’t take any risky tasks, would do anything to stay alive. Two, he would come back for you. Would find you after the war. Although he was aware that the chance of both of you surviving was rather slim.

You shake your head softly.

“It was always supposed to be like this, Tom. Us. Enemies. We fight for two very different things.”

He scoffs softly at that.

“You think I still care about any of this? He’s ill. He’s dying. Barely gets up nowadays.” Tom takes a step back, and you swallow. “He has been using me for— this for months. And if you think—“ his hands clench into fists as the muscles in his fingers twitch at the mere thought, and he pauses briefly. “If you think I get any better treatment than others when they don’t act according to his instructions, you are mistaken.”

You sob.

“You killed them. All of them.”

He takes your face into his hands.

“They took you from me. They let you get these ingredients when they knew how dangerous it was. You almost died at my hands. Because of them. You left me for them. I offered you a safe house, far away from here. Yet, they convinced you to stay. If you believe even for a second that I would shy away from killing them— think again.”

Tears are streaming down your face by the time he is done.

“I chose this, Tom. Nobody forced me.” You hiccup. “This was my choice, and my choice alone.”

One of his hands slips to your neck. They are cold. Not warm like they used to be when they roamed over your bare skin. You miss the warmth.

He pulls you closer again, eyes narrowing at your words.

“And fuck— a part of me wants to hurt you for this. Punish you. But I— I can’t.”

His gaze drops for a second, and his voice softens.

“I missed you. I thought of you every day, wondered whether you were doing alright. Wondered whether you were thinking of me too.”

You exhale a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. Of course you did too.

“Tom, I—“

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“You have moved on, haven’t you? Found someone else.”

Your heart aches at his words.

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—“

Then, without letting you finish your sentence, he pulls you closer to kiss you. Soft at first—giving you space to draw back—but when you don’t, he holds you close, kisses you like it’s the first time all over again.

When you separate, there is this all-too-familiar fire behind his eyes—the one he used to have. And as much as you wanted to—

“We have a lot to talk about.” You try, but he merely shakes his head.

“That can wait. Let us have this.”

Before you get to object, his lips are on yours once more, and he guides you towards the bed in the centre of the room without once breaking the kiss.

Shirt torn open, button of your pants clinking as it drops to the floor.

Old habits.

“I hate you,” you murmur against his lips, and his mouth lifts into a smirk. “I hate you so much.”

It all happens quickly after that. Moments later, you are on the bed and he’s on top of you, trailing kisses down your neck—just like he used to do.

Then, you feel him pressing against you—already hard, tip swollen and leaking. You gasp when he swipes through your folds and instinctively squirm at the contact—but Tom is quick to reposition you, pinning your hands above your head with ease.

“No. You don’t get to run from me anymore. You’ll stay right here and take it. Take it like the good girl I know you are.”

He doesn’t wait much longer. He’s been waiting too long for this, and now that he’s finally got you back—he is going to utilize every single second he would get to spend with you before he’d have to leave again.

He pushes inside with one singular thrust. Doesn’t give you time to adjust.

And God—it’s been a while. You forgot how big he is—the burn of the stretch so overwhelming that your nails dig into his back and your breath catches in your throat.

He doesn’t feel you tensing beneath him. Doesn’t spot the strained look on your face. Instead, he has already set a rhythm. Hips slamming against yours so harshly, the headboard hits the wall with each thrust.

You don’t want him to stop. You really don’t. But when he shifts his angle to reach even deeper—a strained whimper slips from your lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

The moment Tom hears the soft sound spilling over your lips, he lifts his head and stills inside of you.

“Am I hurting you?” he asks, concern visible in his eyes as they search yours. ��I am sorry. I shouldn’t have— I will stop.”

You hold onto his arm when he begins to pull away, shaking your head no.

“No. Please don’t. Please don’t stop.” You plead as his eyes scan your face. “Just don’t— I haven’t— you know.”

Tom gives you a tight nod, taking it slower with you after that. Carefully giving you inch after inch, kissing along your jaw. Praising you for how well you are doing for him.

“Forgot how amazing you feel wrapped around me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hips stay flush against yours for a second—before he continues his slow and steady thrusts.

His hand slips between the both of you when he feels your walls flutter around him, rubbing your clit in tight circles—just how he knows you like it.

“Tom— Tom, please—“ you moan against his lips, and he rests your legs on his shoulders, allowing him deeper, brushing against that one sweet spot that has you see stars with every single thrust of his hips.

“Come for me, pretty girl. Let it all out.” He tells you, and that’s all it takes to push you over the edge. You whimper-moan as the knot in your lower abdomen snaps, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your walls pulse, clamping down tight, drawing a low groan from him.

He helps you through it, prolongs your pleasure for as long as possible—then, gently, shifts your legs to either side of him, allowing him to lean in close once more. And when he’s close, cock twitching inside of you—

“Where— where can I—“ he rasps, hot breath against your neck, and your legs lock around his waist, keeping him pressed against you.

“Inside. Inside, please.”

“Fuck— so long— been waiting so long for this— “ he drawls, and with one more rough thrust, he spills inside of you—deep, painting your walls white with his release.

His body rests on top of yours after, catching his breath. None of you talk, not until he rolls off to lie beside you, and he takes your hand in his.

You look at him when you feel the muscles in his fingers spasm.

“Cruciatus Curse? Have treated many people with the same symptoms.” You say softly, thumb easing along his index finger.

“I told you. It doesn’t matter to him.” He retorts, voice calm as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, Tom. I am so sorry.” You whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. You rest your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath you—eyelids slowly fluttering closed as his fingers brush through your hair.

It’s not long until he wakes you, though.

“I am being called,” he tells you, sitting up after placing your head on the pillow next to you, and your gaze drops to the mark on his arm. “Means they found the bodies.”

You too sit up, taking his wrist in your hand as you look up at him. “Please don’t go. I don’t want them to hurt you because of me.”

“If I don’t, they’ll be here within the next five minutes. Neither you nor I would want that. You will stay here.”

Your hand grips his tighter.

“You’ll be back?”

He gives you a nod. “Yes.”

“Promise?”

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I promise.”

thank you for reading! feel free to reblog and leave feedback <3 — masterlist. | oneshots.

©2025 viperify. please do not copy, translate or claim my work as your own.

[weneeya]

falling for you m.list | rules

pairing. one piece x reader

characters. zoro, law, sanji, ace

note. i haven't write with those boys since so long but i'm so back in one piece so be ready to see them! please request with anyone from one piece <3

Zoro

you might be the only one not aware of what is going on between him and you 

he doesn’t care much though, it’s fine by him to stay like this 

he’s always keeping an eye on you during a fight, just to be sure

he knows you can defend yourself well, but he can’t help it 

he lets you steal his food without arguing much, which is weird because he tries to kill Luffy each time he tries 

the crew teases him about it but he brushes them off everytime 

he’s a big shy boy, but he just doesn’t care if anyone knows about his feelings for you

he has a huge soft spot for you and he doesn’t even tries to hide it 

there’s no real realization because he knows why he’s doing this 

he would die for anyone in the crew, but he would definitely burn the world down if you asked him to

Law

realization hits HARD 

he’s not the type to show a lot of emotion, at least he wasn’t until he began to travel with the strawhats

and you? you get him stressed 

he didn’t realize it until robin pointed it to him 

maybe she wasn’t wrong, but no way he would admit it like this 

yes he lets you stay around him a lot, even allowing you to touch him without complaining too much 

and yes you’re always stealing his coat when you’re cold and he doesn’t bother him

but falling for you? no way

he can’t be falling for someone, especially not you 

yet, he can’t take the idea out of his mind since robin’s words 

he notices the way you scrunch your nose when you smile 

or how your face lights up at the idea of visiting a new island 

you’re adorable, and his heart can’t take it 

damn, maybe he’s down bad finally

Sanji

he loves women so much so his behavior isn’t questioned a lot at first 

he’s a simp, it’s not weird that he’s treating you better than anyone else 

until he began to prioritize you over everyone else

even the other girls 

makes your favorite dessert all the time

even asks you what you want to eat and does his best to make it with what he have

nami is the first one to talk about it, and he feels his heart stop at the thought 

is he really in love? like, real love

he’s a romantic guy, that’s it, he can’t be feeling those things 

he can’t, right? 

but the way you’re so gentle with him, never pushing him away when he treats you like the most precious thing on the sea

well, he realizes he might feel something more for you

Ace

the boy is blind, even more than you are 

he’s naturally clingy and touchy with people, a joyful boy 

yet, he seems worse with you 

he always keeps an arm around your shoulder, talking you about his dear brother a lot 

when he falls asleep out of nowhere, it’s usually on your shoulder or even falling on your back

the day he was drunk and put his hat on top of your head? everyone knew it was over 

if anyone tries to tell him about it, he just stays with his eyes open wide in shock 

he blinks a few times, slowly processing the words 

a shrug of shoulders and he just accepts it like this 

fine, perhaps he’s in love, but so what? 

he doesn’t change anything, it just means he can be even closer to you than before

thank you!