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#i really do need to start trapping them....
yeeterthek33per · 24 hours
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Loved and Landed (Steph Catley x Reader)
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A/n Requested
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Steph lives a busy life.
There's her football life. Obviously.
There's her schooling life.
There's the life she lives with her friends and family.
And then there's the life with-
"Steeeeeph, come on, I wanna get there early, I'm not dealing with Katie leaving something for me to find, again."
There's incessant tugging at the sleeve of her red Arsenal hoodie.
Of course, her football life keeps her the most busy.
Especially when she has to drive it to and from home all of the time now that Kyra's living in the house as well.
It had been a hectic process, but the young midfielder had settled in quickly, taking in the familiarity of the Aussie herself and her club teammates' closeness around them.
Quickly becoming a child amongst the older girls on the team, much like a sibling to them, within but a few months.
That being said.
Kyra was a little shit.
And she knew it too.
A demanding one at that.
Hence why Katie had taken to knocking the young brunette down a few pegs.
Her cockiness was starting to show under the protection of the older girls, so the Irish captain had been messing with her enough to take the invincible mindset away from her.
Leaving her ultimately latched onto Steph now.
A lot.
"Seriously, Steph, please, I can't deal with her leaving shaving foam in my boots again."
The older woman raises an eyebrow at the pleading look on Kyra's face.
"You did this to yourself, Ky. Katie's only retaliating because you decided you were king shit enough to put hair dye in her shampoo."
The younger girl whines.
"Don't you think she's retaliated enough? I've had my shoes violated, my shin guards replaced with slightly smaller ones. I mean, the other day, my water bottle was filled with pickle juice. Pickle Juice! For gods sake."
Steph sighs, rolling her eyes slightly, grabbing the last of her stuff to shove into her pack, she gestures to the front door, to which the midfielder eagerly hurries out of and towards the car, waiting impatiently for the defender to unlock it.
"You've seriously gotta apologise to Katie or something. The girl has ten siblings, I can't imagine she hasn't spent her whole life dealing with bratty behaviour from little shits like you."
Kyra scoffs as she hurriedly buckles herself in.
"Rude."
"The truth."
Steph smirks at the small pout that forms on the other girls lips.
"Hurry up and drive."
"So bossy."
-------
As expected, they arrive with hardly any other people around, decidedly much earlier than any of the other girls. Katie wasn't the earliest of player's anyway, so Kyra really shouldn't be worried about her beating them there.
Still, the youngin looks exceptionally nervous as she peaks into the changing room and gingerly makes her way over to her cubby, scanning it with a ridiculous level of detail.
Steph can only shake her head, watching the young girl sheepishly wander around the room, checking for what may well be hidden traps.
Maybe she should talk with Katie about getting her to take it down a notch.
The Irish woman was nothing if not relentless when it came to getting back at someone.
The last thing the team needed was a midfielder with serious trust issues stemming from their infamous yellow card magnet of a winger.
"Ky, relax. She's not even here yet."
"Yeah, but you never know."
"Seriously, it's game day, relax, she won't-"
"Oh, hello, you two. Stephy. Kyra."
The ever so loud and joyful Katie enters the changing room with a bang of the door as it slams open and hits the wall.
Her smirk quirks up a little wider at the sight of the midfielder, who's looking rather sheepishly around her rather than at the Irish woman herself.
"You two extra early today, eh?"
"Ha, something like that."
Steph gives her a look as she nods in Kyra's direction.
"Give the poor girl a break, would ya? I think she's been thoroughly humbled."
Katie snorts in amusement, eyeing her up.
"Eh, she’s fine. I wasn't gonna do anything."
Steph raises a brow at that.
"....Yet."
There it is.
"Of course. Don't mess around too much, though. We still have a game to play, McCabe."
She lets out an unconvincing hum in response, right as some of the other girls start to filter in, Caitlin one of the ones to settle into her cubby beside the defender.
"What's up with the kid?"
Steph snorts.
"Ask your girlfriend. She's been torturing the poor girl."
Caitlin rolls her eyes, turning to Katie, who's now got a cheeky glint in her as she eyes up the younger of the three.
"Katie."
"What? I didn't do any-"
She stops at the look she gets from the Australian, grumbling as she relents and turns back to her cubby.
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Kyra's finally able to escape the locker room out of sight of the defender the moment the Irish woman is distracted.
Heading down the hall towards the physio room, she ends up coming face to face with and bumping face first into someone.
She groans when she rubs at her face and her backside from where she landed on it as she stands up again with the help of her assailant.
The person is stood in a royal navy uniform, a patch on her shoulder with three horizontal gold stripes and a small circled loop on the top, hair slicked back and tight into a bun behind her head.
'L/n-Catley' the name badge reads.
Confusion crosses her face which you quickly notice.
"You're Steph's teammate right?"
"Uh yeeaah? Who are you?"
"It's a long story and sorry about the bump there. I uh, I don't know if y'all know yet but I might need your help. The staff were nice enough to let me in but I need an escort here."
"Where are you going?"
"I got told to wait for one of the trainers in the staff room?"
"Can I ask what you're doing?"
"Waiting to see Steph, but don't tell her, it's supposed to be a surprise."
Kyra is extremely sceptical, but she leads you down the hall to where the trainers are situated and one of them recognises you immediately, hugging you and dragging you into the room.
She's even more confused when the staff member is nearly in tears.
Wait.
Navy uniform.
Here to see Steph.
L/n-Catley on the name badge.
There's no way.
"Are you... Are you married to Steph?"
You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck.
"Yes I am. If you can't tell it's been a little while since we've seen each other."
"Yeah, I can tell, her house is far too empty for the size of it."
"Ah, so you're the new roommate. Kyra, right?"
"She's been talking about me?"
You nod.
"We would call every two weeks. When she found out you were moving to Arsenal, I couldn't tell if she was happy or mad because you'd already trashed her white towels."
"Hey! That was not my fault, the wine just fell... on it's own."
There's a sheepish look on her face.
You chuckle softly.
"She'll be fine, the pattern was ugly anyway, we needed new towels... Don't tell her I said that."
Kyra smiles at that.
"It's great to meet you, then... How are we planning this out?"
"I'll have my sister here sneak me somewhere I can wait and surprise her at the end of the game."
She nods.
"Alright, I better get going then before the girls come looking for me for pitch inspection."
You nod back and give her a warm smile.
"Oh, I'm Y/n, by the way, Lieutenant Commander Y/n L/n-Catley."
-------
The roar of the almost entirely red and white crowd as the girls enter the pitch is as usual, deafeningly loud.
Home games are always the most adrenaline instilling games, ones where their fans are always the loudest, chanting and screaming every time one of their own touches the ball.
Steph can still hardly believe it.
The growth in the game. Breaking records every single home match so far.
The FA Cup semi-final was no different it seems.
Her eyes subtly scan the crowd as she jogs out behind the others, shifting from clapping fan to clapping fan. There's an air about the crowd.
A massively high inducing air, one that she can feel in every nerve ending in her body as she practically bounces around the pitch in warmups.
She brushes it off as it being a semi final type of high.
Aston Villa would be a difficult opponent and she assumed that was the reasoning.
-------
It seems she's proven wrong in the first ten minutes.
It doesn't take long for Stina to score, the home crowd immediately losing their minds, and they barely have time to recover just two minutes later when the Swede swoops in for the double.
By the fourty-fifth minute, they know they have the game. Four to nil over the Villans thanks to a Stina hattrick and a goal from Frida. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears as they approach the final minute.
This is the part they're in the dark. How many minutes left of stoppage? How much longer does she have to defend?
The players are taught not to worry about that. To just play until the whistle blows. And she does.
But she can't help the nagging awaiting of the whistle, wondering when it will go.
The moment it does, there's celebration, relief, and a lot of cheering and screams and congratulation from the air around.
A pair of arms and legs wrap around her from behind as Kyra jumps on her back, the young Australian whooping into her ear.
"Onto the finals, Stephy!"
The defender chuckles and celebrates with the team, the announcer shouting out the home teams win to wind up the crowd once more.
As they do the celebration walk around the pitch, the announcer announces player of the match, and then one more announcement catches her ear.
Her head snaps toward the tunnel the moment she hears it, heart stopping at the words of the female announcer.
"And finally, one last round of applause. Let us congratulate and welcome back someone very special to one of our own. Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/n-Catley returning from fifteen months of duty at sea with the Royal Navy."
And truly, there you are, her wife.
Dressed to the nines in your Black, long sleeved uniform, hands clasped behind you, standing with a wide, almost teary smile as you watch Steph bolt across the pitch towards you, catching her with little effort as she jumps into your arms, knocking the cap off your head with the force.
The rest of the Arsenal girls stand shocked, looking between themselves and their left back at the sudden appearance of a totally new member of the Catley family.
Before they can even try to work out who you might be to Steph, the defender has her lips pressed to yours tightly, tears streaming down your face.
The sensation of finally being able to kiss you, her wife. HER wife, has her trembling against you, her stomach twisting and curling as you hold her tight against you, your own hands shaking as they rest on her back.
It had been the longest stint you'd gone without seeing each other, having been on a cramped ship for the majority of that time.
Even having been used to long times apart, the immense relief of being able to hold your person, your love, YOUR wife, after so long. was like nothing else you'd ever experienced.
And you were glad you had all the time in the world to experience it now.
When Steph's finally able to pull back and look you in the eye, hands holding your face, eyes scanning your features, noting a small scar under your right brow, and then returning to make eye contact again with you, albeit very tearily, much like yourself.
Lifting your own hands, your thumbs swipe away the tears on her cheeks, leaning down once more to kiss her, forehead leaning against hers.
You take in the immensity of the screams of the crowd all of a sudden, especially the crowd around the players' tunnel.
With that, she buries herself back into your hold, her nose buried into the crook of your neck.
Your eyes scan the pitch, watching the applauding or shocked expressions of the players.
You'd already known her teammates didn't know she was married, however their shocked expressions still have you chuckling.
All except Kyra's wide smile as she watches the two of you and you give the girl a wink.
"I can't believe it. You're here."
It's half whimpered into your shoulder, and you just barely hear it over the crowd.
"I'm here. I'm home."
"They finally let you on leave?"
She's using a half joking tone beneath the watery chokes and sobs.
"Better than that, Love."
She pulls away shocked.
"You mean.."
You smile down at her teary eyed.
"I'm home for good, not retired but they're giving me an office in London. Full time hours still but I won't be needed for duty anymore."
She frowns softly after a second.
She knew you'd always hated the idea of an office job.
Catching the look on her face, you knew what she'd be thinking about.
"I don't care where it is, or what I'm doing. I'm just glad I'm home, with you. I've had my fill of travelling and front line work for a lifetime."
Leaning your forehead back against hers, you let the moment sink in.
You'd known it was coming for months now, haven spoken to your superiors, and them letting you know there was a position available remotely, you'd taken it in a heartbeat.
If it meant coming home to your girl, you'd have done anything.
A small throat clearing a couple feet from you, the team had moved to stand around the pair of you, eager to ask questions of the brunette in your arms.
You nudge her softly with a small giggle in her ear.
"Babe, I think they have questions."
"They can wait a little longer."
You don't fight her on it just letting her settle into you again, holding you tightly.
The moment she does let go, she's grabbed by the shoulders and interrogated by the team rather swiftly.
Leah stands arms crossed.
"Now Stephy, when did this occur?"
Steph sheepishly smiles around her at her.
"Alright alright, Gunners, meet my beautiful wife, Y/n. She's been in the navy since she turned eighteen, we met five years ago when she was on leave in Australia. We started dating less than a month later and she left on duty about four months later. We got married after three years, bought a house right before she left a year and a bit ago. We haven't seen each other in person since then. Until now, that is."
And just like that, you're immediately dragged into the group rather swiftly, squished into several hugs.
A firm handshake and then a tight hug from their captain, especially. The Scot making firm well you know how quickly she'd bury you should you hurt their defender, despite the fact you'd known Steph longer and you chuckle, nodding in agreement at the stern look turned cracked smile she lets go.
When you're finally free, Steph takes no time tucking herself under your arm and wrapping hers around you, looking up at you slightly with a proud, elated smile, eyes still slightly teary.
Returning the expression, you press a small kiss to her nose.
"Welcome home, Baby."
You shake your head.
"Congrats on the win, Baby, this is your moment right now. Go celebrate for a bit, we've got all the time in the world now."
She pouts but relents with a small peck and nudge.
"KYRA, YOU KNEW?!"
The shouts of the Irish captain make her jump but chuckle a little as a gloating midfielder teases the rest of the girls.
Yeah. She was in for it.
-------
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hypnoneghoul · 2 days
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i love your daddy kink swiss/mountain.
can i raise you a daddy kink mountain and phantom? 🤨
625 words, daddy, size and breeding kinks
Phantom had always been intimidated by Mountain—it wasn’t hard to feel like that with his size. It changed fairly quickly once the quintessence ghoul had settled in the pack and had spent some time with Mountain. A big goofy softie, is what he was, but one part of Phantom’s initial feelings about the earth ghoul never left.
Mountain’s size made Phantom feel safe, as if he would protect him from anything and everything. He longed for such a feeling of security, because he’d never had it. He never felt safe on his own and much less with another ghoul present. But with Mountain? Everything’s changed but one very specific part of Phantom’s situation appeared to be slightly problematic to him at first.
After a very awkward confrontation and a few cringe… attempts at making it work, it did finally work. Or rather started working, because it had become a frequent occurrence for the two once they had found their footing. Then they both really enjoyed it.
“How’s my baby doing?” Mountain asked, his voice low and growly. It made Phantom’s insides twist with every single word.
“O– okay… ‘m okay, so okay, daddy,” the quintessence ghoul breathed out as he clenched around Mountain’s cock. He pulled back until just the tip was in and slowly but surely pushed back and listened as all air got knocked out of Phantom. A hurt little whimper left his lips and he shuddered in Mountain’s arms.
“Good boy,” he rumbled, “my good little baby boy.” 
The earth ghoul had his face buried in Phantom’s neck as he fucked him slow. His hands were wrapped around the smaller ghoul’s middle, holding him close the entire time. He was so–
“You’re so small, baby,” Mountain muttered into his skin and he could feel Phantom’s cock kick where it was trapped between them as the ghoul moaned wantonly. “I could just– just crush you, fuck... so good for me, baby.”
“Daddy, please,” Phantom cried out, begging for nothing in particular. Or more like everything. 
“It’s okay, little one.” Mountain nipped at the quintessence ghoul’s neck before pulling away to hover over him. Phantom shivered at that, the other’s size so much more noticeable and overwhelming like this. The earth ghoul looked down at Phantom’s pitiful little cock, laying against his tummy and steadily drooling precum. He took it in his huge hand—making it look even smaller—and stroked slowly, reveling in the sweet noises falling one by one from the other’s lips. “So, so little.”
“D– daddy, I’ll cum, I need it, please.”
“Not just yet,” he purred and let go of the quintessence ghoul’s cock and let it lay against his hip. He moved his hand onto his belly and spread his fingers, easily touching both of Phantom’s hip bones, covering half of his midsection.
Phantom whimpered as Mountain pressed down, not enough to hurt but more than enough for him to feel his cock through him. It was no wonder with how big it was, but it was maddening nonetheless. The earth ghoul groaned and felt his dick twitch inside of the other. “Shit, f– fuck, baby.”
“Daddy, please!”
“I’ve got you, baby boy,” Mountain grunted. He pulled his hands away again and moved them to Phantom’s shaking thighs. He wrapped his fingers around them and pulled them up, folding the smaller ghoul in half. “You’re so little it won’t take much to fill you up, will it?”
“N– no, but I need– I need all of it, daddy, p– please give it to me,” Phantom whined, panting and clenching on Mountain’s cock over and over again, trying to pull him in and keep him there.
“I will, baby. I will give you everything… until you can take no more.”
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shini--chan · 1 day
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Personal pet peeve of mine: Reading a yandere story with a historical setting with the yandere reducing the target of their obsession to just sitting around all day when they are not being subjected to "affections" and it being written that way for "historical accuracy".
I mean, yeah, there were gender roles in the past, but those gender roles didn't feature women being completely reduced to fleshlights with no other purpose. That was a job and it was called prostitute or concubine, and many women didn't do it willingly. Even high society women had a lot of tasks.
Being into historical re-enactment really showed me that it didn't matter if you were a man or a woman, or even just a child; you really didn't have much time to be idle. Asides, idlness was/is frowned upon in many religions and cultures.
C'mon, even the thing with societal norms is that a great part of society didn't adhere to them 'cause it just wasn't feasible. The attitude went along the lines of: "Nice morals you got there. We're just gonna throw a few out 'cause else we're not gonna survive. Mary, go get ye scythe now, the wheat's not gonna reap itself." And high society geneally didn't really practise what it preached because it was commonly too interested in debauchery.
People didn't get married for shits and giggles either. The single lifestyle only really worked when you either inheired a lot/had relatives paying for you or that you were living under your employers roof and all your worldy possessions fitted in one bag. Or you just lived with your family until you kicked the bucket. I mean, the armour and weapons a knight had were often provided by their liege lord and a priest's housing belonged to the Church.
Also, the trope of arranged marriages is a bit overused at this point. How about more stories about both parties hating each other's guts, or the woman loving the idea of marrying her intended but the man wanting to run for the hills? The woman baby-trapping the man perhaps? Because all of that existed to!
Don't get me started on fashion. Corset =/= patriarchy. You don't see the women in Jane Austen or Mary Shelley novels complaining about corsets and burning them, so let it rest. Really, that trope of corsets being a torture device comes from men making fun of woman's fashion and actresses with illfitting periode costumes. Corsets were more comfortable than stays and only really went out of fashion due to women needing more flexability due to bicycles. Ya really think ladies removed ribs, in a period where there weren't antibiotics and doctors went from cutting up corpses to treating patients without washing their hands inbetween? Common sense, where are you?
Asides, the clothing having to be chaste and covering certain parts applied to everybody. Breeches went out of fashion because people thought women would become arroused by men's exposed calves. Such standards didn't only apply to the Victorians, mind you.
I'll stop here, else this will be ten pages long. You also get the gist of it. Over and out.
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imaginespazzi · 20 hours
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Part 4: The Art of Letting Go
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Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3
Only know you love her when (she lets you) go
(In which a still very sadistic writer make things a lot worse but only so they can get a little bit better)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
Themes: Angst, Pining, Hurt with very little comfort
Words: 7.9K
TW: Car Accidents, Panic Attacks, Swearing
A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I know I'm very, very late with this and I love you all for being so patient. I don't really know how I feel about this chapter but it is what it is. Logistical details are probably a little off but I need things to work for the plot, so try and ignore that. Per usual I did edit (very loosely and I'll probably go back over it later), there are probably typos anyways. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't, and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading lovelies and let's get a W this weekend. <3
December 2023
A week or so after they get back from the Cayman Islands, Azzi feels like she’s been sleep-walking through life, everything around her hazy and dull. She religiously sticks to a routine of eat-study-practice-sleep. Except well, sleep isn’t really sleeping. It’s her brain conjuring images of blonde hair and blue eyes and Azzi forcing herself to wake-up from a nightmare that used to be her favourite dream. 
She doesn’t tell anyone what happened, lying to herself it’s because it would be embarrassing and not because it would mean having to face the truth. Still, it doesn’t mean that her teammates can’t piece together little bits. There must be something quite sinister about the air around her, because none of her normally nosy and eager-to-help sisters try to weasel any information out of Azzi. They act like they always have, only sharing worried looks behind her back when the façade of i’m doing fine slips momentarily when she thinks no one’s watching. 
And then that façade goes to hell over the span of a couple of hours. 
It starts with the inevitable breakup with Zoe. At first Azzi avoids it, making up excuses as to why she can’t see her girlfriend. Selfishly, there’s a part of her that wants to keep Zoe, keep a girl who would never leave, never make her feel anything less than (or more than) just content. But it’s not fair, Azzi knows that, and it’s why she practises her it’s not you, it’s me speech to perfection in front of the mirror. When she goes to message Zoe that she's coming over, the text chain causes a pinch of guilt in her heart at the contrast between her girlfriend’s hopeful tone versus her own nonchalant one. And Azzi thinks that Zoe will never really understand just how similar the two of them are, stuck at wanting someone who would always let them down. Only, Azzi will let Zoe free but when it comes to her herself, she’s pretty sure she’s destined to be trapped forever. 
It’s embarrassing to admit that Azzi remembers the apartment in Storrs that she’d visited barely a handful of times a lot more than she remembers the apartment she’s currently in, the one that belongs to her girlfriend. Zoe sits rigidly on the couch with the same reserved, guarded expression she’s had since she’d opened the door, clearly aware of what was about to happen. Her foot taps incessantly as the silence between them drags on.
“You deserve better,” Azzi says finally, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the floor. 
“No,” Zoe’s voice is cold, “don’t say shit like that. It’s a cop out. It’s the shit people say to make themselves feel better-”
“Zoe-”
“Don’t be a fucking coward Azzi. Look me in the eye and say it, say exactly what you’re here to.”
Azzi doesn’t want to do any of that. She wants to crumble to the ground and let it swallow her until she’s buried so far away from the mess she’s created. But she owes Zoe this. When she does look at Zoe, there’s this look in the other girl’s eyes that Azzi had never thought herself capable of evoking in anyone and she has to swallow away the bile that rises in her throat, disgusted by her own self. 
“I’m breaking up with you,” Azzi whispers. Her words linger in the air, like shrapnel after an explosion. Zoe flinches, a single tear trickling down her face. 
“There it is,” the Californian says quietly, the ghost of an ironic smile playing on her lips, “I knew it was coming but damn- there it is.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“For what-” Zoe cuts herself, “no actually don’t- don’t answer that. I think I know.”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, ready to confess, “I need to tell-”
“Please-”
“Z-”
“Please,” Zoe sobs, “please don’t tell me. I don’t wanna hear it okay? I don’t- I don’t want to hate you Azzi. It’s too much and I don’t- I just- I’m so tired of feeling so much for you when you don’t- when you feel so little for me.”
“That’s not true,” Azzi counters helplessly, her words ringing hollow to her own ears. 
“Fucking hell you just ended it Azzi, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And it’s okay because I get it. You can’t feel any more than what little you do for me because- because you’ve already given the rest of it away. And it’s not- it’s not like I didn’t know you know? I only ever met you because you were crying over her. You only let me into your life because you missed her. And now you have her,” Zoe says wistfully. 
It’s terrible the way everything else becomes white noise as Azzi’s ear latches on the last sentence, a sentence that couldn’t be any further away from the truth. She was prepared for the accusations, for Zoe to hurl every curse word in the book at her, but this, the unintended reminder that she was giving up on soft, sweet, gentle Zoe for something that she didn’t have, hurts far more than any words could. 
“This isn’t about-” 
Zoe’s quick to cut Azzi off, pushing herself off the couch they had been sharing, trying to put even more space in between them, “please do not insult my intelligence by finishing that sentence. I deserve that much at least.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are because I know- I know who you are Azzi and I know you’re a good person and that’s why- that’s why I don’t wanna know okay? Whatever you did- whatever happened- just let me- just let me have this. Let me remember you as someone good- someone great,” Zoe pleads.
“If that’s what you want Zo,” Azzi answers weakly, the guilty clawing at her heart. She doesn’t think she deserves to be remembered like that, doesn’t think she’s worthy of being thought of with fondness, not anymore. 
Zoe doesn’t make any acknowledgement of Azzi having spoken as she starts to pace, “I should have known. You know the day I met her this summer, I got it- the appeal- I got it immediately. She has this aura, this charm. She just- she just fucking glows you know? And she’s just- she’s this huge entity and so are you and I’m just,” she lets out a hollow laugh as she shrugs,  “I’m just a girl from Stockton, California.”
“And you’re amazing,” Azzi puts up a hand when Zoe tries to cut her off again, “you are. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you did for me last year. You could have walked away that day and maybe- maybe one day you’ll think you should have. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zoe. You do deserve better. It’s not a cop out. It’s the truth.”
Since she was younger, Azzi’s always hated endings. This time is no different. The bitter truth is that she probably won’t miss her girlfriend, but she will miss the friend that had gotten her through one of the toughest years of her life. Slowly, Azzi picks herself off of the couch and walks over to a still Zoe, squeezing her left hand once before heading towards the door. 
“Azzi,” Zoe calls out, just as Azzi has one foot out the door, “I hope it works out for the two of you. You and Paige always did just seem inevitable.”
***
She blames the fact she’s currently stuck in the terrible LA traffic, with the word inevitable ringing in her ears, for the way her fingers continuously flicker over the green call button under Paige’s name. Zoe saying her name had been the first time in a week that Azzi had even let herself, in consciousness at least, think of the blonde properly. And now that it had been unleashed, whispers of Paige, Paige, Paige echo through every crevice of skull. The pain and anger that she’d been trying to shield herself from, come barraging into her heart as she’s held captive once again by thoughts of her best friend. 
It would be a lie to say that Azzi hadn’t been hoping for a call or a text to come through. She’d waited two days with bated breath for a friendly quip that would lead them back to their safe haven of just pretend. Instead it was as if they were back to being who they had been before summer of 2022 all over again. Back to being nothing. But this time Azzi had been adamant that if Paige was going to cut her off again, she wouldn’t fight it, not this time. Apparently that resolve was never meant to last and Azzi feels a little pathetic with how desperately she needs to hear Paige’s voice, how desperately she wants to try again. 
The traffic clears just as she presses call and maybe that should have been a sign. Azzi’s not a bad driver per say, but as her dad always said, no one’s a good driver when they’re distracted. The phone rings for too long and she should take that as her next sign and accept it as Paige not wanting to talk, but she lets it continue to ring anyway, as she turns onto a more secluded road. And then-
“Hello,” the voice is unfamiliar and Azzi doesn’t really know Paige’s teammates, beyond Caroline, that well but she’s pretty certain this one doesn’t belong to any of them. 
“Hi uh- who is this?” she manages to get out as her grip tightens on the steering wheel.
“Oh um- this is Rose, Paige’s friend” comes the reply, the word friend said with a sultry lilt and Azzi feels her skin prickle. Hang up. 
“Why are you answering Paige’s phone?” her tone is far more accusatory than she’d like it to be. 
“She’s in the bathroom but she told me to,” Rose answers defensively. 
Azzi hesitates, she doesn’t need to know more except, “does she know who called?”
Because surely if she did, if Paige knew it was Azzi on the other line, she wouldn’t let one of her likely random hookups answer the phone, surely Paige would know what it would do, how it would make her feel. 
“Uh yeah- I told her Azzi called and she seemed pretty sure she wanted me to pick up.”
Maybe Paige does know what it would do, does know how it would make Azzi feel, maybe that’s the whole fucking point. Through the phone she can hear quiet footsteps walking closer, towards Rose. When Paige is close enough that Azzi can make out the sound of her breathing, can almost picture the way her chest is heaving, that’s when the tears finally fall, blurring her vision. 
She doesn’t see the blinking headlights rushing towards her until it’s too late and then she’s swerving. The world around her erupts in motion and light and noise, everything spinning and spinning and spinning. For one moment, as she loses complete control of her car, Azzi thinks maybe this is it. And the most terrifying part of it, is that for a second, she’s not all that opposed to the idea of this being the end. It’s a singular image of her parents in her brain that has her regaining her senses and hitting the brakes as hard as she can. Her tires screech as her car barrels into a tree and her entire body jerks around in her car, her seatbelt leaving burn scars against her neck. Azzi feels her heartbeat going haywire, as everything comes to a halt. 
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Rose’s panicked voice echoes. 
“What?” and there’s Paige and even in this wreckage, Azzi’s heart stutters at the sound of her best friend. 
“I think she crashed-”
“WHAT?” there’s frantic shuffling until, “Azzi? Azzi? Hello? Are you there? Fuck. Azzi are you okay? Please say something. C’mon Az. I know you’re there. Can you hear me? Please be okay. Azzi? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Azzi?”
Azzi opens and closes her mouth, trying to answer to the call of her name, but nothing comes out. She feels hot and cold all over at the same and she swears there’s a hand curled around her neck because she can’t fucking breathe. 
“Azzi,” Paige says again desperately, “please say something.”
“P-Paige,” Azzi finally manages to stutter, her chest heaving as she gasps for air. There’s blood rushing to her ears and everything around her feels hazy. 
“Azzi,” and that one syllable is wrapped in so much emotion, “I’m here okay, are you okay?”
No, Azzi thinks, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay. 
“I c-can’t breathe. I think” she grasps at her neck, “I th-think I’m having a panic attack.”
Paige curses under her breath, “okay, okay alright listen to me breathe okay? And try to match it okay?”
“O-okay,” Azzi whispers, pressing her head to her steering wheel as she tries to mimic Paige’s exaggerated deep breaths on the other end of the line. 
“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me Azzi, just keep breathing okay,” Paige’s voice is far calmer than she probably is in reality, “just keep breathing with me okay.”
Azzi closes her eyes as she feels her chest slowly start to loosen up and lets herself be immersed by Paige’s soothing words of comfort. And for a second, it almost feels as if her best friend is right there with her. For a second, Azzi imagines that they’re on a whole other planet, just them in their little world, like it always should have been, like she’d once been so sure it would be. It’s a beautiful dream that reality is quick to gatecrash. 
“Babe, is she okay?” Rose asks, and Azzi’s eyes fly open at the term of endearment. She’s not on a different planet. She’s alone. And Paige isn’t. 
“I’m fine,” Azzi breathes out and then more firmly, “I’m fine.”
“Thank God,” Paige lets out a sigh of relief before her tone turns sour “what the actual fuck Azzi?”
Azzi winces at the loudness, pretty sure she might have a concussion from the way her head had crashed back into her headrest as she’d crashed into the tree in front of her. 
“I’m fine,” she repeats assertedly, as everything around her slowly starts to make sense again. It’s not a lie really, at least not physically. There’s the potential concussion, and the litany of bruises she’s starting to feel all over her body but she’s pretty sure there’s nothing wrong internally. Well except for her stupid fucking heart but it wasn’t the accident that had fucked that organ up. 
“You just crashed your fucking car, no you’re not fucking fine,” Paige yells, voice thick with tears. 
“What the fuck do you care?” Azzi bites back, “sorry I interrupted your fucking night Paige. I swear it won’t happen again.”
She hangs up before Paige can say anything else, sitting deathly still for a second. And then she lets herself completely break apart. 
***
74 missed calls from Paige
did u go to the hospital 
pick up ur fucking phone 
dude
azzi
this is not the time for this stubborn bullshit 
PICK UP UR FUCKING PHONE 
AZZI 
just say ur ok at least
please 
called ur mom 
said u had a concussion and some bruising 
thats not too bad 
ur so fucking stupid 
it could be so much worse 
please pick up 
AZZI FUCKING FUDD PICK UP UR PHONE 
so u can call carol and not me ok 
thats just fucking perfect
dude i feel like an accident > stupid fights 
so maybe just pick up 
or call me back
u wanna play this stupid game fine 
ignore me for now
but i’mma be in dc for christmas
ur gonna have to talk to me 
i know where u live 
***
The box in Azzi’s arm feels freakishly heavy, like she’s holding the whole world inside of it. In a way, maybe she is. The walk up Paige’s dad’s driveway feels longer than it ever has and she’s fighting the urge to turn back with every step. As soon as she’d seen the vaguely threatening text message, Azzi had decided she would beat Paige to it. The night of the accident had put several things into perspective and Azzi was determined to finally grasp control of her own life. 
It hasn’t been that long since the Cayman Island and so it hasn’t been that long since Azzi’s seen Paige. But when the door opens and she’s face to face with her best friend, despite the dread and anxiety that’s drowning her heart, Azzi still feels that beat of it’s cold but you always make me feel warm flutter in her chest. Paige smiles and Azzi’s arms wobble, drawing the blonde’s attention to the box in her arms. 
“Still a couple of days till Christmas Az, a little early to give me my present,” Paige smirks lightly and Azzi feels a river of hot anger slide around her veins. After everything she’d put her through in the last couple of weeks, the fact that Paige could act so frivolous, as if they were still fine, makes Azzi see red. 
Her voice is icier than the sheet of frost on the ground when she replies, “it’s not a Christmas present.”
Paige’s eyebrows knit together questioningly, “then-”
“It’s all your stuff I had lying around,” Azzi cuts in, trying to keep her voice confident and stable. 
The smile disappears from Paige’s face as she studies Azzi's face, looking for some semblance of emotion beyond the blank stare. 
“What?”
“All the things you’ve left at my house over the years, a couple of t-shirts, a hat, a book and a couple other things, they’re in this box,” Azzi says pointedly. She tries to hand it over but Paige is quick to move away from it, staring at the offending object as if it’s a ticking time bomb. 
“What the actual fuck is going on Azzi?”
“I might have missed some things. Let me know if I have and I’ll mail them to you in the future,” Azzi recites clinically, keeping her demeanour stoic as possible “and of course I would like my things back as well. Not right now of course. You can mail them to me whenever it suits you.”
“Mail back your things? What? What the fuck are you going on about?” Paige asks, a bewildered expression taking on her face. She reaches out as if she wants to shake Azzi but seems to think better of it. 
Azzi doesn’t say anything, as she sidesteps Paige into the house, putting in the utmost effort to make sure no part of herself brushes up against the older girl, knowing the inevitable burst of electricity when they touch would be enough to break her resolve. She places the box of Paige’s stuff on the coffee table in the living room, before turning back to Paige. 
“I’m giving you your stuff back,” Azzi repeats, “I’m giving you what you want.”
“What I want? When did I ask for my stuff back?”
Azzi draws in a deep breath, fighting desperately against the screams of you don’t want this in her own head, “I’m giving you a clean break Paige. I’m letting you go.”
Saying those words feels a lot like free-falling. Her stomach lurches at the way Paige’s features scrunch up in pain and she’d never meant to do that, but Azzi’s so tired. She’s so tired of this push and pull, the way they seem to hurt each other every fucking time, the way things get so close to going right and then go wrong any way. The bitter truth of life, Azzi has forced herself to admit, is that it doesn’t matter how hard you fight, sometimes the darkness wins out anyway. 
“You think-,” Paige stutters, clutching at her chest, “you think this is what I want?”
“Well isn’t it?” 
“Of course n-”
“If I hadn’t called you that night would you have called me first Paige?  If I hadn’t gotten into that stupid accident, would you even have texted me ever again?”
Paige’s silence is an answer in itself . And although Azzi had known it, she can’t deny that there’s a part of her that had posed the question hoping against hope that Paige would have answered it with a resounding yes of course. She thinks maybe she should be used to the singe of disappointment that burns her skin by now but she’s never been immune to Paige’s fire. 
“That’s what I thought,” Azzi says quietly, “I’m tired of running after you Paige. I thought I was done after the Cayman Islands but then I- I don’t know- I don’t know why I called you that night when you- you clearly didn’t want that.”
“Azzi c’mon-”
“It’s my fault really. Because you've always been clear about it and I- for some reason- I just don’t listen. You were clear with it when you told me to go to UCLA and get out of your life. You were clear when you didn’t want me to come into your air BnB. You were clear when you told me to get out of the bathroom last summer. And when you left that night-,” Azzi pauses as Paige’s eyes widen, the words catching in her throat, “when you were gone that morning- every time you didn’t call- every time you didn’t text- you were always clear about it Paige and I- I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”
“You’re being really fucking unfair right now,” Paige accuses, “you’re mad because I didn’t want to be your fucking side whore? I’m so sorry I had more self-respect than that Azzi.”
Azzi blinks rapidly, her face still completely neutral, “excuse me?”
“You wanna blame me for those first two things, fine. But you have a whole ass girlfriend and you wanted me to be what? Just a girl you can fuck occasionally because you feel like it? Who the fuck do you think I am? I deserve so much better than that.”
“I don’t-”
“You wanna know why I left that morning?” Paige asks icily, “I woke up and the first thing I saw is your girlfriend’s fucking i miss you text. All that shit you said to me when I kissed you in LA about not wanting to be one of my groupies or whatever but what did you want me to be Azzi?”
When they were young and naive, the largest fight they’d ever had was about whether or not one of them had cheated in a game of horse. The allegations of cheater from a 15 year old Paige had seemed massive back then, but they pale in front of the accusations of cheater from a 22 year old Paige. It’s not that Azzi thinks she’s some prime example of a good samaritan and she can deal with people thinking she’s not all that, but it’s different when it’s Paige, it’s different to know that Paige could ever think so low of her. 
“You really think I’d do that you? That I’d make you my sidepiece or whatever?”
“What else am I supposed to think about you fucking me while you have a girlfriend?” Paige asks exasperatedly and Azzi flinches at the repeated use of the profanity. 
“Had.”
“What?”
Azzi grips the hem of her shirt, trying to focus her eyes anywhere but Paige, “I had a girlfriend. Past tense.”
“You- you broke up with Zoe?” Paige’s expression morphs from anger to confusion before finally settling on realisation. 
“I never wanted you to be a side piece. You think I don’t know you deserve better than that?” Azzi rubs her temple, as she tries to keep herself steady on her feet, “I know seeing that text hurt you but it’s not like you didn’t know I had a girlfriend. But- but if you’d just waited for me to wake up, god if you’d just talked to me once instead of jumping to conclusions then-”
“Then what?” Paige breathes out and Azzi doesn’t miss the little spurt of hope that’s taken birth on the older girl's face. 
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Azzi shakes her head, “that’s also past tense now.”
The thing with Paige is that anger is her protective mechanism. When she gets a little close to losing control of her emotions, or feeling too much, it’s what she falls back on so it’s not surprising that her tone is harsh when she speaks again. 
“How the fuck was I supposed to guess you were gonna break up with your girlfriend Az c’mon,” Paige takes a step towards her, “I’m not a fucking mind reader.”
“I never asked you to read my mind. I just- all I’ve ever wanted- is for you to just have a little faith in me- in us,” Azzi’s voice breaks on the last word. 
“That’s not fair. I was really fucking  hurt Azzi-” Paige begins, her voice pleading.
“And then you tried to hurt me back on purpose,” Azzi spits out as the façade of neutrality completely slips off, “you knew it was me calling and you had that girl pick up any way knowing exactly how it would make me feel.”
“Azzi,” baby blue eyes sparkle with tears and Azzi has to force herself to look away, because no matter how much she’s convinced that this is what needs to happen, seeing Paige break, will drown Azzi and she’s barely floating as it is. 
“I don’t enjoy hurting you Paige,” Azzi says softly, “and I don’t think you enjoy hurting me but for the last couple of years, I feel like that’s all we’ve been doing and I- I can’t do it anymore.”
It’s not something she’d ever admitted out loud, or even to herself, but once upon a time Azzi used to think her and Paige would have one of those stories, one of those soft, sappy fairytale-esque stories that had no chance of an ending that wasn’t happily ever after. And she hopes that maybe in another universe, maybe they did have that. Maybe in a universe where she chose UConn and things never went wrong in the first place. Maybe in that universe, they’re happy. But in this universe, they seem to be destined for misery. And Azzi thinks the saddest tragedy of it all, is that it feels like she’s ending a story that never even really got the chance to start. 
“So that’s it then, you’re walking away- you’re just- you’re fucking giving up?” Paige says bitterly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest and Azzi feels a flicker of annoyance light up against her ribcage. 
“Isn’t that what you did?” she accuses, “Is that not what you do? You walk away every. single. time. because you can’t deal with things getting just a little too fucking hard. And what? I’m just supposed to wait until you come back? Or chase after you like a pathetic little puppy?”
Paige flinches at the hardness in Azzi’s tone, mouth opening and closing but nothing escaping. 
“I’m so fucking tired of always being the one calling, the one showing up, the one trying. I’m so fucking tired of fighting for us when it feels like you’re fighting against me,” Azzi pauses,trying to blink away the tears she’d tried so hard to keep locked behind her eyelids, “if you wanna call that me giving up then okay, but I don’t think you realize just how fucking hard I want to hold on.”
Azzi’s not sure if it’s the way her voice cracks, or the absolute misery behind every word she says, but Paige's hard and cold expression is gone so fast it gives her whiplash. And then her Paige, the girl with the warm eyes and soft heart is back, looking at Azzi in a way that makes her want to believe in them all over again. Arms outstretched, Paige takes a step forwards and there’s nothing more Azzi wants then melt into them. It takes everything in her to step away instead. For a moment there’s nothing but them staring at each other in silence, a moment where Azzi tries to memorise everything about Paige just in case this is the last time. And then-
“What if,” Paige begins softly, “what if I entered the draft?”
Azzi looks at her in confusion, “what does that have to do with anything?”
“The Sparks have the second pick, it’s where I’m projected to go,” Paige bites at her lips, peering at Azzi through her eyelashes. 
The Sparks. The Los Angeles Sparks. 
“Is that what you want?” Azzi asks quietly, trying to prevent her brain from already coming up with dreams of stupid picnic dates at the park during sunset. 
Paige hesitates. And it’s enough for those dreams to crumble, because Azzi knows Paige just a little too well, knows exactly what that little bit of hesitation means. 
“I haven’t decided yet but if- if there was a reason that I should-”
“There isn’t,” Azzi says firmly, “it’s not what you want.”
“I don’t even fucking know what I want,” Paige argues and that doesn’t make it any better. 
“Then figure it out,” Azzi yells, frustratedly rubbing her hands over her face, “I won’t deal with you fucking resenting me and running away again in a couple of years- hell in a couple of months- because you regret your fucking decision.”
“I wouldn’t-”
“Please just stop. It's done. I’ve made up my mind” Azzi begs, exhaustion flooding into her body, “just- just let this go please.”
Paige meets her eyes with a stubborn fire, “I don’t fucking want to.”
“Well tough luck because I do.”
“Azzi,” Paige pleads desperately, trying to block Azzi as she beelines for the door, but the younger girl is quick to push past her. 
“Goodbye Paige.”
***
December 2024 
azzi please just let me in 
ur parent are saying u dont wanna see me 
and i get it 
but i can fix this i swear 
i know u know im here
please fucking let me in 
i fucked up 
i know 
im so fucking sorry
but dude we can fix this
just 
can u just fucking let me in
i really wanna see u 
i really wanna talk 
can we just fucking talk 
please 
merry christmas az
u know what fuck u actually 
didnt mean that sorry 
i was just mad 
u make me really fucking mad 
christmas breaks almost over 
i have to go back soon and ik u do too
we should talk before that 
ur so fucking stubborn 
but so am i
im not giving up 
i won’t 
January 2024
hi 
i miss you
ur really fucking annoying
not texting me back
but its fine
i’ll just fucking spam 
i had an ok day today 
practice was kinda ass 
not me tho
i was great
as always 
bet i made more threes than you did 
bro im watching ur game
and
what the fuck kinda airball did u just throw up 
get in the gym az jfc 
oh that was a good pullup
not better than mine
but decent 
been a fucking month azzi 
just fucking call me back 
or text me idk 
i miss u 
sooooooooooo
hows ur day
good? good.
hows mine?
oh kinda shit 
lets see
we lost in front of all these uconn legends
to their fucking rival 
everyones saying uconn fucking sucks 
some people are saying i suck
they might not be completely wrong 
now would be a good time to reply az 
like maybe make me feel better
fuck u actually 
what the fuck am i doing 
idk if u even read these 
February 2024
idk maybe i should stop 
like maybe only fucking psychos do this 
but idk bro 
i feel like ur gonna text me back eventually 
well sc was a shit show 
i mean we knew it but holy shit 
i really wanna talk to you about it
it’d mainly just be me fucking yelling 
and u giggling 
fuck i miss ur laugh
i miss you
idk if u just ignore these
so idk if ur gonna even see this 
but 
i wanted to tell you first 
before u saw it from somewhere else 
im staying at uconn 
u were right
i didnt want to leave yet 
i want my 4 years
but 
just dont think it means i didnt mean what i said
that i dont wanna be in la with u
i do
its not about that
i just need to do whats best for me
and thats staying here 
fuck
i get what u meant now
u didnt pick ucla over me
fuck fuck fuck 
im sorry az
is this how u felt 
when i didn’t text u back 
because it’s actually fucking hell 
i miss you so fucking much dude
i’m so sorry 
i’m really fucking sorry azzi 
for all of it
please just call me back
March 2024
last pac-12 tournament mvp!!
dude i’m so proud of you
we also won 
idk if u heard 
it wasnt easy either 
everything just always fucking goes wrong 
fucking pisses me off 
but oh well 
u know i dont even like texting 
idk how many messages ive sent u 
its gotta be hundreds atp 
insane shit on my part 
tf is wrong with me 
did u see the bracket
see u in the final 4 azzi 
April 2024 
i fucking told u 
i told you id see u in the final four
fucking meant it
fuck 
gonna kick yalls ass
revenge szn
we’re built different in march
cleveland here we fucking go 
but also
cant avoid me anymore 
i cant fucking wait to see you az  
***
UConn 87     UCLA 84 
There’s six seconds left to go and UCLA has control of the ball. The game today had been completely different from the on down in the Cayman Islands. That one had featured a UCLA team that had dominated from start to finish versus a UConn team still reeling from multiple injuries. This time around, UCLA seemed to have lost some of their shine and UConn had been on a tear. She would never give Paige the satisfaction of knowing it but her stupid goading, her incessant smirking because UConn seemed poised to win handedly, had gotten in Azzi’s head for most of the game. The fourth quarter had seen UConn enter with a 11 point lead that had held study until the last two and a half minutes when something had finally clicked for Azzi. 
“Told you, you should have fucking come to UConn,” Paige had sneered while casually dribbling the ball and that had been enough to break Azzi out of whatever funk she’d been in. All of her anger and frustration at Paige seemed to culminate into that one moment as she’d swiped the ball straight from Paige’s hands, narrowly avoiding a foul. An easy steal-and-score layup was followed by two signature three pointers, created by her team’s defence, and suddenly the lead had been cut down to three. On the other side, Muhl had been called for an offensive foul and immediately Coach Close had called for a timeout to advance the ball. 
When both teams get back on the court, Azzi, with her competitive streak in full control of her emotions, relishes in the way Paige’s face is contorted up in frustration. But it isn’t just this game that has Azzi irritated. Paige had been relentless since both teams had landed in Cleveland in trying to corner Azzi. She’d known it was gonna happen since she’d read the text but still Azzi had hoped that maybe the blonde would just let it go, would understand just how much Azzi didn’t want to have to deal with this. Because seeing Paige hurts. All the missing and yearning of the past few months seemed to have blended into this ball of tight hot pain that had burst the minute Paige had smiled at Azzi. She knows Paige means well, and it’s taking everything in her to ignore the part of her that’s secretly enamoured by how hard the point guard is trying finally, but Azzi just can’t do it again. She can’t let Paige in again and then spend every other second scared that Paige will run away again. 
The whistle blows and Charisma gets ready to inbound the ball. The play call had been to just get it to Azzi but it’s clearly one that UConn had anticipated, because she finds herself swarmed with Paige and Muhl both trying to make sure she doesn’t get the ball. Instead, it’s Kiki who gets the ball and the countdown starts, as Azzi fights to get herself free, running off of screens, to get herself open on the three point line. It takes too much time and they don’t have any more timeouts left. Kiki throws it inside to Lauren who misses the layup but gets her own rebound and somehow the ball finally finds its way into Azzi’s hands. And with barely a second left to go, and Paige’s hand firmly in her face, Azzi throws up a prayer. The arena goes deathly silent as the ball hits the back and then circles every inch of the rim before spilling over the edge and falling straight into Edwards’ hands. 
The crowd erupts in deafening cheers as the UConn bench rushes to the court, jubilantly hugging each other with Paige in the middle. Azzi blinks rapidly, refusing to be caught shedding a single tear on camera. Her teammates look distraught and Azzi feels disappointment curling into every crevice of her skin she’d almost had it. In the grand scheme of things she knows that, that shot would have only guaranteed overtime and not a win but still, it wouldn’t have meant a loss. And she knows this one isn’t completely on her either but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel the burden of it on her shoulders any way. 
But despite it all, seeing Paige’s bright smile stretch all over her beaming face as she celebrates with her team, soothes the sting of the loss just a little bit. Azzi still remembers late night calls and Paige’s broken voice too well, her brain imprinted with the misery of a girl who had just wanted to play the sport she loved and couldn’t. And even if everything between them resembles the remnants of an earthquake, Azzi can’t help but be just a little bit happy for Paige. 
The handshake line is better this time around with no one being unnecessarily hostile. One team is too happy to care and when Muhl briefly hugs her, Azzi can’t help but be a little shocked by the affection. Her team is too despondent to be mad, and Angela briefly nods at Paige when shaking her hand, and gets a reassuring grin in return. Azzi has to force herself not to run away, if only for decorum’s sake, once she and Paige finally get to each other. Trying to keep herself steady, she reaches out her hand to counter Paige’s outstretched arms. The smile falls a little bit from Paige’s face as a more resigned expression takes its place. 
“Good game Bueckers,” Azzi manages to muster out. 
The last name stings but Paige does her best to not let it show, “good game Az.”
***
When there’s a knock on the door to her hotel room a little bit after 10pm, Azzi knows exactly who it is. The look that Charisma gives her as she goes to open it, suggests that she does too. 
“Oh thank fucking god, I thought maybe y’all left already,” and there it is, Paige voice echoing through her room and from where she’s perched on the edge of bed, her feet dangling over the side, Azzi catches a brief glimpse of the UConn point guard. 
“Had a little bit of a transportation issue. We’re not leaving til tomorrow morning,” Charisma explains, “what are you doing here Paige?”
Paige shuffles her feet nervously at the doorway, peering over Charisma’s frame in the doorway to catch sight of Azzi, “can I talk to Azzi?”
“First you kick my ass in the final four, and now you wanna kick me out of my own room?” Charisma asks, voice light but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. 
“I-uh-” 
“Az,” Charisma turns to Azzi with a questioning look, and Azzi sighs at having all the attention on her, “you wanna talk to her?”
Say no. Say yes. Her head fights with itself. And for the last few months, Azzi’s done well with listening to the logical part of her brain, diligently sticking to letting go. But that had only been easy to do because Paige hadn’t actually been there. Now that she is, with bright hopeful eyes fixed on Azzi, well, this time the emotional side wins out. She nods her head in yes at Charisma and Paige seems to glow all over. 
“You’re lucky it’s me and not Angela or Kiki or any of the other girls,” Charisma warns, “but I swear to god Bueckers if I come back and there’s a single tear-”
“Then you have my permission to fucking murder me,” Paige vows, her face a paragon of sincerity. 
Charisma nods once, stepping aside to let Paige in. The Bruin’s point guard looks at Azzi once more for confirmation and then, satisfied by the small smile Azzi shoots at her, she leaves the room, letting the door shut behind her. And then it’s just Paige and Azzi and the myriad of unspoken thoughts that seem to always linger between them. 
“Hi,” Paige says softly. 
Azzi stares up at her with tired eyes, “shouldn’t you be celebrating or something?”
“Still one more game to go. Gotta lock in for that first.”
“Then go do that. What are you doing here?”
Paige flinches at the harsh tone and Azzi feels a wave of guilt come over her. She doesn’t mean to be so hostile but she’s scared that if she gives in just a little, all of her will go tumbling down. 
“Sunday is the most important game of my life,” Paige says quietly. 
“I know- I know it means a lot to you.”
“It does,” Paige nods, as she takes a step forward, hesitating for a second, before she drags a foot stool over, so she can sit right in front of Azzi, “will you stay for it?”
“That’s not-,” Azzi sucks in a deep breath, her senses muddle by having Paige so close to her again, “I thought I was clear about- about us.’
“You were but I thought I was clear with my texts,” Paige counters. 
“Paige please.”
“I just-,” Paige pauses, leaning forward and staring intently at Azzi, “I don’t know how the national championship is gonna go. I don’t know if we’re gonna win or lose but I just- I know that no matter what happens, I want you there. Because if I’m gonna end up fucking crying, then I want it to be on your shoulder. And if I’m gonna end up celebrating, I want it to be in your arms. I just- I just want you there. With me. Always.”
Everything else floats away and for a moment, all Azzi knows is Paige, and the warmth that reverberates through her body at the earnestness in those words. If she could, she’d capture that feeling in a bottle and keep it forever. Because moments are fleeting. And when her brain catches up to her heart, and that voice in her head is back to echoing it won’t last, Azzi feels cold all over again. 
“You don’t believe me,” disappointment echoes in Paige’s voice; she’s always been a little too perceptive of Azzi’s emotions, “you think I don’t mean it?”
“I think you mean it now. I don’t think you’ll mean it forever,” Azzi shrugs. 
Paige is quiet, nerves on full display, as she cautiously reaches for Azzi’s hands with both of her own, an audible sigh of relief floating out of her lips when Azzi lets her. 
“I know I fucked up,” she begins quietly, thumb caressing Azzi’s palms, each trace sending jolts of electricy through the younger girl’s body, “like really fucked up and I get why you think that. I get why- why you’re so scared to believe me. And I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
A teardrop rolls down Paige’s cheek, falling onto their intertwined hands, and Azzi feels herself flinch, her own eyes beginning to glisten. 
“If I could go back in time, I’d change so many fucking things. I’d go back to the beginning- back to your room the night before you went to LA and- and I’d tell myself to shut the fuck up. I’d tell you that I supported you- that I understood that you weren’t choosing UCLA over me- and I’d- I’d tell you that it didn’t matter how many fucking miles away from me you were- we’d survive it. But I can’t- I can’t change the past. I can’t change that we fought. I can’t change that- that I was a fucking idiot for ignoring you for a year. I can’t change that I was a dumbass for leaving that morning.”
Tears are freely streaming from both of their eyes now as they grip each other’s hands tightly. There’s something cathartic about finally being able to cry, about finally being able to mourn the loss of what could have been together.And it feels a little bit like healing. 
Paige looks up at Azzi through watery eyelashes as she continues to speak, her voice wrecked with emotion, “and I’m not gonna make promises about how I’ll never do shit to hurt you again because god knows I can be really fucking stupid.”
They let out simultaneous giggles at that and Azzi can feel something in herself unravelling. 
“But what I can promise is that if you let me, every day- every fucking day that I live- I will try. To not hurt you. To make it up to you. To fix this. To fix us. And I can promise, that I will never ever fucking run away from you again. I know- I know it’s gonna be hard but I swear- I fucking swear- that I will stay right here and face it with you.”
“Paige,” Azzi whispers helplessly. It’s everything she’s wanted to hear and it’s too much. The voices in her head are too loud again, screams of she’ll hurt you, she always does, let her go colliding with shouts of it’s Paige, it’s your Paige, hold on to her. 
“You said- you said you were tired of fighting alone but you never- you never have to do that again because- because I’m here now. Fuck- Azzi I’m here. And I know- I know there’s so much we have to talk about and so much we still have to fucking deal with. But we can do that- we can- we can deal with anything. Because it’s us. Paige and Azzi. We can do anything. Together.”
Paige presses her forehead to Azzi’s, pulling their interlocked hands to her chest. They’re breathing in sync and Azzi can feel the thrum of Paige’s heart beat against her fingertips. Azzi’s eyes close of their own accord, as Paige’s lips brush over hers, her next words coming out in a breathless whisper. 
“Believe in me- believe in us just one more time, please.”
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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 4 hours
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ACITHYCS.
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“a crack in the heart you call stone” (john wick/fem reader)
Running away from John Wick is never a good idea. TW: nsfw, noncon, dead dove, abuse, violence, power dynamics except the reader doesn’t have any power, smacking, spanking, choking, rough, awful shit. Your assassin sweetheart is not sweet in this. He’s fucked in the head, but I mean it is your fault.
It was a really, really, really.
Really. 
Bad fucking idea. 
Bad fucking idea to turn cottontail and run away in the night. 
Run from him.
But you did, didn’t you? Maybe because you didn’t realize what a stupid decision you were making, maybe because you were too scared to stay, maybe because you didn’t know what else to do. 
Maybe because running away from monsters is the standard of sane and you needed to prove that you were not crazy. 
“That’s bullshit,” you know he’d say, “your decisions are your own and you will deal with their consequences.”
And, oh fuck, you haven’t heard his voice in so long - that sweet honey heroin aphrodisiac infused growl - but somehow little drops of it still sit sticky inside your ears. 
Your cotton panties feel uncomfortable and clingy, and you have to squirm several times in your seat to pull fabric from damp folds. 
That’s the worst part, the one that makes you want to put a 9 mm barrel in your mouth because surely - guaranteed - you’re sick in the head for almost - ha, who are you kidding - for definitely - wanting him to find you. 
Insane after all, even through the trouble to prove otherwise. 
You shouldn’t get out of the cab, you shouldn’t walk upstairs to your apartment, you shouldn’t open the already unlocked door, you shouldn’t start curling your toes and burning when you see him casually sitting at your dining table, drinking a cold beer and eating leftover pizza. Like he just belongs here, in the life you picked specifically void of him.
He ignores you, favoring the newspaper clutched in his fist, munching and relaxing and as handsome as any husband should strive to be.
You take the chair opposite from him and press your thighs together in anticipation of that involuntary, awful clench of your cunt when his broody eyes meet yours. You try to rest your hands on the table, but pull them back into your lap when you notice they are visibly shaking. 
“John.” You’re surprised you can talk through the saliva filling your mouth. 
“Hello, honey,” he says, then kicks the table out of the way and muffles your scream with the loud crash into the kitchen counter. No barrier between the two of you now - really, you’re a fucking idiot to think anything could keep this beautiful, horrifying human wrecking ball away from you - and he fists the loose fabric dress over your tummy and tugs you forward. 
“You know what happens now?” He asks, terrifying you with a smile. 
You blink owlishly up at him, tears globbing on your bottom lashes, body shaking violently, and ask: “wh-what?” 
Instead of answering, he grabs your throat, takes you off your feet and slams you - not gently - against the wall. Picture frames smash to the ground, scatter glass over the linoleum. One minute you’re breathing, and the next you’re wondering what delicious air even tastes like.
You claw at his hands, face swelling up and turning a shade of beautiful blue that grabs his cocks attention - the length of him fattens up against your tummy and he grinds into your soft, plump skin, hard and unforgiving. 
There’s black hellfire in his eyes, a dark promise to make you sorry for your miserable little John-free existence, and, for a second, you resign to the notion that he is going to keep his iron grip around your suffocating throat until you pass out. Your vision is already blurring and darkening, claws scratching pitifully at his arms. A little woodland creature in a big bear trap. 
But, he lets you go, dropping you right on the hard floor, and you land on your ass, gasping for air, face soaked from tears, dress ripped down the middle. He jams his pointy shoe in between your legs, pressing the tip into your cunt, hurting you. 
“John, please,” you whimper through grit teeth, trying to push his leg away and only getting a big black dress shoe crushing your pussy as reward. 
Your head flips back, neck craning just enough to put agonizing tension on your scalp and spine. His fist nets what feels like every tearing hair on your head, and you can’t help but screech in pain. 
“Please,” he repeats, voice eerily calm even as he’s shoving his fingers down your throat and making you choke. He pulls out and leaves thick white spit dripping onto your pouty lips and chin. He smears the excess on your cheek and smiles down at you - almost lovingly - “you’re begging already? Fucking pathetic.” His foot digs deeper into you and you let out a cry, proving his point. You are pathetic. 
“Oh, I missed this tight little cunt,” he sighs and closes his eyes as if talking to himself. “Thought about her every fucking day.” 
“John, I’m sorry, I-“ 
“Shut up.” He slaps you on the cheek, hard enough to leave a big red welt, then lugs you up by your hair. He doesn’t bother to move his leg, so your bare skin scrapes raw on the rough fabric of his pants. “The only thing that’s gonna come out of that pretty mouth from now on is ‘yes, John.’”
He spins you around, manhandles you onto the counter, presses his cock into the cotton of your panties and slaps your ass harder than he had done to your face. He watches your plump jiggle and retract, wets his lips, grunts. “Did you hear me, babydoll?” He slaps the same spot, and you yelp and claw at the counter. 
“Yes, John.” The phone is right beside your head, you see the screen light up with worried texts from your friends, asking if you’re home yet. You could try and pick it up, call someone, dial 911, but this is John, and you know there’s not a chance in hell you could touch that phone without him crushing it in one grip. 
“Oh?” He sees where your eyes are, of course he does. He’s a fucking lethal predator, and you’re just a stupid girl. “You wanna call somebody to come save you? Do it. Call them. But you’re gonna watch attentively while I kill them all, I can promise you that, honey.”
Fat wet tears run down your cheeks and puddle on the counter. You can’t help but feel partially responsible for the crazed, lightless black fire in his eyes. The way he’s completely gone and fucked in the head. No, not partially. This is all your fault. You drove him to madness, left him with a broken heart that turned black and rotten over time, and now you’re gonna deal with the repercussions. 
He grinds up against your cunt and ass, so smashed in that you feel his plump cock head chafing your clit. He tugs on your hair to bring your face off the counter. “My little cry baby’s gonna be sobbing a lot more often, now.” He tsks as if disappointed. 
He slaps your ass for a good bit, alternating each cheek, using the tips of his fingers to make the sting unbearable. You almost move your hands to cover the raw red skin, but he tugs your head back harshly in warning. 
You whimper and put your hands back on the cool counter, wishing it was your ass instead - the tissue is on fire, a new level of burning every time his hand meets your flesh. 
His palm is worse than his fingertips. It’s a throbbing pain that shoots over your back, legs, and tummy, and he gets you screaming with a big, ruthless swing. Screaming and crying and kicking your feet and biting your lip hard enough to taste pennies. 
Sharp slaps on your plump little cunt turn you into a sobbing, begging wreck of a human. Then, he pulls your panties to the side and pinches your burning labia, tugging and stretching, making it snap and swell. 
“She missed my cock, huh? How many times did you try and fail to fill her up?” 
He unzips himself and pushes his pants and boxers down, then jams his massive cock into your unprepared hole and you wail into the counter. 
“How could you fucking do this to this to her?” he laments with a snarl, thrusting into you with shattering, slow slams. 
You try and nudge yourself onto the counter to get his raging tip away from your cervix, but he pulls you farther down on him instead and starts taking what he wants, hard and unforgiving, hair fisted in his hand so that your back arches for his cock to pound deeper into you.
“John. Please. I can- can’t. Fuck. Too much. It hurts.”
He smacks your ass with palm again, only this time latching to your skin, fisting a pound of flesh and fat. That familiar flop flop flop of your body accommodating his intrusion tells you that you’re soaking his dick and making it easier for him to fuck you harder. Traitorous fucking whore. 
“What did I say?” He asks you, that poised voice cracking into growls and grunts and groans, slick with impending orgasm. 
You don’t answer soon enough, and he digs further into your ass with blunt nails. You feel like he’s going to rip the meat right off your body. 
“Yes, John.” But he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let up. He gets meaner, lifting your feet up off the ground and your head impossibly higher in the air, making so the only thing holding you up is his brutal cock. You feel fucking impaled. 
You’re helpless, trapped, humiliated, and all you can do is take the rough slap of his pelvis against your abused skin. When he reaches down and pushes his fingers into your swollen lips to find your clit, you can’t help but hate yourself for enjoying this - this consuming fire spreading, overtaking, the choice to orgasm from this brutality ripped away from you as he rubs and fucks you toward blinding, white hot release. 
He leans over you, puts one foot on the counter beside your ass to give him an impossibly deeper angle that reads like his cock is in your womb. 
With all senses overwhelmed by excruciating pleasure - an impending orgasm that’s going that’s going to wreck you - the only thing you can really do is cry and take it until he decides to baste your burning cervix in cum. 
It’s immediately spurting from you, coating your thighs, his legs, dripping pearly rivulets onto the floor. He replaces his dick with two fingers, wrenching away any hope of release, gathers some fluid and brings it up to the only unstained place - your asshole. He costs the outer tissue, pushes two fingers in and curls them down, rubs at your delicate insides harshly. 
“Think you can handle my cock in your ass, Mrs. Wick?” He leaves two fingers inside your anus and pushes his thumb into your snapping, gaping, runny cunt. You push back onto his finger, trying to fuck the almost orgasm free from your aching hole. 
John snorts as if to laugh at this whorish attempt. 
“Tell you what, I’ll give you two choices: I shove my dick into your ass and fuck it as hard as I want til’ I cum again. Or. I spend a few hours prepping you to take my cock. What do you think?”
“Need a break,” you mumble, fresh tears rolling down your cheeks in shiny rivulets. 
He smacks your thigh. “That wasn’t an option, honey.”
“Okay… okay.” Your frantic, hissing tone makes him smile for the first time in a long while… For the first time since you ran away from him and left a sobbing, drunk, blood hungry mess of a man on the kitchen floor; surrounded by glass and blood and splintered wood, screaming, smashing everything in the house to tiny pieces. You don’t know how many people have died terrible deaths for the absence of this spongey, tight, beautiful pussy - Christ, he even dabbled in torture just to see if it would get him off like you could. 
But he’s going to spend the rest of your life reminding you - reminding you that if you ever fucking leave again he’ll kill everyone until you have no one left but him. 
“Ten seconds and then I’m picking for you,” he murmurs, kissing behind your ear. 
He has to press his weight into your hips to keep them from rocking down onto his fingers - the ones he’s got shoved up to the hilt of his hand inside you, teasing your front wall with languid little rubs. 
The resigned, pathetic defeat in your tone warms his heart. “Second option.”
“Which one was that again?” 
“Prep me.” 
He nips your cartilage with his teeth, wrenching a little beaten whine from deep in your throat, the loss of his bully fingers making you clench and spasm and writhe. 
He picks you up, cradles you to his warm heartbeat, kisses your head. You can’t help it, you fold into his embrace, cling to the John you once knew, hands clutching at the lapels of his suit in some desperate attempt to find comfort. 
“I’m sorry, John.” You choke on whimpers, smothering your tears into his collar. 
“Oh, babydoll,” he coos, smoothing your sore scalp. “No you’re not. But you will be.” 
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I think it's so adorable that early humans took wild gourds - a tiny fruit that hollows out as it dries, making it float - and decided to make something out of it
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they thought the tiny fruit was so good that they bred it for thousands of years, making it larger to form into bowls and cups, and different shapes to become bottles and spoons
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and musical instruments
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And then, people took the hollow gourds they farmed, and they turned them into houses for birds. We adapted them into the perfect houses for birds, and now there are specific breeds of birdhouse gourd just for making into birdhouses
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And humans dedicated gardening space and time and thousands of years of breeding to make the gourds so absolutely perfect for birds, that there is a species of bird that lives almost exclusively in them
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pensymbols · 4 months
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you do not understand how unhinged i am about aphelios lore you do NOT get it
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rosicheeks · 3 months
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#I JUST WANT MY OWN PLACE AND A FUR BABY#really really want a dog but I feel like a cat is more realistic for an apartment especially#anyway#just wondering#could rent ya know#go down a little bit please?#I’m so sick of studios being $1500+ and then they don’t even fucking include utilities half of the time#so who wants to get a place together?#I feel like life would be a whole lot easier if I had friends so I could just find a place with them but nooooooooooooooooooooo#tempted to look into loans but I have no clue how they work or where to even start#doubt I’d even get anything tbh#no credit cause my dad always told me credit cards are evil and like bro I get it but I also kinda need them so I can build credit?????????#idk idk idk I’m just grumpy#I’m sick of the life I’m living#I miss being able to chill and relax and do my hobbies…. don’t remember the last time I painted…. maybe a year now?#hopefully I’ll find a full time job that pays incredibly well and I’ll be able to get my own place and start living my life again#but until then I’m just kinda stuck#I feel trapped#I feel like I have no path and I’m just sitting in darkness#I’m sorry to anyone who has messaged or snapped me or reached out in any way - I’m struggling a lot right now#happy holidays and happy new year to anyone who sent me something as always I love you all and I appreciate all the support#I just feel numb and I don’t feel like rosie right now#been very very sex repulsed so that might be way I’ve been taking a break from here#like I want touch and I want love but the thought of sex or anything like that makes me want to throw up? idk it’s super weird#gotta get up in the morning and go to my nieces bday party - she’s turning 2! so you know what that means?#a whole bunch of other little screaming tots 🙃🙃🙃🙃 and a bunch of people I don’t know#wohoooooooooooo#gonna delete in a hot minute#so enjoy a Rosie post since I have been away for awhile#shut up rosie
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non-un-topo · 4 months
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Have to thank my partner for realizing before I did that talking about kids with people makes me extremely dysphoric --- whereas I thought I just had a problem and hated children or something lol
#you can't really start a sentence with 'i don't hate children--' though.#do i... like them..? ehh they're fine on their own. i just don't like to be around them for very long. they freak me out.#but mostly it's parents who freak me out. or people who aren't parents yet but kids are all they talk about#(cough) my sister-in-law.#it's not ALL she talks about but she does happen to bring children up an awful lot around me. and uhh i have bad news for her.#anyway i feel like the worst person on earth but my gut reaction when i hear people talking about kids is to just get pissed off#or roll my eyes or want to leave the conversation STAT. like my flight instinct takes over.#so it was my partner who figured out that these conversations activate my dysphoria like a nuclear bomb.#dysphoria has manifested in the form of irritation for me this year. same with depression. i just feel angry and annoyed all the time#plus a bit of despair. and it gets more intense with every passing month.#my sister has decided to work in childcare and is doing a placement. she also updates me on every single thing she does in a day -#- down to how many times she shits. i wish i was kidding.#so i get a constant feed of what these random children did in a day (yesterday a girl showed my sister her poop lol)#and it would be funny and fine if it didn't make me want to jump out of my gd skin.#happens all the time at school too.#'whaaaaaaaat you don't want BAABIIEEES?? but you'd make such a good mom!!!'#ahaha No i would not thank you. jesus christ please no thank you. please.#i'm a father figure to a few of my friends and it's the best feeling in the world. that's all i need.#conversations like that always trap me. i feel like a fucking rabbit. stuck with all the aunties in the kitchen.#so i have to be a dick and not offer to clear the plates because none of the men are clearing the plates.#just........ Gender. UGH!!
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lies face down on my bed and develops mental illness^2
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skeletonsinboth · 1 year
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Crazy development in my life
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jedi-bird · 2 years
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Everything in my back, neck, and hips are super tight today and hurting to the point where I kind of low-key just want to end it all (but I don't actually, I just want the pain to stop for five minutes so I can actually eat enough to take the better pain meds). I can't hold anything in my right hand because it's spasming, I can't eat because I'm nauseous, I can't lay down because my muscles are screaming, I can't focus because I'm getting a migraine. At some point the pain will get bad enough that everything will just stop and I'll sleep for an hour and wake up feeling not better but okay enough to try and reset things. Waiting until that moment is the worst though.
#vent post#medical issues#they still can't diagnose what's wrong and since covid hit and no one would see me in person I'm going to have to redo all the tests#which is a pain because i literally had to fight to get them done the first time#i spent so much money on copays and covering what insurance refused to cover and got yelled at because so much money is now gone#having to start again with new doctors and new tests makes me want to cry#getting told it's just in my head and that if i exercise it'll stop hurts#i can't even stand up how am i supposed to go to a gym and work out six times a week?#and the issues isn't not having strong muscles because they are strong and i can lift and move appropriately#it's that even then the pain is so bad all the time that eventually my body stops responding and this happens#all of today is made worse by having to sleep on my back for a month which aggravated my neck and now arm#I'm literally back to where i was when i was working unable to move my right arm and unable to see it my right eye#but it's okay because my family just gets mad at me for being unable to do things when they want it and then won't talk to me#like I'm purposefully not sleeping and dropping things because i can't do anything#like i want to be trapped in my own body all day every day#i really want to live somewhere where health care is better and i can get help when i need it#not having to wait six months and then being told if i can make it to the appointment I'm not actually sick
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inkoutsidethelines · 1 year
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Thinking about how I would write an adult Scooby-Doo series, because I think it can be done.
The first thing I’d do is make the characters actually be adults.  Still young, but adults, in the mid to late 20s range.  Mystery Inc. is a private detective type business that they run together.  In this universe, the supernatural/ghosts/etc are real, but not necessarily common, so when they take on a case, the culprit might be a person disguised as a monster, or it might actually be a real ghost.  The stakes can be higher; sometimes a bad guy is legitimately trying to kill them.  Sometimes the mystery they’re trying to solve is a murder.  Sometimes they actually get hurt on their cases.
Fred: the core of Fred’s character should be that he’s incredibly kind.  Like, give a stranger the shirt off his back kind.  The “Fred can’t talk to potential clients because he might take a case for free and we need to eat” kind.  He’s an honest and good person and sometimes gets himself into trouble because he assumes other people are too.  While he’s not very good at reading people or noticing ulterior motives, he’s brilliant when it comes to mechanical or engineering type stuff, so he’s the one who keeps the mystery machine running, builds their gadgets, and of course, designs the traps.
Daphne: she comes from old money, and her parents absolutely despise her life choices, to the point where they haven’t officially disowned her, but they have basically cut her off, so she doesn’t actually have access to any family money.  Growing up wealthy has granted her a variety of skills, including speaking multiple languages, horseback riding, and fencing.  She’s very into fashion and jewelry (even if she can’t afford it anymore) and has extensive knowledge of both that can occasionally provide a vital clue in a case. And even though her parents have cut her off, Daphne still has a wide network of contacts she can ask for favors sometimes, because she’s personable, and people tend to like her.  Daphne is also very emotionally intelligent, and is usually the one who can spot when someone is lying to them.
Side note - I ship Fred and Daphne, so I think I would start them off as an established couple for this universe.  Dating, engaged, married, I don’t care.  They are stupidly in love, ride or die for each other.  There’s no will they, won’t they, no worries about cheating.  They are in a healthy, happy, loving relationship, and no one (not even Daphne’s disapproving parents) are going to mess that up for them.
Velma: she is the forensics nerd who sometimes gets super excited about the wrong thing at the wrong time (”He was mummified in seconds? That’s so cool!” “Velma!  His wife is standing right there!” “Oh.  Sorry.”).  She’s not purposely insensitive, she just gets laser focused on her work and forgets to filter herself sometimes.  She’s also the one who can get so fixated on solving whatever mystery they’re working on, she’s willing to bend or maybe break laws.  Is breaking and entering really so bad?  Not if it gets them answers.
Shaggy: he is still the comic relief, but he’s the comic relief by being the only person in the group that actually has common sense.  He manages the business’s finances, he’s the only one who knows how to cook, and the others tease him for being a coward sometimes, but Shaggy maintains that if a ghost with an axe is coming for you, running is the only sensible option.  He should also have a range of random knowledge that sounds useless, but sometimes saves the day (ex ventriloquism, origami, the history of spoons, etc).
Scooby: as this is a universe where supernatural creatures exist, Scooby is an ancient eldritch type being that took a shine to Shaggy when he was a kid, and took the form of a talking dog to befriend and hang out with him.  Aside from the talking dog bit and not aging, he never uses his powers in a way that anyone notices.  The audience is not told upfront that Scooby is an ancient eldritch being; it should slowly be hinted at throughout the series so the audience put it together, but the characters never realize it.  Scooby genuinely considers Shaggy to be his best friend, and cares about the rest of the gang too.
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anothermonikan · 6 months
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Guys not to be judgemental but like. does Saw get good again. genuinely.
#I just finished 4 and hm....I thought 3 was pretty meh#4 is maybe slightly less meh but still pretty meh#I liked 1 and 2 a lot!#but idk. I think John is bad actually and he doesn't actually care about giving meaning to people's lives or whatever#It was kind of believable up until like. the reveal that he was testing Amanda#Because like. oh no you tried to kill a cop who planted evidence on you and ruined your life :(( that's so bad that makes u a murderer!!!#meanwhile there's this other guy fighting for his fucking life because the grief he felt over his son dying in his arms to a drunk driver-#-was a little too violent :((( and he needs to learn to forgive people :(( like what.#Dude didn't even actually hurt anyone either he was just griefstrucken. what#I really hope that's the intended reading. the reason why 4 was a little less meh is because it lent towards that more#Like. very hypocritical of him to be like 'You need to forgive!!' to a guy who lost his son to a drunk driver#When he himself started this thing because his wife's unborn child was accidentally killed by someone. what#Only you can be upset about losing your (unborn mind you) child??? what???#I feel like most of the deaths and stuff in saw 3 where like. the victims were way more like. complicated.#so a lot of them just felt like really unjustified. which is kind of the point I get that Amanda was just killing people.#But it was still a weird shift aha... the only person who deserved to die in saw 3 really was the cop#In saw 4 I was like. Yeah kill them! for more of the deaths . but then it was also complicated because it was a cop doing it.#And also that trap with the wife and husband like. like Oh yeah your husband beat you and your child#But you really gotta appreciate your freedom! so you're impaled with the same spikes your husband is and you gotta pull them out!#like. what. they treat Jill so bad as well it was kind of annoying. but I'm pretty sure that was on purpose#asdfhsdhsdhds#sorry I should like. finish the series before posting about it#Android.txt
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fionnaskyborn · 10 months
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current mood:
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#it's about people who have gone through events that are uncannily similar but have dealt it both the events and the aftermath in#drastically different ways. one of them was surrounded by people who didn't look and sometimes didn't act the part but ultimately meant#only well and the other only had one person who cared about him near him and not even that person was in a good enough place to give him#that sort of empowerment‚ the strength to try and fight against impossible odds and an inescapable situation#and i've seen takes (don't remember where) that state that rai is ultimately so much stronger than v because he managed to free himself#from the shackles of his assigned fate whereas v 'failed' to do so but like... i believe that v is equally as strong for just... existing.#and maybe the world would've been better off if he had died as soon as he learned the truth but he lived because he wanted to see a better#world and believed that him being stripped of his identity was a small price to pay for a better world but what makes him even stronger in#my eyes is the fact that he KEPT LIVING even when he realized that there was no way to make things better from his position as much as he#wanted to and when he saw that everything was going to hell and that he was doomed to just... stay there and be trapped and be forced to#work for ideas that directly oppose his own#and DESPITE ALL OF IT‚ HE KEPT HIMSELF ALIVE (until nato called and said ''hey bibo if you don't respond to the allegations we will nuke#your house'' (referring to V's OH) and bibo just. did not answer. and threw v under the bus and let him die like he was nothing#like i need you to understand this man has the mental resolve of joy herself but you aren't ready for that talk#look point is i think that if they were to ever meet rai would initially not like v at all and couldn't exactly pinpoint why he doesn't#like him - he's polite‚ relatively kind‚ a bit sassy at times‚ and really quiet‚ which in a way mirrors his own mannerisms - so he has no#clue as to why he /doesn't like him at all/ (and of course rai being rai would be polite in turn but he'd never be earnestly amiable)#UNTIL one of them tries to start a conversation about more mundane topics like music or movies and as they exchange opinions rai realizes#that he really doesn't have to bother with the whole thing about resolve and determination to pursue your own goals and differences in#ideologies and that he can just talk to this guy as if he were one of his friends from nyc from back when life was relatively normal#(aka before big shell and when the memories of his past were artificially surpressed HMM PARALLELS YES)#in conclusion v is less anti-raiden and more the second coming of joy and also the two of them would (eventually) be friends and talk about#film and music. rai would absolutely DIG some of the 80's stuff v listens to. thank you for joining me on yet another episode of 'insanity#with fionna'#zeta gear tag#i wrote a lot here and i've made some good points so in the tag it goes
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