#i want to make a point with this but also]

[mintaikkcorpse]

Okay, so, we're all freaking out bcuz this is the first time a beast has used the word "love" to describe what they feel for their ancient, right?

The other beasts all have some kind of obsession with their ancient, bcuz they have the other half of their soul jam, which would make them soulmates in some fucked-up way. But, obsession is still a form of love. So, I really want to go over how the Beasts "love" their ancients, even if it is kinda (EXTREMELY) fucked up.

Also, before I go on with this, don't spam my replies and reblogs with, "But it's toxic-" I KNOW! THAT'S THE POINT! IM EXPLAINING THE WAY THE BEASTS HAVE SUCH A TOXIC, TWISTED LOVE FOR THEIR ANCIENTS.

(This is going to be such a rambly mess, and I'm sorry)

Burning Spice

Burning Spice is obsessed with Golden Cheese because he's bored (he's actually depressed bcuz history is just a cycle of evil people hurting each other and innocent people only for the civilizations to all crumble in the end because of those evil people, but saying he's bored is easier than saying all of that), and he believes that Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again (by hunting her and having both of them fight each other to the death but you know-).

His kind of obsession torwards Golden Cheese is the (literal) destructive kind. He wants to kill her, but he also wants her to try and kill him.

The first time he meets her in person, he congratulates her for beating up Nutmeg Tiger Cookie and says, "Yes, excellent! I like my prey to have a little bit of fight in them!" He literally gets DISSAPOINTED when she was easy to defeat, but he doesn't kill her, nor fuse their soul jams, because he wants to keep her alive so she's angry enough to try and actually kill him, because he believes that it will be "electrifiying" to fight her (his words, not mine). He speaks of hunting her like it's all some fun game, because he believes that she is exciting, and he hasn't felt excited in a long, long time. He even gives her nicknames when he talks to her such as "Little bird", and he even calls her "his" and "his prey." And, I'm sorry to say this, but you could read their battle dialogue as some version of flirting-

Burning Spice: "Oooh! I see you still can channel the power of your Soul Jam! Good... I'm glad I didn't make it mine yet!"

Golden Cheese: "Hmpf... Yes. Yes, that might just be your greatest achievement! Know that I do not give praise lightly. You really should be thankful!"

Burning Spice: "Ha ha ha ha! Ahhh, lovely! Keep going, I'm thoroughly enjoying our little dance!"

He gets excited when he realizes that she isn't weak and can still fight him. He literally compliments her by calling her, "lovely", and then refers to their fight as a dance. That's flirting. That's literally flirting.

Anyways. Back to destruction as love.

I know, I know, I've said he's completely obsessed with destroying her multiple times in this post, but, for the person reading this who doesn't play the game or keep up with the lore (why are you reading this then???? Like, I'm happy, but huh???), I cannot stress enough that when I say "obsessed", I REALLY DO MEAN IT

SHE DEFEATED HIM. I THOUGHT SHE KILLED HIM WHEN SHE DID! SHE DROPPED A WHOLE AS BUILDING ON HIS HEAD.

And this motherfucker LAUGHED, when she did.

This mf is down bad, and NOT in a healthy way.

Tldr: Burning Spice loves in a incredibly destructive way, since he believes that fighting and killing Golden Cheese will make him feel alive again.

Mystic Flour

Mystic Flour has an obsession with Dark Cacao bcuz she wants to show him apathy, though, I honestly don't see them in a twisted romantic kind of way. More honestly a fucked up, misguided person trying to teach another person. She even mentions that she's old, and she talks to him as if she's a teacher. But, don't think that just because her care for him isn't romantic that it isn't interesting.

The thing about Mystic Flour Cookie is the fact that she believes that everyone embracing apathy and turning into flour is the only way the world can be at peace. She wants the other half of Dark Cacao's souljam so she can gain the power to do so, and, the easiest way to do that is for him to embrace apathy himself and give her the souljam.

But, despite her being apathetic (though she is definelty not beating the "Igaf" allegations. I see you being sweet to Cloud Haetae, girl), there is some sort of care when she talks to Dark Cacao. After all, even though she says she feels nothing, what she wants to do to the cookie world, she does because she cares. She just goes the wrong way about it. She believes that Dark Cacao's resolution and determination are only weighing him down, and she wants to help rid him of it.

Throughout the entire story, Mystic Flour guides him like a teacher would to a student. She takes him down the path of apathy; telling him the story of how she came to her conclusion, turning his soldiers into flour, waiting atop the mountain as a sort of test to see if he still had his resolution, and telling him about how everything suffers for no reason and apathy is the only way you can stop it. And, when those don't work, she keeps showing him and teaching him and trying to get him to return to flour. She goes so far as to show an illusion (I think it's an illusion? Could be an alternate timeline or smthn) of his son, Dark Choco, ruling the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and how, if he crumbled here, no one would miss him. She says that his kingdom is a moment in time, and that with time, he will be forgotten, and all of his efforts in his kingdom will be forgotten as well. And, for a brief moment, Dark Cacao accepted apathy. But, that's when she took his soul jam.

The thing is, if this was all a ploy to take his souljam, Mystic Flour would've stopped there. But she didn't. When the Dragon's escape, and he no longer has his souljam, nor his sword, Mystic Flour asks him how it feels to finally see the world of white. She then explains to him her plan of how she wants to guide everyone into Enlightenment.

This is the scene where she gently cups his face, and says this to him:

"Would I not be doing you a favor by relieving you of the burden you have carried your whole life? Now, there is nothing holding you back. Live the rest of your life free from any burdens, sorrows, and responsibilities."

She believes she is doing him a favor. She wouldn't go through so much to explain what she is doing to him and to comfort him in (what she thinks are) his last moments if she didn't care about him.

Tldr: Mystic Flour Cookie cares for Dark Cacao in the way a teacher would care for a student. She takes the time to teach him about apathy, even after she got ahold of the souljam, and even tells him that she believes she is doing him a favor. She wants him to turn the flour, just like she wants the rest of the world to turn to Flour, because she doesn't want him to be burdened in his life anymore. If he is flour, he no longer feels pain.

...Fucking. Shadow. Milk. Cookie

Oh God, where do I even begin with this-

Okay, so Shadow Milk's obsession with Pure Vanilla DEFINETLY goes beyond the simple "I want my soul jam back", no matter how hard he tries to make it seem that way. If that was the case, he wouldn't trap PV in his spire and play games with him and give him his own room which he made sure looks EXACTLY like his room in his kingdom and being all happy and giggly when PV says the he is his forever-

Yeah, it's a lot.

Shadow Milk Cookie is lonely. Once the Fount of Knowledge, forced to hold the horrifying truths of the world and realizing that the cookies would much prefer a nice lie over a bitter truth. He fell to deceit because of that realization. And throughout all of it, he was alone. He never had a normal life, because he was baked as an adult and immediately thrusted into a world to be the Fount of Knowledge. He never got that choice. He was always a god, with everyone else being below him, whether he liked it or not. It's difficult to make regular connections when everyone Worships you.

And this obviously had an effect on him. Shadow Milk is incredibly lonely (one of the devs even said that himself), so when he saw Pure Vanilla Cookie with his soul jam, someone who was like him all those years ago, who is worshipped as "the perfect hero" and only wants to seek the truth, his mind was filled with the emotions of rage, jealousy, but also hope. Pure Vanilla Cookie is just like him, after all. He can finally find someone who understands him.

Except his version of "You're the only one who understands me", is making Pure Vanilla Cookie suffer, telling PV that he'll just end up like Shadow Milk (a beast who sees no meaning in truth and who just wants to watch the world fall into chaos), and taking away everything he once loved. #justgirlthings🥰🥰🥰

But that doesn't stop the fact that Shmilk still yearned for someone to understand him, and Pure Vanilla is the closest thing he'll get to that, bcuz they have lived very similar lives, and now, they share their soul jam as well. And trust me when I say that his obsession with Pure Vanilla goes beyond the soul jam. Shadow Milk really wanted them to fuse their souls, and knowing that makes a lot of his dialogue make much more sense.

"You and I are bound..."

"Why, you've said it yourself! We are like the two sides of the same Coin!"

"Oh but it's inevitable. In the end, you will become... me! And it's gonna feel good!"

And, while Burning Spice and Mystic Flour wanted to destroy their ancients, Shadow Milk doesn't. He wants to keep Pure Vanilla alive, and have him stay with him in the spire. ("Why don't you stay for another day? Or FOREVER")

Since a lot of showing that him and PV are the same, he also took great pleasure in psychologically torturing PV and deceiving him. He tortures PV because he wants to know how far he can push him before he snaps, so, while he relishes in the game, he also is excited for when PV finally admits that Shmilk was right. It's why he was so damn excited when PV became Truthless Recluse, and started using his own deceiving tactics.

To survive the Yogurt River of Rebirth, one has to embrace deceit, he congratulates Pure Vanilla Cookie for surviving it and coming out on the other side, even though, if he died, he could take his soul jam back

When Pure Vanilla tricks him in the game of Chess and cheats, using his own methods against him, he is ESTATIC! He is laughing, and his sprite is blushing, and he talks about how he "wants to keep playing with his new favorite toy." Even Black Sapphire is surprised because, according to him, "He doesn't give multiple second chances." So, obviously, PV is a special Cookie to him

Shadow Milk also has an obsession with Pure Vanilla being "his." For Burning Spice, he meant like, "his to destroy", but Shadow Milk's version of it has a lot more romantic-coded undertones.

"Indeed, all this time, you've been my most treasured marionette!" (I think it's doll in KR, which I think is better. You control your marionettes, but you hold dolls close to you)

"Ah, there you are! My long-lost other half!"

"YES! YES! YOU ARE MINE!"

Anyways, to the point that made everyone lose their shit: fusing their damn souljams.

"Pure Vanilla: "Is this what you wanted? or is it even better? Instead of one Soul Jam of Knowledge, you will have two Soul Jams of Deceit. And me, forever by your side"

Shadow Milk: "You would do that, after what I just did to your friends?"

Pure Vanilla: Hah! It's no longer important. Now it's clear as day. There simply is no point in denying it... You and I... We are meant to be together.

Shadow Milk: Ah ha... Ah ha ha...! HA HA HA HA HA!

Shadow Milk: "Yes, YES! Now, you are mine!"

They fuse their souljams together. Shadow Milk didn't just want the soul jam; he wanted Pure Vanilla along with him. But then, in the ultimate deceitful betrayal, PV tricked him, and takes back the soul jam, separating their souls, and becoming even more powerful. Shmilk is completely heartbroken and tries to dearroy PV (and the souljam in the kr dub), but of course, PV defeats him. But, instead of going away after that, PV says that he felt how lonely Shadow Milk was, and that he's the only one who can understand him, something that Shadow Milk hws been looking for for a long, long time, and asks if he wants to be his friend. The worst part is that, with the way Shmilk's voice softened, he actually thought about it.

He then proceeds to crash out and try to destroy him again, but we still saw what we saw. Shadow Milk really just wanted someone who could understand him.snd be by his side so he wouldn't have to feel lonely anymore...

Also, I feel the need to point out that this is the only time in the story where Shmilk gets upset at PV for deceiving him, and that's bcuz it was emotional. The other times were a fun game to show that he is becoming him, but this time, he lied to him about being by his side forever, only to leave.

And then, other things I couldn't put in here that alludes to a romantic kind of love

Candy Apple Cookie is jealous of Pure Vanilla Cookie, and she canonically has a crush on Shadow Milk

Shadow Milk gave PV a plushie of him in his room

The story for Shmilk's special cakehound is that he is a wolf who fell in love with the cream sheep, and just wants to be closer to it. All I'm saying is that Shadow Milk already has multiple "wolf in sheep's clothing" things in his story, and Pure Vanilla is associated with cream sheep

The KR voice actors for them doing a duet together as their characters????

Anyways, I truly do not have the energy to talk about Shadowvanilla for millionth time. I'm moving on now.

Tldr: Shadow Milk loves Pure Vanilla like how someone would love their favorite doll, so he constantly dotes on him and plays games with him, but, as you own a doll, you control whatever it does and stop it before it gets out of line. A doll is also what helps someone feel less lonely (why do you think traumatized kids are always given dolls in therapy?), so there's that as well.

ETERNAL GOD-DAMN SUGAR COOKIE

Oh, baby, you thought that Shadow Milk was bad? WAIT TILL YOU SEE ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE!

But, out of all of the Ancients, Sugar's love for Hollyberry is probably the most obviously romantic one out of all of them. She constantly dotes on Hollyberry, is really sweet to her (even if a bit twisted), looks at her through her crystal ball and smiles, calls her "her other half" (just like shmilk), and "my love", is constantly in her personal space, talks a out how she just wants Hollyberry to be happy, makes a song which she says "is just for you (Hollyberry) alone," etc, etc. Yes, she wants her soul jam back, but why not just take the soul jam and be done with her? Yet, Sugar asks for Hollyberry to "stay by her side", which isn't something you ask someone you supposedly hate and see as your enemy to do.

__________________________

Okay, so like, I wrote all that BEFORE the other half of ET'S update came out. And now it's confirmed she has feelings for Hollyberry so....

I think Eternal Sugar Cookie has BPD, and that VERY much affects how she loves. If you're curious, here's the full BPD symptoms list. I'm going to make a post that goes over how these symptoms apply to her, so look forward to that ig.

But anyways! Eternal Sugar's story shows that she is INCREDIBLY lonely and has an INTENSE fear of abandonment. She didn't want the other half of her soul jam; she even let Hollyberry leave without it. She gently just wanted Hollyberry by her side forever.

I think she has this toxic, romanticized view of Hollyberry. I've said it before, but the Beasts and the Ancients are LITERAL soulmates because their souls are both tied to the souljams. Sugar must've also seen it like that, because she constantly refers to Hollyberry as "her other half", and again, didn't even wanna take the damn souljam away from her. She says that she felt like her soul was "missing something", and, now that Hollyberry is here, "everything feels complete!" She doesn't need her souljam to feel complete, because Hollyberry Cookie, her other half and the one who wields the other half of their soul jam, is right there beside her.

All she knows is that Hollyberry Cookie makes her feel complete. Combine this with her genuine want to make a paradise for cookies, and this leaves the belief that Hollyberry can only find happiness if she's with Eternal Sugar, and that creates the belief of, "She doesn't know what she wants. If she stays here with me, both of us will be happy! But if she leaves, both of us will be miserable."

And, because she's a god whose gone insane, anytime Hollyberry tries to escape, she always does something that she thinks is helpful, but she knows will make her stay.

Giving her and her teammates a scent that will attract monsters so they come back to her garden for safety

Harming Wildberry Cookie via the monsters so she has an even bigger reason to stay

Showing how happy that Hollyberry Soldiers are in the garden

Attending to her every want and need

Bringing the Hollyberry Kingdom to the garden so she won't leave, and then giving them something that will make them happy to show that they would be miserable if they go back

Trapping her teammates in jars, because she knows that she will not leave without them.

One thing I love about Eternal Sugar is that she isn't manipulating out of malice. She isn't thinking, "Hehehee, I'm going to manipulate this cookie for funsies." She's doing it because she genuinely believes this is what will make both of them happy, and because she does love Hollyberry in some fucked-way. Her mind is probably going, "Hollyberry Cookie is misguided in what she believes in. I will do all those to show her she is wrong, and that she can only find true happiness if she stays here with me."

Because that's how a lot of abusers work. A lot of abusers do love their victims. But, the love they feel is so, so incredibly toxic and not the way someone deserves to be loved. Eternal Sugar's love for Hollyberry feels like how an obsessive abuser would feel about their partner, and I love it.

So, when I go over this scene, please know that I don't think that ET is doing this because it's fun. She's doing this because she believes it will make Hollyberry stay with her. Even Shadow Milk did that to an extent. While yes, he did enjoy torturing PV, it was all so he could get him to embrace deceit and stay by his side. For most abuse cases, there's always another reason.

(Not defending abusers, I'm explaining things. You don't have to sympathize with your abuser AT ALL. And I'm not just saying that to say that. This is the bitch who still holds grudges from the assholes in middle school who made her feel like her body was an object meant to be ridiculed, judged, and to be eyecandy for horny men who dont understand consent. YOU DONT HAVE TO FORGIVE YOUR ABUSERS).

______________________________

At the end of their story, Eternal Sugar says that she will let her leave with the cookies she holds dear, as long as she sees what will happen if she does, and if she takes a bite from the Golden apple. Sugar then shows Hollyberry a world where Dark Enchantress Cookie takes over her kingdom, with all of her friends and family dying trying to protect her. This, obviously, horrifies Hollyberry and she feels conflicted about leaving, and Sugar tries to convince her to stay, by reminding her of her past emotions and how awful she felt, and saying she won't have to feel those in her Garden.

What she did is a manipulation tactic. She made it seem like she gave Hollyberry a fair choice, but in reality, what she did was manipulating Hollyberry's emotions because she knows that most cookies would refuse to after seeing that, and then she tells her that, to make that go away, she can stay here. What she showed her probably wasn't even real (GingerBrave would NEVER let that happen), so she purposely gave Hollyberry a false idea, which she thought would make her stay.

So, when Hollyberry STILL chooses to leave, and Sugar's begging and pleading don't work (she also pulls the "no one understands you like I do" card while doing though, and I do think that she genuinely believes that), she crashes out. HARD

(I showed this to my sister who doesn't play crk, and she went on a rant about how "any yuri that toxic should just end in a join suicide" and "what the fuck? Is this supposed to make me want to play the game?" But, you know)

When she realizes that Hollyberry doesn't want to be with her, she starts flooding the entire Garden with jam, and only stops after they defeat her. Even then, she keeps repeating, "Don't leave. Don't leave", because she is so, INCREDIBLY hurt at the thought of being abandoned.

And that's another thing. Eternal Sugad has a MAJOR fear of abandonment (BPD symptom as well) and will do anything to keep those she loves from abandoning her.

Sugar says that she cares about everyone in her garden, and I really don't think that she's lying. But, it's because she cares about them that she keeps them trapped in her garden because she believes that if she doesn't, they will leave her and go into a world of pain and suffering.

And now, someone who she loved so much to call her her love and other half, has left her. After she tried so, so hard to make her stay.

But, lucky for her (or unlucky depending on how you see it), Hollyberry has still given her hope when she decided to save her.

Instead of being mad, Sugar is overjoyed that he other half decided to save her. She asks Hollyberry if she changed her mind for her, and, even though Hollyberry doesn't answer her, she tells Sugar to think about her advice (waking up and understanding that this isn't healthy), and, to my surprise, Sugar said that she would! She even lets Hollyberry go, without any of that weird monster scent stuff!

I think it's because, in that convo, Hollyberry said that she would come back. Eternal Sugar now knows that Holly isn't leaving her forever, and she will come back at some point. So, she wants to focus on making the perfect place for her when she returns.

Tldr; Sugar's love is obsessive and tied to her belief that what she is doing is right, her major fear of abandonment, romanticization of Hollyberry, and the fact that she's incredibly lonely.

_____________________________

Has it ever occurred to you that, with each update, it appears as if the beasts wanna fuck their ancients more and more? Atp, I'm half expecting White Lily and Silent Salt to just nasty fuck on screen...

[priisprii]

Feel it- C.SC

Summary: making seungcheol jealous might not be a good idea (it's a great idea).

Contains: dom! seungcheol x subfem!reader, possessive Cheol, unprotected sex, degradation (heavy) , choking (by hand, by biceps), headlock, dirty talk, reader is simp for Cheol.lil fluffy in the end

Word count: 3 k

A/N: don't you sometimes just want headlocks from Cheol :3

Minors don't interact.

Seungcheol has a big heart, he's someone who would happily give up the bigger portion his favourite food without any lingering bitterness in his heart.he lets his friends borrow his high -end clothes and shoes without expecting them to return it. he's someone who doesn't mind sharing and loves he can be helpful and wanted, needed by the people he love.

He kinda gets a confidence boost realising what he has is desired by people around him , the ownership remains with him despite the possession being with someone else, whether it be his clothes, shoes, watches, pcs or even his past girlfriends.

However with you, seungcheol can't even let the thought of his friends hugging you in a friendly way pass in his mind without feeling like someone has shoved a knife in his throat and is twisting it .

You are untouchable for him, someone who can't be tainted by the gaze of others , even thinking about you should be privilege for them —he thinks.

Seungcheol knows how hot you are and he also sympathizes with random average guys who can never bag a beauty like you in their cursed lifetime but you are his and only his .

He hides this part of himself, the side of him which is overly possesive over you and which gets nauseous thinking about you just talking with other guys. He doesn't want to scare you off with that toxic trait and make you feel trapped. The last thing he wants is to make his little baby sad and uncomfortable because of his own insecurity.

On the other hand you were frustrated and angry and in pain cause' seungcheol was holding himself back from absolutely breaking the spines of your guy friends whose eyes lingered a little too long on your form and acted all fine and nonchalant when his friends gave you hugs and teased you with flirty remarks.

Occasionally, once in a blue moon, you were able to capture the dark glint and anger in his eyes but it disappeared as soon as it formed.

In bed when he's balls deep inside you his idgaf attitude crumbles and he fucks you so hard like he's trying to ingrave the shape of his cock inside your pussy and hit you with the realisation that no one can fuck you better than him, no one can make you feel so good that you can't even form coherent words and cry helplessly without knowing whether you want him to stop or choke you to the point of passing out.

Still in those moments he doesn't admit he's jealous and wants to hide you from the world, keeping you locked in his bedroom forever. Oh how tempting that idea sounds. You want cheol to break Fully, let his possessive side out and make him claim you, you want him in ways you can't explain without sounding insane.

you will do whatever in your power to break seungcheol's cool guy act even if it's a little scandalous.

"your biceps are so big ,I never really noticed just how big they actually are, mingyu!!"

you squeaked ,oogling at mingyu's biceps, mingyu smirked, blatant cockiness clear on his features but Seungcheol visibly tensed beside you a little, taken aback by your sudden interest in mingyu or particularly in his biceps . seungcheol thinks his ones are probably much bigger and better.

"oh, really? Wanna feel erm' angel?" Mingyu asked extending his bicep to your face and flexing it you won't lie they looked absolutely delicious and you want to bite that muscular flesh but you want to make seungcheol jealous not play with his confidence so you just resorted to touching and squeezing the muscle softly and letting out a excited sound mimicking a child.

"damn, it's really just soo hard and big~~"

air in the room shifted at your comment, the underlying meaning being understood by everyone and their reactions being exactly what you wished for .

You looked at seungcheol while your hand still remained on mingyu's bicep and the look he gave you almost made you get on your knees and beg for his forgiveness. He was glaring at you. Note that he never glared at anyone and the anger in his eyes made you drop your hand right then and there.

"I guess she had too many drinks tonight let me take her home" seungcheol announced, the friend group knew you didn't even have a sip of alcohol and were fully conscious playing games . However mingyu quite didn't like the fact seungcheol was tearing you off of him so soon, he actually grew quite fond of your attention.

"she doesn't drink why you are lying to us?" Mingyu smirked before continuing "your ego so brittle that you can't handle your girl praising your friend?"

Now, you want to slap mingyu cause' he was adding fuel to the fire you ignited yourself, you wanted cheol a lil bit in a sour mood a lil bit angry not what you are currently dealing with; him eyeing you like you're his prey and tightly gripping your wrist as he dragged you out of party ,not giving his friends one single glance.

You already love this.

The whole ride back to home was silent and uneventful, he didn't even looked at you nor his hand was resting on top of your thigh,so you thought he won't even talk to you let alone touch you .

As soon as you entered your shared apartment seungcheol pinned you against the nearest wall, his hand pulling your hair and tugging your head backwards,studying your face intensely . here he is; pure uncontrolled anger in his eyes mixed with endless lust.

Seungcheol ran his tongue over your lips not kissing you just wetting them then suddenly he bite your lower lip harshly drawing out a little blood," you keep acting like a slut maybe it's just the time I treat you like one"

"I -i was just trying to be friendly" you whined licking up your lips, tasting faint mixture of blood, your cherry lip gloss and whiskey from seungcheol's spit(yum),. your words only earned a scoff from him.

"whoring yourself out to my friends isn't called being friendly sweetheart" seungcheol chides, the sweet nickname sounding nothing close to sweet. technically you weren't really whoring yourself but the way seungcheol said it with so much malice made your core quiver in anticipation.

His mouth moved down to your neck, inhaling your scent before sucking onto your sensitive neck harshly as he strangled your neck putting quick and intense pressure on your windpipe making you cough,being unable to breathe you tried pulling seungcheol's hand off your neck but he didn't even budged a bit.

Your useless attempt to get him off you sending blood rushing down his cock.

You felt your vision blacking out before seungcheol released you, he detached his mouth off you before giving one last stinging and painful bite.you swear he was a vampire in his past life. You sucked air in relief, your surroundings blurry, only thing you could focus on was on breathing and drinking up the image of your boyfriend being all hot and bothered infront of you. You won't have complained even if he made you pass out, infact you would have thanked him.

"does this turn you on?hm? let's see" Seungcheol asked, bunching your dress up by one hand while another pressed hard against your clothed pussy cupping it savagely and you moaned. the touch being so intense for you as you were desperate and sensitive since evening.you wore your favorite lingerie which was pure lace, it did terrible job at hiding your overflowing arousal.

Seungcheol fingered you through your panties pumping them vaguely just wanting to make a mess, precum gushing out and smearing on his whole hand "as expected, dripping like a broken brain dead cum dump"

His crude words travelled straight to your pussy, making it clench against his fingers which barely entered inside.

"Cheol—" whatever you were about to say died down in your throat as he as he pulled your panties upwards, the material rubbing between your pussy lips roughly, you cried out feeling the sharp pain mixed with pleasure.

"you crying? I haven't even done anything yet baby" fake sympathy was dripped off from his voice as he cooed at you, pushing your panties to the side before dipping two fingers inside you, pushing them as deep as they can go as his thumb played with your clit. You were so sensitive and his touch was so unforgiving, the coil inside your stomach tightened, mind hazy with pleasure.

before you could reach your high, seungcheol withdraw his fingers from your cunt and grabbed your jaw in an unforgiving grip, pushing his fingers inside your mouth, making you taste yourself as he toyed with your tongue, flattening it down. Your spit was dripping down your chin uncontrollably, you felt disgusted but it was was heavenly sight for him.

"pathetic" seungcheol mumbled to himself before removing his fingers from your mouth and wipping them down your dress. He started walking towards your bedroom while you just stayed glued to your place waiting for his next command.

"follow me" seungcheol demanded with full blatant authority you started walking, following him before he hissed and turned towards you"crawl baby, crawl like a fucking dog"

You contemplated for one solid second before getting down on your knees and hand, crawling towards him. utter humiliation and shame spreading in your veins but pussy clenching and dripping around nothing but air,feeling so turned on and drunk on him, his commands, his gaze. Your boobs hung down and bounced as you kept crawling. You looked so hot and ruined and seungcheol was only planning to ruin you more and more.

Your face was squished in bedsheets ,ass in the air and drooling helplessly like a dog being pounded by Seungcheol from behind without ounce of care, like you were nothing but a fucktoy. The way he was manhandling you so effortlessly made your mind all mushy. he could easily break you if he wanted to and that fact makes you whimper helplessly.

"look at you drooling and howling like a bitch ,you wish Mingyu was the one fucking your tight cunt right?"

Seungcheol grunted, giving you a particularly sharp thrust as the memory of you squishing Mingyu's muscles clouded his mind, how could you flirt with other guy and the other guy being his bestfriend?, he thought he was probably not fucking you enough.

don't wa-nt anyone else —want you cheol" you whined in between your moans but your statement only fueled his anger, he grabbed the soft flesh of your ass roughly, nails piercing the skin, "darling, shut the fuck up" he spanked you hard , your other cheek getting the same treatment. pussy gushing uncontrollably getting high off the pain.

Suddenly, seungcheol slowed down his thrusts, an idea, a thought maybe sparking up in his head. He looked at your frame, hair sticking to forehead, eye makeup completely ruined, lipstick smeared and barely visible cause' he made you choke on his cock while pinching your nose making you drool like a broken water faucet. now he was about to choke you again but in some intresting way .

Seungcheol pulled your body closer to him, being able to manhandle you easily because of his sheer strength. He wrapped on of his arm around your neck, slowly tightening it around your neck and when the realisation hit you , you were unable to breathe, lungs panicking in fear as seungcheol's bicep strangled your neck.

"Seungcheol—" you choked, little hands flying to his bicep in useless attempt of making him loosen his arm. nails digging sharply, making him hiss.

"Feel it baby, are they smaller than mingyu's?" Seungcheol asked rhetorically as he resumed to plunging his cock deeper inside your pussy, he could feel you clenching so hard, warm walls hugging his cock perfectly.

You were feeling like being on cloud nine, experiencing heaven, as seungcheol's thick bicep made you lose your sanity, his delicious scent hitting your nose and his arm felt like it was meant to be there, he flexed it so hard that you were able to feel each muscle, even a thick vein. Breathing wasn't necessary,you could die like this as your lifelong dream of being headlocked by Seungcheol was finally fulfilled and it better than you ever imagined while his cock head was literally kissing your cervix . Never once in your life you experienced such a euphoric feeling .

"can't breathe?" Seungcheol asked, clearly mocking you as he saw how your eyes were literally at back of your skull, he loosened his grip a little bit not wanting to make you pass out but you whined , your high pitched voice ringing in his ears."please Cheol, keep choking me"

God , you were actually deranged seungcheol thought, how could you be such an insane masochist who prioritizes headlock over breathing. He felt such a visceral desire to ruin you further, his cock threatening to blow his load in you any moment.

"never dimmed you to be such a braindead painslut " Seungcheol grunted, his thrust getting sloppy as he tightened his hold around your neck again and you felt alive again ironically. Your stomach churn uncomfortably, feeling your orgasm approaching soon but you were too gone to ask for his permission or form any sensible words. all you could focus on being ravaged by seungcheol.

"you are close right? have you forgotten your manners to beg before cumming, doll?" Seungcheol asked, as his other hand travelled down to your clit, pinching the swelled up pearl roughly and it was enough for you to let go of yourself right then and there, all thoughts flying out of your brain as you squirted around seungcheol. Your juices dripping on the mattress, on his thighs. Fucking everywhere. incoherent words and moans leaving your mouth as you reached your high

"fucking messy baby" seungcheol cooed, loving the way you looked so gone and dumb. So beautiful and all his. He gave you one last thrust before emptying his balls inside your pussy, warm cum making home inside your walls. It was the best feeling in the world, being filled up by seungcheol's thick ropes of cum.

You felt so full as seungcheol kept plunging his cum deep inside you with soft thrusts. You kept moaning and whimpering, feeling like being teleported into another dimension. Seungcheol released your neck, layed you on mattress with care like he didn't rearranged your guts. He removed his cock from your walls, his and your cum dripping out of you uncontrollably, beautifully. He stopped himself from shoving it back inside your pussy as he knew you were a little too sensitive.

He layed beside you, hugging your frame tightly, as he patted your head gently and kissed your forehead. You felt like you jelly, being kissed and held by Seungcheol after such an intense sex was exactly what you needed, reminder that behind all that animalistic desire and actions is soft unimaginable love .

"are you still angry on me?" you asked after few minutes, looking into Seungcheol's eyes and seeing no once of anger that you previously witnessed, just filthy admiration.

Seungcheol sighed" I wasn't angry love, just jealous, very jealous, I honestly don't like you giving other guys attention,—its just —i feel like killing them when they look at you— i know you only love me but—"

You cut off seungcheol by giving him a quick peck on his lips, he stared at you dumbly.

"you are being so hot right now, Cheol" you beamed increasing Seungcheol's confusion even more .

"what? you don't think it's toxic?" Seungcheol asked furrowing his eyebrows.

"I pulled today's stunt just to make you admit it aloud love, I am not as timid as you think, I want you to fuck your anger and jealousy in me, be possesive over me do all sorts of things with me, use me as you please " you whispered the last part, holding back a moan. Seungcheol's eyes again darkened with desire as he hissed, a cocky smirk adorning his face.

"Careful babydoll, you're making me hard again"

A/N: Sooo Yeahh.. Yeahh, please like and reblog if you like it.

[insert-clever-username-1133]

i dont know how to put tags in the main post so I'm just putting your tags in my tags

because maybe this is Tumblr reading comprehension but I'm gonna be so for real it took me until reading the tags to actually realize your argument was against the idea that you can put a halt to genai by just. speaking out with no real action. which is a stance I absolutely agree with. but i got to the end of this post and thought you were arguing against anti - ai sentiment in general 😭 i think your tags really add to the discussion

You can't argue against a technology. No one has ever, ever, in the history of humanity, argued a technology out of existence. The closest we've come are nukes and human genetic engineering. Nukes exist and multiple countries have massive arsenals of them, but we've agreed not to use them because it would mean humanity's utter destruction. Human genetic engineering cuts right to the heart of a bunch of ethical questions about health, equality, identity, and so on, and also up until very recently genetic engineering has been a long and extremely expensive process. We'll see how long human genetic engineering remains taboo now that it's getting cheaper and easier. But these are absolute outliers. In the vast, vast majority of cases, I mean literally in virtually every single case, when people fight a new technology—for any reason—they loose.

There is no tenable "anti-AI art" position, just like there was never a tenable anti-loom position, or anti-railroad position, or anti-horseless carriage position. These things were doomed to fail absolutely from day one, as soon as the technology existed, and anti-AI art is doomed to fail just as utterly and completely. There is just no path here, if this is what you've hitched your wagon to I really do not know what to tell you.

[wosospacegirl]

Brunette roots - Alexia Putellas

Summary: You love brunette Alexia, and you'll do anything to get her back

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: they could NEVER make me hate you, baby

Also last fic of the week!

..

The blonde was beautiful. It was hot, sexy. It made Alexia look powerful. 

Alexia has had her fair share of blonde shades, going from dark blonde to bleached hair. Her blonde hair was almost like her signature by now. Some people forgot she was actually a brunette.

But you didn't. You never did.

You started dating Alexia when both of you were teens at La Masia. Alexia was serious about her football, it was her passion, it was who she was. You, not so much. You liked to play football, but that was it. Just a hobby, just something to do after school.

When it got to the point where you needed to choose between pursuing a football career or another career path, it was easy. Off to university you went. Alexia stayed, and she grew into it, winning every challenge thrown at her.

It was difficult to balance your relationship, but you guys always did.

The hardest phase of your relationship was when Alexia tore her ACL. Saying she was depressed was an understatement; she was completely devastated. Her mental state showed through her physicality, especially in her hair. She stopped dyeing it, she stopped eating.

When she got back on her feet again–literally–she was back to her old self. She got back to dyeing her hair.

You were happy and relieved that Alexia was okay again, that she was feeling like herself, but you missed the brunette so much. It not only looked beautiful on her–it made her eyes pop–but it also reminded you of the young Alexia. 

The one who was sixteen when she first kissed you, the one who would pick flowers on the way to La Masia to give to you.

Blonde Alexia belonged to Barcelona, to football, to the media.

Brunette Alexia was... yours. Completely yours.

It was turning into an itch you longed to scratch.

Whenever you saw a little bit of brunette root, you had to hold yourself back from jumping on Alexia and kissing her. But then, days later, she would be back to bleaching it, and you'd be back to pouting and whining.

So you realised... all you needed was a plan. It started small, but it grew.

..

"Fuck!" Alexia said as she was packing her suitcase to go to yet another camp. She was looking at her watch. "You let me sleep too much! You knew I needed to dye my hair before I catch the flight."

She had a frown on her face, a small pout that she would never admit doing, on her lower lip. She was mad at you.

You had promised her to wake her up from her nap three hours ago so she could get everything ready to leave. But she was so sleepy and tired, you didn't have the heart to do it.

"Just don't dye it then," you said, giving her boots and shin pads to pack.

"But I wanted to dye my hair before going. I won't be able to do that at camp," she said, annoyed, taking her sports gear from you before closing the suitcase more aggressively than needed. "I hate when my roots are showing."

"I love when they're showing," you said teasingly. If Alexia was annoyed, you would make sure to annoy her even more. 

She got riled up easily, and you liked that.

"Well, you do," she said. "Yo no!"

Alexia put the closed suitcase on the bed before heading to the big mirror in your room. "Look, it's awful." Her eyes were squinting, as if she were counting each strand of hair that needed to be dyed.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward her, hugging her from behind. "You look pretty, hair dyed or not." You kissed her neck sweetly and smiled when Alexia didn't pull away.

"I like blonde," she stated firmly, but her body language was anything but firm. She was soft now, realising that she wouldn't see you for two weeks.

"I like you whatever," you said, your cold hand making its way under her shirt before stopping at her bra.

"If you really liked me–" Alexia breathed, her body shivering when your hand found her nipple. "You would have woken me up."

You laughed a little. "Oh, are we being dramatic now, la reina?"

"Sí," she breathed, eyes closed. "You were mean to me. You promised me you would wake me up, but you didn't."

"I didn't because you looked too pretty," you said. "You can't blame me."

..

"I bought it," Alexia said, taking the pillows from the sofa and throwing them one by one on the floor. "I know I did. I put them in a separate bag, too."

"Alexia," you held the bridge of your nose. "The bottles of blonde dye are not under the sofa's pillows, for the love of God."

"Then where are they?" Alexia turned to you, an exasperated expression on her face.

"I don't know!" you said.

You were lying. You knew where they were: at the bottom of your office's trash. You wanted brunette Alexia back, and you were willing to do it, even if not by the most righteous of ways.

"I haven't dyed my hair in two months," Alexia said angrily, sitting beside you on the loveseat and wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you closer. "This is my first day off... I wanted to finally dye it!"

You put the book you were reading aside and lifted your head to look at her. "Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? You have a full day off in sixty days and you want to spend it dyeing your hair rather than being with your wife?"

Alexia was silent as you began kissing her jaw. 

"I'm still spending time with you, though," Alexia said, tilting her neck to the side so you would have more room to kiss.

"Uh huh," you shook your head. "You spent the last thirty minutes looking for a bottle of bleach when you could've spent it with me... that's thirty fewer minutes of our life that were thrown in the trash."

"Don't be so manipulative," Alexia mumbled, holding your body so you were straddling her.

"But you like it," you whispered against the skin of her cheek.

"Yes, I do," she agreed eagerly as you slipped your tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply.

..

"Ale, come here," you said as you sat on the other end of the sofa. Alexia was playing FIFA.

"Un momento," she said without looking at you. "Almost done."

You waited while flipping through the pages of the very new and handmade album you had just finished. It took you a few weeks, but it was finally done.

When Alexia scored a goal–really Alexia, because her game character was the one who scored–she closed the game and sat beside you, kissing the top of your head.

"What do you have there?" she said, curious eyes gazing at the photography album opened on your lap.

"Just a little thing I've done for Valentine's Day," you said. "Take it as an early gift."

You handed it to her, watching as she flipped through the pages. They were filled with pictures of you two.

It began with you and Alexia at thirteen, both too small in Barcelona's jersey. Alexia's hair was cut very unevenly, she had told you her mom was mad about that. You said she looked cool. That's when your friendship started.

There were pictures of games you shared together, both of you playing for Catalunya under-15s, then more pictures of you dating. Alexia kissed your cheek when you were both sixteen.

"This is so beautiful, amor," Alexia said. "You did it yourself?" she asked.

You nodded, smiling. "Yes, I asked our moms if they had pictures of us when we were younger."

"I love it, thank you," Alexia said. "We were so young."

"Yes, literal kids," you said.

You did the photography album because you knew Alexia would like it, yes. You didn't have millions of dollars to give Alexia an expensive gift, actually, you did, because Alexia's bank account was your own, but you didn't like to use it. Instead, you wanted to create something intimate, something meaningful to give to her, something only you could make.

But this wasn't the only reason. You wanted to show–very subtly–how much you loved her brunette hair, wanted Alexia to associate her brunette hair with the first few years of when you started dating.

Some would call it emotional manipulation. You just called it psychology.

..

Well, psychology didn't work.

Alexia kept buying bottles of bleach, and you kept throwing them away, while very artistically pretending not to know where they were as you helped her search the whole house for them.

Your last plan was something, between the lines, criminal.

You started to pretend to be someone else.

Yes, you weren't proud of it. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

When Alexia would mention she was going to book an appointment to dye or bleach her hair at a salon, you were faster. You would call all the salons you knew Alexia could go to and book appointments during all of Alexia's possible free time.

"This is the fifth salon already!" Alexia complained while eating the fruit salad you had just given her.

"What?" you asked as you were making coffee for both of you.

"Somehow all the salons that specialise in blonde hair are fully booked today," she grumbled, taking a bite of a strawberry. "That can't be normal! I even said they could book me during lunch, and even that time slot had someone already booked."

"Oh," you said in faux pity. "That is so sad, baby."

You were beaming on the inside.

"I think I'll need to go to France to get my hair blonde again," she said.

Oh no, you thought to yourself. Another crime you would have to commit: steal somebody's passport

..

Alexia didn't go to France, but she did find herself a salon in Madrid, of all places. She told you the night before that she was catching a flight to go there, but that she would be back the next day. She was literally just making the trip to get her hair done.

You, of course, couldn't let that happen. Her roots were almost at eye level now—the brunette was coming out beautifully.

When she had her small backpack ready, that's when you began your show.

You lay down on the sofa, legs pressed against your chest, pout on your face. You didn't call Alexia, you didn't need to. She was by your side the moment she noticed you were in pain.

"Hey, princesa," she said worriedly. "What happened?" Alexia was kneeling on the couch, her backpack long forgotten somewhere by the door. Her flight was in one hour, and she would still have to get through Barcelona's traffic. You needed to keep her with you for at least half an hour.

"Cramps," you said, pout on your face. "Got my period this morning."

Alexia looked at you, confused. "Your period? What do you mean? You were on your period two weeks ago."

You almost rolled your eyes. Why did Alexia have to remember everything?

"Well…" you said, trying to think of some excuse. "Guess my hormones are all wrong. My period has been irregular for a few months now."

"It has?" Alexia tilted her head. "Why didn't you tell me? I can book a doctor's appointment for you."

"It's okay–"

"No," Alexia said. "I'm booking a gynaecologist for you tomorrow, sí? Maybe they can get you on the pill. You can't be having two periods a month…you'll get anaemic."

You wanted to hold Alexia, tell her to stay with you, but she was already up. For a moment, you got scared that she was leaving for the airport. But she wasn't.

"I'm going to the pharmacy," she said, hand brushing your cheek gently. "Gonna get some ibuprofen and some iron pills."

You froze. Alexia was taking this too seriously. You didn't need any medicine. Hell, you weren't even on your period, you just wanted a reason for her to stay home and not dye her hair.

"No, Ale, it's alright. Just stay with me."

But Alexia thought she was the one responsible for fixing everything. Of course, she went to the pharmacy like her life and dignity depended on it.

In the end, you had to take two ibuprofen pills that day, plus iron pills for a week, and go to the doctor Alexia had booked for you. 

But hey, at least Alexia's roots were growing during that time.

..

At the end, you didn't need to formulate any more elaborate plans. It was Tuesday night, and Alexia had come home after a long day at training. 

Her hair was now half brunette. You had worked hard enough that Alexia wasn't able to dye it, even if she wanted it a lot.

Alexia walked into your shared bedroom. She looked different, like she had something to say. You knew that look very well, it was the same look the same look she got when she was thinking of something for a long period of time and had finally made up her mind.

"I'm not dyeing my hair anymore," she said, just like that.

She dropped her body on the bed like a starfish. On a normal day, you would smack her arm playfully and tell her not to lie on the bed with her training jersey filled with grass, but you were completely caught off guard.

Alexia's words felt like an angel had just materialised in your room, telling you your biggest dream would come true.

You looked up from your laptop, where you were definitely not researching how to sabotage a bottle of bleach to make the hair of whoever uses it darker.

"What?"

"Yeah..." she said, looking at you, a small smile on her face.

She wasn't necessarily close, your feet were just touching her torso from the way she was lying, but you could smell her post-training scent, the smell of the deodorant she uses.

You couldn't help but peek at her little brunette roots that were getting longer every day.

"I'm letting it grow out–" she stated.

Why? You wanted to ask, but you were scared that if you said anything, she might change her mind. So you just stared at her, trying not to smile too big, trying to keep casual. You let her talk.

"--because," she said quietly, and then, in an instant, she got up and pulled the photography album from the little drawer on your nightstand. She began flipping through the pages. 

"I was seeing these pictures again the other day, and realised how cute I looked with brunette hair. It makes me look younger, I think."

Your heart was doing something weird in your chest.

"And also," she continued, and there was this little smirk on her face, "because I know you've been throwing away my hair dye, amor."

Shit. Your face went hot. Your heart was beating faster, but not because of her brunette roots, but from nervousness. You were caught.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding eye contact.

"Mhmm." She moved closer, her voice dropping. "And booking appointments at every salon in Barcelona under fake names."

You opened your mouth to deny it, but she put her finger against your lips.

"I'm not mad," she said. "Actually... It's kind of hot how obsessed you are with my hair."

"So you're really going to let it grow out?" you whispered against her finger.

"Sí," she said, settling against you, her head on your shoulder. "Blonde Alexia can take a vacation, don't you think?"

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the top of her head, breathing in her hair, already imagining how perfect she was going to look in a few months when all the blonde was gone.

"Te amo," you whispered.

"Te amo también," she replied. "Even though you're completely loca."

..

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing thisss!! <3

[bucketsorbueckers]

Trouble - 6

Age gap Azzi x Paige

WC: 7K

Warnings: language

a/n: a double post bc im trapped inside with rain and you all are so loud about your love for this story it makes me want to write 24/7 <3

Caroline: azzi r u awake

Jana: azzi u need to be awake right now

Caroline: you never sleep in this late

Jana: like are u alive. blink twice

Caroline: or text back once. that also works

Jana: ok whatev. just sayin i knoww this is you. impossible to miss.

(photo attached)

Paige stands between two fans outside a bar, halfway smiling, the picture blurry and rushed. But behind her—just out of focus—is a flash of curls, bare legs, and Paige’s hand tucked casually, unmistakably, into the waistband of someone’s skirt.

Caroline: it’s all over the internet. good luck ❤️

Meanwhile....

Courtney: You awake?

Bridget: She’s definitely awake. Just ignoring us. Like a coward.

Courtney: Open Instagram, Bueckers.

Bridget: Or Twitter. Or TikTok. Or honestly any platform with Wi-Fi.

Courtney: You’re trending.

Bridget: And not for buckets. Unless we’re counting the hand placement.

Courtney: 👀👀👀👀

Bridget: Do your fingers normally go in people’s waistbands or is that reserved for 23-year-old rookies?

Azzi’s POV

Azzi woke slow.

The kind of slow that only came with deep, consuming sleep. Her limbs heavy. Her breath even. The air cool against her skin.

She didn’t open her eyes at first—just listened. To the faint hum of the fan. The occasional sound of a car outside. The soft, steady rhythm of breathing that wasn’t hers. Warmth. There was so much warmth. All around her. Beneath her.

Wait.

Her eyes blinked open.

Bed. 

Not hers. 

Shirt.

Also not hers.

Arm. Around her.

Fingers. Definitely tucked under the hem of said not-her-shirt.

Her breath caught.

Oh no. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god.

Paige Bueckers’ face, just inches from hers. Soft in sleep. The sharpness she wore during the day was gone now, melted into something unguarded. Her mouth parted slightly. Lashes casting shadows on her cheekbones. A wrinkle just barely formed between her brows, like even unconscious, she was thinking too hard.

Azzi's hand moved before her brain could stop it. Fingers trembling as she reached up, slow and unsure, like maybe if she touched gently enough, the moment wouldn’t break. She traced the line of Paige’s jaw, featherlight. Her skin was warm. Soft in a way Azzi hadn’t expected.

Paige twitched.

Abort mission.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as flashes of the night returned in uneven pieces. The bar. The drinks. The phone call. The crying. Oh god, the crying.

You called her. You told her you didn’t know your address. You made her come pick you up like you were a lost toddler in heels. You got into her bed.

You got into her bed.

She pressed her palms over her face and immediately regretted it because—hangover. Pain bloomed behind her eyes like firecrackers.

Paige stirred beside her and Azzi froze. Maybe if she didn’t move—didn’t breathe—time would reverse and she could pretend this was a dream. Or maybe the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

Honestly, at this point, she’d take either.

Azzi inhaled. Shallow. Cautious. Like her breath alone might trigger an avalanche.

She needed to move. To get out. To put a body-width’s worth of regret between her and the woman currently holding her.

Carefully she started to shift. One inch. Then two. She tried to slide her leg free but it was tangled. Of course it was tangled. Because Paige Bueckers had apparently wrapped herself around her mid-sleep and was holding on for dear life.

Azzi braced one hand on the mattress and inched back and felt the arm around her waist tighten.

Her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. Paige shifted behind her. A breath against her neck. A sharp inhale. And sighed as if content.

Then, like a trap snapping shut, the body curled around hers went rigid. The arm retracted in a flash, Paige pulling back like she’d just realized she was cuddling a live grenade.

Azzi didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She could feel the heat rolling off Paige’s body, the tension wound so tight it practically buzzed.

“Shit,” Paige muttered, voice cracking from sleep and maybe a little panic.

Azzi rolled half onto her back, heart hammering. Paige was already halfway upright, blinking down at her.

“Morning,” Azzi offered, trying not to die.

Paige didn’t answer. She just dragged a hand down her face like she was rebooting her entire system.

Then, finally—still not looking at her—she muttered, “You talk in your sleep.”

Azzi blinked. “What?”

“You said my name.” Paige stood. Avoided eye contact. Walked straight into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.

Azzi flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling like it had answers.

Her head was killing her. Not in a cute, oops-too-much-tequila way. In a someone-drilled-straight-through-my-skull-while-I-slept way. Her mouth tasted like regret and lime. Her stomach sloshed with something unholy. And the worst part—worse than the hangover, worse than the bone-deep ache settling into her joints—was the fact that she’d woken up on Paige Bueckers.

Wrapped around her, actually. Like a weighted blanket with boundary issues.

She groaned and flung an arm over her eyes, hoping the mattress might swallow her whole. Or at least deliver a mild electrocution.

But then, Paige appeared in the doorway, looking stupidly good.

Her blonde hair was down, strands curling from sleep and brushing against her cheekbones. She was barefoot, wearing a worn-in sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder, collar stretched from years of wear. Her eyes were still a little puffy with sleep, mouth soft, like she hadn’t fully woken up yet—and it was all so stupidly intimate Azzi wanted to throw something.

This was not how people were supposed to look after panic-spooning their drunk teammate teammate twenty minutes ago. This was how people looked in daydreams you weren’t supposed to have in the first place.

She tossed a bottle of Tylenol onto the bed. “Figured you’d need that,” she said, already pulling her hair back.

And just like that, Azzi had a new problem: Paige didn’t wear her hair down nearly enough. She should. There should be laws about it, actually.

“I’ll make coffee,” Paige added, her voice way too normal for the situation, and then she turned and disappeared down the hall.

Azzi lingered in bed for exactly thirty more seconds. Long enough to dramatically contemplate her life choices. Not long enough to make peace with any of them.

The Tylenol sat mockingly on the comforter beside her, and she swallowed two without water like the feral child she apparently was. Then, against every instinct in her body that begged her to sink back into Paige’s very soft, clearly expensive sheets and pretend she had vanished overnight, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Bad idea. The room tilted. The headache pulsed. The oversized shirt slipped a little off her shoulder, brushing against skin that still felt too warm from—whatever last night had been.

A rescue mission? A soft abduction? A very specific fever dream?

She padded into the hallway barefoot, her legs cold and bare, Paige’s boxers rolled too high on her hips—something she hadn’t exactly planned for when she’d tugged them on drunk last night. They kept sliding up like they had a mind of their own, clinging to her in all the wrong places. Or maybe the right ones. Depends who was looking.

She looked, she imagined, like the patron saint of poor decisions.  And she definitely lived up to the name.

As she turned the corner, the smell of coffee hit her first. Then the sound of the machine gurgling and the quiet hum of Paige moving around the kitchen. Azzi padded in slowly, curling her fingers around the doorway like it might shield her.

Paige was facing away, pouring coffee into two mugs. She was wearing the same hoodie from earlier—dark gray, sleeves pushed to her elbows, the hem hitting mid-thigh over her checkered boxers. Her legs looked stupid long. Her posture was too casual. And Azzi had never wanted to turn around and flee more in her life.

Instead, she cleared her throat.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, eyes sweeping from Azzi’s bare legs to her curls to the very obvious fact that she was still dressed in Paige’s clothes.

“Feeling better?” Paige asked, handing over a mug like it was any normal Saturday morning and not the aftermath of Azzi accidentally calling the one person she should’ve never called.

Azzi took the coffee. Avoided eye contact. Tried not to combust.

“I’ve been worse,” she said, voice still rough with sleep.

“That’s something.” Paige leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, her gaze steady.

“I didn’t mean to call you,” she mumbled finally, staring down at the swirl of cream in her coffee. “Well—I did. But I didn’t plan to. I wasn’t—God, I sound like a freshman explaining a drunk text.”

Paige took a slow sip. Still didn’t look at her.

“You were scared. It’s fine.”

Azzi rubbed her eyes. “No, I was—God—I was embarrassing.”

Paige said nothing at first. Just stood there, still too composed for someone who should be as rattled as Azzi felt. Her arms were crossed. Her jaw tight.

Azzi forced a weak laugh. “Seriously, is there anything I need to apologize for? Because I barely remember how I got here, let alone what I said—”

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Paige cut in. Voice flat. Too flat.

Azzi blinked. Her stomach turned, not from the hangover this time. But then Paige exhaled through her nose and uncrossed her arms. Finally glanced over.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, a little softer this time. “You were drunk. And scared. And you called me, which is fine.”

Azzi’s throat burned. “That doesn’t make it not mortifying.”

There was a long pause. Then Paige set her coffee down and leaned her hip against the counter.

“Yeah, well. We’ve all been there.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Paige shrugged. “I used to be young once too.”

Azzi opened her mouth to ask what exactly Paige had done in her younger, wilder days that could rival last night’s tequila-induced spiral but Paige spoke first.

“You can sit down, you know. Contrary to what you clearly expected, my chairs aren’t just for show.”

Azzi had no idea what she meant by that but she still hesitated. 

“I figured I’d overstayed my welcome.”

Paige’s brow twitched. “I’m not having you throw up in my car when I drive you home. Sit. Let’s get something in your stomach before we make any further plans.”

Azzi tilted her head “You cook?”

Paige didn’t look up as she opened the fridge, tugging out eggs and something that looked suspiciously like oat milk. “There’s plenty you don’t know about me, Fudd.”

Azzi leaned forward on her elbows, chin propped in her hand, completely gone. She told herself it was just curiosity. Just…interest. That was all. Not infatuation. Not this quiet, chest-aching thing that made her stomach tilt every time Paige did something completely mundane like push the fridge door shut with the side of her hip.

But it was hard to argue interest with the way Azzi watched her. Not when she was clocking every move like it mattered. Like she’d never seen someone make eggs before. Like the morning sunlight hitting Paige’s profile through the kitchen window was something worth praying too.

The pan sizzled. She threw bread into the toaster.

Paige moved around like the apartment had been designed around her—like it knew where her hands would reach, when her body would pivot, how she liked her spices arranged. She opened a drawer, grabbed a spatula, shut it with her hip again. Efficient. Effortless. Sexy in a way that made Azzi want to melt into the fucking hardwood floors.

And god, it was clean. That was the other thing. Everything in here gleamed. The countertops were spotless. The tile was pale and polished. The cabinets matched. The fridge was smart. The furniture looked like it had cost more than Azzi’s entire rent, and somehow, none of it felt cold.

It felt…lived in. Softened by routine. A house that had become a home. And it made her suddenly self-conscious about her own apartment—half-unpacked, cluttered with laundry, toothpaste cap always missing, fridge suspiciously empty except for energy drinks and string cheese.

She dragged her eyes back to Paige just in time to see her crack an egg with one hand, wrist flicking like it was second nature.

Showoff.

Paige didn’t even seem aware of the spell she was casting. Her blonde hair was tied back into that same low bun it always was, but sleep had curled the ends and loosened it just enough to make her look heartbreakingly soft. One piece kept falling in front of her eyes, and she kept brushing it back without thinking. Over and over. And Azzi couldn’t stop staring.

Couldn’t stop thinking: She’s beautiful like this. Like real-life beautiful. Not the kind Azzi had first became infatuated with when she was younger. The highlight reels. The thirst traps she had admittedly watched more than she wanted to admit. 

Just her. Making breakfast in boxers. In an apartment that smelled like fresh coffee and laundry detergent. And Azzi didn’t want to be anywhere else.

She watched as Paige reached for a plate, sliding eggs and toast onto it like this wasn’t the first meal she’d made for someone hungover in her bed. Like she’d done it before. Jealousy flared sharp in Azzi’s chest, stupid and misplaced. But still.

Paige set the plate down in front of her and handed over a fork. “Eat.”

Azzi blinked up at her. “You’re very bossy for someone who offered me hospitality.”

“You’re very mouthy for someone who cried at a bar and called me at 1 AM.”

Azzi winced. “You said you weren’t holding that against me.”

“I’m not,” Paige said, pulling out the chair across from her. “I’m just stating facts.”

Azzi tried a bite. Fought the urge to moan. They were perfect. She flicked her eyes up to find Paige watching her with a smug expression. But she said nothing. 

They sat like that for a minute. Quiet. Close. And Azzi could feel the tension stretching between them again

Paige finally leaned back in her chair, sipping her coffee. “So?”

Azzi blinked. “So…?”

“Do you remember anything? Or is it just one big tequila blackout?”

Azzi poked at her eggs. “Bits and pieces.”

“Define ‘bits.’”

“I remember calling you. And crying. Which is deeply humiliating, by the way. And I remember…water? And your couch.” She glanced up through her lashes. “Not much after that.”

Paige’s face didn’t move, but Azzi could see the flicker in her eyes. That near-imperceptible flash of something—relief, maybe. 

“You don’t remember getting in bed?” Paige asked, her voice unreadable.

Azzi scrunched her nose. “I didn’t throw up in it, did I?”

“No.”

“Oh thank God.”

There was a pause. Long enough for Paige to take another sip of coffee. Long enough for Azzi to add, quieter, “You didn’t have to take care of me.”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I could’ve called someone else.”

“You didn’t.”

That landed heavier than it should have. Azzi glanced down at her plate again. “Well,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “You know me. Always making excellent decisions.”

“Yeah. Excellent decisions like nearly falling off my bathroom counter.”

Azzi dropped her fork, covering her face. 

“I hate myself.”

“No you don’t.”

Azzi peeked at her from between her fingers. “Okay, but like…nothing else, right? I didn't attempt karaoke in the car or anything?"

Paige hesitated. Just a beat. Then shook her head. “No. You were just drunk. Tired. Sweet.”

Azzi nodded, cheeks flushing. Bit her lip. And didn’t admit she remembered Paige’s hand on her back. Her voice low and careful. The way she’d unzipped her shirt like she was touching something sacred.

Instead, she smiled, small and sheepish. “Well. Thanks for not letting me end up face-down in a ditch.”

Paige stood, collecting the plates. “Don’t mention it.”

For a moment, the kitchen fell quiet. The kind of quiet that felt like it had weight.

Then Azzi cleared her throat, tried to make her voice sound casual. “Hey. Any chance you know where my phone ended up?”

Paige didn’t even look up. “Plugged it in. On your side of the bed.”

Azzi blinked. Your side. Not the bed. Your side of the bed. Her heart thudded once—loud and inconvenient.

Azzi was already halfway down the hall when Paige called out, “Can you grab mine too, while you’re back there?”

Azzi swallowed and hollered a quick, “Yeah!” but her voice cracked halfway through.

Because now she had to go into Paige’s room. Had to walk over to the bed she’d definitely slept in, on the side Paige apparently thought of as hers. Had to see two phones, side by side, like this was something they did.

But the bliss drained out of her like someone had pulled a plug.

She blinked at the screen.

35 unread messages.

Group chats. Maddie. A few teammates. Random friends she hadn’t talked to in weeks. A notification from Instagram. Then another. Paige’s phone lit up next to hers—just as chaotic.

Mostly from a group chat called Elders.

Courtney Williams had the last word.

yeah you’re fucked.

Azzi stared at the screen, heart thudding. Because nothing good ever followed that energy.

She swallowed and switched over to Hoops & Hos, the group chat that never slept—except, apparently, when she did.

She scrolled through the messages halting as soon as she saw the photo. Azzi blinked at the photo like maybe, just maybe, if she stared hard enough, it would rearrange itself into something else.

It did not.

There she was. Just out of the frame but her curls unmistakable, a bare leg peeking out from the hem of that stupid skirt she’d thought was a great idea last night. And Paige, standing front and center, looking criminally hot and unbothered. Hand low. Fingers unmistakably—

“Oh my god,” Azzi whispered, breath catching somewhere between her ribs and her throat. “Oh my actual god.”

She zoomed in, because of course she did, because apparently she was a masochist. 

And there it was. Paige’s hand. Tucked into the waistband of her skirt with the kind of casual familiarity that made Azzi’s brain flicker like a blown fuse. Like she’d always belonged there.  Her heart slammed against her ribs, all flutter and dread and something far more dangerous.

“You good?” Paige’s voice carried down the hallway, and Azzi nearly flung the phone across the room like it had bitten her.

“Yep!” she called back, voice cracking on the consonant. “All good!”

She grabbed both phones with the urgency of someone fleeing a crime scene and walked back into the kitchen like she’d forgotten how her limbs worked. She set the phones on the counter and didn’t sit. Just hovered. Then picked up a napkin. Put it down. Picked it up again.

Paige looked up from her second cup of coffee. “You okay?”

“Yep.” Azzi’s voice was higher than normal. “Totally.”

A long beat passed.

Paige leaned back in her chair, slowly. “Right.”

Azzi shifted her weight. Crossed her arms. Uncrossed them. Looked anywhere but at Paige.

“You sure?” Paige asked, calm as ever. Not pushing. Just watching.

Azzi nodded, too many times. “Just tired. You know. Long night.”

Paige hummed like she didn’t buy it, but wasn’t about to call her out.

Azzi cleared her throat. “You, uh… get any weird texts this morning?”

Paige didn’t look up. “Haven’t checked yet.” She reached for her phone on the counter, thumb already unlocking it.

Azzi fought the urge to bat it out of her hands. But instead, she remained frozen.

Paige started scrolling, expression unreadable. Not a single twitch, not a single furrow. Just her eyes moving calmly across the screen like none of this was about to ruin Azzi’s entire life.

Azzi stood there, hands pressed flat against the edge of the counter like she might levitate from sheer panic alone.

Paige blinked once. Scrolled again. Tilted her head slightly. Still no reaction. Then she locked her phone, slid it into her pocket, and looked up.

“You ready to head home?”

Azzi balked and then nodded too fast. “Yeah. Totally.”

Her voice came out weird. Too high, too chirpy. Like maybe she’d inhaled helium with her anxiety.

She trailed behind Paige to the door, trying not to look like someone whose entire social life had just imploded. Her heart was doing something unholy in her chest. Her palms were sweaty. She was pretty sure her ears were ringing.

Paige hadn’t even flinched at her phone. Not at the texts. Not at the fact that the entire world had now seen that moment. Paige’s hand in a place that made Azzi feel vaguely unqualified to stand upright.

And now Paige was just…unlocking the door like nothing happened. Like Azzi hadn’t committed emotional suicide via tequila and poor decision-making.

Like none of it even mattered. 

Paige’s POV

Shit shit shit shit shit shit. 

Her hands were shaking as she walked to her car, keys clenched tight like maybe metal between her fingers could anchor her to the earth.

She hadn’t meant to look at the group chat that long. Hadn’t meant to scroll. Hadn’t meant to zoom in.

But there it was—her hand. Tucked into the waistband of Azzi Fudd’s skirt like it lived there. Like it had always lived there. Like her body had forgotten what restraint meant and acted entirely on instinct.

And the internet, of course, had noticed. A blur of curls. A sliver of skin. Paige Bueckers with her hand on Azzi Fudd like a damn claim.

She gripped the steering wheel like it might run from her. Like she could press her bones through leather and forget the way Azzi had looked this morning—curls a bit undone from sleep, legs bare and folded beneath her at the kitchen counter, Paige’s old UConn shirt hanging off her shoulder like it belonged there. Like she belonged there.

Paige blinked hard at the road ahead, but it was no use. The memory was already playing on loop.

The way Azzi had mumbled her name in the dark. The way her breath had tickled Paige’s collarbone. The way she’d fit—too easily, too perfectly—tucked against her like some cruel joke the universe had decided to play.

And Paige hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t move. Her whole body frozen with the kind of ache that didn't feel like pain until it was gone.

The worst part? It wasn’t the photo. It wasn’t the group chats or the headlines or the chaos she knew was coming.

It was how natural it had felt. Like she'd been built for this. For her. And her body had known it long before her brain had caught up.

The drive was quiet. Too quiet.

Azzi was in the passenger seat, curled toward the window, legs pulled up, arms crossed loosely over her chest like she was trying to take up less space than she did last night in Paige’s bed.

Which was ironic, really. Because Paige could still feel her there. Pressed in. Breathing steady. Soft.

She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the turn signal, trying to drown out the echo of Azzi’s laugh from the night before. The way her voice had gone all slurred and sweet when she said you’re pretty when you’re annoyed, like it was a secret she hadn’t meant to share.

God. Paige wanted to bang her head against the glass until she could no longer think about Azzi Fudd’s soft skin or the fact that she was still wearing Paige’s clothes. 

Azzi still hadn’t said much since they got in the car. Just “thanks for breakfast” and “I’ll Venmo you,” which Paige pretended not to hear. She wasn’t letting Azzi pay her for eggs and a hangover.

“Want the aux?” Paige asked, because silence made everything worse.

Azzi shook her head, barely. “I’m good.”

Paige gritted her teeth and nodded. “Cool.”

The light turned green. Paige turned left.

She wasn’t thinking about the road. Not really. She was thinking about how Azzi had looked in her kitchen that morning—bare legs, bruised knees, still a bit sleepy.

She’d stood there like she belonged. Leaning against the counter, fingers curled around a mug like she was trying to warm her whole body from the inside out. Like this wasn’t the first time she’d been there. Like she wasn’t ruining Paige’s carefully managed sense of distance just by existing.

Paige hated having people in her space. Hated the way they never put things back where they found them. Hated the noise, the clutter, the inevitable mess.

But Azzi?

Azzi hadn’t felt like a guest. She hadn’t felt like a disruption. She’d felt like a habit. Like something Paige could get used to.

Too easily.

Maybe already had.

The way she moved through the apartment, soft-footed and half-asleep, made the space feel warmer. Like all the expensive clean lines and curated furniture had finally found their missing piece: one rookie with no sense of self-preservation and a smile that could knock the wind out of you.

Paige gripped the wheel tighter.

Trouble, she thought. You’re in so much trouble.

Paige exhaled. “You doing okay?” 

It came out quieter than she meant.

Azzi blinked over at her, then looked away. “I’m fine.”

And that’s as far as the conversation went. 

Paige pulled to a slow stop in front of Azzi’s building, her hands still white-knuckled on the steering wheel. The radio played quietly. Something low and instrumental, the kind of background music you forget until it starts to feel like a soundtrack to your nerves.

Azzi unbuckled slowly. No movement went unconsidered.

She didn’t reach for the door yet. Just looked out the window, then down at her hands in her lap, like she wasn’t sure what to do next. 

Then, softly:

“So you do have my address memorized.”

Paige glanced over, and for once, didn’t try to dodge the implication.

“I used to live around the corner,” she said. “Kinda hard to forget.”

Azzi nodded, like that explained everything and nothing.

“Right. That makes sense.”

They sat in silence for a beat too long.

Paige tapped the steering wheel once with her fingers. “You good to get up there?”

Azzi nodded again. “Yeah. Thanks for…all of it.”

She opened the door and stepped out, but paused with one hand still on it. Her curls caught the light. Her voice was quiet.

“I won’t make a habit of this, by the way.”

Paige smirked, eyes still forward. “Good. I charge a steep rescue fee after the second offense.”

Azzi gave a soft, breathy laugh. Then shut the door.

Paige drove home contemplating who she used to be before Azzi Fudd showed up. And then when she got there, she collapsed back into her bed and exhaled like she’d been holding her breath since last night.

She opened the group chat, hit the call button, and barely gave them a second to answer before snapping:

“I’m gonna kill all of you.”

Courtney’s face popped up first, already grinning like she’d been waiting.

“Oh, hey, look who’s alive.”

Bridget joined with a yawn and a mouthful of cereal. “She lives! How was babysitting?”

Paige scowled. “Why would you send that photo to me?”

Courtney raised both brows. “Girl, it’s not like posted it. We were being friends. Friends who alert other friends when their hand goes viral.”

“I didn’t know the camera was pointed that way. I was—” Paige broke off. “I was trying to keep her upright.”

Bridget snorted. “By the waistband of her skirt?"

“Shut up,” Paige muttered.

“Have you talked to her this morning? Is she alive?”

Paige felt the heat creep up her neck. She didn’t respond right away, just looked away from the camera like it might buy her time.

“Pause,” Courtney said, squinting. “What are you not telling us?”

Bridget leaned in too. “No, because that face? That’s the ‘I did something stupid and now I have to live with it’ face.”

Paige let out a sharp exhale. “She stayed at my place last night.”

Both of them went silent. Which was somehow worse.

“…Define stayed,” Bridget said slowly.

“In my bed,” Paige muttered.

Courtney screamed. “NAH. You mean to tell me you woke up with that woman in your arms and just what? Went and made her coffee?”

“Not in my arms” Paige lied. "But also I made her eggs too."

Bridget dropped her forehead to the table, groaning. “We are so far past the point of pretending this is normal.”

“She was drunk,” Paige emphasized, rubbing her temples. “I wasn’t going to let her go home like that. She could barely stand. I gave her my bed. I slept next to her. That’s it.”

Courtney blinked. “You slept next to her?”

“She asked me too!” Paige shot back, hands already up like she knew what was coming.

Bridget cracked first. “Nahhh. You folded.”

Paige groaned. “She was hammered. What was I supposed to do? Toss her on the sidewalk?”

“Clearly sleeping in the same bed was the only viable option.” Bridget said and at the same time Courtney followed up with: 

“She got you that soft? Damn.”

“She couldn’t even stand up.” Paige protested. “I was being—”

“—a simp,” Courtney cut in. “You were being a simp.”

Bridget lost it. “Did you hold her real close?”

“I didn’t hold her!”

“Girl. Your hand was in her waistband,” Courtney deadpanned. “We saw the photo.”

“That wasn’t—” Paige stopped. Exhaled. Rubbed her face. “Okay. I did that. But I didn’t mean to.”

“Your subconscious meant to,” Bridget smirked. “Your subconscious is down horrendous.”

Paige sighed. Dropped her phone. Looked up at the ceiling. 

“She remember anything?” Courtney asked.

“She didn’t say anything.”

Bridget: “Well, she’s definitely seen that photo. It’s everywhere.”

Courtney: “She’s 100% seen it.”

Bridget: “Bet she zoomed in.”

Paige stared deadpan at the screen. “Y’all are so unserious.”

Courtney smirked, “And yet we’re the ones who didn’t dry hump our rookie in public.”

Bridget laughed, “Crazy how that works.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Wait.” Bridget leaned back, expression changing just enough to sober the tone. “Okay, but real talk for a sec.”

Paige blinked. Courtney looked up too.

Bridget set her coffee down. “You need to check in with her.”

“I did,” Paige said. “I dropped her off like an hour ago.”

“No, I mean check in. Not just ‘you good?’ and hope she shrugs. You know how this works, P.”

Courtney stayed quiet. Let Bridget speak.

“Anything with your name on it blows up ten times bigger,” Bridget said. “And you know that. You’ve had years to get used to it. Azzi hasn’t.”

Paige opened her mouth, closed it.

Bridget went on, calm but firm. “She’s already in headlines just for existing next to you on a court. Now the internet’s got their hands on a photo of you two looking like—” She stopped, gestured vaguely. “You know.”

“A situation,” Courtney offered.

“Exactly. And you might be able to brush that off. But she might not. So just…talk to her. Don’t wait ‘til practice. She’s probably overwhelmed.”

Paige didn’t say anything at first. Just sat with it.

The weight of what Bridget was saying wasn’t new but it settled differently this time. Heavier. Truer. Because she’d been so caught up in her own spiral—what it meant for her, for her reputation, for the fucking team—that she hadn’t really stopped to think about Azzi. Not properly. Not outside the ache in her chest or the way she kept replaying the feel of her pressed close and warm in bed.

But Azzi was alone right now. In her too-small apartment. Alone and watching a photo of herself—of them—spread across the internet like wildfire. A photo that made it look like Paige was hers. Like they were something. Like Azzi had let Paige hold her like that. Like she wanted it.

Paige swallowed hard.

She could brush this off, eventually. She was used to the noise.

But Azzi wasn’t. Azzi still cared. She was soft in all the ways Paige wasn’t. Not weak but unguarded. Earnest. 

She laughed too easily. Blushed when someone gave her a real compliment. Said thank you like she meant it. And now the internet was passing her around like a tabloid headline. Breaking her down into pixels and assumptions and captions that didn’t care if she was ready for all of it.

Paige ran a hand over her face.

Azzi didn’t deserve that. And she sure as hell didn’t deserve to be left alone in the fallout.

"Yeah," she finally muttered. "You're right. I’ll take care of it."

And then she hung up before they could give her anymore shit.

Paige took a shower. Did the dishes. Skipped washing the sheets, though she usually did on Saturdays, for no particular reason. Her routine made her feel a bit more like herself. More stable. But eventually, she ran out of things to keep her hands busy and collapsed on the couch. 

She knew better than to look. Really, she did. But still, she opened her phone. Thumbed over to Twitter.

And there it was. First thing that popped up—bright, blown-out, a little blurry but unmistakable.

The photo.

She clicked on it like she hadn’t memorized it already. Like she hadn’t already played it over in her mind a hundred times. How her hand had landed there, stayed there, fingers hooked just casually enough to look intentional. And Azzi, leaning back into it.

Or maybe that was projection.

She scrolled. Slowly.

The replies were a mess of screaming, speculation, heart-eye emojis, and memes.

THE HAND. THE WAISTBAND. I’M ON THE FLOOR.

Someone check on Paige’s PR team 💀

Azzi Fudd you lucky lucky girl.

bueckersfudd truthers RISE.

they’re not in love yet but they’re dangerously close and i’m not well.

That one made her close out of the app quick. 

Paige lived by structure—almost obsessively. She had rules. About basketball. About interviews. About her personal life. Rules that kept things clean and quiet. Predictable.

She followed them like gospel. It was how she stayed out of headlines. Out of drama. Out of anything messy.

But Azzi Fudd had a way of making rules feel optional.

She wasn’t loud about it. She didn’t push. She just existed—soft and stubborn and impossible to ignore. And somehow that was worse. Because Paige couldn’t build a defense against that. Couldn’t outwork it or outrun it. Not when Azzi called her at 1 a.m. Not when she curled up in Paige’s bed like she belonged there. Not when she whispered things like I always think you’re pretty like it didn’t cost her anything.

And that was such an issue but she wasn’t going to let her own mental breakdown leave Azzi dealing with this alone. 

So she pulled out her phone. Texted one of the managers:

you got azzi fudd’s address?

He sent it fast, no questions asked. Paige stood. Paced. Went to her closet. 

She wasn’t proud of what happened next:

Tried on three different outfits. Ditched a hoodie for something a little more put-together. Then too put-together. Then accidentally hot.

She landed somewhere in the middle. Baggy jeans. Cropped tank. Hair up. Hair down. Hair up again. And then got so embarrassed she just forced herself to walk away. To grab her keys. To go do the right thing. 

Azzi’s POV

As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, it hit her.

The mess. The clothes she’d meant to fold three days ago still draped over the back of the couch. The empty protein bar wrappers on the counter. The faint smell of takeout that hadn’t quite left.

After spending the night in Paige’s world—all minimalist neutrals and soft lighting and countertops that practically sparkled—this just felt…loud.

Embarrassingly loud.

She didn’t even let herself sit down. Didn’t look at her phone. Didn’t think about the photo.

Instead, she grabbed a laundry basket and started tossing clothes into it. Wiped down the counters. Took out the trash.

It was easier to focus on surfaces than feelings. Easier to scrub her stove than remember how close Paige had been this morning. How she'd smelled like sleep and shampoo and something dangerously good.

She was spiraling, and she knew it. But at least the floor was clean.

She was halfway through fixing the sheets when her phone lit up.

She didn’t even pretend to be surprised—just sighed, stared at the screen like it might disappear if she waited long enough, but she knew they wouldn’t stop. She flopped backward onto the bed and answered.

“Girl,” Jana said immediately, her face filling the screen.

Caroline appeared half a second later

“You alive?” she asked.

Azzi groaned into a pillow. “Debatable.”

“You broke the internet,” Jana said, practically gleeful.

“Seriously. People are spiraling,” Caroline added. “Like, full meltdown levels of spiraling.”

Then, pause.

Jana squinted. “Wait. Is that a UConn shirt?”

Azzi glanced down like she’d forgotten. Tugged at the hem, like that might make it disappear. “She gave it to me to sleep in.”

Jana let out a slow whistle. “Okay, but whose bed did you sleep in?”

“Don’t answer that,” Caroline said. “Let the mystery live. It’s better for the brand.”

“I don’t have a brand,” Azzi muttered.

“Babe,” Caroline said, deadpan, “you’re trending right now. You absolutely have a brand.”

Azzi groaned and covered her face again. “Oh my god. Stop talking.”

“Someone just tweeted, ‘Paige Bueckers has never guarded someone as hard as she’s guarding Azzi Fudd’s waistline,’ and I’m still not over it,” Jana cackled. “I love this.”

Azzi bit down on her lip. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh?” Jana raised a brow. “So Paige just routinely tucks her hand into people’s skirts for platonic support?”

“That’s not what it looked like,” Caroline added, scrolling. “There’s a thread with like, eighty thousand likes titled ‘the way Paige Bueckers looks at Azzi Fudd could end wars.’”

Azzi didn’t laugh. Because something inside her had started to come loose. Like her body was just now registering the weight of it all. Her chest felt too tight. Her eyes burned.

Azzi sat up straighter, her stomach twisting. “You guys—can you just—stop?”

Both faces went quiet.

Azzi exhaled, shaky and uneven. Her voice came quieter this time, like it had to squeeze its way past everything caught in her throat. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I wasn’t trying to—” Her jaw clenched. “I was just drunk. And stupid. And I called her. And now everyone’s analyzing everything and talking about me and I just…”

She trailed off, breath catching mid-sentence. Like finishing the thought might break her.

Caroline’s voice softened instantly. “Azzi, no one’s mad at you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But now my name’s in all these headlines,” she said, voice cracking on the last word, “and people are speculating and making assumptions and none of it’s even about basketball anymore.” Her shoulders hunched, like she was trying to take up less space. “I just wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be a story.”

“Hey,” Jana said, leaning closer into the camera. “Hey. Breathe. Just breathe, alright?”

Azzi wiped at her cheek quickly and shook her head, humiliated. “This is so dumb. I’m being dumb.”

“You’re being overwhelmed,” Caroline corrected gently. “And that’s allowed. Especially when everyone and their burner account has an opinion about you now.”

There was a pause. A quiet, tender beat.

“I just feel terrified,” Azzi admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Because what if this ruins things? What if she holds this against me? What if she pulls back just to prove something to people who don’t even know us? I—”

A knock cut her off. She froze.

“Uh.” Her eyes flicked toward the door. “Someone’s at my apartment. Which is weird because I know no one.”

“We’ll stay on the phone with you,” Caroline said immediately, already straightening in frame.

Azzi nodded and tiptoed down the hall, phone still in hand. There was no peephole—which she now realized was probably a major safety hazard, but she’d ignored it when she signed the lease because the view from the balcony was nice and the rent didn’t make her cry.

“Can you hear anything?” Jana whispered.

Azzi shook her head, inching closer. Her pulse thrummed in her ears. She tightened her grip on the phone, then braced herself and pulled the door open…

And there was Paige.

Jeans, cropped tank, bag of takeout in one hand like it wasn’t the most disarming thing Azzi had ever seen. 

Azzi blinked. Paige blinked back.

“Paige?”

The other side of the FaceTime exploded.

“Oh my god. Hi Pai—”

Azzi hung up so fast her thumb nearly jammed. Just panic swipe. Immediate regret. She looked back at Paige, pulse still stuttering like it hadn’t caught up to reality yet.

“What are you doing here?”

Paige didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head, calm and a little infuriating. “What? You can show up at my place in the middle of the night, but I can’t return the favor?”

Azzi rocked on her heels, suddenly aware of how messy she looked. How the apartment behind her still looked like someone had tornadoed through it trying to clean in a panic.

“My apartment isn’t nearly as nice as yours. I—”

“Fudd,” Paige cut in, voice gentler now, “do you honestly think I care?”

Azzi’s mouth opened, then closed.

“Now,” Paige added, holding up the bag like a peace offering, “are you going to have some manners and invite me in, or did I grab takeout and drive over here for nothing?”

Azzi stepped aside and watched, pulse hammering, as Paige crossed the threshold like it wasn’t a big deal. Like she did this all the time. Like this was normal.

She set the takeout on the counter and glanced around once. No judgment, just quiet observation. But Azzi still winced at the drying rack overflowing with mismatched cups and the stray sock half-tucked under the couch. Her entire apartment screamed not ready for company, and Paige Bueckers looked like company that came with high standards and expensive soap.

When Paige turned around, though, she was smirking. Dangerous. Too knowing.

“Like that shirt or something?”

Azzi looked down and immediately wished she hadn’t. She was still in Paige’s UConn shirt. 

She swallowed. “It’s comfortable,” she mumbled, trying for nonchalant and failing spectacularly.

Paige just nodded. “Keep it then. I’ve got hundreds.”

And Azzi, who’d gone toe-to-toe with defenders twice her size, who’d handled press like a pro and played through injuries without flinching—nearly blacked out on the spot.

“Thanks,” Azzi said quietly, voice smaller than she meant it to be. Her fingers tugged at the hem of the shirt absentmindedly. Then, after a beat: “But really…am I in trouble?”

It was the only thing that made sense. Paige Bueckers, in her kitchen, unpacking takeout like this was just another day. That had to mean something serious was coming. A reprimand. A reset. A goodbye.

Paige glanced over her shoulder. “No,” she said. Softer than Azzi expected. “I just—I know that picture’s out there. And I know people are loud. And I wanted to make sure you’re doing alright.”

Azzi froze. Her stomach dropped, then flipped, then landed somewhere near her throat.

“You came over…to check on me?”

Paige let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she opened a container. “Well, I originally came to get my shirt back. But since that’s clearly not happening…” She looked at her again, gaze steady. “Yeah. I came to check on you.”

Azzi didn’t know what to say to that. So she didn’t.

“Now, come on,” Paige added, nudging a pair of chopsticks her way. “Come eat. And we’ll talk about it.”

[thegneurshk]

there's an update to this!!

post 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/weeviltime/comments/16cw1wq/you_guys_my_bf_insulted_my_love_of_weevils/

a post on r/weeviltime by Poisonskittlez titled "You guys, my bf insulted my love of weevils..."

He made fun of how much time I spend looking at weevils on Reddit... and said that he wished weevils didn't exist. Unbeweevable! Is it time to call things off? I could use some advice and support from people who understand just how serious this situation is. Thank you

Feel free to share some awesome weevil pics in the comments so I can try to convert him to the weevil side of things.

post 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/weeviltime/comments/16mg2gn/you_guys_my_bf_made_fun_of_my_love_of_weevils/

Hi guys, it's me again. The chick with the bf who insulted my love ofweevils. Just wanted to give you all an update, and say thank you to everyone who responded.

I got a lot of great advice from everyone. Ranging from "throw him off a cliff" To "dress as a weevil to assert dominance" to "maybe he's suffering from snoot &boot envy" to whispering weevil puns to him while he sleeps as a form of suggestive hypnosis.

I took him hiking up in the mountains, but unfortunately I couldn't get him to stand close enough to the edge to complete the first suggestion.

I'm planning on getting a weevil costume (Halloween is right around the corner so that's a great excuse) I'm gonna wear it for Halloween and then slowly start 'desensitizing' him by wearing it for short intervals at first, and eventually progress to wearing it full time without him commenting negatively on it. If that goes well, then I'm gonna go for the gold and make him a weevil suit to give to him for Christmas. 🤞

A couple people brought up a very valid point, that he might just be jealous of weevils awesome snoots and boots. (the clinical term for this is 'snoot envy'). So I ordered a pair of boots on Amazon, so he doesn't feel left out, and they will arrive some time next month, I didn't have enough money to get him a nose job, so sadly he will have to stay jealous of the snoots.

I also want to thank who supplied the picture of the weevil that actually cured by bf of his weevil hate. (I've included it in the comments so you can all bask in it's snooty glory)

He still doesn't love weevils, but he no longer hates them of wished them extinct, He also apologized and said he was just teasing and didn't realize how serious I am about weevils. (I'm hindsight, I'm glad I didn't shove him off the cliff lol). W've come to an agreement that I will only show him 3 weevils a day from now on, and I'm okay with that. I just need to make sure to pick my weevils carefully.

Anyway, thanks again everyone for your help, may you be blessed by a weevil soon.

This is so real

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 7, Part 3

masterpost it's 11am and it's already been A Day

Danny turned Clockwork’s medallion over in his hands. He’d taken it out again for the MRI. He didn’t know if things inside of his ghost body could react to the giant magnet, but he hadn’t wanted to find out be destroying a very expensive medical device.

The design was slightly warped now, like it had been melted on the one side, and the once bright gold was tarnished. Danny was pretty sure that the tarnish was from his blood and ectoplasm.

Fourth time dying and still not the charm.

Which Danny was damn glad for, of course, but it was still his fourth time dying. Fifth, if alternate timelines counted.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Mina said as she set down the tray of tea.

Danny eyed it.

“It’s just normal tea,” Mina assured him with a little huff. “Early grey, to be specific. You like it with honey and milk.”

Danny smiled slightly. “I do. And thank you for having me over for it. I needed to just not… be busy with tests and people worrying and… just not there. Does that make me horrible?”

“Of course not!” Mine said. She set the honey pot down a bit forcefully. “Danny, you’ve been away from home for weeks and weeks now. You had to drop out of your classes this semester. I know there’s probably a new job or two you missed. It’s totally understandable that you need a break from that.”

“Okay, okay good,” Danny sighed. “I was just worried? I mean, I’ve basically been doted on by my boyfriends for weeks now, that should be good.”

“Boyfriends who you started dating under extreme stress.” Mina passed Danny his cup and a hard look at the same time. “Besides, you’re not Penny, you don’t fall for someone and become inseparable. You still need your own space.”

“They’re both so cuddly, Mina,” Danny whined. “And I love it! But also sometimes I just need a little bit of space.”

“You’re allowed to be overwhelmed, especially after dying.”

“Again,” Danny added.

“Again,” Mina agreed. “Since you’re half ghost! And never told me!”

“Oddly, does not come up much in normal conversation,” Danny said.

“As if we’re normal,” Mina pointed out.

“Never,” Danny agreed. He took a long sip of the tea. It was good, even if maybe he had tea trauma. “But I could maybe use a little bit of normalcy.”

“Go back to your own place,” Mina said, “get used to your hearing aids, and take some time to breathe. Read a book or something.”

Danny arched his brow over a pointed sip of his tea.

Mina rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine, play a video game. Point is, relax and just let yourself recenter. I’ll send you home with a crystal.”

“You know those don’t do anything,” Danny pointed out.

“Yeah, but they’re pretty,” Mina said with a little sigh.

Chuckling, Danny shook his head. “Okay, fine. But before I go to find my zen or whatever, tell me about the latest fortune telling drama.”

Mina leaned forward with an eager smile that promised a good story. “Oh my gods, Danny, you’re going to love this…”

[erule]

Teenage dream | b.r.

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x reader 

Summary: you’re in love with Bob, but he doesn’t know that and this is tearing you apart. Until one day, he tells you to ask him what you’ve been eager to know.

Warnings: angst, fluff, friends to lovers trope, making out (reader and Bob are both 18+ here), Thunderbolts* spoilers ahead

Word count: 1.7K+

A/N: hi guys! I’m back with a ff with Bob Reynolds, because I just loved his so much in the movie (and Lewis too ofc!!). Feedback is always appreciated by a writer! I hope you enjoy it 🌙

Main Masterlist

MCU Masterlist

Somehow, you’ve always known that. Since the first time he entered in the room, you’ve felt something, a sort of an energy or a vibe. Yelena looked at you, because she got it even before you could even comprehend what was happening inside of you. It was like a teenage dream that would come to reality. Bob said hello to everybody and your eyes lingered on his face more than you would do with a stranger. You knew what he did, but you didn’t really care about it. You weren’t scared. After years of working with the Avengers, you knew the risks. 

It was even funnier, when Bucky asked you, door closed behind you, if you were sneaking out with him. You gulped, embarrassed, but also giggled at the thought. You wished you would, but no, that wasn’t you. He was having some kind of affair with somebody else. You shrugged, then you went away in order to go back to your room, but you found Yelena next to your door. 

“He did it, didn’t he?” She asked and you nodded. Yelena sighed, tired. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I told him you weren’t doing anything with Bob, but he wanted to know it directly from you. Did it hurt you?”

“Not quite as when I saw Bob kissing Sarah,” you answered. Sarah was the classic girl next door: simple, cute and nice. You had nothing against her, really, but you weren’t glad to see her with your beloved Bob. Oh, you sounded so riddiculous!

You sighed, while preparing yourself to get into the shower. Yelena gave you a T-shirt for later. 

“I can only imagine,” Yelena said, while sitting on your bed. “If I could do something about it, like smashing his face into the wall or…”

“Unfortunately, you can’t,” you replied with a smile. “Still, I love you for that”.

“No, I don’t like all of these emotions. I’m gonna get out from here. See you at dinner, babe,” she said and you waved at her.

Sometimes, you thought that she was your only friend beside of Bob. How do you really talk to your friend about you being in love with them? You got into the shower in order to go to dinner very fast. You changed your clothes, then you did your hair. You were wearing your shoes, when somebody knocked at the door. 

“Hey,” a sweet voice said and you recognized it immediately.

“Hi,” you replied and your heart began to race.

“I… uhm… know, from Walker, that Bucky wanted to talk to you about something urgent today. Is everything alright?” He asked and you didn’t really know how to answer. You remained silent for a couple of seconds, so he shaked his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude. I was just worried about you. Bucky can be very unpleasant, sometimes”.

“Sometimes?” You joked and he smiled.

“Multiple times”.

“Anyway, thank you for your concern, but it was nothing serious”.

Then, he gulped, nodding, his shoulder on the door jamb and his fingers intertwined. You looked at him, your lips parted as if you were about to ask him a question, but you didn’t. He seemed to as well, though.

“I’ve missed this,” he said. 

“What?”

“This,” he repeated, pointing at him and you with a finger. “Us. Being friends, making jokes. Whatever we were before”.

“Before what?”

“Before I got with Sarah,” he said and you gulped, trying to hide your sense of guilt. Your feelings.

“We’re still friends,” you stated and it was true.

“I know,” he replied, then he walked towards you and you started to feel uncomfortable. 

“Please, don’t,” you said. You couldn’t handle it anymore. 

He stopped.

“I know that there’s something off here, Y/N. Just tell me,” he said and you felt terrible. He was really trying to have his friend back, but you couldn’t even admit that you were in love with him with yourself, let alone with him! You bit your bottom lip. Who knows what Void would have seen, if only he could. Maybe your secret dreams about him or the lowest point of your life, when you followed him to see why he would always go to the cafè in front of the compound. You were ashamed of yourself. He couldn’t touch you, otherwise he would have found out everything.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” you found the courage to say, but he sighed.

“Y/N, if I did anything to offend you, I’m sorry,” he said. “You know that I wouldn’t hurt a fly, come on”.

You tried to hold back the tears.

“People can’t know anything”.

“True,” he said, while getting slowly closer to you. Your skin began to get hotter very fast, as if his only presence could make you feel warmer. “But they’re not my friends”.

“I don’t want to know your personal life’s secrets”.

“Something’s telling me you do,” he said with the ghost of a smirk on his pale face. You tilted your head. “You could live with the doubt forever or… you could just ask”. You gulped. “Ask me”.

You released the breath you were apparently holding. When you were just a teenager, you used to fantasize about a lot of fictional and real guys as if it was some kind of game, but now, all of this didn’t seem like a game to you anymore. He was real, in front of you, asking you to make him a question. So you did. 

“Why not me?”

You knew why he chose her, it wasn’t a stupid challenge between two people being in love with the same guy. It was about you and him, this time. It was about being the second chance again.

His eyes flickered. For a moment, he wasn’t Bob anymore. He was Void and Void knew how to break into your heart like nobody else. You wondered if you made the right call.

“Because it was easier,” he answered. You were confused. Easier to be with somebody less demanding than you? Easier than breaking a friendship? “Easier to fake that I didn’t care about you as much as I do,” he said, as if he could read your mind. “Everytime I look at you during a mission, I hope that our enemies don’t get how much I love you. Everytime I see you walking into the compound, I ask myself if Bucky or Yelena or anybody else knows that I’m wrapped around your finger. And every damn time that something bad happens, I fear that it happened to you and that I wasn’t there to protect you”.

The tears were rolling on your cheeks at that point.

“It’s unfair”.

“What? That you didn’t tell me that you were in love with me?” He asked.

“That you’d rather sneak around with anybody but me”.

“You’re being mean,” he said, clenching his jaw.

“And you’re breaking my heart”.

He looked at you as if you just broke the ice into his eyes and now he was bleeding on the outside. His eyes were glossy and circled in red.

“Well, then it’s a good thing that you did the same with mine, I guess”.

That was the moment in which your heart shattered into pieces.

***

Yelena was very focused while listening to your argument with Bob, but once you were finished, she rolled on the bed, exhausted. A corner of your lips turned up in half a smile. 

“You’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, but she threw a pillow at you.

“Am I? You’re the one who fought with the love of her life over a stupid thing!”

The skin of your face started to burn.

“He’s not… He’s not the love of my life”.

“Babe, come on, he is. And he has been for as long as I can remember. Probably, you were dreaming about him when you were still a teenager”.

You sighed. It was like she could read you. That was probably why you felt something already when he just entered into the room and he light it up like it was the easiest thing to do on the planet. At that point, you couldn’t even lie anymore: you were desperately in love with him.

“You think that he was right all along?”

Yelena got up from the bed and shaked your hand.

“Y/N, have you met us? We’re the new Avengers: we go on missions, we try to save the world while we also make stupid jokes about dying in a cool way. Yeah, he’s pretty much right”.

You sat down on the bed.

“I ruined everything, didn’t I?” You asked her, while your hands are on your face.

“Maybe not,” she said and you could feel that she was smiling. 

You get up immediately from the bed, as if you could feel his presence. It’s like a dream coming true. He’s standing again with an arm on the door jamb, hands in the pockets and a curl of his hair on his forehead. He had never looked more beautiful, if that was possible.

Yelena left the room with a smile on her face.

“Hi,” you said, incredibly guilty.

“Hi”, he replied. Even his voice was like drinking cold water during a hot Summer day. It was refreshing for your ears. His face, on the other hand, was a breath of fresh air. He really was the man you’ve been looking for you whole life. You even dreamt about him when he was still a character in your head. “What you said the other day… it really hurt me”.

“Bob, I’m so…”

“No,” he interrupted you. “Let me finish. Honestly, I could have handled it in a better way. I also wasn’t fair to Sarah, you were right, so I broke up with her immediately after our argument”.

You were at a loss for words. 

He walked closer to you. His fingertips caressed your cheek and he was looking at you as if you were the sun and he was desperate to warm up. You felt electricity running through your veins, some tiny shots that were jumping from your back to your neck. He used his thumb to part your lips gently. Your eyes were burning because of the tears behind them. Please, let this moment never come to an end, you thought. Then, he placed his lips on yours and you lost every control over your nerves. Your hands felt the urge to tighten around his hair and your lips became hot and swollen after a short time of kissing. It was like the whole world has disappeared into his embrace. Every fantasy you had when you were little had now become a reality. You couldn’t even believe it. Every dream of yours was now there, in front of you. And they were all worth the wait.  

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[nuggetthefanloser]

This reminds of when I was younger, I wasn't allowed near the deeper end of the web pool, social media was off limits. Except...

Scratch.

Scratch is a stupid little website at its core. It is a site intended for programming, where you can barely store any data before your project is rendered unusable and unloadable. It can be used for animation, but it has no real tools for making animations other than whatever onion skinning you clumsily attempt to implement using Scratch's limited toolset for programming. It can be used for art, but you're sharing that art at (if I recall correctly) 960 x 720 pixels (originally 480 x 360). You can do so much with Scratch, but also never go very far with it (or so you'd think, but if you give the right guy a computer and a challenge, he'll come back running Doom).

And, of course, it was incredibly censored. The site will block just about anything (I still had it taken away from me because it was GAYYYYY). Not great for teens, even kids will set off the moderation, the whole system is on a hair-trigger.

And yet Scratch was free, they ran it off of donations. So, there was not profit initiative. You weren't going to sell merch on Scratch either (as I believe MintToasterLemon learned, might've been BoyMcBoy but I don't remember. Could've been both), so anything you did on Scratch was for kicks and giggles and out of a desire to create something. And obviously yeah there was some cheap garbage animation, and there were ridiculous edge/emo animations people would make but it was all really fun. And hey, sometimes you'd come across something that was genuinely so awesome to your younger self that you'd remember it way later (looking at you, SilverShimmer43)!

But, of course, you can't stay forever. The aforementioned moderation, the fact that it's getting harder for me to keep up with Scratch anymore, the fact that last I checked people still managed to fuck it up because it's a bunch of kids desperate for some validation and recognition flooding the front page with basically the same animation or platformer over and over again. Even worse, folks got good at it and made Scratch less stupid (check out Turbowarp), now you can make Scratch projects almost professionally granted you have the skill (which ruins the point of Scratch in the first place imo, their motto did not include "get good," all they said was Imagine, Program, Share). Add in the controversial Remix feature (that I will defend with my life) and then most folks just leave.

But you can still browse Scratch, and you'll find some amazing old projects and some relics of times long gone. Like, check out LockedOn, Pageturner 2 is more than a little rough but Pageturner 3 is great. ScratchU8 is a classic skit animator who'd been around since 1.4, left before 3.0 though. I remember TheNickOfTime, Potato Simulator was an instant classic. Can't forget TurboKitten either.

And all of these things were because kids and teens wanted to make something cool. And all of these things are cool! At least, in some subjective sense somewhere.

All I'm saying is I'm still looking for a site in-between Tumblr, Ao3, and Scratch (ok ok, maybe with the niceties of Turbowarp) that's just... free. Free as in free beer and freedom.

Listen if any of you know a site like that hit me UP please

Fanfic is a free hobby.

It's one of the last few things we can have as a society that's free. You can engage, for free. People give you things (art, stories, etc), for free.

Don't buy into the consummerism just because it's everywhere else.

You don't have to consume everything you interact with. You don't have to use things, just because they exist.

You're allowed (still, for now), to have things that are enjoyable for free.

Do you realise how insane the world is? We don't have many places where we can just be, for free anymore, but ao3 is. Did you notice we don't have ads in ao3? We don't have pop ups? Where ELSE do we not have that?

Where else can you just go and not have to wait for a commercial to be over or for ads to be on the sidelines?

I don't think the younger people understand, but the whole of internet used to be like this. YouTubers would do Youtube for free, just because. You couldn't monetise your internet presence before.

Ao3 is like a little preserved corner of the internet where the old internet used to be, and it's being attacked by people who do not understand that free things are allowed to exist without judgment.

Please don't ruin this for us.

Some of us need it.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

historical drama/sitcom where two gay best friends (woman and man) get lavender married--and proceed to spend the Fancy European Honeymoon their parents paid for acting as each other's wingman

[millificent]

Every Nico Di Angelo fan focusing more on the background of the episode than the actual plot

[arsenicpanda]

FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S (2023)

[bnprime]

there are several contrasting forces here and i still don’t know what to think about the gordian knot that is post secondary education.

it is (when it works) one of the most efficient ways to get a person up to the level where they can start training as an expert.

it is ableist and classist and is built around the assumption that students don’t have any other responsibilities other than studying.

there is a tremendous amount of material, and zero students going into it expect that they can do this much work, but all graduating students discover along the way that they do indeed have the capacity to learn this much this quickly.

building up the confidence of the few survivors is a sliding scale, and where we decide to put the cutoff of “you are good enough to make it through” is arbitrary, and chosen by people with survivor bias.

mastery at the highest years requires mastery of a large number of prerequisite subjects, and if the students do school too slowly, they will forget the skills they honed so carefully.

realistically speaking, students forget most of what you teach them the evenig after the final exam.

it is a fantastically efficient way to train people who are very very smart.

maybe squishing up everyone for the sake of the few survivors isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and also maybe it’s not good for the geniuses either.

post secondary education isn’t for everyone, but maybe it could be made to be a lot more wonderful for everyone who wanted to try it. i personally don’t think it should be used as a launching point for adult careers (apart from maybe engineering and agriculture or forestry), and should instead be used as a place to learn about the wonders of the world, and also to sharpen oneself to a fine keen edge for the purpose of the betterment of society. i would like there to be zero people there because they “need to be” and thousands more to be there because they “get to be.”

i certainly got quite burned out as an undergrad. quitting wasn’t an option, but i still think that the way they treat people is not well thought out.

i completely understand & agree with the backlash against students using chatgpt to get degrees but some of you are out here saying "getting a degree in xyz means pulling multiple consecutive all-nighters and writing essays through debilitating migraines and having severe back pain from constantly studying at your desk and chugging energy drinks until you get a kidney stone and waking up wishing you were dead every day, and that's just part of the natural process of learning!!!" and like. umm. i don't think that any of us should have had to endure that either. like maybe the solution for stopping students from using anti-learning software depends on college institutions making the process of learning actually sustainable on the human body & mind rather than a grueling health-destroying soul-crushing endeavor

[rockeaters]

love it when people draw aus differently so some ideas for art styles and designs

ink belongs to comyet fresh belongs to loverofpiggies dream + nightmare belong to joku-blog

[kimikaami]

The funniest thing about House MD to me is that all the shippers are right. House and Wilson really are just Like That. I'm so used to big ships being completely noncanon or distant subtext at best. Not Hilson. They have a fake dating episode. In the episode where House mocks a gay man for being in denial, the multi-episode-long subplot is about him trying to break up Wilson's relationship because he's jealous and wants him to himself. Wilson, his best friend and person whom he lives with. This show is insane.