#second fiddles podcast

[graznot]

I am enjoying the podcast Second Fiddles, but there's a couple irksome things

Spoilers I'm on episode 40

Because of the degree of silly of the world there's a degree of simplicity to the morality. Aka killing always = wrong. Even with serial killers or people actually plotting the destruction of the planet?

Also there's conversations they just don't have:

1) There are a lot of daily things InvisaDude has trouble doing because he is constantly invisible so he has and is still dependent on his parents. So what's the plan when they're no longer able to do that?

2) A superhero was raped and impregnated by an alien. The show has this far gone out of its way to not say the word rape. It doesn't pretend it was consensual and she is very and understandably traumatized. The word avoidance feels strange. Maybe it's a censor thing.

[lanadelspray02]

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 15

paige x azzi

warning: sexual content

Hi guys, you all wanted the chapter so badly, so here it is. Hopefully, it makes sense, as I haven't had a chance to edit it yet. Thanks for showing love :) as always let me know your thoughts

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 9473

--------------------

The early afternoon sun hung bright and stubbornly cheerful, glinting off the sleek silver paint of the team bus parked just beyond the gym doors. Paige squinted against the glare, one hand gripping the handle of her travel bag, the other fiddling with the zipper of Azzi’s hoodie she’d adopted sometime in the last twenty-four hours. The fabric was worn-in, soft, and smelled unmistakably like Azzi, warm, clean, comforting.

She glanced to her side and felt that familiar flutter, the quiet rush of realising Azzi was right there. Azzi stood next to her, bag slung easily over one shoulder, curls pulled loosely back. Her eyes followed the line of teammates filing onto the bus, their laughter and teasing drifting back on the breeze. Paige watched her discreetly, a smile tugging at her lips. She still didn’t understand how she’d gotten lucky enough to be let into this part of Azzi, unguarded, real.

Azzi, sensing the weight of Paige’s stare, turned slightly. Her eyes softened. “You okay?” she asked, voice low enough to slip beneath the surrounding chatter.

Paige nodded, a flush rising to her cheeks. “Yeah. Just realised it’s the first time we’re going away together since… everything.”

Azzi’s mouth twitched, amused. “Everything, huh?”

“You know,” Paige said, ducking her head with a shy smile. “Us.”

Azzi’s heart tightened at the word. Us. So casual now, so inevitable. “It feels different,” she admitted. “But good.”

“Yeah,” Paige echoed quickly. “Really good.”

A familiar voice broke the moment, loud, teasing, and just pointed enough. “You two coming, or are we interrupting something?” KK called from the bus steps, one brow arched dramatically.

Azzi rolled her eyes as a flush crept into her cheeks. Paige just laughed, then reached down and intwined their fingers without hesitation. “Mind your business,” she called, mock-indignant.

Azzi squeezed her hand gently, warmth blooming in her chest at Paige’s quiet boldness.

They boarded the bus together. The familiar scent of leather seats and stale air freshener clung to the aisle as they passed by their teammates. Paige led them toward the back, only letting go of Azzi’s hand to slide into the window seat and guide her down beside her.

Paige leaned back with a quiet sigh, adjusting their hands so they rested over her thigh. She felt Azzi settle in next to her, and a slow warmth traveled up her arm and into her chest.

Around them, the team’s chatter ebbed and flowed. Caroline was loudly arguing about true crime podcasts with Ines. Nika had already slipped in headphones, head tilted back. KK was animatedly explaining something to Ice and Amari using far too many hand gestures. Paige watched them all fondly before turning back to Azzi.

Azzi was staring down at their joined hands, her thumb brushing light circles over Paige’s knuckles. There was something wondering in her expression.

Paige leaned a little closer. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Azzi looked up, lips parting slightly before she spoke. “It’s strange. Just sitting here. With you. Out in the open like this.”

Paige’s heart tugged. “Does it bother you?”

Azzi shook her head, grip tightening. “No. Just different.”

“Good different?” Paige asked softly.

“Definitely good,” Azzi said, eyes brightening as she met Paige’s gaze. “It just still feels like... I’m waiting for someone to tell us we can’t.”

Paige nudged their shoulders together. “No one’s telling us anything,” she said. “Not anymore.”

Azzi smiled and turned, resting her forehead against Paige’s shoulder. She closed her eyes for just a second. Paige didn’t say anything else. She just let her stay there.

The bus lurched forward, merging onto the highway. The hum of the road blended with the soft murmur of conversation, creating a quiet lull around them.

Several minutes passed before KK twisted around from the row ahead, her face lit with mischief. “Are we sure we trust you two rooming together?” she asked loudly. “I mean, we might never see either of you again.”

Azzi groaned into Paige’s shoulder, hiding her face. Paige didn’t miss a beat, she leaned forward, deadpan. “You’ll survive two days without me. Barely, but you’ll manage.”

KK cackled. “We’ll see about that.”

Azzi lifted her head again, cheeks flushed but smiling. “They’re going to give us hell all trip, aren’t they?”

Paige squeezed her hand, smile turning softer. “Probably. But it’s worth it.”

Azzi looked at her for a beat, searching her expression. “You mean that?”

“Every word,” Paige said, no hesitation. She leaned over and pressed a featherlight kiss to Azzi’s temple. Azzi’s stomach flipped, the warmth in her chest rushing outward.

They fell quiet again. The rhythm of the road settled into something peaceful. Paige’s thumb brushed idly across the back of Azzi’s hand. Her eyes drifted closed—not asleep, just settled.

Azzi watched her a moment longer, then allowed herself to lean in, her own eyes fluttering shut.

Her thoughts briefly flicked to Ruby, wondering how she was doing without her but she knew her parents had it handled. Ruby would be okay. And for now, so would she.

The bus rumbled beneath them, the world blurring gently outside the window. Paige’s fingers tightened slightly, as if grounding herself to Azzi’s presence.

For the first time since they started this journey, Paige didn’t just feel hopeful, she felt certain. Certain of where she belonged. Certain of who she belonged to.

And Azzi, curled into Paige’s side, surrounded by teammates who teased but never judged, felt it too.

Safe. Real. The road stretched ahead, quiet and full of promise. 

--------------------

The hotel lobby was comfortably busy, murmuring with the quiet bustle of travelers and the distant hum of conversation from the adjoining restaurant. Paige shifted her bag onto her shoulder, eyeing the neatly arranged rows of keys Coach had laid out on a polished table near reception. Teammates gathered around, grabbing their room assignments with subdued chatter, laughter and inside jokes floating lightly through the air.

Azzi stood just behind her, fingers brushing lightly against Paige’s back. The contact was casual, maybe even unconscious, but Paige felt it everywhere. That small, steady touch, protective, present, it warmed her more than she expected.

“You two are in room 312,” Coach said as he passed, tone casual, but his look at Paige carried more than a little amusement. “Don’t be late for shootaround.”

“Yes, Coach,” Paige replied quickly, voice neutral, but eyes shining. Azzi’s hand dropped to her side as Paige grabbed the keys, flipping them once in her palm as they started toward the elevators.

“Don’t forget we have practice later, lovebirds,” KK called after them. “Pace yourselves.”

Azzi laughed, covering her mouth as a light flush crept up her cheeks. Paige glanced back over her shoulder with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Maybe you should worry about your own roommate.”

KK grinned wickedly, yanking Amari into a playful headlock. “She knows how to handle me.”

“They’re ridiculous,” Azzi muttered as the elevator doors closed behind them, her tone fond but exasperated.

Paige pressed the button for their floor, stepping closer without thinking. “We might deserve a little teasing,” she said, eyes dancing. “We weren’t exactly subtle on the bus.”

Azzi tilted her head, mouth curving. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

Paige chuckled and stepped in until they were nearly chest to chest. She tugged at the hem of the hoodie Azzi had once owned and she’d now fully claimed. “Complaining? Nah. I’m just wondering how we’ve been roommates for all of two minutes and you’ve already surrendered all the good hoodies.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow. “That one is mine.”

“Exactly,” Paige whispered, lips brushing her ear. “You really think you’re getting this back?”

The elevator dinged before Azzi could reply, doors sliding open. Paige grinned and stepped out first, tossing a cheeky look over her shoulder. “Coming, roomie?”

Azzi exhaled a small laugh and followed. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

Azzi’s eyes softened immediately. “Yeah. I do.”

Their footsteps padded quietly down the carpeted hallway. Paige unlocked their door, then stepped back with an exaggerated bow. “After you, my lady.”

Azzi nudged her with a smirk as she walked past. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you,” Paige said, quieter now, the sincerity underneath catching gently in her voice.

The room was small but cozy, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains in soft gold stripes. Two neatly made beds sat side by side, with a nightstand between them. Paige dropped her bag at the foot of the bed closest to the window without hesitation. Azzi followed, placing hers beside it.

For a moment, the silence settled, not awkward, but full of unspoken thoughts.

Azzi glanced over. “You okay with... this arrangement? I mean, if you’d rather—”

Paige cut her off with a small shake of her head. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be,” she said, reaching for Azzi’s hand, her thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles. “But only if you feel the same.”

Azzi’s hand closed around hers. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Paige’s smile softened. That simple answer settled something deep in her chest.

They unpacked in a comfortable rhythm, occasionally bumping into each other, laughing quietly when they did. Paige lined up her toiletries beside Azzi’s on the bathroom counter, heart fluttering at how natural it felt. Azzi, still sitting on the edge of the bed, watched her with quiet affection.

“You seem comfortable,” she said softly, leaning back on her elbows.

Paige leaned in the bathroom doorway, arms crossed, casual but curious. “Should I not be?”

Azzi shrugged, smiling faintly. “No, it’s just… I’ve never shared a room on a trip with someone I was dating. It’s... new.”

Crossing the room, Paige sat beside her, close but unhurried. Her fingers brushed Azzi’s knee. “It’s new for me too,” she said. “And it feels important. Like we’re building something.”

Azzi felt warmth unfurl in her chest. She nodded. “It does.”

Paige hesitated, then added, quieter now, “I’m glad it’s you. I don’t think I could do this with anyone else.”

Azzi’s breath caught. “Me either.”

Paige pressed her palm lightly to Azzi’s thigh, then leaned in and kissed her temple, slow and reassuring.

When she pulled back, Azzi opened her eyes, visibly moved. “We should probably unpack before practice.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, though she didn’t move right away. Instead, she rested her head lightly on Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi responded instinctively, her fingers brushing through Paige’s hair.

Eventually, they stood again, returning to their suitcases in a quiet rhythm. Paige caught herself glancing at Azzi every few moments, smiling without meaning to. Azzi looked back just as often, savoring how openly Paige admired her, something that had felt impossible not long ago.

When they were finished, Paige stretched out and flopped dramatically across the bed. “We did good.”

Azzi laughed, sitting beside her. “We unpacked a suitcase.”

“Teamwork,” Paige said, eyes sparkling.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” Paige said, serious this time.

Azzi’s heart swelled. “Yeah. Mine.”

Paige beamed, satisfied. “And now we’re official roommates.”

“Just until Tuesday,” Azzi said, rolling her eyes.

Paige shrugged. Her voice softened. “But maybe someday for real.”

Azzi stilled, breath catching. She looked at Paige, and something warm and steady unfurled beneath her ribs. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Maybe someday for real.”

They sat in silence then, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound. No rush. No pressure.

Just the quiet weight of a promise, simple, steady, and real.

And for both of them, that promise didn’t feel scary anymore.

It felt like home.

--------------------

The arena was cool, fluorescent lights reflecting sharply off the polished hardwood. Paige took a deep breath, savoring the familiar scent of waxed floors and leather basketballs. It grounded her, a steady pulse of pregame adrenaline humming beneath her skin.

Azzi jogged beside her, focused and calm, energy simmering just beneath the surface. She rolled a basketball between her fingertips, fluid and effortless, each movement honed by years of repetition. Paige watched her discreetly, admiring the way Azzi moved, all quiet strength and natural grace.

She wasn’t subtle about it. The warmth in her gaze bordered on awe, and for once, she didn’t bother hiding it. It felt freeing to look openly, to let Azzi catch her staring and not turn away.

Azzi noticed immediately, her heart fluttering under Paige’s attention. The intensity wasn’t new, but the ease of it was. This unguarded affection, this rightness, felt thrilling in a way she hadn’t expected. She smiled, shaking her head faintly.

“You gonna stare at me all afternoon or actually warm up?” she teased, bouncing the ball lightly in Paige’s direction.

Paige caught it with ease, grinning. “Can’t help it. You look good when you’re focused.”

Azzi arched an eyebrow and stepped closer, voice low and teasing. “Just focused?”

Paige’s eyes danced. “Well, there might be other adjectives I’d use. But we are technically working.”

Azzi laughed, a warm flush blooming in her chest. “You’re something else, Paige Bueckers.”

“Glad you finally noticed.” Paige nudged her gently with an elbow as she passed.

Around them, the rest of the team moved into warm-up drills. Paige hit a series of smooth jumpers, rhythm sharp and confident. Azzi’s shots were clean, precise. Between reps, they exchanged small glances, wordless check-ins, quiet smiles, that said more than conversation could.

Across the court, KK watched with a smirk. “Hey, lovebirds,” she called, loud enough to carry. “Save the heart eyes for after practice. You’re distracting the freshmen.”

Paige chuckled, cheeks warming. Azzi rolled her eyes. “You’re just jealous.”

KK clutched her chest dramatically. “Devastated, truly.”

Paige tossed the ball back toward her. “Focus on your own shots, Arnold.”

“Rude.” KK turned away, mock-offended, and Paige turned back to Azzi with a grin. “Sorry. I’m not great at subtlety.”

Azzi smiled, soft and sure. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“But it’s okay?” Paige asked, teasing, but genuinely wanting to know.

Azzi nodded. “It’s more than okay. I kind of like it.”

Paige’s chest warmed at that. “Good. Because subtlety has never been my thing.”

They headed to the bench for water, Paige reaching for Azzi’s bottle like it was second nature. She sipped without thinking. Azzi watched, amused.

“Is everything of mine just yours now?”

Paige handed it back, smirking. “Pretty much.”

Azzi shook her head, entirely charmed. “If you keep acting like this, the team’s going to think you actually like me or something.”

Paige leaned in, voice low. “God forbid.”

Azzi laughed softly, her expression filled with quiet affection. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Paige said. “But at least I’m your ridiculous.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered at the simplicity of it. “Yeah,” she murmured. “You definitely are.”

A whistle from Coach pulled them back to the moment. Paige brushed a hand across Azzi’s lower back as they moved, the touch light but grounding. Azzi felt the warmth linger.

Coach’s huddle was short — firm, focused, encouraging. Paige listened with intent, but her eyes flicked toward Azzi often, small nods passing between them, subtle smiles exchanged, just enough to say I'm here.

“Alright,” Coach finished, clapping once. “Stay sharp. See you at tip-off.”

The team dispersed. Paige lingered by the sideline, watching as Azzi packed up her gear with calm precision. She didn’t rush. She didn’t need to. Being near Azzi like this, openly, comfortably, it felt right.

Azzi glanced up and caught her looking. “Ready?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked slowly toward the locker room, teammates drifting ahead and behind. Paige’s heart swelled with a quiet sense of belonging. She hadn’t known how natural it could feel to be with someone like this, in public, without fear.

Azzi noticed the small smile on her face. “What’s that look for?”

Paige shrugged, eyes soft. “Just... happy. It’s nice. Being like this. With you.”

Azzi’s chest tightened. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It really is.”

Just inside the empty hallway leading to the locker rooms, Paige stopped. She stepped closer, voice lowering to something private. “Promise me something?”

Azzi tilted her head. “What?”

Paige’s gaze was steady. “Promise me that tonight, we won’t overthink anything. No pressure. No second-guessing. Just us.”

Azzi’s breath caught. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

Azzi nodded slowly. “I promise.”

Paige leaned in and kissed her cheek, warm and certain. “Good. Because you mean too much to me for us to keep doubting it.”

Azzi smiled, breathless. “For someone who hates cliches, you really know how to use them.”

Paige laughed. “Only for you.”

Azzi’s voice dropped to a murmur. “Then it’s okay.”

They stood there a moment longer, the promise settling between them like something sacred. Paige reached out, brushing her fingers down Azzi’s arm in a slow, comforting sweep.

Words felt unnecessary now. Paige just smiled, taking the lead toward the locker room door. Azzi followed, steadied by her presence.

Whatever tension she’d still been carrying slipped away. What remained was something quiet and sure.

Tonight wasn’t just about the game. It was about what came after, about everything they’d both been working toward without quite naming it.

And when Paige reached for her hand just before they stepped through the door, Azzi squeezed it back — not just a promise, but a beginning.

--------------------

The locker room buzzed with quiet energy, the familiar hum of pre-game rituals settling comfortably among teammates. Bags rustled, zippers echoed against metal lockers, and shoes squeaked faintly against polished floors. Paige leaned forward on the bench, tightening her laces with practiced ease, her heartbeat steady but quick.

Azzi sat nearby, adjusting the waistband of her shorts, her expression calm, but thoughtful. Her mind lingered on that quiet moment in the hallway, the sincerity in Paige’s voice still warm in her chest. She glanced sideways, catching the peaceful set of Paige’s jaw, the glint of confidence in her eyes. Her stomach fluttered.

Paige caught her gaze, expression softening into a quiet smile. She tilted her head, eyes flicking toward the empty hallway near the showers. Azzi understood instantly, heart skipping as she stood and followed her discreetly into the dim, quiet corridor.

Once around the corner, out of sight, Paige reached gently for Azzi’s waist, tugging her into a small alcove. Their bodies were close, inches apart, Paige’s hands settling naturally on Azzi’s hips, thumbs brushing lightly against her warm-up shorts.

Azzi’s breath caught, shallow and soft. “Paige—”

“Just for a second,” Paige murmured, voice low. “I needed a moment alone with you before the game.”

Azzi’s face softened, affection blooming in her chest. “You’re really not great at subtlety.”

Paige smiled faintly, leaning in to brush her lips against Azzi’s cheekbone — warm, careful, steady. “Not when it comes to you.”

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, breathing deep. She rested her hands on Paige’s shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of her jersey. “You really meant what you said out there?” she asked, voice small but hopeful.

Paige pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “Every word. No second-guessing. Just us.”

Azzi’s heart swelled, trust anchoring gently in her chest. She nodded. “Good.”

Paige smiled, brushing Azzi’s hair behind her ear, her voice dropping teasingly. “So... do I get that good-luck kiss now, or should I wait until I hit twenty points?”

Azzi laughed softly, eyes gleaming. “You’ll have to hit thirty if you want that.”

Paige’s grin turned mischievous. “Challenge accepted.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “But I guess twenty gets you something.”

Paige barely had time to smile before Azzi kissed her, soft, lingering, and unmistakably charged. Paige melted into the contact, fingers curling gently at Azzi’s waist, her chest fluttering.

When Azzi pulled back, Paige let out a slow breath, eyes still closed, a quiet smile spreading across her lips. “Wow. What do I get if I hit thirty?”

Azzi leaned in, whispering against her ear. “We’ll talk about that after the game.”

A visible shiver rippled through Paige as Azzi stepped back toward the corridor.

“Now who’s distracting who?” Paige asked, voice a little breathless.

“You started it,” Azzi shot back, her smirk playful.

Paige followed her slowly, heart full. “I’ll gladly take the blame for this one.”

As they reentered the main locker area, a few curious eyes followed them. KK looked up from adjusting her wristband, one brow raised, voice playful. “Strategising, huh?”

Paige grinned easily, shrugging. “You know me. Always planning ahead.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

Paige just laughed, warmth still radiating through her chest. “Again… your ridiculous.”

Azzi smiled to herself, a faint nod the only acknowledgment she gave. She returned to the bench, slipping back into game mode with ease, comforted by Paige’s steady presence beside her.

As the team began to head toward the tunnel, Paige reached for Azzi’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Azzi returned it, warmth spreading through her chest and settling beneath her ribs.

Tonight wasn’t just another game, it felt quietly monumental. Not because they had something to prove, but because something real was waiting after. Something strong. Something entirely theirs.

As the lights of the arena flared ahead, Paige leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for Azzi to hear, “Thirty points. Watch me.”

Azzi smiled, heart fluttering. “I’ll be counting.”

Side by side, they stepped onto the court — ready.

--------------------

The arena lights blazed overhead, the rhythmic drumming of basketballs echoing sharply off polished hardwood. Paige’s heartbeat quickened pleasantly as she took her place at mid-court, eyes skimming the packed stands before settling into focus. Beside her, Azzi stood poised, body tense with anticipation, gaze sharp.

As the whistle blew and the ball tipped into the air, Paige surged forward, energy crackling beneath her skin. She secured possession quickly, eyes immediately finding Azzi sprinting alongside her down the wing. Their chemistry was effortless, automatic, forged through hours of practice and instinct.

Paige hesitated, drawing defenders closer before flicking the ball sideways. Azzi caught it cleanly, feet already set behind the arc. Her release was smooth, and the ball whispered through the net.

The crowd erupted. Paige’s chest filled with a fierce, fast warmth.

“Nice pass,” Azzi called as she jogged by, voice light, eyes dancing.

Paige grinned, adrenaline buzzing. “Nice shot.”

They slipped into rhythm. Paige weaving through defenders with sharp precision, finishing each play with cool efficiency. Azzi moved quietly, strategically, always exactly where she needed to be.

During one fast break, Paige sprinted ahead, feeling Azzi beside her. A glance was all it took. She threaded a pass through traffic. Azzi caught it, hesitated just long enough to draw her defender, then sent it back. Paige drove hard and finished with a layup that kissed the backboard before dropping cleanly through the net.

Cheers erupted again. Paige turned to Azzi, grinning wide, their eyes meeting with quiet triumph.

Azzi smiled back, heart fluttering. Paige always played with her heart wide open, and Azzi felt lucky to see it.

The team fed off their energy. KK played assertively, inspired by Paige’s fire. Nika and Caroline found rhythm beside Azzi’s calm steadiness.

At the end of the third quarter, Coach called a timeout. The team huddled tight. Paige stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Azzi, breathing hard, but bright-eyed.

“We’re in good shape,” Coach said. “Keep pushing. Paige, keep attacking, they can’t stop you. Azzi, keep leading. You’re making everyone better.”

Paige felt Azzi tense slightly beside her. Subtly, she reached down and squeezed Azzi’s wrist. Azzi looked up, meeting Paige’s eyes with silent gratitude.

When the game resumed, Paige was relentless. Every shot seemed to fall. Azzi was always there, shifting defenders, facilitating plays, grounding the tempo.

Late in the fourth, Azzi drove toward the basket, slipped around two defenders, and sent the ball behind her with barely a look. Paige caught it in stride, stepped back, and launched a clean, arcing three.

It swished through the net.

“Thirty!” KK shouted from the bench, laughing. “That’s thirty, Paige!”

Paige blinked, then grinned — remembering. Her eyes snapped to Azzi, whose cheeks had flushed. She looked away, smiling faintly.

“Keep focused, Bueckers,” Azzi called, stepping past her with a smirk.

“You can’t ignore this forever, Azzi.”

“Just finish the game.”

And they did, closing strong, pulling away to a clear win.

As the buzzer echoed, the team surged into celebration. Paige found Azzi quickly, reaching for her elbow, leaning in close.

“You owe me,” she said, voice warm and teasing.

Azzi laughed, leaning closer. “You played like you had something to prove.”

Paige’s grin softened. “Maybe I did.”

Azzi tilted her head, eyes steady. “Point made.”

Warmth bloomed in Paige’s chest. “Because I meant every shot.”

“I know,” Azzi said, voice low.

They lingered in that moment, joy humming around them, but something quieter passing between them.

Paige brushed her fingers across Azzi’s forearm. “Thank you for believing in me.”

Azzi’s smile was soft. “Always.”

Paige nodded, heart full, before the team swept them back into celebration.

Tonight was more than a win. It was a confirmation — of growth, of trust, of something quietly unfolding between them.

For Paige, it meant the world that Azzi had stood beside her, steady, unshakable. For Azzi, it meant everything that Paige had embraced their connection so openly.

The scoreboard declared a victory.

But the real win was shared — soft, silent, and profoundly theirs.

They walked off the court side-by-side, knowing the most meaningful part of the night was still waiting.

--------------------

The hotel restaurant buzzed with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of silverware, a warm comfortable soundtrack following their decisive victory. Paige slid into a booth in the corner, Azzi settling beside her, their shoulders brushing. The soft contact sent a familiar warmth through Paige’s chest, grounding, reassuring in a way she hadn’t known she needed.

Across the table, KK flopped into her seat with a dramatic sigh. “Paige, thirty-four points. That was just disrespectful.”

Paige laughed softly, cheeks faintly flushed. “You guys made it easy. I just got open shots.”

Nika raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, really? And that look you gave Azzi after every basket — just gratitude?”

Paige shrugged, unbothered. “Motivation.”

Azzi rolled her eyes and nudged her under the table. “You’re lucky it worked.”

Paige’s hand brushed Azzi’s knee, quiet and confident. “I knew it would.”

Azzi’s stomach fluttered at the casual intimacy, settling deeper into the booth, comforted by Paige’s nearness.

The server arrived, taking orders quickly as the team settled into relaxed chatter. KK leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “So, roomies. Any exciting plans tonight?”

Paige raised a brow, deadpan. “Sleep. Hydrate. Like responsible athletes.”

KK snorted. “Sure you are.”

Azzi shook her head, amused. “You worry about your own plans, KK.”

The table laughed. The conversation drifted to lighter topics, Netflix, the long trip home, and leftover adrenaline from the game. Paige stayed quiet, Azzi’s presence at her side grounding her more than anything else. It felt good being open, being known.

Paige’s thumb brushed gently against Azzi’s thigh. Azzi glanced sideways, eyes softening. She smiled faintly and leaned into Paige’s shoulder.

From across the table, Caroline smiled. “You two are adorable, you know that?”

Azzi flushed, hiding behind her hand. Paige smiled easily. “We’re aware.”

Caroline grinned. “I never thought I’d see Azzi affectionate in public. Honestly, it’s kind of nice.”

Azzi groaned. “Can we not talk about me like I’m not sitting right here?”

Paige chuckled, squeezing her knee. “She’s just happy for you. Let her have it.”

Azzi sighed, smiling anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that,” Paige murmured, amused.

Azzi met her gaze. “Because it’s true.”

Desserts arrived, chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream passed back and forth. Laughter softened, conversation grew more reflective. Eventually, people started drifting toward their rooms.

“You tired?” Paige asked, voice low.

Azzi shook her head, still leaning against her. “Not yet. You?”

Paige smiled, brushing her fingers over Azzi’s. “No. I like this.”

They sat for a while longer in companionable silence, until Azzi glanced up, voice soft. “You wanna head up?”

Paige nodded, squeezing her hand. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

They said goodnight to the few teammates left at the table. KK gave them a knowing smile as they left. Paige just smiled back.

The elevator ride was quiet and close. Paige leaned gently against the wall, watching Azzi’s profile.

“You know,” she murmured, “this is the first away game where I’ve been excited to get back to the room.”

Azzi smiled, cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah.”

The elevator doors opened. Azzi stepped out first, then looked back over her shoulder. “Well, we did promise no overthinking.”

Paige smiled. “Just us.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered. “Exactly.”

At the door, Paige unlocked it and opened it with a playful flourish. Azzi shook her head, fond and warm as she stepped inside.

The room felt different now — intimate, significant. Paige shut the door softly behind them, her gaze lingering on Azzi.

“You okay?” she asked.

Azzi nodded, stepping closer. “I’m more than okay.”

Paige’s chest tightened. She reached up, brushing Azzi’s hair back. “Me too.”

They stood still for a moment, breathing each other in. Paige felt something settle deep inside her, a sense of peace she hadn’t known she was missing.

Azzi leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Tonight was special.”

Paige cupped her face gently. “Every night with you is.”

Azzi smiled, eyes shining. “You’re good at this.”

“Only for you,” Paige whispered.

Azzi kissed her — soft, warm, sure. Paige melted into it, hand tightening slightly at Azzi’s waist.

When they parted, Azzi rested her forehead against Paige’s. “Thank you for tonight.”

Paige whispered, “Always.”

They stood like that, quiet, close, breathing in sync.

And when Paige took her hand and led her gently toward the bed, neither of them hesitated.

Because this moment, this felt exactly right.

--------------------

The room had grown quiet, soft shadows stretching across the walls from the single bedside lamp Azzi had switched on, casting everything in a muted, cozy warmth. Paige lay stretched beside her on the bed, nestled into the pillows, a contented warmth spreading beneath her ribs. Azzi leaned against the headboard, legs tucked beneath her, quietly scrolling through her phone.

“You think Ruby’s still up?” Paige asked, her voice soft, tinged with gentle eagerness.

Azzi smiled faintly, glancing at the clock. “If she’s not, she will be when she sees you.”

Paige chuckled, nudging her shoulder. “You make it sound like she’s only excited for me.”

“Trust me,” Azzi murmured, dialing quickly. “You’re definitely the highlight.”

Paige settled closer, her chin resting lightly on Azzi’s shoulder as the screen connected. Her heart fluttered as Ruby’s sleepy, smiling face filled the screen — curls wild, Sparklehorn tucked snug under her chin.

“Hi, Mama! Hi, Paigey!” Ruby chirped brightly, eyes lighting up. “You won!”

“We did,” Paige said, grinning. “Did you watch?”

Ruby nodded excitedly, bouncing in place. “Mama shoot really good. You too!”

Azzi smiled, heart swelling. “Did Grandma and Grandpa watch with you?”

Ruby nodded again, curls bouncing. “Grandpa yell at TV! He say Paigey shoot too many points!”

Paige laughed. “Tell Grandpa I’m very sorry. Next time I’ll let Mama shoot more.”

Ruby shook her head solemnly. “No! You win! Always win.”

Azzi reached out and gently brushed her fingers over Paige’s hand. “Ruby says you’re allowed to keep scoring.”

Paige smiled, giving Azzi’s fingers a soft squeeze. “Glad Ruby approves.”

Ruby shifted, pulling Sparklehorn closer. “Paigey, you tell Sparklehorn bedtime story? She say she no sleep ‘til you tell.”

Paige felt her heart expand. “Of course. Is she tucked in?”

Ruby nodded, tucking Sparklehorn beneath the blanket with great care. “She ready now.”

Paige leaned a little closer to the phone, her voice falling into a soothing rhythm. “Okay. Once upon a time, Sparklehorn traveled far away to the secret Cookie Mountain…”

Ruby’s eyes widened, rapt. Azzi’s heart fluttered as she watched them — Paige’s voice gentle and patient, Ruby’s whole body slowly relaxing. Paige guided them through cookie forests and marshmallow rivers, her tone soft and musical.

By the time she finished “…and Sparklehorn and Ruby lived happily ever after” Ruby’s eyes were barely open.

“Love you, Paigey. Love you, Mama,” she murmured sleepily.

Paige’s breath caught. “Love you too, Roo.”

Azzi smiled softly. “We love you, baby. Goodnight.”

Katie’s face replaced Ruby’s on screen, adjusting the camera gently. “She was waiting all night for that story. Thank you both.”

Paige nodded, cheeks slightly pink. “It’s our pleasure.”

“Congratulations on the win,” Katie said warmly. “You both played beautifully.”

Azzi leaned in. “Thanks, Mum. Everything okay there?”

Katie nodded. “Perfect. You two rest. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

They said their goodnights. As the screen went dark, the room fell back into a quiet, steady calm.

Paige shifted closer, resting her head against Azzi’s shoulder. Her chest felt full, not loud or urgent, but deeply tender.

“She makes everything feel so simple,” she whispered.

Azzi’s fingers threaded gently through Paige’s hair. “That’s what I love most about her. How simple she makes everything.”

Paige’s eyes drifted closed under the softness of Azzi’s touch. “I don’t think I ever understood what family meant until you two.”

Azzi’s heart caught. “You’re our family now, Paige. Completely.”

Paige opened her eyes, looking at her. “I want to be. More than anything.”

Azzi smiled, eyes glowing. “You already are.”

They sat like that, still and quiet. Paige felt a gentle awe settle in her chest, at being let in, at being loved in this way.

Azzi marveled at how easily Paige fit into their lives, how natural her care for Ruby was, how sincere her heart felt. It was all so quiet, but so real.

Paige shifted again, wrapping her arms around Azzi’s waist and resting her head against her shoulder. “I really love you, you know,” she whispered.

Azzi smiled. “I really love you, too.”

They stayed like that — quiet, peaceful, wrapped in something softly profound.

Tonight wasn’t just about love. It was about the life they were beginning to build together.

And in the soft lamplight, with the weight of the day finally settling, both Paige and Azzi knew:

This was it.

Exactly what they’d been looking for.

--------------------

The room had grown still, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the distant hum of traffic and a faint burst of laughter drifted up from the street below, muffled but familiar. Paige shifted slightly against the pillows, her head nestled against Azzi’s shoulder, the rhythm of Azzi’s breathing slow and steady beneath her cheek.

Azzi sat quietly, her fingers idly brushing through Paige’s hair. There was a calmness in her chest, a warmth she didn’t need to name. Just Paige’s presence, close, quiet, real — was enough.

“You’re quiet,” Paige murmured, lifting her head just enough to meet Azzi’s gaze. “You tired?”

Azzi gave a small smile and shook her head. “No. Just thinking.”

Paige propped herself on one elbow, studying her face. “About?”

Azzi hesitated, her expression thoughtful as her eyes traced Paige’s. “How different everything feels tonight.”

Paige nodded, her gaze warm. “Good different?”

Azzi’s smile deepened. “Very.”

Paige reached out, letting her fingertips drift along Azzi’s jaw. “I feel it too. Like tonight’s important. Bigger than just… a game or a hotel room. It feels like—”

“Like something’s shifting,” Azzi said, finishing the thought softly.

“Yeah,” Paige breathed. “Exactly that.”

For a moment, they just looked at each other, quiet understanding suspended between them like something sacred.

Paige’s voice dropped. “Are you nervous?”

Azzi thought for a beat, then nodded gently. “A little. But not in a bad way. It’s the kind of nervous that means it matters. Because you matter.”

Paige’s heart tightened. She reached for Azzi’s hand and wove their fingers together. “You matter more than anything to me. You and Ruby. Everything that comes with you.”

Azzi’s chest filled with warmth. “That’s why tonight feels important. Because it’s not just… you know. It’s us.”

Paige nodded. “It’s always going to be us. No matter what we do tonight, or tomorrow, that doesn’t change.”

Azzi leaned in, her forehead resting lightly against Paige’s. “I trust you, Paige. With everything.”

The words sank into Paige like light into skin, quiet, warm, lasting. She stroked her thumb across Azzi’s knuckles. “I’ll never take that for granted. You and Ruby… you’re everything. I’ll protect that with everything I’ve got.”

Azzi’s eyes closed, the weight of the moment grounding her. “You already do.”

They stayed like that for a while, leaning into the stillness. Paige’s heart felt full, not overwhelming, not chaotic — just full. Like something had finally settled.

Eventually, she pressed a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “I just want you to feel safe. And loved.”

Azzi opened her eyes, gaze steady. “I do. Always, with you.”

Paige cupped her face gently, eyes searching hers. “Then… one more promise?”

Azzi leaned into the touch, nodding. “What’s that?”

“No pressure. No expectations. Tonight, we just love each other. That’s it.”

Azzi’s breath caught. She nodded, voice quiet but firm. “No pressure. Just us.”

Relief flickered through Paige’s chest. She pulled Azzi into a soft embrace, arms wrapping around her waist as Azzi melted into her, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder.

They held each other there, warm, steady, hearts aligned in quiet rhythm.

After a while, Paige shifted, brushing Azzi’s hair back. “Ready for bed?”

Azzi smiled, eyes kind. “With you? Yeah.”

Paige’s heart fluttered. She stood first, offering her hand wordlessly. Azzi took it.

They changed slowly, quietly, the air between them still. When Paige dimmed the lamp to a softer setting, the room glowed in gentle amber. Everything felt a little more intimate, a little more real.

Paige slid beneath the covers and looked up at Azzi, a silent invitation in her eyes. Azzi climbed in beside her, curling naturally into her warmth.

Paige pulled her close, arms circling her waist. Their bodies met easily, like puzzle pieces, the quiet heat of closeness radiating beneath the blankets. Azzi exhaled, relaxing completely.

“You good?” Paige whispered.

Azzi nodded, eyes closed. “Perfect.”

Paige let her hand trace slow lines along Azzi’s spine, light and grounding. Her chest swelled — not with nerves, but with reverence. For this moment. For Azzi. For the soft, steady love she felt building between them.

Azzi breathed in the rhythm of Paige’s touch, the quiet certainty of her presence. She felt adored. Protected. Chosen.

This wasn’t just another night. It was the quiet turning of a page, the beginning of something gently permanent.

When Paige leaned in and kissed her forehead, Azzi knew: this was the love they had waited for. And here, in this room, in this stillness, they had found it.

--------------------

The room felt gentle, quiet, and carefully hushed now, wrapped softly in shadows and warm, muted lamplight. Paige lay quietly, her fingers still tracing soothing circles along Azzi’s spine, their bodies pressed warmly together beneath the covers. Her heart was beating slowly but strongly, each quiet beat resonating softly in her chest, a tender rhythm echoing gently between them.

Azzi shifted slowly, gently tilting her head upward, eyes quietly finding Paige’s in the dim light. Something soft flickered behind her gaze, tender vulnerability, quiet trust, gentle anticipation. Paige felt her chest tighten, moved by the quiet emotion lingering in Azzi’s expression.

“You okay?” Paige whispered, voice warm, deeply sincere.

Azzi nodded, smiling faintly, voice low and breathless. “More than okay.”

Paige brushed a strand of Azzi’s hair behind her ear, studying her face, heart swelling with quiet tenderness. “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not sure,” she said softly, her thumb brushing Azzi’s cheek. “I just want you to feel safe.”

Azzi’s heart fluttered. She reached out, fingertips brushing Paige’s collarbone, voice steady. “I feel safe. I want this, Paige. With you. Tonight.”

Paige’s breath hitched, warmth spreading through her. She cupped Azzi’s face, holding her gaze. “I want it too. More than anything. I want you.”

Azzi’s chest tightened, overwhelmed by Paige’s quiet intensity. She smiled and leaned in, pressing her lips to Paige’s.

Paige sighed into the kiss, fingers sliding into Azzi’s hair as she deepened it. Her touch was reverent, careful, exploring the warmth of Azzi’s lips, the rhythm of her breath.

Azzi shifted closer, aligning their bodies beneath the blankets, warmth spreading through her chest. Her hands settled at Paige’s waist, fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt, her heartbeat picking up.

Paige shifted, gently guiding Azzi onto her back, her movements attentive. She broke the kiss and held Azzi’s gaze, searching for hesitation.

Azzi smiled faintly. “I trust you, Paige.”

Paige felt warmth bloom in her chest. She kissed Azzi’s forehead. “I promise I’ll take care of you.”

Azzi nodded, voice low and sincere. “I know you will.”

Slowly, Paige brushed her fingers under the hem of Azzi’s hoodie and lifted it. Azzi’s breath caught, but she raised her arms to let Paige remove it.

Their eyes met, Azzi’s vulnerable and nervous, Paige’s full of awe. “You’re beautiful,” she said, voice tender.

Azzi’s cheeks flushed. Paige traced her bare shoulders, her touch soft and reverent.

Paige leaned forward, pressing kisses along Azzi’s collarbone, her lips exploring, warmth building. Azzi sighed, her body arching toward her.

Paige continued down her neck, fingertips brushing circles along Azzi’s ribs. Azzi’s breathing grew uneven beneath her attentions.

Azzi tugged at Paige’s shirt, the need rising between them. Paige sat up just enough to take it off, then leaned back in.

The feeling of skin-on-skin was electric. Paige kissed along Azzi’s jaw, her movements slow, deliberate, deeply focused.

Azzi wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck, heart fluttering beneath her ribs.

She kissed her way down Azzi’s neck, trailing lower until her mouth reached the soft swell of her chest. Azzi’s breath caught as Paige pressed her lips there, reverent and steady. Her hands slid down Azzi’s sides, grounding her, asking permission without words. Azzi’s answer came in a quiet arch of her back, a whispered “yes,” her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair.

Paige took her time, unhooking Azzi’s bra with care, then kissing every bit of newly revealed skin. Azzi gasped when Paige’s mouth closed around her nipple, pleasure hitting her like a wave. She felt bare in the most cherished way, seen, adored, loved.

“Paige,” she whispered, voice cracking.

“I’ve got you,” Paige murmured, moving lower, kissing over her ribs, her stomach, slow and sure, like she was charting a sacred path. Her hand slid to the waistband of Azzi’s shorts, and she paused, eyes flicking up.

Azzi nodded, parting her legs, her pulse quickening.

Paige eased the fabric down, revealing her inch by inch. The way she looked at Azzi like she was the most precious thing in the world made Azzi’s throat ache. There were no tears, though. Only heat. Only want.

Paige settled between her legs, parting her with care, and kissed the inside of her thigh. Azzi squirmed, breath catching, one arm flung over her eyes like she couldn’t bear being seen so fully. But Paige didn’t rush. She pressed her mouth to her, and Azzi cried out, her back arching, one hand diving into Paige’s hair, not to stop her, but to hold on.

Paige moaned softly at the taste, her tongue slow and deliberate, circling, teasing, learning. She listened to every breath, every shiver, and adjusted with precision.

“You taste so good,” Paige whispered into her, voice low and awed. “I could stay here forever.”

Azzi whimpered, hips rising, fingers tangling tighter in Paige’s hair.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Paige said, her voice like a balm. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Azzi was already trembling, heat building fast. “Paige—fuck—Paige—” she gasped, her voice unraveling.

Paige didn’t let up. She wrapped her arm beneath Azzi’s thigh and brought her other hand down between them. Two fingers found Azzi’s entrance, teasing until Azzi’s whole body tensed, waiting. Then Paige slid inside, slow and sure, her fingers curling just right.

Azzi let out a broken sound, her whole body lifting.

“That’s it,” Paige whispered. “Let me make you feel good.”

She worked her fingers in time with her mouth, every movement deliberate. Her free hand cradled Azzi’s hip, keeping her grounded.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” she breathed. “Falling apart for me.”

Azzi sobbed, trembling with intensity.

“I’m right here,” Paige whispered. “Come for me, Azzi.”

And Azzi did.

She arched, every muscle drawing tight before releasing all at once. Her cry cracked through the air, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her in blinding waves. Paige stayed with her, riding it out, her mouth softening, her fingers slowing until Azzi was boneless and gasping beneath her.

Paige kissed her way back up her body, stopping to murmur praise against her skin.

Azzi lay stunned, breathless, tears slipping from the corners of her eyes, not from pain, but from being held like this. Loved like this.

Paige hovered above her, brushing hair from her forehead. “You okay?” she whispered, voice hoarse with restraint.

Azzi reached up, hand cradling her cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Paige kissed her, slow and soft, resting their foreheads together. “Do you want—?”

Azzi nodded before she could finish. “I want to touch you. I want to make you feel like that.”

Paige exhaled shakily, letting Azzi roll them over. The shift was slow and intentional, Azzi’s hand steady on her hip. For a moment, they just breathed together, entirely bare.

Azzi kissed her with a hunger that surprised them both. Her nerves were gone, melted in the heat of being wanted. Now she wanted to give it back.

She moved down Paige’s body, kissing across her chest, her stomach, whispering against her skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured. “So fucking good.”

When her mouth replaced her hand between Paige’s legs, Paige gasped, one leg over Azzi’s shoulder, fingers digging into the sheets.

Azzi licked her slowly, rhythmically, learning as she went. Paige’s voice rose in pitch, breath hitching with every stroke of Azzi’s tongue.

“Please—don’t stop, Azzi, please—”

Azzi didn’t. She slid two fingers inside, curling them the way Paige had, building a rhythm. Paige arched off the bed, a sharp cry ripping free as her orgasm hit—fast, raw, overwhelming.

Azzi stayed with her until Paige’s hand found her hair, tugging gently.

They collapsed together, bare skin against bare skin, breath evening out.

Silence stretched around them.

Eventually, Paige reached up and brushed her thumb across Azzi’s bottom lip. “I don’t think I’ll ever recover from that.”

Azzi laughed softly, burying her face in Paige’s neck. “I hope not.”

They held each other long after their breathing slowed, the world settling around them like something sacred had just been unlocked.

--------------------

The room had fallen into a deep, comforting quiet, the gentle glow of lamplight casting soft shadows along the walls. Paige lay still, breathing slow and steady, her fingertips trailing idle circles over Azzi’s shoulder. Azzi rested against her chest, eyes closed, her own breathing calm, content.

Paige’s heart felt full, tender and aching in the best way. She was overwhelmed by the quiet intimacy they had shared, the trust, the closeness, the way every moment had felt like a soft answer to something she hadn’t known she’d been asking. She wrapped her arms around Azzi a little tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, marveling at how this—this warmth, this stillness—felt like everything she’d ever hoped for.

Azzi shifted slightly, her eyes blinking open. She met Paige’s gaze with a soft smile, warmth lingering in the quiet expression on her face. Paige’s chest fluttered. Azzi looked peaceful, like she’d been carved out of moonlight and trust, and Paige didn’t want to look away.

“Hey,” Paige whispered, brushing her thumb across Azzi’s cheek, her voice low and full of something tender and protective. “You okay?”

Azzi nodded, her smile deepening, voice quiet but sure. “Perfect.”

The word hit Paige straight in the chest. She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding and leaned in to kiss Azzi’s forehead.

“I was nervous,” she admitted softly. “That maybe I wouldn’t… do right by you.”

Azzi’s eyes softened. “Paige, you were… perfect. Better than perfect. I felt safe. And seen. Like it mattered.”

Paige exhaled again, this time steadier, her whole body relaxing into the words. “It mattered to me,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you felt loved.”

“You always make me feel that way.” Azzi pressed her hand lightly to Paige’s chest, just over her heart, her fingers resting where it beat steady and strong.

Paige’s throat tightened. She pulled Azzi closer, letting their bodies fit together again in the silence.

“Tonight felt… bigger than I expected,” she said. “Like I didn’t realise how much I needed it. How much I needed you.”

Azzi’s breath caught. The rawness in Paige’s voice wrapped around her like a blanket. “I felt it too,” she whispered. “Like it wasn’t just physical. Like it was something deeper. Like… coming home.”

The words broke something open in Paige. Her fingers resumed tracing down Azzi’s spine, this time slower, more deliberate.

“That’s exactly what it felt like,” Paige said. “Home.”

Azzi tilted her head up and looked at her, eyes full of something close to wonder. “It’s strange,” she said softly. “I always thought home was just Ruby. My family. But now… it’s you, too. All of it. Completely.”

Paige’s throat closed up for a moment, overwhelmed. “I’ve never had a home like this,” she said. “Not one that felt like this. Not with someone who sees me. Not with a little girl who runs to me in pajamas. Not like tonight.”

Azzi touched her cheek gently, thumb brushing along her jaw. “I think you were always meant to find us.”

Paige’s breath caught, her voice breaking into a smile. “I think so too.”

Azzi leaned in then and kissed her. Not hungrily, not urgently, just slow, careful, and full of everything she didn’t have the words for. Paige returned it with equal care, letting it deepen for a moment, letting it say all the things they hadn’t spoken yet.

When they parted, they stayed close, foreheads touching, breaths shared. Azzi traced Paige’s collarbone with the tips of her fingers, her voice playful and warm.

“You know you’re stuck with us now, right?”

Paige let out a breath of laughter, eyes shining. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck.”

Azzi grinned and nestled back down, her head resting on Paige’s chest. “Good.”

Paige combed her fingers gently through Azzi’s hair, slow and rhythmic, until the tension in their bodies had faded into something softer. They lay like that for a while, tangled in each other, suspended in the quiet.

It wasn’t just peace. It was something deeper. Something settled.

The intimacy of the night felt like a promise of more than just passion. It was a promise of presence. Of choosing each other again and again. Of building something from tenderness, from trust, from the way they both had arrived at this night carrying so much and still choosing to stay.

Paige knew then, with a clarity that sat warm and solid in her chest, that this wasn’t just love. It was belonging.

And Azzi, curled against her, knew the same. That something had shifted between them, quiet but irreversible. That what they’d made tonight wasn’t just about now.

It was about everything after.

So they held each other, silent and steady, heartbeats aligned like a quiet rhythm only they could hear.

--------------------

The morning they packed up to leave came quicker than either Paige or Azzi expected. Two days and nights had melted into one another, hours spent wrapped in shared intimacy and laughter, whispers exchanged under the dim glow of lamplight. As they stood in their hotel room zipping up their bags, Paige felt an ache settle low in her chest, reluctant in every quiet movement.

Azzi looked up, catching Paige’s gaze across the room. “You okay?”

Paige gave a faint smile, nodding. “Yeah. Just don’t really wanna leave.”

Azzi’s lips curved, warmth flickering in her expression. “Me either. But Ruby’s waiting.”

At the reminder, Paige’s heart lifted, her smile growing. “Right. That definitely helps.”

Azzi chuckled, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “She’s probably been waiting by the door since breakfast.”

Paige laughed as she stepped beside her. “Think she’s been bugging your parents all morning?”

“Without a doubt.”

Downstairs, the team had already gathered, voices tangled in playful chatter as they waited to board the bus. KK caught sight of them and raised her brows.

“Surprised you two remembered to come down at all,” she said, grinning.

Paige rolled her eyes, bumping KK’s shoulder. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you.”

KK bumped her right back. “Just admit you missed me.”

“Shockingly, I did.”

KK gasped, clutching at her chest. “I knew it.”

Azzi watched the exchange, a smile tugging at her lips. The past few days had softened something in Paige, her edges eased, her guard lowered. That quiet warmth she usually tucked away now sat comfortably on the surface.

The ride home felt shorter than the one there. The bus buzzed with inside jokes and laughter, the kind of energy only a win and shared exhaustion could bring. Paige leaned against Azzi’s shoulder, listening to her tell stories about Ruby’s latest toddler chaos, socks in the fridge, soap in the toilet, paint on the dog. Each story made Paige’s heart flutter, her mind already picturing the reunion.

When the bus pulled to a stop outside the practice gym, Paige pressed her hand to the window, peering out. Azzi’s parents were parked just beyond the curb, and Ruby was bouncing in place between them, Sparklehorn flapping wildly in her hand.

Azzi smiled and grabbed her bag. Paige was close behind, nerves giving way to anticipation.

“Mama!” Ruby shrieked the moment the doors opened, tearing across the pavement and launching herself into Azzi’s arms.

Azzi laughed, scooping her up and kissing her cheeks. “I missed you, baby.”

“Missed you more!” Ruby said, arms wrapped tight around her neck.

Paige watched from a few feet away, chest full. Then Ruby’s eyes landed on her, lighting up instantly. “Paigey!”

She wriggled out of Azzi’s arms and took off again, barreling straight into Paige. Paige crouched just in time, arms wide as Ruby collided with her.

“Hey, little monster,” Paige whispered, hugging her tight and kissing her curls. “Did you behave for Grandma and Grandpa?”

Ruby nodded seriously. “Yes. Sparklehorn too.”

Katie and Tim approached, smiles bright.

“You girls played beautifully,” Katie said, hugging Azzi, then Paige. “Ruby watched every minute.”

Tim chuckled and clapped Paige on the shoulder. “And narrated it.”

Paige laughed. “Did she critique my shot selection?”

Ruby nodded with great conviction. “Grandpa say too many points!”

Tim cleared his throat, eyes twinkling. “Constructive feedback only.”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Sure, Dad.”

Around them, teammates began filtering off toward dorms and waiting rides. KK lingered a bit longer, waving at Ruby. “Hey, superstar. Did you keep Sparklehorn in check while Mama was busy scoring buckets?”

Ruby nodded gravely and held up Sparklehorn. “She watch game too.”

KK solemnly shook Sparklehorn’s hoof. “Outstanding work. Couldn’t have done it without her.”

Ruby giggled and wrapped her arms tighter around Paige’s neck. Paige adjusted her grip, holding her a little closer.

Azzi came up beside them, brushing her fingers along the small of Paige’s back. “We should get this monster home.”

“Yeah,” Paige said, heart tugging. She followed Azzi to the car, settling Ruby into her booster seat and clicking the straps into place. Ruby looked up at her with wide eyes.

“You come home too, Paigey?”

Paige’s breath hitched. She brushed Ruby’s cheek with her thumb. “Not tonight, Rubes. But really soon, okay? I promise.”

Ruby blinked, small but serious. “Promise?”

“Always.”

Paige shut the door gently, then turned to Katie and Tim. “Thanks again. For everything. And for letting me steal your granddaughter.”

Katie smiled. “You’re always welcome, Paige.”

Tim nodded. “You’re family now. Get used to us.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I already have.”

Azzi lingered near the passenger side, watching her. Paige walked over, hesitant to say goodbye.

“You’ll call later?” she asked, voice soft.

Azzi nodded. “Of course.”

Paige stepped closer, leaned in, and kissed her. Not rushed. Not for show. Just a quiet press of meaning against her mouth. Azzi returned it with care, then gave Paige’s hand one final squeeze.

“See you soon?”

“Definitely.”

Azzi slipped into the car, giving one last look over her shoulder before shutting the door.

Paige stood and watched as they pulled away, her heart both heavy and full. Behind her, KK slung an arm around her shoulders.

“Come on, Romeo,” she said. “Sparklehorn’s got your heart, but I need dinner.”

Paige laughed and let herself be guided toward the dorms. As she glanced back once more, a warmth settled in her chest.

This wasn’t an ending.

It was a quiet promise that everything that mattered—Azzi, Ruby, home—wasn’t behind her.

It was waiting just ahead.

[the-internets-girlfriend]

The First Night - George Clarke

George Clarke x Reader

It started with a drink, a smile, and a quiet kind of pull. She didn't know who he was - only that something about him felt like home.

warnings: alcohol consumption,

masterlist x

Chris smirked before Max even finished the sentence as he sat in the podcast room.

"So," Max said, turning to him across the studio, "you've known George for years, live with him. You've gotta have a story. Like... first time he a brough a girl home or something."

Chris barely contained a laugh, "oh, I've got that story."

George gave Chris a look - pleading for him to stop.

But Chris just leaned in. "This was before anyone knew who he really was. Before the recent collabs. He met this girl in a random bar..."

George, across from them, just smiled - now realising it was in fact going to be a good story, one he wanted out for fans to know. His fingers tapped once against the table.

Max grinned. "Go on."

I hadn't meant to stay out that long. A bad day turned in to a missed train, no charger, freezing wind - the perfect combo.

I ducked quickly into the first open bar I saw after leaving work - an attempt to stay out of the cold weather, and the raining beginning to make it's way to central London.

The bar was warm, the lights creating a hue over the bar, and quiet music humming in the background, as groups nestled around small tables chatting.

I order a drink - nothing too fancy, something just to help time go by.

I was halfway through the drink, cheap cider - and pretending to be busy as I fiddle with the coasters sat on top of the bar - when a voice cut in beside me.

"You look like you're trying to convince yourself to like that."

I turn to see him - soft brown hair, easy smile, dark washed hoodie. A little stubble, and a lot cute.

I decide to engage in conversation, hoping for the time to go by quicker as I wait out the rain, "it's not working," I said, nudging the half full glass. "But I've committed now... Well at least until the rain stops."

He gave a toothy grin, "name?" He asked, as he pulled out the leather stool next to me and sat down.

"Y/N."

"I'm George. So what brings you here tonight?"

I gesture to the rain outside and my work bag sat on the ground at my feet. "I worked late, and missed the train so just waiting until the rain disappears before decide my next course of action, what about yourself George?"

"My mates just left," he starts, my faces becoming confused as to why he didn't leave with them, so he continues, "but I was looking at you for a while, and would've hated myself if I didn't come and say hi before I left."

A grin replaces my puzzled look, a faint pink blush rushing to my cheeks.

We continue talking. Nothing too deep - just banter. He was funny, but not loud about it. Kind, but never too polite. Said he worked in "media", whatever that meant, I didn't pry him for answers.

Eventually an hour had passed and the bartender alerting us the bar will be closing soon. I glance out to the rain still pouring outside, and pull out my phone thinking it would be best to call an Uber.

My phone was flat. George takes notice of the black screen on my phone and offers, "I live five minutes away. You want to come back? Just to charge your phone, honestly. My flat's got a ridiculous window view."

I pause, unsure of what to do - he seemed safe and respectful.

He added, "You can leave the second it gets weird."

I smile. "Only if there is a cup of tea in the equation then lead the way."

His flat was a brief walk from the bar - a walk that was shared with giggles and constant banter. The flat looked like three men lived there. It was warm and messy in the way that felt lived-in, not lazy.

As we entered, George took my coat from me and hung it on the coat rack to dry. I admire more of the flat - spotting two guys sat on the couch, of who were both staring at me.

"This is Y/N," George said carefully. "Chris, Arthur." George continues, pointing at the two boys.

The two boys gave a smirk in the direction of George, and I put two together and figure these were his friends from the bar.

"Evening," Chris said, already eyeing George like something was up.

Arthur gave me a polite nod and a smile.

The two boys turned to look at each other, and let out a whisper.

George ignored both of them. "Come on - I'll show you the view then make a cup of tea for you."

I follow George to the other side of the living space, a large window sat centered - an amazing view of London. The lights scattered like gold, the hum of the city distant and soft.

"Okay," I whispered, "I get it, this view is amazing."

He leaned close to me, our shoulders nudging each other. "Told you."

When I glanced at him, he was already looking at me - not in a creepy way, just like.. he was really seeing me.

Then, quietly, he said, "tea?"

I followed closely behind George, a mug of hot tea steaming clutched between my palms. George was taking me to his bedroom, where I would be able to charge my phone and wait for the rain to settle.

As the bedroom door closed behind us, I still felt the eyes of the housemates on me.

George sat his tea on his bedside table and took mine, settling it beside his - like it belonged there. He took a long cord and passed it to me, allowing for my phone to begin charging.

"You can stay as long as you like. No pressure."

I knew my phone would need a while to charge and I nodded. I took a seat on his bed, my back against the headboard as I took my tea and began sipping at it.

I felt the bed dip beside more, and then move again, I saw George standing and making his way to his wardrobe.

"Here, you must be freezing." He passed a grey hoodie, towards me and I took with no argument, wanting to feel the warmth of something other than my tea.

We both now sat on the bed together engaged in conversation - both unsure of the space between us but wanting less space.

After a while, George asks, "want to watch something?" Already reaching to grab the remote.

"Sure," I said. "Whatever you like."

He didn't ask. Didn't listen options. Just was on a mission to find something casual to watch.

The screen blinked to life. The opening swirled in - blue, spinning stars and that familiar, eerie theme.

Doctor Who.

My breath caught - that chord hit lie muscle memory.

George sat up sharply. "Wait - oh god, I can turn it off. I just picked something old and that I love, I didn't think -"

"No!" I said, grinning. "Don't. Are you kidding?"

He blinked. "You... like it?"

I grew up on it. My mum and I used to watch every Saturday. Ten was my Doctor. I cried so hard when he said he didn't want to go."

George visibly relaxed, a smile gracing his lips as he looked down at me. "You're joking."

"I literally has a sonic screwdriver. This is, like... my childhood."

The smile continued to bloom on his face, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree. "You are the coolest person I've met this month!" He exclaims.

He shifted, settling beside me.

And then - soft, unsure - he reached over and pulled the blanket a little tighter around both of us, his arm brushing mine.

"You don't mind?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No. I'm good." I take the next move with shuffling closer to him and leaning my head against his shoulder.

We didn't talk during the first episode. Not much, anyway. Just a few whispered lines, little gasps, shared glances.

But then a second episode started, and we didn't stop it - my phone charging long forgotten, just happy to stay with George.

Halfway through our second episode, he leaned in closer - his breath was felt on my ears as he said, "what was it about Ten that made him your favourite?"

That was it - the start of something.

We kept talking. About favourite episodes. About things we loved that no one else really got. About childhood fears and comfort movies, and what we'd do if we had a TARDIS.

As we spoke, we both moved closer to each other, George even moving his arm I leant against and draping it around me pulling me closer - but he didn't try anything. Just sat with me as we used each other for warmth.

At some point of the third episode, I must have drifted off. I woke hours later to find the lights have been dimmed in the room, a blanket tucked around me, and closing the door softly behind him with two glasses of water in his hands.

"You stayed up for me?' I whisper, taking the offered glass of water from him.

He sat down in the bed, placing his glass beside the empty tea cups. "Didn't want you waking up alone."

The softness in his voice did something to my chest.

So I stayed the rest of the night.

And then I kept staying.

Chris finished the story to the camera with, "we thought she'd vanished by morning. But she didn't, she sat at the kitchen bench with a cup of tea in her hand."

Max leans forward with a grin on his face - already knowing the answer to his question he was about to ask, "so...who was she?"

There's a pause.

George now realises what the plan between Chris and Max was - it started when George mentioned he was finally happy to go full-on public with his relationship, and now realises he has been set up so he can't back out.

George clears his throat.

"She's my girlfriend," he says finally. "Still. Going on one year together."

Chris whoops, and Max claps his hands in amusement.

"Oh, I never would have guessed." Max says, his voice laced with sarcasm.

George gives him a look. "Max you have literally met Y/N, I've just been set up by Chris telling the story." He says, with a chuckle.

Chris and Max go on to tease George.

George just smiles.

And somewhere, I'm listening to podcast once released - and still wearing that same hoodie I was given over a year ago.

I hope you all enjoyed this little one-shot. The idea came to mind when I was rewatching Doctor Who last week, and obviously is inspired by when Chris reveals the first time George bought a girl home.

See you next time,

mwah x

[mead-iocre]

Run | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you are walking home alone at night. someone is following you. Read more of the Butter's Meadio-cre Mayhem (the Spooky Season collection) here

warnings: a little darker than what i usually write

wc: 2.5k words

The evening air was crisp, lingering sounds of the city winding down for the night. Street lights flickered as you and the girls stepped out of the restaurant. You were all slightly tipsy, bellies full of authentic Italian pasta and vintage French wine. Being a good friend, you waited with them for their uber to come pick them up. Your flat was only a short walk away from the restaurant, so after exchanging goodbyes and making promises to meet up again soon, you watched as they got driven away until the taillights were merely specs of light blinking in the distance.

The night was cool, and the city streets felt empty, save for the occasional hum of a passing car. You always enjoyed walking home after a good meal, and London at night time was usually good company. It was serene, and peaceful. Such a contrast to the hustle and bustle of the usual mornings. You didn’t have to worry about tourists who walked too slow, or mothers and their massive pushchairs taking over the entire pavement. 

You passed through the park, a quick shortcut, passing by a few people with tired, weary faces probably on their way home from work. Soon enough you reach the rows of residential streets, so close to home that you could almost taste the leftover tupperwares of garlic parmesen chicken wings from wingstop in the refrigerator.

You wrapped your coat tighter against yourself and started walking, your boots tapping lightly against the concrete. It was the only sound you could hear. The quiet of the evening settled around you like a blanket in a way that was comforting almost. But soon something pierced that calm—a second set of footsteps.

They were faint at first, almost blending with your own. You noticed it earlier but you figured it must just be someone else making their way home. Taking your phone out of your coat pocket, you check the time to see that it was nearing 11 pm. Surely you weren’t the only one walking home from a night out or a date night in the city. But you couldn’t help but take notice of the footsteps. Curiously, you slowed down your pace, pretending to fiddle with your phone while conspicuously checking your peripheral to see if you could make out the owner of the footsteps. 

Your heart dropped when you noticed they slowed too. 

It was just a coincidence.

Surely.

It had to be.

But when you sped up again, the footsteps followed suit, quickening in lockstep. Your pulse throbbed in your ears. Feeling brave, you stole a glance behind you.

A figure was walking several paces back, draped in a dark jacket, dark trousers, and their face was hidden beneath a hood. They were tall in stature, broad shoulders, long legs. Most likely male. They were strolling towards you, without a care in the world, just a few metres away, with both of their hands hidden in their trouser pockets. Panic fluttered in your chest. You’ve been listening to far too many true crime podcasts to know that right now you were the perfect victim for anyone with cruel intentions. Stories of young, vulnerable women walking alone at night, only to end up missing– or worse dead– flood your mind. You looked away and picked up your pace, your heart beating faster now. But the footsteps behind you only grew louder. 

Closer.

Your stomach knotted with dread. Someone was definitely following you.

You could hear him a lot clearer behind you now—a faint, steady rhythm of footsteps growing louder with each second. He wasn’t rushing, just matching your pace, like he was toying with you. Like this was just some sort of sick, twisted joke to them. The sound made your skin crawl, icy terror flooding your veins. You didn't dare look back now.

With shaky hands, you hunch over your phone, finger hovering over your emergency contact for a second before you press the call button without further hesitation. You hoped training was over by now.

The phone rang twice before she picked up. 

“Hey, baby. How was dinner with the girls? Are you on your way home?” Leah’s voice was light. She had training today in preparation for an upcoming match later that week. However, she had been coming home a lot later than usual because they had meetings after training.

“Yeah, just left actually” You said, eyes flickering nervously over your shoulder. You couldn’t see much thanks to the lack of lamp posts in this particular street. “I’m walking home now…” 

There was a pause on the other end. “What’s going on, baby? You sound…weird”

Your throat tightened. Swallowing the best you can, you quickened your pace as the sound of steps behind you suddenly became more pronounced. Trying to force yourself to focus on Leah’s familiar voice on the other end of the phone, you press the phone closer to your ear, as if it could save you from the fear overtaking your body. “I think someone’s following me” 

A rustle was heard on the other end, a few inaudible shouting and yells before Leah’s voice came back, this time there was a harshness to her tone. “Where are you? I’ll come get you”

“Lee, I'm probably just being paranoid. I don’t know, maybe they just happen to be walking in the same direction as me” But you were starting to doubt that was the case. You could still hear his steps behind you and you doubt it was a coincidence at this point. 

Nearing the end of the street, you turn your head from side to side before crossing. What was usually a welcoming and familiar street in the mornings, is now eerily unassuming at night time. There was only one lamppost on the other side of the street, the light dim as if it could go out at any second. Most of the houses along the street had their lights off, probably already in the safety of their own warm beds. You, on the other hand, are alone and cold. 

“Baby, tell me where you are. I’m in the car now” You hear the distinct click of the car key, some more shuffling. The sound of Leah's car rumbling to life does little to comfort you but at least she was nearly there. The training grounds was only about a 20 minute drive away from where you were. 

She’ll be here soon, you tell yourself. 

You glance around at the dark street ahead, cursing the lack of shops and street lights, you try to steady your voice. “I’m only less than 10 minutes away from home. I’ll be fine. I think—”

Your sentence was cut off by the sharp sound of footsteps picking up behind you, a lot closer than you realised. He wasn't matching your pace anymore. He didn’t care if you noticed him following you. You spun around, heart leaping into your throat. You turned, and a dark figure was walking faster, closing the gap.

“Leah,” You walked briskly, more hurried. Your voice trembled, just barely above a whisper. “They’re getting closer.”

“Baby, listen to me—run. Don’t look back, just run. I’m on my way.”

You did not have to be told twice. You broke into a run, your boots thumping against the pavement. You wanted to cry, tears were already welling in your eyes, but the blurriness would only slow you down. 

Sprinting down the narrow, dimly lit street, your breath came in short, ragged gasps. The night air is heavy and still, a thick fog rolling in, muffling the distant sounds of the rest of the city. Old brick houses loom tall on either side, their windows dark and unwelcoming. 

The only light sources are the light illuminating from your phone screen and a few street lights that flicker erratically, casting long, distorted shadows along the pavement. Every step you take seems to echo unnaturally loud, the silence only amplifying your fear. The cold air clings to your skin, biting at your face. 

You risk a glance behind you, your pulse racing as you glance over her shoulder, but there's nothing there. Nothing you can see. You falter slightly, almost tripping on your own two feet. Is he gone?

Turning your head left and right, you look around you. As if the figure was going to pop out at any second to come get you. 

But you’ve watched enough horror movies to know that the character who lets the monsters catch up to them always dies next. Without wasting another second, you continue on running. The next street up ahead is your street. Home. 

Home is close. But the street seems to stretch on endlessly, like some cruel trick. Your heartbeat is deafening, and mind races, whispering doubts. Did you take the wrong turn? Are you still being followed? The wind picks up, rustling through the trees lining the road, but it sounds more like distant whispers, low and unsettling.

Your footsteps quicken, almost stumbling now, each stride feeling more desperate than the last. There's a faint noise—a creak, or maybe a footstep—in the darkness behind you, but this time you don’t dare stop to check. You are almost home. Almost safe. But they always say that at night, safety feels like an illusion, just out of reach.

Because that’s when you hear it again. 

Footsteps. 

This time they were loud. Like the person was right behind you, ready to grab you at any second. You started running again. Your breath came in ragged gasps, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the soft thud of your boots stopping on the rain-slicked pavement. The streets were still unnervingly quiet.

Your feet slapped the pavement harder as you veered onto the last alley. Shadows stretched and warped along the brick walls, twisted shapes that seemed to move in your peripheral. Stumbling over the uneven ground, your boot catching the edge of the pavement,  just barely catching yourself before tumbling forward. Your hands scraped against the rough wall, but the sting of fresh cuts did nothing to distract you from the mounting fear.

The footfalls behind you never faltered.

The houses, with their shuttered windows and dark facades, loomed like silent witnesses, indifferent to your panic. You were so close now—just a few more houses down and you’d be home. But your legs felt leaden, each step heavier than the last, like you were being dragged down by something. 

But you weren't going to stop now. Not when you were so close to home. You grit your teeth, running as fast as you could. 

The stranger’s pace behind you thundered in response, chasing, closing the gap. You darted into a side street, your breath ragged, pulse hammering in your throat. You didn’t dare look back again, didn’t dare stop. Your feet hit the ground in a desperate rhythm, mind racing, trying to think of what to do next.

Suddenly, you felt it—hands. Grabbing you from behind, pulling you back.

You screamed, but the sound was ripped from your throat as you were spun around, your back slamming into a cold, rough brick wall. You braced yourself for the worst, expecting a stranger’s cruel eyes, but—

“Baby! Hey, it’s me!”

Leah’s voice cut through the panic. Your girlfriend stood there, her ponytail wonky, still dressed in her training kit, blue eyes wide with alarm. Her breath came in shallow gasps, her face flushed, like would after playing on the pitch for the full 90 minutes. She let go of your arms, stepping back quickly as if he’d just realised the terror she had caused you. 

Leah.

It was only Leah.

You blinked, still trembling, trying to process the sudden shift from blind fear to relief. “Leah? What the fuck— it was you running behind me?”

“I wasn’t trying to scare you!” she stammered, running a hand through her dishevelled hair. “I saw you crossing the street. I called your name, but you didn’t hear me, and then… when you ran, I just… I panicked and ran after you.”

You just stared at her, heart still thudding in your chest. Your mind was reeling, trying to calm the panic that hadn’t yet subsided. "You were following me," your muttered, still dazed. "I thought—"

“I know,” Leah interrupted, her voice softer now, guilty seeping through. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning against the alley wall. The adrenaline was still pulsing through your veins, and your body refused to relax. "I was so fucking scared." You confessed, visibly shuddering, knees going weak. "I thought I was being chased by some fucking creep."

Leah’s face fell, a frown forming, guilt etched across her features. She cupped your cheek, pulling you close, the warmth of her palm providing much needed comfort. She gently kissed the crown of your head, tucking your face in the crook of her neck.  "I am so sorry, baby. I’ll try to shout louder next time, and yell out my name or something. I promise."

You forced a chuckle, your breath fanning her neck. Although a part of you still felt uneasy, like you hadn’t quite shaken off the fear completely. For a moment longer, you revelled in her warmth and the safety of her embrace. But truthfully you just wanted to forget it even happened. You press a kiss against the side of her neck, reluctantly pulling away. "Let’s just go home."

Stepping out of the dark corner of the street together, and back into the glow of the streetlights, your heart began to slow. but  you still kept a tight grip on Leah’s hand. She’s got her arm over your shoulder as you huddled into her side, and her other hand was occupied by your own. To strangers you both probably looked ridiculous walking like that, sticking so closely to each other, like you were glued together. But you did not care. You would’ve asked Leah to carry you in her arms if you could muster the courage to do so.  

As you walked towards home, the sounds of the city returned, a few cars passing by, distant voices drifting in the wind. But something still tugged at you, an odd prickling at the back of your neck. The one you get when something doesn't feel right. 

You couldn’t help, but glance behind you again.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw something—movement, a shadow darting back into the side of the street. Your breath caught. The dark shape of a figure melted into the blackness just as quickly as you saw it, like it had been there the whole time, watching.

Stopping in your tracks, you turn to Leah, your skin crawling. You scratch at your arm, feeling goosebumps along your skin. "Did you see that?"

She looked over her shoulder, frowning. "See what, baby?"

"There was—" You hesitated, squinting into the shadows. It was so, so dark. But you could just about make out an empty street. Nothing but the distant murmur of cars driving past filled the air.

You shook your head, feeling a shiver creep up your spine. “Nothing. Must’ve been my imagination.”

Leah smiled, oblivious, and tugged on your hand gently. "Come on, let’s get you home. You’ve had enough scares for one night."

You nodded slowly, but as you  walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still being watched. The footsteps from earlier still echoed in your ears. You glanced back once more back 

And for a split second, you could swear you saw something move. A figure, just at the edge of the shadows where the blinking street light lamp could not reach. Someone was still watching you.

(had to repost this because it was not showing up in the tags even after 24 hours for some reason)

first story in the butter's meadio-cre mayhem (the spooky season collection). the rest of the stories will not be as spooky as this one but they will be halloween/fall season themed! i thought it's only appropriate to have at least one spooky-ish story in this collection <3333

comments and reactions appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[max1461]

I spend most of my internet time on YouTube. It's a good website, I like video. But it's gotten demonstrably worse in the past five(?) years. I've posted about this a thousand times because it bothers me so much.

I am not sure exactly what the cause is, maybe changes in the algorithm or maybe better optimization by creators, but YouTubers by and large seems to have shifted from content to "content". Everything on the platform seems to have less substance. It's showier but completely vapid.

Actually it's not quite that, it's more specific. Today, every video has to have a narrative, it has to have suspense and payoff, even if that's completely shoehorned.

A good example of this is Minecraft videos. I don't actually watch a lot of Minecraft videos, but the change is really easy to demonstrate in this genre. The bread and butter of Minecraft YouTube used to be tutorials and let's plays. Tutorials are relatively brief but high information density; the point of a tutorial is to share knowledge with the audience. Let's plays are slower-paced and lower information density, they provide a kind of relaxing background entertainment similar to certain podcasts. The point is to chill out to them. Game Grumps is just about the only big channel still making let's plays of this form (not for Minecraft, just... at all).

Today, both tutorials and let's plays are second fiddle to the ubiquitous challenge video. Challenge videos are brief but low information density. They fundamentally have nothing to say. They have titles like "is it possible to farm 10,000 wheat in Minecraft in a month???", and the creator will attempt the challenge, cut together clips of their exploits in a rapid, high-intensity style, and generally try to craft these clips into a "suspenseful" narrative. They want us to ask "oh no, will he be able to do it????" But the narrative is always cheap and boring because it's so plainly post hoc. These videos provide none of the genuine emergent narrative or casual humor/banter of a good let's play, and none of the information of a tutorial. They're just faux-suspense, faux challenge, all the meat cut out and nothing but the trappings left over. Meaningless.

All of YouTube is like this now. Every video title has to have Big Number. "I dug 10,000 blocks in Minecraft!!!" "I spent 1000 dollars on vending machines in Japan!!!!" "I wore 50lbs leg weights!!!!"

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP. Give me anything. It doesn't have to be art. Give me information, give me entertainment, give me humor. Give me something, anything, other than Big Number. I cannot express to you the degree I don't care about Big Number. I have never been curious about Big Number. FUCK OFF WITH BIG NUMBER. I don't care about challenges I don't care about Most and Best and Top and Biggest. How about New, Cool, Fun, or Charming? Anything but Most. My god, shut the fuck up about Most forever.

I'm a Most hater. Fuck Most for all eternity.

[authortelevision]

arthur frederick and the new producer: chapter 2 ₊˚⊹♡

words: 4,476 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆arthurtv slow burn, bach and arthur podcast

after lara leaves bach and arthur’s podcast, you become her replacement. after discovering that arthur hates change, it takes a lot for him to warm up to you and become friends. it also takes a lot for him to admit how he truly feels about you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter One

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter Two ₊˚⊹♡

The next day, you show up to the studio a little more prepared. The anxiety that gnawed at you the night before has faded, replaced by a sense of determination. Isaac’s words are still echoing in your mind: Don’t take his quietness personally. You’ve done your part, and now you just need to focus on the work.

The studio is already humming with activity when you arrive. Arthur is behind the desk, fiddling with the computer, his brow furrowed in concentration. Isaac is sitting on one of the chairs, scrolling through his phone. As you step in, you can sense the tension still hanging in the air, but it’s different this time. Less thick, maybe, less uncomfortable.

Arthur glances up from the computer as you walk in, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression. Maybe it’s a flash of regret, or maybe it’s just the way his eyes meet yours, but it’s there. He stands up from behind the desk, a little awkwardly, and rubs the back of his neck, clearly trying to make things right.

“Hey,” he says, his voice lower than usual, softer. “I just wanted to apologize for yesterday. I wasn’t… trying to make things uncomfortable. I know I’m not the easiest guy to work with when things change. It’s just… it’s a thing I have to get used to.”

You blink, surprised by the genuine apology. Arthur isn’t the type to readily admit fault, or so it seems. His tone is almost apologetic, and it makes you feel a little more at ease.

You offer a small smile, shrugging off the tension that still lingers between you two. “It’s really okay. No need to apologize. We’re still getting to know each other. I get it.”

Arthur nods, his hands shoved in his pockets, his usual guarded demeanour still there but softer now. “Yeah, well… I’ll try to make it less weird. I just… it’s not easy for me to adjust to new things. But we’ll figure it out.”

You nod back, feeling a little lighter. “I’m sure we will. No worries.”

The recording session starts smoothly enough, though you can tell Arthur’s keeping a critical eye on everything. He’s focused on the technical side, as always, adjusting his mic, and making sure he’s positioned just right. You, on the other hand, are more focused on keeping the flow going, keeping track of the notes, and making sure everything stays on schedule.

As you’re all getting into the conversation for the next segment, Arthur continues to monitor everything closely. You try to keep the mood light, chatting with Isaac about something random, just to keep the energy going. And then, as you settle back into the rhythm of the recording, you hear it.

Arthur’s voice, calm and collected, asks a question. “Alright, Lara, can you just—”

Your stomach drops for a moment.

Lara? You blink, your mind processing the slip-up. Did he just say, Lara?

Arthur’s eyes widen, and for a split second, there’s a brief, uncomfortable silence as he realizes what he’s said. His face goes red, and you can see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to correct himself.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, his voice flustered. “I meant— sorry, I don’t know why I said that.

You freeze for just a moment, then let out a small laugh, the tension easing away from your body. It’s not like you’ve never been mistaken for someone else before, but the fact that it’s happening now, with Arthur, feels oddly relieving.

“It’s fine,” you say with a grin. “I’ll just cut it out.”

Arthur, still looking embarrassed, gives a small, relieved chuckle. “Right. I’ll get it right next time, I swear.”

Isaac, who has been listening from the side, can’t resist. “Smooth, Arthur,” he teases, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ve gotta start calling her by the right name now. That’s two strikes.”

Arthur looks at Isaac with, a half-hearted glare, but there’s no real anger behind it. It’s more playful than anything. “I said I was sorry,” Arthur mutters, clearly still flustered.

You decide to ease his embarrassment. “Seriously, it’s really okay. I’ll just edit it out of the recording, no big deal.”

Arthur’s shoulders relax a little at that, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his posture, like the weight of the situation has lightened just a bit.

Isaac laughs and gives Arthur a teasing look. “Don’t worry, man. She’s way more chill than you are.”

You chuckle, feeling your nerves loosen. “I’m just here to get the job done. And hey, mistakes happen.”

Arthur nods, his face still a little red but now looking slightly more at ease. “Yeah, well… thanks for being understanding. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

The session continues after that, and while Arthur remains focused, detailed, precise, and ever-critical there’s a subtle shift in the air. The tension that had lingered between the three of you is not as bad now, and even Arthur seems to have relaxed just a bit. It’s a small change, but it’s something.

As the recording wraps up, you feel like the day has gone a little better than expected. Things are still a little formal, but you can sense a slight softening from Arthur. Maybe this whole transition won’t be as difficult as you thought.

Before leaving, Arthur gives you a short nod. “Good work today. We’ll be back at it again soon.”

You smile, glad the day is finally over. “Thanks, Arthur. I’ll see you next time.”

Isaac gives you a small wave and a wide smile. “See you later. Don’t let Arthur bite you next time.”

You laugh, feeling the last of the tension melt away. “No promises.”

As you gather your things and make your way out of the studio, you feel a little more at ease. Sure, Arthur might still be a bit reserved, but today felt like a step in the right direction. Maybe, just maybe, you and Arthur will find a way to make this work. It’s early yet, but you’re optimistic.

Later that evening, after the recording session, you sit down at your desk, a cup of tea in hand. You pull out your notes, mentally sorting through ideas for the next episode. There are some technical changes you want to make, as well as a few suggestions for adjusting the flow. Arthur has been quiet on your ideas lately, so you’re hoping that putting them in writing might make things easier.

Taking a deep breath, you open your messages and start typing to Arthur:

You: Hi Arthur, I’ve been thinking about the next episode and wanted to run a few ideas by you.

You: For the intro, I was thinking of tightening it up a bit, maybe cutting down some of the back-and-forth, and then transitioning into the discussion on science in the media. I think it might flow better that way.

You: Also, I’m planning to shift the pacing a little so the segments feel smoother, and not too abrupt. Let me know if you have any thoughts or if you’d like to adjust anything.

You re-read the message once more, making sure it doesn’t sound too casual or too formal, and then hit send.

A few minutes pass before his reply shows up.

Arthur: Yeah, we could do that.

It’s short, too short, and it doesn’t feel like the kind of confirmation you were hoping for. It’s polite but distant. You hesitate, wondering if you should clarify more or give him a bit of space. But it’s hard to tell with Arthur, he’s never the type to volunteer his thoughts unless you push.

You quickly type back:

You: Great. I’ve also been thinking about how we structure the segments. Maybe we could break up the discussion a bit more, and give each part a clearer focus. Do you think that could work? Or is that going too far off track from the way things have been?

A long minute goes by. You begin to second-guess your approach. Should you have sent a more detailed outline? Would it have been better to just go over these ideas in person? You glance at your phone again, willing it to buzz with a more substantial response.

Finally, the next message comes in.

Arthur: I’m not sure about breaking up the segments too much. We’ve got a rhythm, and I don’t want to mess with that unless it’s necessary. But I’m open to tweaking the flow a little like you said.

You feel a slight frustration creeping in, but you try to keep it in check. Arthur’s always like this, careful with changes, and meticulous about keeping the podcast grounded in its original structure. You don’t necessarily disagree, but it can be hard to push for progress when he’s so cautious.

You type your response, trying to phrase it in a way that respects his approach but still moves things forward:

You: Got it. I just think tightening up the pacing could help us maintain the energy. But I’ll make sure not to mess with anything too much.

There’s a brief pause before his reply comes in again.

Arthur: I’m not saying don’t change anything. Just let’s take it slow, yeah?

His tone, though still a bit distant, seems less cold this time. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to fully shut you down, but he’s also not ready to embrace your suggestions completely.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers hovering over the phone for a second, unsure of how to respond. Arthur’s cautious nature is wearing you thin, but you remind yourself, that this is progress, even if it’s slow. Extremely slow.

You reply with:

You: Absolutely, I’ll keep it gradual. I appreciate you taking the time to go over these with me.

The reply comes quickly this time.

Arthur: No problem.

It’s the most he’s said to you all day, and despite the still-cautious tone, you can’t help but feel a bit of relief. Maybe it’s small, but it’s something.

You sit back in your chair and breathe out slowly, feeling a little more at ease with the upcoming recording. There’s still a long way to go before things feel comfortable with Arthur, but this message, this little back-and-forth, the slight conversation reminds you that Arthur is human just like you.

You smile to yourself, finally putting your phone down. You’ll just have to take things one episode at a time.

The next morning, you arrive at the studio early, hoping to get everything ready before the others show up. The low hum of the air conditioning fills the otherwise quiet room, and you take a deep breath as you begin setting up the equipment. You double-check the microphones, adjust the levels on the soundboard, and make sure the recording software is ready to go.

A few minutes later, you hear the door open. Arthur steps inside, looking as serious as ever. He gives you a brief nod, not quite warm, but not cold either, and heads to the table without saying much.

“Good morning,” you say, trying to sound casual, though you can’t help the slight tension in your voice.

“Morning,” he responds without much inflexion, his eyes briefly flicking toward you before he focuses on the phone in his hand.

You watch him for a moment, then turn your attention back to the equipment. You’ve been thinking a lot about the changes you planned to implement. You’ve adjusted the intro to be a bit tighter, and you want to suggest a new structure for the segments. It’s all part of trying to help the show feel a little fresher without losing what’s already there.

“I made some changes to the intro,” you say, breaking the silence. “I tightened it up a bit. It should help with pacing.”

Arthur doesn’t immediately respond, but you can feel his attention shift toward you. He doesn’t look thrilled, but he’s not dismissing it outright either.

“I’ll listen to it when we start recording,” he mutters, taking a sip of his coffee. “As long as you didn’t go overboard.”

You nod, trying to suppress the knot forming in your stomach. You’d hoped for a little more enthusiasm, but at least he didn’t shut you down completely.

“Maybe add a little more interaction with the camera so it feels a bit more connected, you know?”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, setting his coffee mug down with a faint clink. “Connected, huh? Well, I suppose we can try it. As long as you don’t mess with the format too much.”

You smile slightly, but there’s a hint of tension behind the smile. “I won’t. Just a few adjustments here and there.”

Arthur considers it for a moment. “Yeah, we could do that. I hope it doesn’t hurt to try something new.

His words hang in the air, and you feel the sting of the backhanded compliment. It’s not exactly praise, but it’s not a flat-out rejection either. You try to keep your tone positive as you reply, “Right. Just a few adjustments to see how it feels.”

Arthur takes another sip of his coffee, watching you with a careful expression. “Well, as long as you’re not trying to turn it into something it’s not, it should be fine. But don’t get too attached to any one idea if it doesn’t work.”

You nod, keeping your voice steady. “Understood. I think it could help.”

Arthur stands still for a moment, his gaze flickering over to the soundboard. “Fine,” he says, though there’s a slight edge to his tone. “Just don’t change everything all at once. People don’t like it when things change too fast.”

You smile, doing your best to keep things professional. “Of course. Just a few small things.”

He nods but doesn’t say anything else as he heads toward the door. “Alright. I’ll be in the recording room. Let’s see what happens.”

As the rest of the team arrives and the session gets underway, you try to keep the changes subtle, hoping to ease into the new structure without rocking the boat too much. Arthur watches you closely, though he doesn’t offer much in the way of feedback, and you can’t quite tell if he’s warming up to the ideas or just biding his time.

When the session wraps up, you take a deep breath, trying to gauge his reaction. Arthur’s expression is neutral, but his words are the first sign of approval you’ve gotten, even if it’s more reserved than you’d like.

“Not bad,” he says, still with that distant edge to his tone.

You nod, not quite sure how to respond. His approval, if you can even call it that, feels like it’s wrapped in layers of hesitance. But it’s something. It’s progress, at least.

“Thanks, Arthur,” you say, forcing a smile. “I’m glad it worked out.”

He meets your gaze for a brief moment, then turns to pack up his things. “Yeah, well. I’ll catch you next time.”

You watch him go, feeling that same mix of frustration and resolve. Gaining Arthur’s trust is going to take more than a few changes to the show. But you’re in it for the long haul.

The evening air is crisp as you walk home, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet street. The weight of the day’s recording session feels better now, and you can’t help but feel a small sense of relief. Arthur’s approval, however reserved, was a step in the right direction. Things felt like they were getting better, even if it was just by a little bit.

As you push open the door to your flat, the familiar warmth greets you, and you let out a deep breath. The apartment is quiet except for the soft clink of dishes from the kitchen. Emma’s sitting at the table, as she scrolls through her phone.

“Hey,” she says without looking up. “How’d it go today?”

You drop your bag by the door and kick off your shoes. “Better. Arthur was still… Arthur. But I think he’s starting to warm up to the changes. He even said the pacing was tighter, so that’s something.”

Emma looks up, raising an eyebrow. “Tighter? That’s progress, right?”

“Yeah,” you reply, sinking into the chair across from her. “He said it wasn’t a disaster. So, I’m counting that as a win.”

Emma grins turning off her phone to give you her attention. “You’re definitely making progress, then. Sounds like you’re wearing him down.”

“I don’t know about wearing him down,” you say, laughing. “But it feels like he’s finally starting to see what I’m trying to do. It’s definitely not smooth sailing, but I think I’m on the right track.”

“Good,” she says, putting her phone down. “You’ve got this. I told you it’d get better.”

You smile, grateful for her support. “Yeah. Thanks for keeping me grounded.”

The conversation drifts to other things as Emma talks about her day, but in the back of your mind, you can’t help but replay the moments from the recording session. The small victories, the subtle shifts in Arthur’s attitude.

A few days later, the podcast episode finally gets released on YouTube. You’re sitting in your room, headphones on, making some final tweaks to the next episode’s edits when your phone lights up with a notification. It’s from Arthur.

You pause, lifting your phone to read the message.

Arthur: People liked the episode. It was a good idea.

You blink at the screen, not sure what to make of it. Arthur’s compliment is brief, but there’s a certain sincerity in it that you haven’t felt from him before. It’s not effusive praise, but it’s the closest he’s come to offering any kind of real recognition.

You tap out a reply.

You: Thanks! I’m glad it worked out. I thought the pacing changes would help. Do you think we can keep it for next time?

There’s a pause before his reply comes through.

Arthur: Yeah, I think it could work. We’ll see how it plays out over time. But it didn’t mess things up, so that’s something.

You smile to yourself, feeling the smallest spark of pride at his words. It’s still not glowing praise, but it’s progress. You decide to push your luck a bit further.

You: Well, it’s good to know it didn’t ruin everything. I was a little worried about messing with the format too much, but I think it’s working so far.

The phone buzzes again, and you tap to read the response.

Arthur: It’s fine. Just don’t get too attached to one idea. We might need to adjust some stuff as we go. But, yeah, it worked. For now.

You laugh softly, appreciating his honesty, even if it’s wrapped in that typical reserved Arthur style. He’s not exactly glowing, but it’s the most approval you’ve received from him yet.

You: Got it. I’m just trying to make sure the podcast feels fresh without losing what makes it good. Thanks for sticking with it.

Another moment passes before he replies, and you can almost picture him standing there, weighing his words.

Arthur: I don’t like to change much, but if it helps the podcast, I’m all for it. Just don’t go too crazy.

You grin at the message, feeling a wave of relief. Maybe you’re finally on the same page after all.

You: No worries, I’ll keep it balanced. Appreciate the feedback, Arthur. It really means a lot.

Arthur’s reply is quick.

Arthur: Yeah, well. Don’t expect me to say it often. But you’re doing alright so far.

You can’t help but laugh aloud at that, even though his words still carry that distant edge. It’s better than nothing, though.

You: I’ll take it. Thanks, Arthur.

Arthur: You’re welcome.

The conversation ends, and you lean back in your chair, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t exactly the kind of glowing feedback you might have hoped for, but it’s progress. Real progress. For the first time, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re starting to fit in.

As you settle back into your editing, you can’t help but replay his words in your mind, and for the first time, you start to believe that things might just work out after all.

The morning feels different today. You’re getting ready for the studio, but there’s something about today that feels a little more intentional. As you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, you take your time. You swipe a bit of makeup on your face, just enough to brighten your eyes and smooth out the skin, a small effort to look more put together than usual. You’ve got plans after work, meeting up with your friends for a drink, so you figure why not make a little more effort than usual?

When you finish, you pull on a nice shirt and a pair of black jeans. It’s still casual but just a little more polished than the usual hoodie and jeans. You grab your bag, check yourself one last time in the mirror, and nod to yourself. You look good, or at least better than the usual rush of getting ready in the mornings.

The studio is a short walk away, and by the time you arrive, you feel like you’ve set a tone for the day. You’re ready to take on whatever comes, but there’s a small, fluttering excitement in the back of your mind about the evening plans.

When you step inside the studio, you’re immediately greeted by the familiar sound of the equipment being set up, Isaac moving around, and Arthur sitting at the desk with a coffee cup in hand. His eyes flick up briefly as you enter, but it’s Arthur, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge the extra effort you’ve put into your appearance. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that something feels different today.

You settle into your usual spot, plugging in your laptop and starting to prep the recording software. As you get everything lined up, you notice out of the corner of your eye that Arthur is staring at you.

It’s subtle at first. A glance here, a longer look there. But as he munches on his breakfast, you realise it’s more than just casual glances. He’s looking at you, his focus a little too intense. You can almost feel his gaze, and it’s starting to make you a bit uncomfortable.

You take a deep breath and finally turn your head toward him. “You okay?” you ask, trying to keep your tone casual, though you can feel the uncertainty hanging in the air.

Arthur blinks, his eyes darting away from you for a split second. He’s caught off guard, but he quickly recovers, wiping his mouth with a napkin before replying. “Yeah. Fine. Just… wondering where you’re going after this.”

His voice is frustratingly neutral, but you can sense there’s something off, he’s not his usual distant self, but the tone of his question has an edge of curiosity that seems out of place.

You glance at him for a moment, unsure of how to read the energy shift. “Oh, I’m going out with my friends after this,” you explain, shrugging a little as if it’s no big deal. “It’s been a while, and I thought I’d take a break from work tonight.”

Arthur nods slowly, then goes back to his food, but his eyes flick up again, almost like he’s trying not to stare directly at you. The silence that falls between you both feels heavier than usual.

“Okay,” he mutters as if he’s forcing the words out.

You try to ignore the strange tension that’s started to build between you two. You turn back to your laptop, hoping to get back to focusing on the work at hand. But out of the corner of your eye, you can still feel Arthur’s eyes on you, lingering, as if he’s studying you more than he usually does.

It’s distracting, and you can’t help but wonder why. Is it because you look a little more put together today? Or is it something else? You tell yourself not to overthink it, but it’s hard not to when his eyes keep flicking back to you in little bursts.

You take a deep breath and shift your focus back to your work, doing your best to ignore the weight of his stare.

The walk home feels longer than usual, the familiar path beneath your feet blurring as your mind races. You replay the day in your head, the awkward interactions, the looks, the laughter. Every small detail becomes magnified, making you question everything.

What did I do wrong? Did I mess something up?

Your thoughts spiral. You can’t shake the image of Arthur staring at you earlier, or how Isaac had looked at him before they both laughed. It didn’t seem malicious, but it felt… weird. Were they laughing at me?

You pull out your phone, your fingers itching to ask someone, to get an answer. You open your messages and send a text to Isaac, hoping he can give you some clarity.

You: Hey, what was all the laughing about today?

You quickly tuck the phone back into your pocket, your heart beating a little faster. What if you’re reading too much into it? What if it’s nothing?

A few minutes later, your phone buzzes, and you pull it out to see Isaac’s reply.

Isaac: Just Arthur being weird, don’t worry about it.

You frown at the screen, not satisfied with that answer. What does that mean?

The message takes a little longer this time, and when it comes, it’s just a short, Nothing important.

You bite your lip, not ready to let it go just yet. But what were you laughing about, exactly?

There’s a slight delay, and then another message pops up.

Isaac: Alright, alright. Arthur just said you looked good today, that’s all.

Your heart skips a beat. Arthur said that? The Arthur who barely looks at you unless he has to? That Arthur?

You stare at your screen for a long moment, not sure how to process it. Finally, you type back,

You: He said I looked good?

Isaac’s reply is quick.

Isaac: Yeah, he did. He’s not great at giving compliments, but he meant it, trust me.

You blink at your phone, your stomach fluttering a little.

You: Well, that’s nice. I guess.

There’s a brief pause before Isaac’s next message arrives.

Isaac: Don’t overthink it, alright? Arthur’s just a little odd sometimes. But yeah, he meant it. Between us, he really meant it.

You exhale, finally feeling a bit better. Maybe it was nothing to worry about after all. Arthur’s compliment, though awkwardly delivered, was still a compliment. A compliment that made your cheeks slightly pink without realising.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, your thoughts slowing down as you continue your walk home.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter Three

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a/n: i hope you guys like my chapter 2 I PROMISE THERE WILL BE LOVE JUST REMEMBER ITS A SLOW BURN

for my lovely commenters:

@rubyskies @rkaya @pookietv @rougetv @arthurhillmastermind @picklepiastri @pretendyoucantseeme

[nameless-jamie]

TARTT'S CORNER - Jamie Tartt x Y/N

Masterlist - Next Chapter

A/N: this might be the longest chapter I've ever written...

TW: Angst, Arguing, ALL THE DRAMA

Episode Three: Foul Play

The air at Carrow Road was charged with excitement as the referee blew the starting whistle. Richmond was eager to solidify their position in the league table, but for Y/N, her focus wasn’t just on the game—it was on Jamie Tartt.

The Norwich match should have been an easy, clean win for AFC Richmond. And for the first half, it looked like it would be. Two early goals, smooth passing, and Richmond’s usual chemistry on the pitch made it seem like a routine victory was inevitable. But when the second half kicked off, a certain striker seemed to unravel.

Jamie Tartt was still Jamie Tartt—quick on the ball, aggressive in his runs—but something was different. His passes were a fraction too slow, his decisions uncharacteristically hesitant. The crowd noticed. His teammates noticed. And Y/N, watching from her usual spot in the stands, noticed most of all.

It all came to a head in the 63rd minute. Richmond was comfortably up 2–0 when Jamie, frustrated after losing possession near the Norwich box, charged back toward the ball carrier like a wrecking ball. His tackle wasn’t just aggressive; it was reckless. The Norwich defender crumpled to the ground as the referee immediately reached for a yellow card.

The crowd groaned. Roy Kent’s roar of anger echoed across the pitch. Even Will the kitman, ever the optimist, wore a frown as he exchanged a concerned look with Coach Beard. Jamie stood there, hands on his hips, his jaw clenched as he accepted the booking without so much as a protest.

For the rest of the match, Jamie was a shadow of himself. He barely touched the ball, keeping his head down as Richmond saw out the game. They won 3–1, but in the post-match buzz, no one could stop talking about that tackle.

Back in the dressing room, Roy laid into him with his usual bluntness, calling him a “bloody idiot” and accusing him of playing selfish, stupid football. Jamie, uncharacteristically, didn’t fight back. He just sat there, staring at the floor and muttering a quiet “yeah, alright.”

Y/N hadn’t been surprised by the tackle—or Jamie’s subdued reaction afterward. She’d seen the tension in his body, the frustration in his movements. And she had a pretty good idea of what—or who—was behind it.

As Y/N jotted down notes in her journal, her mind wandered to the unease she's feeling about seeing Jamie tomorrow for their podcast breefing.

The next evening, Y/N parked outside Jamie’s house, clutching her notebook like a lifeline. She hated how her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing him, especially after the way he’d acted during the Norwich game. She stood outside Jamie’s front door, fiddling nervously with the pen in her hand. She’d come over to plan the next podcast episode, as they always did before recording day. But this time was different. This time, there was an invisible wall between them, built from the events of a few nights ago.

Their night together in Manchester had been impulsive, fueled by weeks of flirtatious banter that had finally boiled over. They’d agreed—mutually, rationally—that it wouldn’t mean anything. No strings, no drama. Just a one-time thing. But since then, nothing had been normal. Jamie had been distant, brooding. And Y/N, for all her professionalism, was struggling to ignore the elephant in the room. The elephant being the love they have for each other. The insecurity that Y/N can't seem to get over. And finally, the disappointment Jamie felt after hearing Y/N's no-commitment-speech.

She knocked on the door and waited. Her notebook was tucked under her arm, her outfit casual, but she’d spent an unreasonable amount of time debating whether her hair looked “too put together.” Not that it mattered. This was about work. Just work. No strings whatsoever.

The door swung open, and Jamie answered a moment later leaning against the frame with an air of indifference. He looked... tired. His hair was tousled, and he was wearing a hoodie that seemed slightly too big for him.

“Good evening,” Y/N said briskly, trying to keep things professional.

Jamie didn’t smile, his expression flat. “Is it, though?”

She laughed awkwardly at that, no humor in it. “Dunno, you tell me.”

He just stepped aside to let her in, his jaw tight as he gestured toward the couch. The awkwardness hit her like a wave as she stepped into his living room. This wasn’t their usual dynamic—there was no playful banter, no easy camaraderie. Jamie seemed closed off, his arms crossed as he followed her inside. The tension in the room was palpable, the usual easy banter between them was nowhere to be found, and the silence stretched thin as Y/N settled onto the edge of the sofa, flipping open her notebook.

“Right, let’s get this over with,” he said, dropping onto the couch, “what’s the ‘grand’ plan for this week’s podcast?”

Y/N cleared her throat, trying to push past the awkwardness and his sarcastic attitude. “Same as usual. But this time we start with the Norwich match—key moments, goals, tactics. Then for the first time listener questions. And finally, a preview of the Chelsea game.”

“Aha, sounds rivetin’, ” Jamie muttered, lifting himself from his position on the couch with a huff. “Anything else, Miss Y/L/N? Or is that it?”

Y/N’s jaw tightened at his sassy tone. “Look, I don’t have time for your moodiness. We need to finish planning the episode.”

“Go on, then. Plan away.” Jamie muttered.

She opened her notebook again, determined to ignore his snark. “Okay, so let's start with the recap of the Norwich game. I’ll definitely ask you about the assist you did for Dani’s goal, then we’ll—”

Jamie cut her off. “Gonna ask why I didn’t score it meself?”

Y/N paused, caught off guard. “I wasn’t planning to.”

“Why not? That’s what you’re thinking, innit?” he said, leaning forward. “Go on, say it. Say I wasn’t good enough for you. I mean I wasn’t-… playing good enough.”

“That’s not what I think,” Y/N said, frowning. “What’s that even supposed to mean?"

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug, though his tone made it clear it wasn’t nothing. "Just wondering how you’re planning to spin me looking like a complete twat during the match."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. “Jamie, you didn’t look like a—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Don’t do that thing where you try to sugarcoat it. I played like shit, and you and I know it.”

She set her notebook aside, leaning forward slightly. “Okay, fine. You weren’t at your best. But everyone has an off day.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe I wouldn’t have been ‘off’ if certain things weren’t messing with my head. I’m Jamie fucking Tartt I don’t have ‘off’ days…”

She sighed. “Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty to say,” Jamie shot back, sitting forward now, his elbows resting on his knees. “But I’m guessing you’re not in the mood to hear it.”

"What the fuck is your problem right now, Jamie?”

“What’s my problem?” Jamie let out a bitter laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. Bloody commitment issues.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Jamie’s gaze met hers, sharp and challenging. “It means you’ve been acting like nothing happened between us. Like we didn’t—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he looked away. “Whatever. Fuck. Doesn’t matter.”

Y/N stood as well, her temper flaring. “Don’t put this on me, Jamie. You’ve been acting weird too ever since we—” She stopped herself, shaking her head.

“Ever since we what?” Jamie pressed, stepping closer. "Was havin' sex with me so bad that you can't even say it out loud. Why the fuck do you want to forget this so badly? Is the dumb footballer prick not good enough for the famous little Podcast lady?"

No. The opposite. Y/N thought. Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to say it so plainly.

“You’re sitting there, pretending this is all normal, when it’s not,” Jamie said. “You don’t even want to be here right now, do you?”

“Jamie...”

“No, go on,” he said, his voice softer now but still laced with frustration. “Tell me I’m wrong. You can't.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten. “Jamie, we agreed—”

“Yeah, I know what we agreed on,” he interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “No strings, no drama, just a bit of fun. But you know what? It’s not fun when you’re sitting here pretending like it didn’t mean anything. When you walk around the fucking pitch like nothing ever happened. It fucks with me brain. With me feelings too.”

She looked away, her heart pounding. “This isn’t about feelings, Jamie. I have feelings too. I just can’t—”

“Can’t or won’t?” Jamie asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Her pulse quickened at that. She sat down again, trying to calm the situation and herself. “We agreed it wouldn’t be anything, Jamie. That’s what you wanted, also.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I changed my mind,” he shot back, stopping to face her. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe I only agreed to it because I didn't want to put you under pressure.”

She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. "Please don't do this to me Jamie..." Please, I can't keep pushing you away, if you give me the illusion that this could be something...

“No, let me finish, I’m serious, Y/N,” he continued, his voice softer now but no less intense. “I know what we said. I know we agreed it wouldn’t mean anything. But it did. It does. At least, it did to me. I can’t do this—pretend I mean.”

Her stomach twisted. “Jamie, I—”

She hated how exposed she felt. “What do you want me to say? That I feel the same? That I’ve been overthinking everything since that night? Because I can’t, Jamie. I can’t go there with you. ”

“Why not?” he demanded.

“Because it’s messy!” she snapped. “Because you’re Jamie Tartt, and I’m… just me. This was supposed to be simple. Just work. And now it’s—”

“It’s real,” he finished, his voice soft but steady. “I’m not good at this kinda stuff, but I— I think I might be in love with you, Y/N. There. I said it. I know it’s messy and complicated, but I don’t care. I’m in. All the way and I want somethin' real with you. Not just… whatever this is..”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She wanted to say something, anything, but her throat felt tight, and the room suddenly felt too small. It was all I ever wanted to hear from him, but at the same time everything I never deserved to hear. Or so she thought. Imposter syndrome, that's what it's called, I guess.

Instead of answering him, she stood abruptly, grabbing her bag, her fight or flight reaction setting in. “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, cutting him off as she grabbed her notebook. “I just… I can’t.” Y/N headed for the door, her hands trembling. “I’m leaving.”

Jamie watched her go, his chest tight.

The studio was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the recording equipment. The tension between them was unbearable. Y/N had barely slept, her mind replaying Jamie’s words over and over. I think I might be in love with you, Y/N. Now, sitting across from him in the studio, she couldn’t look him in the eye.

Jamie, on the other hand, was the picture of quiet anger. He didn’t say much as they set up, but his silence spoke volumes. Jamie sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, his usual cocky smirk replaced by a tight, closed-off expression. Y/N was on the other side of the table, shuffling through her notes more than necessary, the silence between them thicker than the walls of the studio.

“Ready?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound steady.

Jamie gave a one-shouldered shrug, Instead of his usual 'Born ready' phrase he just gave her a short: “I guess.”

She rolled her eyes, but there wasn’t the usual warmth behind the gesture. Taking a deep breath, she leaned toward the mic. “Alright, here we go.”

Finally, they hit record.

Y/N revised her familiar introduction, a short burst of energy that usually set the tone for their episodes. But this time the usual spark wasn’t there.

“Welcome back to Striker’s Corner, I’m your host, Y/N L/N,” she said, her voice overly bright in an attempt to drown out the tension in the room. “Today, we’re breaking down AFC Richmond’s 3–1 win against Norwich City. A solid result, though not without its moments of… excitement, but as always, there’s plenty to dissect.”

Jamie scoffed softly, just loud enough for the mic to pick up. “Excitement. Right. That’s one way to put it.”

Y/N ignored his comment, keeping her tone professional. “And my current podcast guest Jamie Tartt, as you just heard, is here to unpack everything with us. Let’s start with the first half. Richmond came out strong—two early goals, great chemistry on the pitch…”

“And then things got interesting, huh?” Jamie cut in, his voice low and edged with sarcasm.

Y/N shot him a look, replying with his same sarcastic comment. “Interesting. Right. That is one way to put it.”

“Go on,” Jamie said, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with challenge. “Tell the listeners what you really think. You thought I was playing like an idiot,”

She sighed. “Well, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you were thinkin’ it,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Her grip on her notes tightened, but she kept her tone even. “Alright. The second half wasn’t as clean as the first. A few missed opportunities, some unnecessary fouls…”

“Some unnecessary fouls?” Jamie interrupted with a bitter laugh. “Say it, Y/N. You mean me.”

“Jamie,” she said through gritted teeth, “you know I’m not here to ‘sugarcoat’ things. That tackle in the second half was reckless. You’re lucky it was only a yellow. You could’ve been sent off.”

“Yeah, could’ve, but wasn’t, thanks for the reminder” he shot back, the corner of his mouth twitching into a humorless smile.

“If the shoe fits,” she said coolly, refusing to back down. “That’s not the point though,” she snapped. “You’re supposed to set an example out there. Losing your head like that—”

“Losing my head?” Jamie said, his voice rising. “You think I lost my head? That’s rich, coming from you.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “And what’s that supposed to mean now?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, though his tone betrayed him. He tapped a finger on the table, his jaw tight. “Just thought it was funneh, is all.”

Her patience was wearing thin. “Jamie, this isn’t about me. It’s about your performance on the pitch. You’re one of the best players on the team, and when you don’t play like it, people notice. I notice.”

“Oh, you notice, do you?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, thanks for that, Coach.”

“Jamie—”

“No, really,” he said, cutting her off. “I mean, you’ve got all the answers, don’t you? Sitting up there in the stands, scribbling in your little notebook, like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, his words stinging more than she cared to admit. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he muttered.

She took a deep breath, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “Look, the point is—”

“The point is,” Jamie interrupted, his voice sharp, “you don’t know what it’s like out there. You can sit here and criticize all you want, but you’ve never been on that pitch, have you? Never felt the pressure, never had the weight of the whole f***ing team on your shoulders. Remind me again, Y/N—how many professional matches have you played? Must’ve missed your stellar career in the Premier League. ”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to play professional football to know when someone’s not giving their best.”

“Not giving my best?” he repeated, his voice rising again. “You think I wasn’t trying out there?”

“I think you let your emotions get the better of you,” she said, her tone cold.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Right. My emotions. And I'm sure you know all about em' by now, am I right?”

Her cheeks flushed from anger, but she forced herself to stay composed. “Let’s stick to football, shall we?”

Jamie leaned back in his chair, his expression smug. “Sure, why not? Football’s all we ever talk about anyway. Not like we’ve got anything else to say to each other, right?”

The jab hung in the air like a live wire. Y/N’s head burned, but she forced herself to remain calm. “I’m just doing my job, Jamie.” she grit through her teeth.

“Oh, is that what this is? A job?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Good to know. Wouldn’t want to confuse it with something personal.”

“Let’s move on,” she said briskly. “Other than that yellow card, you seemed hesitant to take any shots in the second half. Care to explain why?”

Jamie’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Maybe I was just trying to be a team player. Or maybe I was distracted by, I dunno, other things. You wouldn't get it.”

She refused to rise to the bait. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s something you’ll need to work on before the Chelsea match.”

“Noted,” Jamie said sarcastically. “Anything else, boss?”

"Well, seems like Richmond's top striker isn't in the mood to talk about their successful game this week. Any other topics, you'd like to talk about Jamie?"

"Yeh, plenty..." Jamie scoffed.

"Football-related topics." Y/N corrected herself.

Jamie’s eyes locked on hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. For a moment, it seemed like he might say something. But then he shook his head, leaning back in his chair with a smirk and a huff that didn’t reach his eyes.

She stared at him, her heart pounding, she moved the microphone away from her face. “If you’ve got something to say to me, Jamie, say it.”

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but pointed. “You want me to say somethin'? Fine. Here’s my professional opinion, I think: You’re scared.”

“Scared?” she repeated, her voice rising.

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “You’re scared of letting anyone get close to you. You're scared you'll finally have someone in your life who loves you. That’s why you’re so good at pushing people away. Because if you're lonely, it's easier to tell yourself you're not worthy of love.”

Her throat tightened, but she refused to let him see how much his words hurt because it was the truth. “You don’t know anything about me.” Lie.

“Don’t I?” he said softly.

Silence fell over the studio, the weight of his words hanging heavy between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the faint buzz of the recording equipment.

Finally, Y/N cleared her throat, forcing her voice to sound steady. “We’re getting off track. Let’s move on to listener questions.”

Jamie didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes said everything he wasn’t saying.

The rest of the episode was a blur of forced professionalism and underlying tension. Y/N powered through the questions, her voice crisp and detached, while Jamie answered with clipped, sarcastic remarks.

By the time they wrapped up, the studio felt like it was about to explode from the sheer weight of everything left unsaid.

“Thanks for listening to Striker’s Corner,” Y/N said, her voice hollow. “We’ll see you...when we see you. You want to say goodbye to the listeners Jamie?”

“Not really,” he said, his tone cold. “Think I’ve said enough for one episode, don’t you?”

Jamie didn’t say a word after that, he removed his headphones and stood, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Without a glance in her direction, he walked out of the studio, leaving Y/N sitting there, her mind spinning, tears finally ready to fall.

Safe to say this week’s episode of Striker’s Corner took longer to edit than any other episode. Ever.

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Something Cracked & It Wasn’t Just My Spine” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Chiropractor Appointment & Unintentional Sensuality.

[You’re laid flat on the table, exhaling deep. Your shirt is rucked slightly above your stomach, your arms are slack at your sides, and a licensed professional is about to perform spinal witchcraft on your thoracic region. Reneé is in the room. She wasn’t supposed to be.]

“I don’t have to stay in here,” Reneé had said, half-teasing, half-mocking your nerves. “Sure,” you answered too quickly. “But I don’t mind. It’s not that intimate.”

Wrong.

So wrong.

The first pop happens mid-way through a breath. It’s small, relieving, almost unnoticeable.

But the second—God, the second—

Your body twists slightly as pressure builds against your spine. The chiropractor presses down in one swift motion between your shoulder blades, and what comes out of your mouth is not a whimper. Not a scream.

It’s a guttural, throaty, animalistic moan. Like the noise has been rotting inside your ribcage since the beginning of time.

“Uuugh—ghnnnnn.”

It echoes. Lingers.

The chiropractor calmly mutters, “There we go.”

But across the room, Reneé goes still.

Like completely.

Not laughing. Not teasing. Not breathing, even.

Just frozen.

You don’t realize until your eyes flutter open—and you see her.

Reneé.

Standing against the corner wall. Her knuckles white around the sleeve of her hoodie. Eyes wide. Lips parted just barely like she’s either about to speak or has forgotten how.

You blink up at her, dazed. “That was weird, huh?”

“Nope.” Her voice cracks. She clears her throat. “Nope. Totally normal. Just... getting your back blown out. Spinally. Chiropractically. Chiroprac—”

The chiropractor, bless her soul, just chuckles and asks you to flip onto your side.

You obey. Mortified. But something strange is happening behind you.

Reneé isn’t looking away.

[Later. You’re back at her house, still red-faced.]

“You were really quiet on the way home,” you offer, trying to keep things light. “Shocked by my... primal side?”

Reneé makes a noise halfway between a scoff and a cough. “Primal is definitely the word I’d use.”

You kick off your sneakers and sit on her couch, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. The silence that follows is charged. Uncomfortable.

“I didn’t know it was gonna be like that,” you mumble.

“It’s not your fault.” Reneé doesn’t meet your eyes. “You just... caught me off guard.”

You laugh, awkwardly. “It wasn’t sexy or anything.”

You’re joking. Of course you’re joking.

Reneé swallows visibly. She nods once. Then, quietly: “Sure.”

But something about the tightness of her jaw makes your stomach twist.

[That night, Reneé lies awake. Alone.]

She’d tried everything—melatonin, TikToks, her usual podcast—but nothing could erase that sound from her head.

That groan.

That raw, aching sound her friend made under pressure. Spinal pressure, sure—but her brain doesn’t care. It keeps looping the image. The noise. The way your eyes fluttered closed. The breath you let out after, like you'd been holding something in.

Reneé rolls over and groans into her pillow.

She shouldn’t be thinking about this. Not about you. You’re her friend.

But now she can’t stop imagining.

Not just how you sounded on the chiropractor table—but how you’d sound pressed into her mattress. Breath hitching. Fingers twisted in her hair. Moaning for her—not by accident, but on purpose.

She squeezes her eyes shut.

“Fuck,” she whispers.

[The next morning. You’re in her kitchen. She’s too tense. You’re too sunny.]

“I brought donuts,” you announce, like nothing happened. You place a box on the counter, unaware that Reneé hasn’t slept and is currently replaying the moment from yesterday like it’s a cursed vine.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

Reneé shrugs. “Didn’t sleep.”

“Too much caffeine?”

Too much you, more like.

“I guess,” she says flatly.

You pour coffee like it’s any other morning. You don’t notice how her eyes follow your movements too long. You don’t notice the way she has to look away when you stretch, when you yawn, when your voice hums a low tune from her kitchen speaker.

She can’t stop seeing it.

Can’t stop wondering how much of that sound was pain. How much was pleasure.

Can’t stop picturing what your voice might sound like if she were kissing your neck. Or if you were underneath her, spine arching for very different reasons.

Damn.

[By noon, she texts her best friend:] Reneé Rapp: hey. so. what does it mean if you hear your friend moan and now you can’t stop imagining them naked. asking for science. Scarlett Leithold: did you HEAR her moan or did you HEAR her moan. Reneé Rapp: spine-related. chiropractor. but also it was kind of like... top-tier. Scarlett Leithold: reneé. baby. it’s over for you. Reneé Rapp: shut up i hate you

[Three days pass. She thinks it’ll fade. It doesn’t.]

You stretch on her couch again, talking about something trivial—haircuts, probably—and her brain short-circuits.

It’s not your fault.

You’re still you.

The problem is that Reneé changed.

And now every time you laugh too hard, every time you bite your straw, every time you rest your head on her shoulder, her brain goes straight to the chiropractor table.

Straight to the noise.

Straight to you.

[The breaking point is a movie night. You're in pajamas. Your legs are touching.]

You’re both laughing at something dumb onscreen. Reneé makes a joke. You toss your head back and let out a loud, choked sound—

And suddenly it’s there again.

That moan.

That moment.

And this time it’s not imaginary. It’s here. It’s now.

Your face is flushed. You don’t realize it. But Reneé does.

And she can’t do this anymore.

“I need to ask you something,” she blurts, voice shaky.

You blink. “What’s up?”

She looks at you. Really looks.

Your mouth. Your eyes. The way you're looking at her without fear or tension. Like you're not hiding anything.

“Are we really just friends?” she asks, soft.

You freeze.

“I—I thought we were,” you say, unsure.

Reneé nods once. Then again, slower.

She leans in just a little.

“I don’t think I can hear you make another noise like that without doing something about it.”

[to be continued...]

[zorosdimples]

pairing ⛧ creepy medical student! law x gn! reader

warnings ⛧ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. while there’s no smut, this is suggestive, and everything that happens is nonconsensual (law is gross). mentions of masturbation, fucking inanimate objects, bruises, and death. additionally: cum sighting, cursing, knife play, a little blood, some spit, manhandling, and general grimetown weirdness.

word count ⛧ 1132

notes ⛧ this is another installment of the garden of earthly delights series, as well as a contribution to @bastardblvd’s house of slimy horrors collab—my prompt was “pumpkin patch”! the plot is nonexistent… just go with it <3

something isn’t right.

the early evening sky is hazy, the sun obscured by a leaden film that shrouds grimetown’s pumpkin patch in a deathly hue. the barren field before you is more of a squash graveyard than anything else—the vast expanse of dirt is littered with a few dozen orange carcasses.

this is certainly not what you were expecting when your date suggested a fun autumnal outing.

“this has to be the world’s most depressing pumpkin patch,” you grouse, craning your neck to look up at law’s stony expression; as usual, his face doesn’t betray his thoughts. you can never get a good read on him. you don’t know him well enough to tell if he’s simply awkward or if he genuinely doesn’t emote. “we should go somewhere else.”

the jet-haired man places a firm palm on the small of your back, urging you forward. “c’mon, we’re already here. we can’t make jack-o-lanterns without pumpkins. toji joe’s is out of ‘em.”

there’s a peculiar lilt to his words—a faux positivity that makes you hesitate for a split second. but you move forward anyway.

the blustery air ruffles your clothes as you drift across the dark earth with law, searching for a pumpkin that isn’t in some state of decomposition. this is exactly the sort of scenario you hear about on your favorite podcasts and documentaries: a careless person accompanied by a man they barely know in a remote area, not so much as a whisper of nearby life on the wind.

all you really know about law is that he’s a handsome medical student who shares similar interests, namely in true crime and literature. that, and he had been unusually pushy about this outing.

“hey, that looks like a good one.” law points to a suitable carving prospect. crouching down to get a closer look, a gasp leaves your lips when you find a hole a few inches in diameter bored into the side of the pumpkin. what appears to have once been a pale cream fluid is now a flaky crust, caking the opening. “is that—”

“probably,” law cuts in, resting a cold, tattooed hand on your shoulder. startled, you nearly topple over, but his strong arms catch you and pull you to his chest. now standing, you jerk in his embrace; he releases his hold and you take a few steps back. “it’s one of kappa upsilon mu’s fall festival activities.”

it’s impossible to hide the disgust that furrows your brow and creeps into your voice. “they mutilate pumpkins and fuck them like fleshlights as a frat tradition?”

law shrugs. you swear you see a glimmer of humor flit through his amber irises. “it’s not even close to the weirdest thing they do. ever heard of a ‘cum fountain’?”

you hold up a hand to stop him. “i don’t even wanna know.”

but something isn’t adding up you think with a frown. “if you knew all the pumpkins were going to be cut up and…violated, why did you bring me here, law?” you tried to measure your words carefully, but now that they hang in the open, your accusation is evident.

your date’s lips curl into an ominous smirk. the familiar chill of dread nips at your heels and paws at your chest. “well,” law starts, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a switchblade. your eyes rivet on the tool—the weapon—as he fiddles with it, nimble fingers gliding along the handle before flicking it open with ease. his bored, yellow gaze unnerves you; his words ooze calculated confidence. “i’m gonna practice my carving skills with you.”

his statement rips the breath from your lungs. unsure of what to do, you chuckle uncomfortably, praying that he’s still talking about the goddamn pumpkins.

law edges closer to you, a hunter testing his prey. you don’t move—you don’t think you could if you tried. your mind is racing in countless directions, but you can’t settle on an action, a plan. and this freak—your date—is one small thrust of the blade from you, crowding your space. so you stare down the predator’s maw.

“you’re beautiful,” law states, though it doesn’t sound complimentary; it’s an observation. there’s a clinical coldness to his words that makes you feel like you’re trapped in a microscope slide. he gestures to you with the knife, the unspoken threat palpable.

“oh. um, th-thank you,” you stammer, eyes darting wildly, cornered prey.

you force yourself to think: how do you escape this fucker? you had to take a shitty taxi to get to the pumpkin patch, but the driver could barely keep the car in its lane and tried to proposition you for sex. is everyone in grimetown a slimeball? you don’t realize your nails are biting so deeply into the skin of your palms that blood is dripping onto the dirt.

as though he can read your thoughts, law says coolly, “i wouldn’t run if i were you.”

options dwindling, you remember your lifeline. slowly, you inch a hand toward your back pocket where your phone sits. but your opponent is perceptive; law cracks a wide smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, running his tongue across his sharp teeth. he raises the knife and presses the flat side of the blade against your neck.

it’s an effective warning.

“there’s no signal out here—the only cell provider that services grimetown is slime mobile. you can check, though, if it makes you feel better,” law taunts.

to your horror, your phone reads “no service” at the top of the screen. your skin itches, nerves buzzing with adrenaline. your hands shake, fear and rage coalescing into an unshakeable tremor that has sweat beading at your temples. hot tears of frustration singe your cheeks. but the cold steel of the blade against your throat saps the fight from your body.

your final resort?

“fuck you,” you hiss with all the venom you can muster. and, before you can stop yourself: ptui. you launch a glob of spit that lands squarely on law’s cheek, punctuating your insult.

law doesn’t flinch. rather, he swipes two calloused fingertips through your precious gift. he holds his wet digits up, admiring the glistening pads of his fingers, then pops them into his mouth. the groan he emits while enjoying your taste makes you lightheaded. he pivots his blade so that the honed tip scrapes an angry line up the column of your throat. the pressure isn’t enough to slice your flesh—yet.

you shriek when law forcefully grabs your jaw and pulls you to him. bruises in the shape of his fingers will bloom on your face tomorrow—if you live that long, anyway. for the first time, his wide grin crinkles his hawkish eyes.

his voice is thick with desire as he murmurs, “i’d like to fuck you first.”

[edwad]

"gnawing criticism of the mice etc."

So what's the "earlier philosophical conscience" that you've broken with?

the whole podcast basically began with us talking about what exactly we wanted from marxism, what it ought to be able to do, what its limits were, etc. in the very first episode i explicitly allied myself with a "critical marxism" which was basically contentless but allowed me the flexibility to move in & out of the -ism as i pleased without having to do any of the hard part involved in serious thinking.

in a sense, that already expressed something of a crisis of ambiguity that we would toy with going forward until episode 7 (she even titled it "our concepts broke") at which point we publically (although behind a paywall i suppose) purged ourselves of all of that. cordelia was obviously ahead of me as she usually is and i was mostly just being dragged along against my will, but i think it was at least a kind of mutual self-clarification about what we expected to be able to take from our mostly joint-interest in marx (and, by extension, heinrich, since he was a constant reference point for us at the peak of heinrich twitter and when i was at my most dogmatically heinrichian). the result was that heinrich is basically what locascio has called "the final boss of marxism" (along with his most sophisticated "peers": milios, clarke, etc) in that he offers the most defensible/best case rendering of marx's work, but that the lingering problems from that point on are entirely marx's and not even heinrich could fully salvage him from them.

all of this was before i even split with the CoPE, which happened a few months later during my return to the history of thought (partly prompted via my renewed interest in sismondi and partly spurned by heinrich's science of value, which is thinking through marx in relation to the theoretical field of classical political economy and therefore largely taking him at his word). so the worldview i'd just abandoned -- and it was very much a kind of worldview of the commodity-form, as i've since accused postone of offering since i broke with its influence -- has been buried even more over time.

historically whenever people point to a "crisis of marxism" it very quickly turns into social democracy. this was definitely the case for many of the post-marxists in the 70s and 80s. my current interest is basically in charting a course out of that which doesn't end the same way. i don't know if i have the chops to pull it off, but i see cordelia's book as basically being a significant contribution to this kind of thing. for the time being i'll happily play second fiddle until ive clarified my own thoughts and have something im ready to share. maybe the pod will return eventually after the book is out and we have more to talk about, but it also feels like a unique product of the pandemic and a certain convergent moment in online marx-circles that probably won't happen again and likely wouldn't even be desireable anyway.

[grifff17]

Audiodrama Sunday 11/24/24

Happy audiodrama Sunday! It's been ages since I've had a new show alert, I need to listen to more new shows.

NEW SHOW ALERT @project-daydream - This is a modern sci-fi show about agents in a secretive government agency dealing with weird supernatural phenomena. It has a lot of SCP and Control inspiration, which I love. The "Nazi brain-in-a-jar in a living psychic bomb" episode totally sold me on the show.

@innbetween - I started season 2, and it has a new cast! It was so much fun to see the cast of the previous season return as quest-givers. I can totally imagine the players sitting around the table and the DM bringing in 2 people from the last campaign to play the quest NPCs.

@lostterminalpod - This new set of AIs have internal conflict, interesting. Something about the idea that the only living memory of the old world is all the AIs they built is very cool to me. The old world is carried on in its creations.

Starwhal Odyssey - The little worldbuilding details are so good. The prawn that makes food out of humans, the magic mirrors, the beezie awards.

@worldgonewrongpod - Wow I didn’t pick up on what was going on at all until real Malik cut back in. I really keep missing the allusions/foreshadowing in this show. Still feel stupid about not getting Pizza Hut.

Rude Tales of Magic - Opening the episode with a dramatic reading of the 5e darkvision rules was so good, genuinely. It was funny on like 4 different levels, and also was a helpful reminder that the party is currently trying to distinguish colors without producing light, which darkvision does not let you do.

@midstpodcast - Now THIS is the sort of fucked-up mind-bending shit I expected from Third Person! This is definitely going to set the tone for the rest of the show going forwards. Also, the Granddaughter having a crush on Cleo is so cute.

@brimstonevalleymall - Nisrach is such an interesting character, he's great in this episode. My theory about the mall sinking is that it’s returning to hell because of all the demons in one place.

@kingmakerpod - I love the trope of a character solving their own kidnapping while the rest of the cast are trying to save them.

@secondfiddles - I see why Ren quit, Lucid Lucy is completely unbearable.

[marta-bee]

I've been thinking about the cleanup after Helene, and while the material needs are so very important, what I'm really grieving just now is the loss of place, and the loss of story that comes with it.

See, so much of Appalachia, at least the corner of southern Appalachia I'm familiar with, is bound up by an oral history, and it's situated in a certain place and in a nexus of particular people as your neighbors. Which isn't to say Southerners don't write, or that Appalachian Southerners in particular don't write. But somehow the story changes. There's an ineffable quality that I loved, hearing scandals and ghost stories and all sorts of local accountings shared at the church youth group camp-out or family BBQ's or over beers sitting on someone's back porch.

And now there's whole small towns, places that almost don't deserve that name, that are just gone and that probably aren't coming back, or if they are, they'll be different. It seems like such a small thing to be struck by. But it weighs heavy on my heart tonight.

So if I may offer some suggestions aside from donating to the recovery (which everyone absolutely should do if they can) : Read an Appalachian story.

The Bitter Southerner is a favorite podcast of mine, though they've not updated in years. The season two episodes "Progress, Heartbreak & Art: The TVA" and "Hillbillies Need No Elegy" seem particularly on point. And the TVA one tells the stories of some real bangers of local women. Just remembering those stories makes me smile.

I've not read it yet, but the way people talk about it in that second episode makes me think "Appalachian Reckoning: A Region Responds to Hillbilly Elegy" (ed. Edward Karschner) is also worth a read. Just on general principles with J.D. Vance in the cultural bloodstream, but perhaps now more than ever.

"Talking Appalachian: Voice, Identity and Community" (Amy Clark) was more nonfiction than story, but still really interesting.

"Ghosts and Haunts from the Appalachian Foothills: Stories and Legends" (Linda Crider) has lots of good local history and .... what do we call urban legends when there's no urban at hand? rural legends? ... Particularly fun in this our season of the spooky.

"A Place Called District 12: Appalachian Geography and Music in The Hunger Games" (Thomas Paradis) This one I haven't read yet, but judging from this interview it might be interesting for people wanting to tap into the region through more fannish lenses.

Honestly, I'm grasping a little at straws here. If anyone has anything worth reading, please let me know so I can add it to the list.

Also, at the risk of being too flippant, I'm wondering if it might be time to take a crack at reading Vulgarweed's and htebazytook's "The Bone Fiddle." Not that there's ever a bad time, I suppose.

Seriously. Seek out these stories if you can, always but especially now, and if you have any good recommendations along those lines let me know.

[kaakelymaakely]

do i wanna know

KLANCE FANFIC CHAPTER 2

Monster Hunter! Keith AU

1  WEEK  BEFORE

Keith fiddles with the cord of his microphone, twirling it around on his index finger. He gently tugs on the wire as he eyes where it’s connected to the laptop. On the computer screen, the timer blinks back at him– he’s going over his usual time limit. His fans probably won’t mind a longer episode– in fact it’s something they request quite often– but they’re definitely going to mind another story with a dead-end. 

He glances out his office window, where the sun has already set. Oregon was a beautiful place, just not for him. Thankfully, his lease would be up soon, so he can go wherever the road takes him next. The only reason he was even in this state was because he was chasing his most recent lead: an apparent ‘Dream Demon’ haunting a group of 12-year-olds.

Which, honestly, really should’ve been his first hint that this ‘demon’ did not exist. 

But Keith was starting to get desperate for any content– desperate to prove the existence of literally any monster. So he listened to the kids, pursed his lips and pretended to take them seriously, and rented an apartment in Oregon. He had spent the entire month interviewing, researching, and documenting anything he could find. Only to come up empty handed.

He was practically pulling out his hair when he discovered that this ‘Dream Demon’ was actually a result of these kids watching an R-rated movie, and suffering through nightmares. He had to grit his teeth and force a smile while he explained to their parents how they shouldn’t let their kids pick movies unsupervised. At least they seemed apologetic, and even gave him some hard cash as a compensation for his troubles. He had spent the rest of his time in Oregon trying to twist the tale to at least seem interesting for his listeners. That way they could focus on the fun story, and not the fact Keith failed to find something supernatural. Like always. 

At the reminder, he sighed deeply. “Alright, that’s going to do it for this episode. Remember not to believe everything you hear, unless it’s from me. Tune in next month for a particularly interesting episode.” He’s lying straight through his teeth– he has not a single clue what the next episode is going to entail. He has no hot-tips, no leads, no hints, nothing. He’s already scoured the internet for something , only to come up empty-handed. The only cases he can find are ones he’s already chased, or ones that are so blatantly fake. 

He clicks off the recording and sinks into his uncomfortable office chair, dragging his hands down the expanse of his face. Keith fights the urge to bang his head into the wooden table until he can’t remember his name and, more importantly, his podcast. Times like this were when he wished he had become something more practical, like a pilot. 

He tilts his head back and groans, the sound muffled by the palms of his hands. He waits a few seconds, allowing himself to bask in his stress, before doing what he does best– pushing it deep inside until he can’t feel it anymore. That stress and frustration can be an issue for tomorrow. Tonight, he’ll kick back and relax. 

Instead of sparking up a cigarette like his hand twitches to do, he staggers his way into his tiny kitchen, careful not to slip in his socks. He scratches at the waistband of his pajama pants as he bends at the waist, shuffling through his barely-working freezer. Keith peels back a bag of frozen hashbrowns until he can see the tub of ice cream. He pulls it out, and closes the ice chest by knocking it with his hip. 

By the time he makes it out of the kitchen, he’s already shoving a heaping spoonful of mint chocolate chip into his mouth before he even reaches the couch. Keith plops himself down, taking another bite, and starts flipping through TV channels until he lands on HGTV. 

He’s mindlessly spooning half-melted ice cream into his mouth, commenting on Chip and Joanne’s choice of a color scheme, when he gets the notification. He bites down on the spoon at the sudden buzz. It takes him a second to realize the noise came from his phone, as no one ever texts him. It bothers him less than it should– he just doesn’t have anyone to message. 

It probably has to do with work, which instantly sours his mood. He closes the lid to the tub of ice cream and rests his spoon on top, putting it off to the side as he reaches for his phone. Keith curses under his breath as he opens the notification.

It leads him to his podcast’s twitter, a platform he’s never really active on… not that he’s really active on any social media. He really only uses it when it's a necessity, like when his fans are feeding him supernatural rumors. 

It takes him a second to navigate to the inbox, but when he does, he’s greeted with an intriguing message. 

‘If you're finally looking for something real, check out Altea. Small town, deep woods, and something out there that no one’s been able to explain. Animals disappear. People see things. This isn’t some hoax. Look into it.’

Altea, huh? Keith sat up straighter, rereading the message. Altea… he knew the name. A quiet little town, barely a blip on the map. Not exactly the kind of place that usually made waves, but the wording of the tip sent a thrill through him. ‘Animals disappear.’ and more importantly, ‘People see things.’That sounds right up his alley.

Pulling his laptop back over, he typed in the town’s name. Headlines popped up, most of them old, buried under news about budget meetings and county fairs. But then he found it—rumors stretching back years. Unexplained sightings. Reports from locals that never made it to mainstream media. No concrete answers. No real explanations.

Keith smiles. Guess he’ll be making a little trip.

–

PRESENT  DAY

Keith used his dullest kitchen knife to slice the pie into 8 pieces. As the knife breached through the crust, he could finally make out the filling– apple. He smiles to himself.

He plates two of the slices, and brings them back out into the living room, where Lance was openly snooping around, not even tring to hide it. He was shuffling through the coffee table’s drawers when Keith placed his plate in front of him. Lance blinked before a wolfish grin split his face in two. He grabbed his fork with a tight fist and immediately went to work, scarfing down the pie as if he’d never eaten before in his life. 

Keith watched, both weirdly amused and disgusted. As for his own slice, he slightly poked at it, watching it wobble back and forth. As much as he’s a fein for sweets– something he loathes to admit, as he does not have weaknesses— he just doesn’t have the stomach for it. He chalks the fuzzy feeling in his abdomen up to simple adrenaline, a result of the possibility to get closer to cracking the case. 

Lance is quick to finish his pie slice, even going as far as to hold the plate perpendicular to his face, and licking it clean. Keith awkwardly clears his throat, causing Lance to pause and open his eyes to cast a sidelong glance at him, before finishing one more swipe of his tongue. Keith adverts his eyes, poking his pie once more before putting it off to the side. Keith intertwines his fingers together and rests them on his lap, back to business.

"What does the monster look like?"

Lance swallows, twirling his fork around his fingers. He hums, tapping the fork’s handle against his chin. The movement is the perfection of casual, but Keith sees it for what it is; He wouldn’t be a very good researcher if he couldn’t see through people’s bullshit. 

Lance is hesitating. 

"Let me see…" Lance drawls, dragging out the words like he’s deep in thought. Then, he smirks. "Short, violet eyes, and a bad mullet."

Keith exhales through his nose, unimpressed. His fingers curl into a fist against his thigh as he fixes Lance with a deadpan stare. "Okay, haha. Real funny. I’m being serious."

Lance grins, clearly proud of himself. He tosses the fork back onto his plate. Keith honestly preferred when he was stuffing pie down his throat—at least then he was quiet.

"I don’t believe that," Keith says flatly.

Lance sighs, dragging a hand through his hair before letting his head fall back against the dusty old couch. The fabric lets out a soft thwump beneath him. He stretches his arms over the backrest, staring at the ceiling like Keith is exhausting him. "Seriously, man. I haven’t seen a monster around here. Trust me, I’d know if there was one."

Keith frowns. He’s trying to force his voice to stay calm and steady, but he’s honestly about to grab Lance by the collar and shake the answers out of him. "Then why have other people claimed to have seen it?"

Lance shrugs, too quick, too dismissive. His eyes flick toward the window, lingering just a second too long. "I dunno. Maybe they’re just bored. Or making stuff up for attention."

Why won’t he look at him?

His gaze narrows. "Lance."

Lance groans dramatically, rubbing a hand over his face. "Keith."

"Fine. You ‘haven’t seen a monster.’" Keith makes air quotes. "You said you'd answer my questions."

Lance shifts in his seat, shoulders drawing up like he’s trying to make himself smaller. His voice is defensive. "I’m trying, dude. It’s just hard when I’ve never seen it!"

His eyes darted to the left. Barely a second. A flicker of movement.

Keith catches it.

"You’re a bad liar."

Lance scoffs, dropping his hand from his face. "I think I’m pretty good."

"Lance. What have you seen? Even if it’s just claw marks. Even if it was just a figure. Give me something. "

Lance exhales, his gaze dropping to his plate. Anywhere but Keith.

"…Nothing worth talking about. Let alone putting in your podcast."

"Not up to you." Keith gestures between them, his voice steady. "I invited you in. I’m eating pie with you. Just give me something. Give me the truth."

Lance’s jaw tightens. His knee bounces, restless energy bleeding through his movements. For a moment, Keith thinks he’s going to get up and leave. But then—

"Truth?" Lance lets out a humorless laugh. He shakes his head, but it’s not playful this time. It’s hollow. "If you knew what was out there, you wouldn’t be so eager to dig it up."

Keith studies him closely. His pulse picks up.

"That sounds a lot like someone who's seen a monster before."

Lance finally levels Keith with a look. 

"Yeah," he mutters. "Maybe it does."

Silence settles between them. The only sound is the faint ticking of the old clock above the kitchen sink. Then, almost too quiet to hear—

"It had a lot of fur. Like, a lot. And it was pretty big."

Keith straightens, scrambling to reach for his laptop. He quickly types out what Lance had said, even if his voice recorder was picking everything up. "Where did you see it?"

Lance hesitates, then lifts a hand and points out the window. Keith follows his fingers towards his backyard– the woods.

Keith nods, already typing notes in record time. His heartbeat thuds in his ears. "How close did you get? Did it try to attack you?"

"No!" Lance blurts, then winces. He softens his tone. "I mean—no. It wasn’t hostile, it was friendly. Just looked at me and left."

Keith raises an eyebrow. "Friendly?"

Lance backtracks immediately. "Like—it wasn’t dangerous. It’s never attacked anyone in town. It’s just… living. Same as us."

Keith watches him carefully. "Is that why you didn’t want to tell me?"

His jaw works like he’s chewing over his words, picking them apart before spitting them out. Finally, he exhales through his nose, voice low. "I don’t want some internet weirdo listening to your podcast and coming here to hunt it down. He doesn’t deserve that."

He…?

Keith says nothing.

Lance exhales sharply, shoving his plate away like the sight of it irritates him. "We’re done here."

Keith blinks. "But you never finished—"

"We’re done."

Lance pushes to his feet, enough force to send the couch slightly scraping against the wooden floor. He heads for the door, steps brisk, shoulders tense. His hand hesitates on the doorknob, just for a second. Then, in a softer voice—

"Enjoy the pie, Keith."

The door swings shut behind him.

Keith winces. Did he take it too far? He has a habit of pushing too much. This isn’t the first time he’s made someone upset while interviewing them, and it certainly won’t be the last. In fact, minus Lance storming out, he’s gotten what he asked for. He should be happy.

Staring at his untouched pie, he doesn’t know why he’s not.

–

Keith used his teeth to pick at his thumb’s hangnail, simultaneously tapping his pencil against his notepad, which was filled to the brim with his writing. He’s still mulling over what Lance had said earlier that day. As soon as he had left, and Keith had gotten over his moody brooding, he practically leapt to grab his notebook and write it all down. Even though he had his laptop and voice record documenting the whole exchange, sometimes it was better for his brain to write it by hand.

‘It had a lot of fur. Like, a lot. And it was pretty big.’

As much as Keith loathed to admit it, that could easily be the description of an animal. Even though Altea’s woods aren’t known for its bears, it’s still a high possibility that that’s what Lance had seen. But he had trust that Lance could tell what a bear looked like, and decided that it was not that. And if it were a bear, why would he be so hesitant and reluctant to share? He even openly admitted to wanting to protect it all the same, in case his listeners wanted to spear it down. Or ‘him,’ as Lance had labelled it. 

Lance was a good guy. 

Keith shakes his head, ridding him of the unwelcome thought. Focus on the monster. Focus on your dwindling career. And do not focus on some… random villager.

Keith tapped his pencil against the page once more, before bringing it up to now tap against his forehead. He reread what he had written– everything Lance had said about that monster, and what his next steps should do. He reread and reread and reread until his eyes strained.

1) Explore the woods himself

He was a bit partial to this idea. Dangerous, but not a bad idea. It’s something he has experience in– searching ‘scary places’ for clues and hints. He usually always turns up empty-handed though, which puts him into a soured mood every single time. If he was going to go though, it’d be best to do it tomorrow, as he was losing daylight. It’s not the smartest idea to be out there late at night yet, just in case there really was a dangerous monster. Or friendly– as Lance had described. He’ll save the late-night expedition for the end of the month, when he has all the information he needs.

2) Go interview more people

His least favorite option. It requires going into town and having to strike up conversations with people, something that Keith is not good at. He’d really like to put that off for as long as possible. Lance was just an anomaly, and even then looked at how that turned out: Lance upset with him, and Keith strangely feeling guilty. But still… if he was going to travel into the forest tomorrow, he’d need to stock up on water and supplies. Maybe he doesn’t need to interrogate people today, but it’s a smart idea to head into town. 

3) Track down Lance and apologize

No.

Keith exhales through his nose, shoving his pencil behind his ear. Well, that settles it. Looks like he’s making a visit to the village. 

–

Keith is used to being on the receiving end of weird looks. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s a strange man, entering small towns where everyone knows each other, only to interview them all on their towns’ scary ghost stories. And then he leaves. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll always be. But of course he’d be the talk of the town.

What he’s not used to is receiving kind smiles and greeting waves. When he stepped foot into the heart of the village, only to discover their strangely positive reactions? Safe to say, it made him stop dead in his tracks. He glared back, and they’d advert their eyes in response. It made him feel shitty, but at least he had them off his back for now. It’ll definitely bite him in the ass when he comes to ask them questions, but that’s a future Keith problem. 

Eventually, he stumbles upon the town’s market by complete accident. He squints over the crumbled list in his hand, the one reciting everything he needs, before stalking inside. The bell chimes from above, signalling his entrance, and he winces. The last thing he needs is people noticing him any more. 

Looking around, there’s not many people shopping; It’s scarce enough to where he doesn’t need to worry about engaging in social interactions, which is exactly what he wanted. 

He goes about the store, grabbing what he needs for his trip. Things like a flashlight with extra batteries, a first aid kit, protein bars, and other necessities. He’s halfway through grabbing a collection of paracord, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Keith does NOT shriek. He stands and spins around, preparing to deck the lights out of whoever is about to attack him. He stops himself when he just sees a harmless man twirling his mustache, his eyes crinkled with a smile.

“Hello there, my good chap!” the man bursts out with enough volume to make Keith wince. “Or, as the kids would say, my ‘skibidi rizz!’”

Keith awkwardly looks away with a grimace. “I… don’t think you’re using that right.”

The man waves him off dismissively. “I definitely am. But anyways! I just wanted to welcome you into town!”

“Oh. uh. Thanks…?” He’s trying really, really, really hard to play nice. Maybe he could get something out of this interaction, like another clue about this monster.  

“So!” the man clasps his hands together. “What can I do you for? Need help with your groceries?”

Keith looks to his list, before looking back to the man. He hadn’t written it down, assuming that this small market wouldn’t have anything like it. But maybe they’d have a motion sensor? The first thought would be a bear trap, but Keith really doesn’t want to hurt any any creature– animal or monster. 

“Well,” Keith squints, trying to read his–... “Wait. Where's your name tag?”

“What? Oh, no!” The man laughs as if Keith told a particularly funny joke. “I don��t work here, silly!”

“Ah,” Keith grimaces, but forces a tense smile. “Right… silly me for assuming…”

“It happens to the best of us! Except me, of course. I am, as the youngins would say, “level 10 gyatt!’”

Keith resists the urge to groan, instead pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, if you excuse me, I need to–”

The man snatches the list straight from Keith’s hands.

“Hey!” Keith growls.

“Ah, looking for some monster hunting gear, are we? Well unfortunately,”The man balls up the paper list and chucks it over his shoulder, wiping his hands clean of it. “they don’t sell any of that here!” 

Keith bristles, preparing to rip this man a new one. Who goes about welcoming someone one second, only to toss out their belongings the next? Where the hell does this man get off? Keith opens his mouth to throw all niceties to the wind and shred this guy into pieces, before pausing. “How did you know?”

“That you were monster hunting? Let’s say a little birdie paid me a visit! Right young man, that one is.”

“Lance?” Of course he would. 

“Right-o! Darn, you’re good.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Just let me continue shopping, and I’ll be out of your mustache.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I just said they don’t sell your gear here!”

“I have almost all of those items in my cart right now. I just needed to grab the paracord.”

The man deflates. 

Keith continues, “why would you lie? Unless," Keith thinks back to Lance. “...you were protecting the monster, just like lance. Why?”

The man sputters. “Protecting— protecting? The monster? What! You’re crazy! I was just going to say that– I know someone who would give you much better gear! They’d craft it up themself!”

Keith raises an eyebrow, and the man continues. “Seriously! I could take them to you right now! Free of charge!”

Well… admittedly, free gear sounds pretty nice. If it doesn’t work, it’s not like he wasted any money. He can always just come back and buy whatever he needs, just like he originally planned. Not to mention, this would be the perfect opportunity to call out this man on his lie and get answers– he was obviously trying to protect this monster too, no matter what he said afterwards to distract Keith. 

“Okay,” Keith finally relents. “Take me to your friend, uh. Who are you?”

With a flourish of his mustache, the man beams. “Coran.”

[sandcobangevent]

Memories

by @alsziarts and @creepyalphabet

They finally got home after a long day and decided to relax for a bit before going to bed, trying to unwind from the long and frustrating case. John was just putting on the kettle, when he finally noticed his mum’s texts. He had been too busy running around London all day with Sherlock to notice them. His mum had been asking him if he had been to his dad’s grave yet. It took him a few moments before he finally realised the date. He couldn't believe he had forgotten it. He had forgotten his own fathers death anniversary. He had made a habit visiting his dad every year to reminisce, to make sure he would remember him as the years would start to dull his memory. It gave him comfort, knowing he dedicated one day a year to his dad, that the man wouldn’t just be forgotten. But today he hadn’t even realised. He had just brazenly followed Sherlock around London all day, getting swept up in the chase. 

It had been twenty-five years since his father passed, he had just been a little kid back then. His dad had been a grand figure for him back then, someone he looked up to, strong and powerful, a hero, only to get blown to pieces by a landmine. Another death in a war barely anyone cared about now. His own child had even forgotten, neglecting to visit on the anniversary. The kettle’s screeching stirred John from his thoughts. It was too late now to visit, the cemetery was certainly closed by now, there wasn’t anything he could really do about it so no point in whining. He could go visit tomorrow, it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. He was making a big deal out of nothing. He finished making the tea adding a few mini marshmallows to Sherlock’s and sat down on the couch, memory’s with his dad still whirling through his mind.

His father had been thirty-five when he passed, the same age John was now. A whole life had been crammed in those thirty-five years. He felt like he had only just passed the gate into adulthood, and that had been it for his father. All he would ever get to experience. It made him think about his own mortality, the lack of accomplishments in his life. By his age his father was a respected officer with a wife and kid, while he was a podcaster. 

“Who texted you? 

Sherlock’s sudden words shook John from his thoughts. “What. it’s nothing” 

“It is obviously something, you looked at your phone and then you went all quiet.” Sherlock was annoyingly observant as usual.

"No it's-it's fine, alright? Just...well it's the-the anniversary of my dad's...you know."” He didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, he wouldn’t make it into a big deal. There was nothing to be done anyway, so why did it feel like such a betrayal to his memory. 

“I see, you usually visit his grave on the day then?”

He wished Sherlock would stop talking about it, he didn’t want to go into it. He didn’t want the tears he could feel prickling behind his eyes, he knew it was an overreaction. “"But yeah it's alright I'll just...I'll just visit him tomorrow I guess, no big deal. Don't worry about it mate."

“Hmm, I see, I’m sorry for you John.” They both returned to their teas, Sherlock’s with the marshmallows floating on top. 

When Sherlock finished his tea he stood up, put on his coat and walked out the door saying. “Right. Follow me.”

“Sherlock! We were just having a nice moment, where are you going off to, hang on I should probably record this. Wait, Sherlock!” John stumbled after him grabbing his microphone following him out the door. 

In the few seconds it took for John to gather his belongings Sherlock had apparently managed to flag down a cab and was already seated in the back. It was a mystery to John how Sherlock almost always instantly seemed to find cabs, but he joined him and the cab drove off. 

After fiddling with the mike for some time John turned it on to explain to the listeners what was going on. It had become almost second nature to him to narrate whenever anything possibly exciting was happening. “So, we're in a cab right now, it is late, already dark outside, Sherlock and I were talking and yeah, he just walked out so now we’re in a cab. I am not entirely sure where we’re going. Where exactly are we going Sherlock?”

“You’ll see.”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see listeners, I just thought I would update you, though I guess there isn’t much to say at the moment. Let's just do some listener shoutouts.” John started doing the shoutouts as the car drove out of London and onto smaller country roads. The longer the drive lasted the angrier he got with Sherlock and himself. He had forgotten his dad thanks to him, he had spent all day running around London with him, and if that weren’t enough now he wouldn’t even tell him where they were going. Couldn’t grant him the courtesy, the basic respect to even inform him what was going on. It was like Sherlock didn’t even realise he was a person with thoughts and feelings as well, or was too obsessed with himself to even care. Not that alerting Sherlock of what a selfish bastard he was would do any good so he spent the rest of the car ride staring angrily out of the window, unsure whether that anger was directed towards Sherlock or towards himself. 

He only realised what Sherlock’s plan was as he stepped out of the car. They were standing by the front entrance of his dads cemetery. He felt guilty for thinking so badly of him during the car ride. Sherlock had just been trying to do something nice for him and he had written it off as his friend just being a selfish bastard. 

The gate was locked as he had expected, it was long past the cemetery's opening hours after all, so the trip had ultimately been pointless. “It was a really nice gesture but it is too late. The cemetery is closed, let's just go home Sherlock.” John tried but the detective was already attempting to climb over the fence. 

John sighed, “Ah great, he’s breaking into a cemetery now, lovely” He caught himself narrating for the listeners again. Before following Sherlock in hopping the fence, there was no use in trying to stop Sherlock once he set his mind to something. 

“It’s your fault if we get arrested” John whispered in a hushed tone.

“How? There are no security cameras here. Now, show me your dad.”

John led him through the cemetery towards his dad’s grave. His mom had been by earlier in the day and put some fresh flowers on it. He usually brought flowers too, it gave some purpose to his visit, something to do instead of awkwardly standing around looking solemn. He took the watch out of his pocket, letting his fingers glide over the piece absentmindedly. 

“I hate the fact that I am forgetting him, piece by piece. That someday he will be completely forgotten.” 

“Tell me about him.”

So John talked about his dad, retold the faded childhood memories to Sherlock, making sure they couldn’t be forgotten, letting himself be submerged into nostalgia. Sherlock fully endorsed his sappy yapping without complaining of boredom, allowing John to share his memories. 

“I enjoy being this close to you John. I could accompany you again next year, I will help you remember.”

“Thank you,” John smiled, “for bringing me here tonight. It means a lot.”

__________

Check it out on AO3 too!

[secondfiddles]

While we're hard at work getting season 5 ready to launch in a few months, we decided to treat you to a little FAQ with Buck and Recall.

Find Second Fiddles wherever you enjoy podcasts!

[andmaybegayer]

Last Monday of the Week 2024-07-08

House isn't full of people anymore, time to spend like three weeks washing things and getting a routine going again

Listening: My parents """excuse""" for visiting me was the Rod Stewart concert at the O2, which they insisted on getting me a ticket for even though I'm pretty mid on Rod Stewart. He's fine! I don't hate his music but like, not a show for me, especially when I'm now much more used to random bands I've never heard of in a bar.

He's doing the best show an 80 year old man can do, leaning heavily on his supporting act to fill in for the fact that he can barely amble across the stage. Still sings pretty well, within the bounds of all the effects that are used to punch up live performances this big. Here's Sailing

Watching: subbing in a podcast here for reasons: Finished The Magnus Archives. God dammit I see why everyone hated that! They almost did the good thing! They were so close! Kill the world and stop the things in their tracks! Leave the boy, we don't need him!

The final season has a lot of really good individual statements and moments but man that really does kill it dead.

Reading: Trains back and forth to Vienna were a good chance to read a bunch of The Traitor Baru Cormorant, I'm almost done. It's so good, especially when I can compare this to A Memory Called Empire and Iron Widow, which are respectively quite similar but good in a different way and very different while struggling with the kind of finickly politics that Baru handles so well.

Baru Cormorant is so up-front with its empire. I mentioned when I read AMCE that it felt (rightly) sanitized partly because we were ambassadors in the Imperial core, well, Baru Cormorant goes the other way, putting you right at the forefront of the Empire.

Playing: Nothing really, although I did put my parents through some VR demos because they wanted to try it out and I think they did genuinely like it, especially fiddling with some of the fun tactile demos that Facebook and Valve have put together. It's such a different way of interacting with the computer.

Making: A lot of photography that needs to be processed.

Tools and Equipment: Things that come up when other people are in my kitchen: you really don't need dedicated cutting boards for meat and vegetables in the home kitchen. The purpose of this is to isolate vegetable ingredients that may be used raw OR cooked and you don't know which at preparation time, which is a commercial kitchen thing. If you're cooking everything you're working with you can freely mix meat and vegetables without worrying too much.

The only time it matters is if you're, say, chopping fresh garnish or salad, where it will not be cooked, in which case a second chopping board or just washing your current one is a good idea. You do not, however, need to keep track of which boards you use for what, since if you're not cleaning your boards well enough that you need to worry about this you have bigger issues.