#this is meant to mirror the Stephanie edit I did

[imaginespazzi]

Part 2: And Even Now

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

Because I'll never let this go (but I can't find the words to tell you)

(In which a deadline-averse writer actually lives up to a weekly deadline)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, A little bit of fluff I guess?

Words: 6.9K (back to my usual)

TW: Swearing (I think that's it?)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Happy Monday! Nobody get used to me actually updating on a proper weekly basis because really, let's be honest you're all lowkey shocked I'm actually living up to this too but we'll see how long I can make it last. As you read, let's just all remember my favorite three words: For. The. Plot! Editing and I continue to be sworn enemies so you'll definitely find typos along the way and feel free to point them out so that I can fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next. Have a wonderful rest of your week my loves <3

February 2033

Azzi’s heart is beating a million miles per minute as she gets into her car. She’s just invited Paige into her world  and even if she knows that it was the right thing to do for her team, the full force of what she’s just done is starting to hit her. The plan had been the exact opposite. In fact the plan had been to avoid Paige at all costs while she was here in Oakland. Azzi had spent nearly a decade building this new world of hers that was devoid of anything Paige and it had taken Ohemaa an hour, explaining why Paige was the last domino they needed to fall to win a championship, to convince Azzi to bulldoze her own walls. 

Banging her head against the steering wheel, Azzi lets out a frustrated scream. She’d been the picture of calm and composed while talking to Paige, but internally an earthquake had started rumbling within her the minute she’d finally laid eyes on the blonde. It was unfair that age seemed to have no effect on Paige, unfair that she still made Azzi’s stomach do somersaults, unfair that that stupid smirk made Azzi nostalgic for a feeling she used to call home. It’s funny really. There was a time in Azzi’s life where she didn’t know how she’d survive without seeing Paige every day. But now if the blonde does accept her offer, Azzi thinks, seeing Paige every day, might just be her poison ivy. 

The sound of her car doors opening shakes Azzi out of her pity party, as she rushes to compose herself before Stephie sees her. Through the rear view mirror, she watches as her daughter happily climbs into her car seat, a giddy smile on her face. And all the stress and anxiety seems to evaporate. 

“What’s got you so happy Stephie bean? What did you and Aunty Leen do?” Azzi asks, so focused on Stephie’s grin, that she misses Colleen, who’s just let herself into the passenger seat, shaking her head.

“Aunty Leen lost me,” Stephie says coyly and Azzi immediately turns to Colleen whose head whips around to look at the little girl in the back seat. 

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd are you lying on my good name?” she hisses. 

“Stephie,” Azzi chides, catching on quickly “did you run away from Aunty Leen again?”

“She was boring me Mama,” Stephie whines, sticking her tongue out at Colleen, “and if I didn’t run away, then I wouldn’t have met Miss Buecks.”

Oh.

She told me she thinks I’d look good in purple.

Azzi’s breath hitches in her throat. She hadn’t quite registered that Paige’s words from before meant that she must have met Stephie, too busy finding a way to get out of the gym that was starting to feel just a little too hot. It only clicks now as Stephie starts to ramble about how she’d ran into a stranger in the chill room. But it’s not the idea of Stephie and Paige meeting that sends a shiver creeping up Azzi’s spine. No, it’s that enamored smile on Stephie’s face. It’s the way Azzi’s little girl’s eyes light up just saying those two syllables Miss Buecks. Maybe it’s genetic or perhaps just a Fudd family fatal flaw but Azzi can see a fourteen year old version of herself, blooming in Stephie. She’d hidden it well, behind exasperated head shakes and exaggerated eye rolls but falling in love with Paige Bueckers had been just a little to easy back then. Apparently, it still was. 

“She was really nice Mama,” Stephie gushes and Azzi’s hand tightens on the steering wheel, “is she gonna come play for your team? I told her she should.”

“So I heard,” Azzi murmurs and she can feel Colleen’s eyes immediately shifting to look at her. 

“You talked to Paige?” Azzi’s best friend asks, a skeptical lilt in her voice. 

Azzi shrugs, “I ran into her in the gym.”

“And what exactly were you doing in the gym?” 

“Looking for Paige,” Azzi says sheepishly as Collen makes an indiscernible noise.

“Did you ask her to join your team Mama?” Stephie chimes in eagerly from the back, unaware of the way that the childlike hope in her voice is putting her mother on edge. Azzi has built an impenetrable fortress around her own heart but she’d never considered that perhaps she should have built a moat around Stephie’s too. 

“Yeah baby, I did,” Azzi admits slowly and this time Colleen lets an audible gasp, except it’s drowned out by a series of exhilarated squeals erupting from the backseat. 

“MISS BUECKS IS GONNA JOIN MAMA’S TEAM,” Stephie screams, practically bouncing on her seat as she begins to repeat the phrase in a sing-song voice. 

“Hold your horses, kid. She hasn’t said yes yet,” Azzi warns. 

Stephie smiles secretly, “but she will Mama, I know she will.”

It makes Azzi feel lightheaded, the amount of trust Stephie seems to already have in a stranger. There’s a part of her that wants to crawl into her daughter’s mind and erase the memory of blonde hair and blue eyes because she knows, she knows better than anyone, that once you walk through that door, there is no coming back. And Paige would never willingly hurt Stephie -even after a decade apart Azzi has that much faith in the blonde- but that doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t break her heart any way. 

Colleen turns to Azzi, a look of unmistakable concern on her face as she makes a show of putting her hand against the darker-skinned girl’s forehead, “are you feeling okay?”

“Oh fudge off,” Azzi groans, swatting away her best friend’s hand

“Azzi let me get this straight, you’re telling me you asked your e-x-g-i-r-l-f-r-i-e-n-d to join your team?”

“Look at you spelling Col, I’m so proud of you-”

“Don’t start,” Colleen shoots her a look and Azzi sighs, “what happened to going into Ohemaa’s office and making sure that didn’t happen?”

“I did what I had to,” Azzi shrugs, “I put the team first.”

“And what about-”

“Colleen please,” Azzi begs softly, a wave of tiredness washing over her, “it’s done okay. And it might not even matter. She might not even say yes.”

Colleen opens her mouth and then sighs, seeing something in Azzi’s face that convinces her not to push. There isn’t anyone else in the world who knows Azzi better than her best friend, except maybe the woman they’re talking about. Paige would’ve pushed, she always had. Pushed and pushed until Azzi was letting herself free fall off a cliff, only harnessed by Paige’s promise to catch her before she hit the ground. And then one day Azzi had unclipped the harness, and it was their relationship that had come crashing down. 

“Mama,” Stephie’s inquisitive voice calls from behind and Azzi hums in response, starting up her car, “you knew Miss Bueckers when she was littler right?”

“I knew her when she was younger,” Azzi corrects gently and knew feels like an understatement. They’d lived in each other’s skin, carving themselves onto parts of each other they hadn’t even known existed until the other had come along. 

“Same thing Mama,” Stephie huffs, “was she still so pretty then?”

And as pictures of a younger Paige, beautiful and vibrant like the sun shining on the pavement after a thunderstorm, dance through her mind, Azzi can’t stop the soft smile that flitters across her face. 

“She’s always been the prettiest.”

***

Paige isn’t feeling particularly talkative when her phone rings, Talia’s name flashing on the CallerID. Her senses are still drowned in all things Azzi and she’s not quite ready to be rescued from the ocean of memories that have suddenly flooded her entire being. She wants to lose herself in them, let herself be drawn back to what was. Paige has spent the better part of the last decade running away from her past but today, for the first time, all she wants is to let this slideshow of nostalgia keep on playing through her mind. 

“Talia if you’re calling just to say I told you so,” Paige sneers into the phone, finally picking it up after the ringing starts to give her a mild headache. She’d texted Thalia almost immediately after speaking to Azzi, a simple i think i could make the Valks work, purposely leaving out what, or more precisely who, had convinced her. 

“I would never,” Talia says with a hint of amusement, “if I started telling you I told you so after every time I was right, I fear I’d never have anything else to say to you because I am in fact, always right.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “alright then if you’re done gloating.”

“I didn’t call to gloat,” the manager’s voice is more serious now, “I called to tell you that I talked to the Liberty and they have an offer.”

“The Liberty don’t have cap space,” Paige says slowly, stomach suddenly queasy.

“They don’t have cap space this season,” Talia corrects, “but things are gonna change for them with Sabrina retiring after this season and they can move a couple of other things around to give us what we want next season.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the Valkyries don’t have to be anything more than a pit stop. I know I pressured you into this but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been trying to figure something else out for you behind the scenes.”

“And I assume you’ve talked to Ohemaa too then?”

Talia scoffs, “do I look like an amateur agent to you? Of course I have. This works for them too. If all goes to plan, they have the rights to Atlanta’s #3 pick in the draft and if the mocks have gotten it right, they’ll get Angie Davis.”

“The Stanford PG,” Paige breathes out. 

“Exactly. She’ll get a year developing under you and then hopefully they won’t need you next year. And you won’t need them. Everybody wins.”

It sounds like the perfect solution. The Valkyrie’s would get what they need out of her and she’d get what she needed out of them. Then they’d part ways and Paige’s past would no longer be a factor in her present once she got to New York. One year and then everything would fall into place the way she’d wanted it to. It should fill her with excitement or relief or maybe even both but instead Paige feels nothing but unease, like she’s sealing herself to a fate of never truly having a home. 

She rubs a tired hand across her face, “what if I don’t want to leave after a year?”

“Then we can talk about it in a year. You’re not signing anything other than a one-year contract with the Valkyries right now and letting both them and the Liberty know that you're keeping your options open,” Talia says, her tone perfectly business-like. 

“Good,” Paige lets out a small sigh of relief at knowing she isn’t about to get herself legally bound to anything, “that’s good.”

“Why don’t you sound more happy about this Paige?” an irritated timbre slips into Talia’s words, “you were practically begging me to find you a way out of this and now that I have, it seems like you would rather I hadn’t.”

“The Valkyries are a good organization. Good front office, good GM, good coach, good facilities and you know how much I’ve always loved the Bay Area. Every time we’ve come here to play, the atmosphere has always been amazing. This place breathes basketball and I just wanna be a part of that,” and Paige means every word of it, even if there are other reasons at play.

“But you already knew all of that before you went down there Paige so cut the bullshit. Why exactly are you suddenly on board with all of this?” Talia asks, her voice hardening and Paige hates that her manager, who had really been more of a friend for the last couple of years, knows her just a little too well. 

“I met someone-”

“Oh fucking hell,” Talia groans, “please tell me you’re not making career decisions with your pussy.”

“Don’t be crude Talia. After all these years, I think you’d know me better than that. I met a little girl,” an uncontrollably smitten grin flickers across Paige’s face as she thinks back to her conversation with Stephie, “and she- she made some good points about why I should be a Golden State Valkyrie. You’d be surprised how smart little kids are these days.”

Thalia’s voice is drenched in skepticism when she speaks again, “you met a little girl? Where?”

“At the Valkyries training facilities,” as soon as she says it Paige wishes she’d lied. 

“What was a little girl doing at-,” another loud groan echoes through Paige’s phone and she can practically picture her agent fighting back the urge to facepalm, “please tell me you’re not talking about Azzi Fudd’s daughter.”

“I can’t tell you that,” Paige says, trying to keep her voice light.

“Jesus fucking christ Paige so you are thinking with your pussy then. You’re telling me you wanna join GSV because your ex-girlfriend’s daughter thinks you should? Do you hear how insane that sounds?”

No, Paige thinks, I want to join because my ex-girlfriend thinks I should. Except she’s pretty sure that wouldn’t go over any better with Talia. She knows it sounds insane, knows it’s a little pathetic the power Azzi still has over her, knows that it should have taken more than just Azzi’s little speech to change her adamant no into a resounding yes. But the truth is that the only good reason she’d even had to not want to go to GSV, was rooted in Azzi and once Azzi had removed that barrier, the decision had never seemed clearer. 

“You said it yourself Tals. It’s been years. This isn’t about her and me. It’s about basketball and it’s about winning,” Paige says finally, even if the words don’t sit sound right as they waterfall out of her mouth. 

“So this has nothing to do with Azzi Fudd?” Talia inquires. 

“Nothing other than the fact that she’s the best shooting guard in the country and together we can be the best backcourt in the WNBA. Azzi Fudd,” it’s the first time Paige has said her name in a long time and it ignites a fire on the tip of her tongue “is my past and she’ll never be anything more than a future teammate, not again. Besides,” Paige’s stomach churns as the next words leave her mouth, “like you said. GSV doesn’t have to be anything more than a temporary pit stop.”

***

Putting away her weights, Azzi uses her forearm to wipe away the beads of sweat forming on her forehead. She hides a smile as her eyes fall on Stephie. A look of pure concentration marks her daughter’s face as she puts her full little body into lifting a set of 2kg weights. It’s become their Sunday routine. Azzi comes to the Valkyrie’s fitness center to train and Stephie follows along, pitter pattering behind Azzi and trying to mimic every exercise her mother attempts. 

“Mama,” Stephie gushes as she catches Azzi’s eyes in the mirror, “I did twenty today. I think I can do the 3kg ones next time.”

Azzi laughs, walking over and bending down to give the little girl a high-5, “oh yeah? You think you’re ready to move onto the next level.”

“Yeah I am!” Stephie cheers, trying to flex her biceps, “look how big they’re getting.”

“Oh my god baby they’re almost bigger than mine,” Azzi says dramatically, flexing her own arms right next to Stephie’s. 

“Just give me a year,” Stephie promises, giggling as she wraps her arms around her mother’s neck, “I’m gonna be the strongest Fudd.”

Azzi lifts her up with ease, pressing a delicate kiss against her daughter’s hair as the little girl settles into her side, hands immediately playing with the “S” necklace around Azzi’s neck. 

“When Miss Buecks joins your team, do you think she can come ex-cise with us too?” Stephie asks shyly and Azzi sighs as she grabs for her gym bag. 

She should have expected the question really. In the hours that had passed since Stephie had met Paige, the older woman’s name seemed to have risen to the top of the little girl’s vocabulary. Every little thing they’d done since had been accompanied by the mention of Miss Buecks, either a plea to have Paige join them next time or Stephie gushing about how she just knew Miss Buecks would be good at this too. 

“You know kid, I’m beginning to think you might like Miss Buecks more than me,” Azzi teases with a lightheartedness she doesn’t feel. But she won’t let her own discomfort bleed into Stephie’s excitement. 

“Don’t be silly Mama,” Stephie pulls at Azzi’s cheeks, “you’ll always be my favoritest.”

Don’t worry Az, you’ll always be my most favorite. It’s Paige's voice that echoes through her mind, casual and carefree and so, so honest. And she needs to stop doing this, needs to stop her brain from tying her present to the threads of her past, needs to stop her heart from letting Stephie and Paige be pieces of the same puzzle. It’s a dangerous wish she’d let bloom in secret for years but not all wishes are meant to come true, some are meant to tragically wilter in the darkness until they turn into a wistful what if. 

A shrill “MISS BUECKS,” breaks Azzi out of her thoughts as the child in her arms starts to wriggle out of her grasp the minute they step out of the fitness center. As soon as Stephie manages to get on the ground, she’s running before Azzi can get a word out to stop her. And all Azzi can do is watch as Paige turns around at the call of her name, neutral face breaking into a luminescent smile as she catches sight of Stephie running towards her. 

“MISS BUECKS,” Stephie squeals again, tiny hands outstretched as she picks up speed. 

“STEPHIE,” Paige matches the excitement in the little girl’s voice, swinging her into her arms and spinning her around before finally holding her firm against her hip. 

“I missed you,” Stephie confesses, “did you miss me?”

Paige's eyes soften as she nuzzles Stephies nose, “of course I did.”

Azzi feels paralyzed as she watches the scene unfold in front of her. Stephie excitedly chatters about some random topic and Paige seems mesmerized by the most mundane stories. And Azzi’s not sure if she’s floating or sinking, but she knows if she lets them, the tears begging to be released from her eyes could flood everything around her. Her hands fist of their own accord as she takes a step towards Paige and Stephie and it’s like a nightmare and a daydream all at once. 

“Mama look,” Stephie notices her first, “Miss Buecks is here.”

Paige looks over Stephie’s head and as cerulean blue eyes pierce into Azzi’s dark brown ones, she wonders if Paige is thinking of it too, of the future they used to talk about while curled up in one of their UConn dorms as their hands traced forever into each other’s palms.

“I can see that Steph,” she musters up a polite smile, “Hi Paige.”

She gets an equally polite smile back in return, “Hi Azzi.”

Her name sounds different on Paige’s lips and Azzi misses the way Paige’s eyes used to twinkle just saying it, the way her lips would curl around that one word like it carried the meaning of life itself. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie turns Paige’s face away from Azzi, hand resting against her cheek, “did you say yes to joining Mama’s team?”

Paige’s eyes flicker towards Azzi again, before coming back to rest on the hopeful little girl, “I did. I just signed the contract.”

Stephie screams, arms wrapping around Paige’s neck and Azzi expects Paige to at least flinch, but the blonde simply laughs, hugging Azzi’s little girl back with equal fervor. 

“I take it you’re happy,” Paige whispers. 

“I’m-,” Stephie crawls out from Paige’s neck to look at Azzi, “Mama what’s that big word you use es-est-”

“Ecstatic,” Azzi whispers, trying to pretend that Paige’s announcement hasn’t knocked the wind out of her. Hell has just become official and Azzi had personally invited it. 

“I’m es-tatic that you’re joining Mama’s team Miss Buecks. I told Mama that I knew you would. I'm gonna cheer so loud for you,” Stephie says, unaware that her innocent words feel like shards of broken glass piercing at Azzi’s skin. 

“That makes me ecstatic Stephie,” Paige says softly but there’s a hint of something else there that Azzi can’t quite place; the realization that she’s no longer as well-versed in the notes of Paige’s voice hits her like a hailstorm. 

“Welcome to Golden State,” she manages to stutter out and Paige’s eyes drift to her before warily looking down to her outstretched hands, “I think we’ll make a good team.”

“I’m counting on it,” Paige nods as she reaches out the hand that’s not holding Stephie. And the moment they touch, it’s still electric, like lightning during the first thunderstorm after a drought. They stare at each other and Azzi wonders if Paige is thinking it too, thinking that if only they’d held on like this eight years ago when they should have. Blinking away droplets of what happened to you and me forever, Azzi reluctantly lets go of Paige’s hand, ignoring the way the feeling of it still lingers, like it’s destined to etch itself onto Azzi’s palms. 

“Well Stephie bear, I think it’s time for us to go home,” she says slowly. 

Stephie crinkles her nose, “we’re not going home Mama. We’re getting ice cream,” she turns to Paige with a serious expression on her face, “we always get ice cream after ex-cise. Mama says it’s good for the soul.”

“She’s right. Ice cream is good for the soul,” Paige smiles, giving Azzi a knowing look. 

“OH,” Stephie shrieks, “Miss Buecks you should come with us so we can cel-bate you coming to Mama’s team.”

Azzi’s eyes widen, immediately getting ready to shut that dreadful idea down, “Miss Buecks is busy baby and she probably wants to celebrate with her own family.”

And if the word family makes Paige flinch, Azzi pretends she doesn’t notice. 

“You don’t wanna cel-bate with me Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks and Azzi knows that even if Paige had intended to decline Stephie’s offer, once her daughter gives her those big sad eyes, the already people-pleasing blonde won’t say no. 

“Nobody else I’d rather celebrate with,” Paige caves and Azzi sighs, switching her bag to her other shoulder. Some things would never change. Some things about Paige, she would always be able to predict. 

“Yay,” Stephie cheers, finally slipping down from Paige’s lap, only so she can lace one hand in Paige’s and the other in Azzi’s, “let’s go cel-bate.”

***

It’s the first time they’ve been in a car together in a decade, and still the instinct to reach out and grab Azzi’s hand as she drives, prickles against Paige’s fingertips. She tries to focus on the road ahead, tries to focus on whatever story Stephie is telling from the backseat, tries to focus on anything but the woman in the driver’s seat who used to be her passenger princess. 

“You’ve turned into a pretty good driver,” she quips slowly, trying to lighten the tension between them, “I’m only just a little bit scared for my life right now.”

Azzi cracks a small smile, “are you ready to admit I’m a better driver than you?”

“Not a chance.”

“Mama’s the best driver in the world,” Stephie chimes in loyally, “was she a bad driver when she was littler?”

“Younger,” Azzi corrects immediately, “and I was always a good driver, Steph. Don’t listen to Miss Buecks.”

Paige scoffs, “don’t believe her Stephie. She once nearly killed me.”

“I did not. I can’t believe you’re lying to my child.”

“Am I?” Paige cocks her head, “so you didn’t nearly back into me that one time during Christmas?”

“That doesn’t count,” Azzi protests, “I didn’t even know you were coming to surprise me. How was I supposed to know you were going to be right outside the garage door while I was trying to pull out.”

“There are these things on your car called mirrors Azzi, think maybe you should try and use them sometimes.”

“It was dark and I was in a hurry.”

“Where could you possibly have had to go that late on Christmas?”

“I was going to surprise you,” Azzi exclaims, “but you beat me to it so,” her voice fades off as an awkward silence cuts into the easy banter. The memory of that night is clear in Paige’s mind. Christmas 2021 when they’d been teetering on the edge between something and everything. They’d decided they’d meet up the day after Christmas to exchange presents, leaving the day of it just for their families. But the whole day had passed and Paige had been consumed by nothing but missing Azzi. And as soon as night fell, her mind was made up to go see her best friend. She hadn't known just how much Azzi had missed her too. Not until now. It’s funny, Paige thinks, they’d once been the kind of people who didn’t know how to exist when they spent a day apart. Now they were the kind of people who’d fought to spend nearly a decade apart.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie cuts in again, voice inquisitive, and Paige doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of hearing the little girl call for her; it fills her with a warmth she didn’t even know she had the capacity to feel, “Mama said you’ve always been the prettiest, even when you were littler.”

Paige’s eyes dart to Azzi, a smirk playing on her lips as she watches a pink hue spread across the brunette’s cheeks, “she said that?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, hands tightening on the steering wheel as she finally maneuvers into a parking lot. 

“She did,” Stephie confirms, “and she said you were really good at bask-ball and really smart. And then Aunty Leen said something in her ear and Mama got all shy.”

“Right Stephanie. I think that’s enough talk about what Mama said,” Azzi says as she finishes parking and starts to unbuckle her seatbelt, muttering something about inflated egos under her breath. 

“Nah Stephie,” Paige grins as gets out of the car, “I like hearing what your Mama said about me.”

It earns her a glare from Azzi and that only makes her smile harder. Paige is no stranger to praise and compliments but it’s always meant just a little more when it came from Azzi. And she’d never admit it to anyone but every time she’d come across a clip of Azzi praising her over the last couple years, she’d let the clip loop for far longer than she should have.

“You know what Bueckers,” Azzi says, “you’re buying our ice cream.”

“That’s not fair Mama,” Stephie chides, “we’re here to cel-bate Miss Buecks. It’s her treat so you have to pay.”

“Yeah Azzi, it’s my treat so you have to pay,” Paige mimics, high-fiving a beaming Stephie. 

Azzi looks between the two of them, an offended expression on her face, “my own daughter,” she gasps, “betraying me. I see how it is.”

“You’re the one who says we have to be fair,” Stephie says, nudging her mother slightly so she can clutch her hand and then turns to look up at Paige, “was Mama really pretty when she was littler?”

“Younger” Azzi corrects again, before focusing on Paige, “and you don’t have to answer that. She’s seen photos of me from before.”

“But I wanna know from Miss Buecks,” Stephie whines. 

“Stephie,” Azzi warns, an edge to her voice. 

“She was the most beautiful girl in the world,” Paige says softly and two sets of dark brown eyes immediately flash up to her. The California sunshine makes Azzi glow but really that’s nothing new; Azzi has always been the brightest star, at least in Paige’s galaxy, and she can’t help but let the next words slip through her lips, “she still is.”

***

Azzi thinks Paige has never really known the impact of her own words. Whether it was the missiles she fired when angry or the shower of flower petals when she was feeling complimentary. And it seems like time has done nothing to change that because Paige continues to walk towards the ice cream parlor with absolutely no recognition of how Azzi’s heart has just burst into flames. 

She still is. 

It shouldn’t affect her the way it does, shouldn’t elicit any reaction more than just a cocky smirk but instead those three little words seem to imprint themselves on her cochlear, ringing around her like static as she tries to keep a façade of nonchalance. 

The ice cream parlor is bursting with people and it doesn’t take long before both Azzi and Paige are being asked for pictures. Protective instinct kicking in, Azzi reaches to grab for Stephie to keep her from getting lost in the crowd, only to find her already securely tucked into Paige’s side. Azzi watches as Paige interacts with the fans -she’s always been a natural at that- and somehow manages to keep Stephie entertained at the same time, conspiratorially whispering things to her in between interactions and making her giggle. It hurts and heals something inside her at the same time. The thing is, since Stephie was born, Azzi has done this whole thing alone and she’s never regretted it, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of her that hasn’t always wished for a partner, someone else who would protect her little girl with her. Like Paige is right now. But this is a mirage, a fever dream that isn’t Azzi’s to dream. 

So she looks away and hides her tears behind a dazzling smile for a photo with a fan. She’s gotten incredibly good at that. 

“What’s your favorite ice cream flavor Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks excitedly when they finally manage to reach the counter.

“Oh um-” Paige scratches at her neck, “I like cookies and cream.”

Azzi guffaws at the lie, “your favorite flavor is cookies and cream?”

“Yes Azzi,” Paige glares, “I love cookies and cream.”

Azzi raises an eyebrow before dropping her voice down to a whisper, “why are you lying?”

Paige sighs, “I don’t want Stephie to think I’m weird.”

“Oh Paige,” Azzi can’t help but smile before turning to Stephie, “Steph what flavor are you getting?”

“Mint chocolate chip,” Stephie says excitedly, eyes fixated on the green ice cream and Paige’s mouth falls open a little bit as Azzi smirks at her. 

She turns to the cashier, “we’ll have open mint chocolate chip, one strawberry and one-”

“One more mint chocolate chip please,” Paige cuts in and both Azzi and Stephie look at her. 

“I thought you wanted cookies and cream Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks with a confused expression and Azzi barely manages to bite back her laugh. 

“I uh-,” Paige begins sheepishly, “I didn’t know they had mint chocolate chip. That’s my most favorite.”

Stephie is contemplatively quiet for a minute before a grin breaks out on her face, “Mama did you know Miss Buecks and I have the same favorite ice-cream flavor?”

“I had absolutely no idea,” Azzi says, winking at Paige as she pays for their ice cream. 

They opt to sit outside on one of the picnic benches overlooking the nearby park. Azzi is distinctly aware of how they might look to anyone walking by right now, like a family. Normally, ice cream Sundays are spent with Stephie rambling and Azzi listening but this time Stephie has someone who’s just as much of a chatterbox as she is. Paige hangs on to every word that comes out of the little girl’s mouth, answering questions and giving replies as if this is the most important conversation of her life. 

“Mama and I go to Stanford games all the time,” Stephie’s saying as Azzi tries to get out of her own head and zone into the conversation instead, “I’m gonna be a- what’s it called again Mama?”

“A Cardinal,” Azzi supplies helpfully. 

“I’m gonna be a Card-nal,” Stephie says and Paige gasps, turning to Azzi. 

“Oh my god you’ve raised a traitor,” she moans, shaking her head. 

Stephie scrunches her face, looking rather offended by that moniker, “I’m not a tray-tor.”

“Steph sweetheart look at me,” Paige says, her voice the epitome of seriousness as she holds the younger girl by her shoulders, “what are we?”

“Humans?” Stephie asks innocently and Azzi laughs.

“No Stephie we,” Paige uses her finger to point at her and Azzi, “we are Huskies. UConn Huskies. And what do we bleed?”

“Oh I know this one,” Stephie says excitedly, “we bleed blue.”

“So do you wanna be a boring old tree or do you wanna be a big, strong Husky who bleeds blue?”

“I wanna be a Husky,” Stephie cheers and Paige cheers along with her. Azzi rolls her eyes but it doesn't quite match the smile on her face. And then Stephie’s racing off to the swings, leaving Paige and Azzi alone for the first time in a long time. 

“Did you just manipulate my child into wanting to go to UConn?” she nudges Paige. 

“Of course not. I just made her understand what’s best for her and that’s UConn,” Paige nudges her back, “just like it was for you.”

“Yeah, it was,” Azzi says softly and they both know she means a lot more than just UConn.

“You um- you have a little bit of ice cream,” Paige points nervously to the edge of Azzi’s lip, hands reaching and then hesitating. And Azzi knows that she should at least attempt to wipe it off herself but she stays deathly still as Paige’s thumb finally makes its way to her face. It’s a featherlight touch that the blonde traces across her lips, their eyes transfixed on each other, neither of them breathing. And they’ve had far more intimate moments than this one but something about this, right here, feels apocalyptic. 

“I meant what I said before,” Paige whispers, “you’re still the most beautiful girl in the world.”

She gulps before starting to move away and Azzi feels a panic course through her blood as she hurriedly grabs the blonde’s hand. And she’s not supposed to do this; she should tell Paige not to say things like that but instead she’s  pulling the blonde closer, hand firmly clasped around her wrist. 

“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, like she wants to stop and start something at the same time. They’ve never really known self-control when it comes to each other. 

“I meant what I said to Stephie too,” Azzi whispers, “you’ve always been the prettiest.”

***

September 2029 

Wings 82 Valkyries 77

Paige almost falls to her knees as the buzzer sounds around the arena. The crowd is on their feet cheering as the Dallas Wings beat the Golden State Valkyries in a hard-fought semi-finals game 5 to advance to the WNBA finals. It takes a brief second and suddenly she has teammates circling all around her as they bask in their well-earned glory. 

“One more series to go. Wings in three,” Satou cheers and the whole team echoes after her. They’re not known to be the closest of teams but at this moment, they almost feel like family. 

Paige is exhausted as she’s ushered to do a sideline interview and she tries really hard to keep the irritation off her face when she realizes it’s Holly Rowe. The questions are generic and some are downright annoying, but Paige’s media training has always been stellar, and despite the fatigue rolling off her body, her answers are heartfelt and charismatic. The interview can’t be longer than three minutes but it feels like a lifetime before she’s finally walking away. Focused on the ground beneath her and trying not to cave into the exhaustion on her way to the media room, Paige doesn’t notice when she goes barrelling into a firm body. 

“Shit I’m so-” the words are stolen from her mouth as Tim Fudd turns around but it’s not him that attracts Paige’s attention. It’s the little girl cradled in his arms, a little girl who looks exactly like the fact that still haunts all of Paige’s memories. Tiny brown eyes stare up at her and Paige is mesmerized by this tiny creature who seems like she could captivate the whole world if she wanted to. 

“Congratulations Paige,” Tim says slowly and Paige tears her eyes away from the baby to look at the man who had once been the person who made it a mission to make her laugh whenever she was on the verge of crying, “I’m really proud of you kid.”

Paige’s eyes sting and she doesn’t know if she wants to run away or beg Tim to give her one of his patented bear hugs, “thank you. It really does mean a lot. She-,” her eyes flicker back down to the little tiny bean, “she’s beautiful.”

“Yeah she is,” pride shines in Tim’s voice, “you wanna hold her?”

“Oh no it’s ok-” Paige begins but before she can finish, there’s a baby being placed in her arms and everything around her seems to come to a standstill. 

“Her name’s Stephanie,” Tim says softly and Paige laughs because of course, of course Azzi would name her daughter Stephanie. 

“Hi Stephanie,” Paige coos, reaching out a finger to tickle the little girl, gasping when Stephanie's small chubby hands grasp it. And then the baby giggles, smiling at Paige as if she’s given her a gift and Paige swears she’s never loved a sound more in her life. 

“Can you hold her for a second while I go find Katie?” Tim asks and Paige shakes her head in panic but he’s already off before she can stop him. And then it’s just her and Stephanie, standing outside the media room. There’s people cluttering in and out of the rooms around her, the whole lobby is bustling with sounds but all Paige can focus on is the girl in her arms. 

“You’re so cute,” Paige whispers in a baby voice and Stephanie giggles, “yes you are, yes you are. I wanna steal you so bad.”

“I don’t think you can win a WNBA championship from jail,” a familiar voice says from behind her and Paige feels her stomach tying itself in knots as she turns to look at Azzi, “maybe try and kidnap my child after the finals?”

There’s a smile playing on Azzi’s lips but a storm brewing in her eyes and Paige knows that if she rests a heart against the darker-skinned girl, she’ll find it beating to the same hyper rhythm as Paige’s. 

“Congratulations Paige,” Azzi says softly as she takes another step towards her, “you guys deserved it.”

“Y’all made it hard as hell-I mean shit-no fuck,” Paige swears and the child in her arms giggles as a litany of curses fall from her mouth. 

Azzi bites her lip, raising her eyebrows in mock exasperation, “in front of my kid? Seriously Bueckers?”

Paige winces, ready to apologize until Stephanie begins to babble “B-buecks,” she giggles, clapping her hands, unaware of how the two adults in her vicinity both freeze, “Buecks. Buecks. Buecks.”

“Yeah sweetheart,” tears prickle against Paige’s waterline, “that’s me,” she looks up at Azzi whose own eyes are watery, “she said my name.”

“Yeah,” Azzi’s voice wobbles, “yeah she did. She’s- she’s a quick learner.”

“Just like her Mama,” Paige whispers, staring at Azzi and she wants to freeze them in this moment, like a still-motion picture she can hang up on her walls and keep with her forever. 

“Mama,” Stephanie burbles, eyes darting between the two women, “Mama. Buecks. Buecks. Mama.”

“You’re so smart Stephanie,” Paige whispers to the little girl, tickling her stomach. She looks up at Azzi with a smile only to find the brunette frowning at Paige’s hand. Confused Paige follows the line of sight until her own eyes catch onto the diamond that’s shining on her ring finger and she can feel her heart drop, “Az-”

“The media’s waiting for you Paige,” Azzi says, the lightness of a few seconds ago replaced with a hard edge. 

“Azzi,” Paige whispers again and she doesn’t know why her tone sounds pleading, doesn’t even know what she’d pleading for but she can feel something slip away from her again. 

“You probably want to go celebrate with your wife,” Azzi spits out the last word like it tastes bitter and sour at the same time, and it lands somewhere in between them, creating a wall that puts them on different sides. And Paige should let it go; she should pretend it’s just a normal sentence uttered without any malice, should pretend that she can no longer read the cadences of Azzi’s voice but instead of putting up a shield, she shoots an arrow. 

“You don’t get to say it like that,” Paige hisses. 

“I didn’t say it like any-”

“Yes you did and you don’t get to do that,” Paige presses, “not when you didn’t want to marry me.”

Azzi flinches. The words, soaked in mistakes of the past, hang like a dagger in between them, ready to sever the thin thread of cordiality that they have tried desperately to maintain. 

“You’re right,” Azzi says finally, her voice ice cold as she reaches for Stephanie, “I didn’t want to marry you,” the dagger twists, “so how about you give me my child back and go find the woman who did.”

[xxblairexxss]

Safe person

Pairing : Mason Mount x reader

Theme : Fluff

Word count : i’m not sure ;; (not proofread)

Another random idea I had in mind. I’m not really sure about this, might edit or delete it later but I tried a different setting, using 2nd person POV instead of 3rd person POV. Still learning! Anyway, have a great day ahead, loves!

You never ordered on your own whenever you walked into a restaurant, never corrected a waiter if she got your orders wrong. Not because you were being a bitch and thought that you were above everyone but because you were too scared to do so. It made you anxious. It might sounded stupid for some but your friend, Amanda had gotten used to it and taken over the role ever since you guys became friends when your were 8 years old,

and so was your boyfriend, Mason.

“Mase, can you…order for me? Pleaseee..” You lightly tucked on his sleeve and fiddled on it. It was during the earliest stage of your relationship that Mason picked up on your habit to start fiddling with anything you could grasp on whenever you guys were in line to order.

“Of course, princess. You want the usual?” He took your hand in his, intertwined it with his and left a peck on the back of it.

Ever since then, whenever they walked into a fast food joints, Mason would take your hand so you wouldn’t had a chance to start fiddling with your sleeves or his and you didn’t have to ask him to order for you anymore.

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

You never talked about useless topics though you loved to do so. But you were once called “boring” by one of your schoolmate because no one talked about that, we talked about boyfriends, crushes, dates while you wanted to talk about a podcast you listened yesterday or a random cafe vlog you came across on Youtube one night.

But Mason loved it, a lot actually. In fact, your jabber was one of the reasons he fell in love with you. He loved the way you have deep furrows in your brows and how serious you looked when you talked about Stephanie Soo’s latest podcast.

“Can you imagine?! She killed her because she thought it would be fun?! How is killing someone fun? Ugh, she’s so evil.” He copied your frown and nodded along. “Right, baby, she’s so evil. I agree.” You were so mad but your anger level went down when you turned your head and saw how cute Mason was, copying your actions. “Mase, I’m being serious. She didn’t deserve to die!” He then chuckled and cupped your cheek as you leaned into his touch. “I know, baby. No one deserves to die. She got caught and justice was served, wasn’t it?”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

Mason was away for Three Lions’ friendly match and you were on your way home when you walked past Five Guys and the smell of the bacon cheeseburger made your stomach grumbled.

It took you a minute to decide to just fuck it and ordered it yourself if it meant you could eat a hamburger whilst catching up to the latest Black Mirror’s episode, which sounded like the best plan to wind down your night but of course, you couldn’t get rid of your habit to fiddle with your sleeves when you made your order, and in this case, your coat’s sleeve.

“Mase, guess what?” You grinned with full of pride, as you had a flashback of what you did today and of course, you had to tell Mason during the late night video call. “What is it, baby? Did you spend 10 minutes petting another stray cat on your way home again?” You shaked your head, not because you were denying it as you did actually spent 10 minutes petting stray cats, there were two cats actually and they were in the same color but that wasn’t the correct answer to your question. “I ordered Five Guys on my own!” He widened his eyes is amusement and brought the phone closer to his face. “Really? Did Amanda accompany you?” “No, I was all alone! I know… it sounds silly because it’s the simplest thing ever and I shouldn’t feel proud because..” You started mumbling, your voices getting slower and slower as you started over-analysing your feelings and realised that you might ended up making a fool of your in front of him.

“Baby, hey, listen. It’s not silly. I’m proud and happy with what you did today, really. Though it makes me kinda sad because you might not need my help after this and you won’t play with my hoodie sleeves anymore.”

“No, silly. I still need you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, because you are my safe person.”

[dcbutlikenotcanon]

It’s mathematics

[transparenttriumphzombie]

I Am Woman By D. Cookie Fields as told to Michelle Burford from Essence Magazine November 2006 edition As a man he joined the Marines, married the love of his life and had two children. All the while he struggled with the sense that he was meant to live his life as a woman. One day he decided to make a change. As far back as I can remember, I had felt like a stranger in my own body. As an only child growing up among rambunctious boy cousins and friends in a working class Chicago suburb, I knew I wasn't quite 'right.' I think my mother suspected something, too. When I was 4 she found me coloring my fingernals with crayons. "Little boys don't do that," she whispered as put away the Crayolas and scrubbed my nails clean. Later I would borrow her skirts, earrings and shoes to play dress up. I often told her I that I felt different, not like other boys. "What do you mean," my mother would say. "You fit with our family." I know she had no idea how it felt to me-a girl trapped in a boy's body. Back then my parents could not have conceived that I would one day board a plane to Thailand as their son, D, and return as their daughter Cookie. By the time I reached adolescence, I regularly dressed up as a woman, though I knew enough then to hide it. If Mom discovered my stash of heels, dresses, bras and makeup hidden in the house, she admonish me by saying "You've got to stop this!" But neither she nor my father ever had a direct conversation with me about my cross-dressing. Maybe they thought it was a phase I'd outgrow. I never did. LOVE AND MARRIAGE I wasn't gay. I've never once been drawn to a man, nor have I ever had sex with a man. I am only attracted to women. At 17 I had intercourse for the first time. What I recall most was the feeling of intimacy-the kissing, the caressing, the closeness. The only part I didn't enjoy was the penetration. When I was still living in a man's body a girlfriend once told me, "Making love to you is like making love to a woman." And yet I did everything possible I could to seem as manly as possible. After graduating from high school in 1977, I joined the Marines and moved to South Carolina. Within months, I had worked my way up to the head of uniform inspections. I still felt a compulsion to cross-dress sometimes, but I'd sneak off the base to do it. Then in 1980, when I was 20, the military relocated me to Los Angeles. There for the first time I met other cross-dressers like me. And I met transsexuals-those who'd had sex-change surgery. Though we all fell under the acronym LGBT(lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender), I discovered that even in this group I was atypical, in that most male cross-dressers are attracted to other men. Still for the first time in my life I felt understood. It was such a relief to know I wasn't alone. In Los Angeles I also met the woman I would marry. I saw her sitting with her sisters at a military social and asked her to dance. She turned me down, but her sisters, both military wives, urged her to give me a chance. I must have seemed perfectly respectable with my short Marine Corps fade. We exchanged phone numbers, and soon I was seeing this woman with the unforgettable smile every weekend. Eventually moved in together on the military base. That's when she found my women's clothing. "Whose are these?" she asked me. Nervously I told her the truth-that I liked to dress up as a woman. The obvious questions followed: "What do you get out of it?" "Are you gay?" I tried to reassure her that I simply felt most comfortable when I cross-dressed, and that I'd never had sex with a man or been unfaithful to our relationship. She was confused and disturbed by my desire, but our relationship was so good in every other way that she stayed, and in 1982 we got married. We had a son soon after, and two years later a daughter. I would sneak off to Hollywood at least one weekend each month dressed as a woman. In the first few years of our marriage, my wife stumbled across more and more of my women's clothes, and with each discovery, the strife between us intensified. "Just don't bring your life into our house," she'd tell me. I began keeping my wigs, heels, purses, earrings, nail polish and lipstick in the garage. I understood why she and almost every other person in the world would never get it, but I felt so compelled to cross-dress that I couldn't give it up. The most I could do was promise my wife that I wasn't sleeping around. Even with my secret hovering over us, we enjoyed a fulfilling sex life. So we each did what we had learned how to do: live in the space of denial. DON'T ASK, DON'T TELL Then came the night that my 11-year old daughter saw me dressed up as a woman. I'd come home late to find the garage door locked, so I'd gone to another door. When I passed my daughter's bedroom, she woke just in time to glimpse her father in a skirt, wig and red lipstick. The next day she said, "You we're dressed as a woman last night." She didn't seem upset, but I insisted she was mistaken. I felt so guilty about lying to my child, but I was convinced she would find my behavior confusing. I told myself I was protecting her. In the months that followed, I escaped to Hollywood with increasing frequency. Somehow I felt more myself with my transgender friends than I did anywhere else. One Sunday, sitting in church with my family, listening to the minister preach about living an authentic life, I felt as if my heart would shatter from the pain of living such a lie. I knew then that I would never be happy as a man. That was the day I began to think about becoming a woman. Though I still loved my my wife deeply, our marriage, undermined for so many years by my secret excursions, finally collapsed under the weight of them. I'll never forget the night we told our children we were separating. "Does this have anything to do with that night I saw you dressed up?" my daughter, then 12, asked me. I confessed that it did. My son, who was 14, looked at me in stunned silence. I can only imagine how difficult it must have been for him to grasp that I didn't want to be a man. Even now, though we have a pleasant relationship, he won't discuss it. I wish I knew how to explain it to him. By the time we got divorced, I had started taking hormones (progesterone and estrogen pills) to grow breasts. The hormones also made my voice higher, and I underwent electrolysis to remove my facial hair. After four months, my C-cup breasts were definitely noticeable. Since I was still in the military, I wore a sports bra to flatten my chest and used a stall when forced to change clothes at the base. But the strain of hiding was getting to me, so after 15 years of active service, I joined the reserves and applied for a job as a police officer with the LAPD. During my required physical I had to take off my shirt for an EKG. The technician was shocked to see my full breasts! But after an awkward moment she never said a word. I still don't know why she never told my supervisor. After that, I wore bulletproof vests on duty, so my secret remained safe. MY NEW BODY I decided to go ahead with a sex change in 2001. I told my wife ex-wife and my children first. At the time my son was 19 and living with his mother, and my daughter was 17 and living with me. Maybe because she'd seen me all those years ago, she supported my choice to have a sex change. My ex-wife and son were a little more distant, but they, too, promised to be there for me. Next I wrote a letter to my parents explaining what I'm sure they had expected: I was living as a woman everywhere, except at work. After my marriage ended, all my relationships had been with lesbian or bisexual women. I was so exhausted with my double life. I wanted to align my exterior with who I'd always been inside. The news must have roked my parents to the core, but when I telephoned them later, my mother simply said "I always knew," while my father was characteristically silent. I didn't expect either of them to understand or accept my choice. I'm just grateful that they heard me. I know there are many who would call my lifestyle a moral abomination. But at my church, Unity Fellowship, I've been taught that we're each here for a unique purpose. God could have created me as a woman, but for some reason didn't. That's why I'm so sure I was put on Earth to take this journey. It's not as if I heard God speak through parted clouds, but in my heart I just knew a sex change was the right path for me. My surgery lasted five hours and cost $5,000. I chose to have it done in Bangkok, Thailand, because one of the pioneers of transgender surgery operates there, and his price is half of what I thought I would pay in the United States. My friend Stephanie came with me. Together we boarded a plane and landed halfway around the world so that I could become a woman. If this isn't the journey you want me to take, I whispered to God during the 26-hour flight, then please just let me die on the operating table. The doctor explained the procedure. They would remove my testicles, scrotum and half my penis using a laser, then invert the remaining skin to create a vaginal cavity. I signed the waiver and checked into the hospital early the next day. Five hours later, I awakened on a gurney with a row of bandages across my pelvic area and no pain. I stayed in the hospital a week, marveling at the possibilities of my new life. The afternoon I was released, Stephanie and I went shopping. I know it's hard to believe, but the only soreness I experienced was when the doctor pulled off the bandages. What I saw in the mirror amazed me, a vagina so perfect it looked like I'd been born with it. I've since retired from the LAPD and now work as a security guard. I date women exclusively, and I alwys tell them about my surgery. Sensation has returned to the tissue used to create my vagina, and sex with my new body is exponentially more satisfying. I feel blessed because I have the most any transsexual can hope for: a family that stands by me. When people see me in my uniform now, I let them refer to me as whatever gender they believe I am. Most suspect that I used to be a man, but how they see me doesn't really matter. What matters is that at last I am a woman at home in her body. D. Cookie Fields lives in Los Angeles. She told her story to Michelle Burford, a writer who lives in New York

[alsohoney]

I’m not personally a huge fan of the American edition Harry Potter art by Mary GrandPré, although I’ll happily agree to its iconic-ness. Iconicism? Anyway, I’m willing to appreciate it, even if I don’t like it, because as far as book covers go, things could be a lot worse.

Yup, that’s what we’re talking about today. Book covers. I’ve been wanting to do a post on this for a while, because I love nothing more than a good book cover, and nothing more than that than the whackiest, wildest, most unnecessarily upsetting book cover you’ve ever seen.

Book covers sometimes ride the trends of the genre as much as their content does, and sometimes way more. Part of this is intentional, because it is a Good Thing to be able to tell Manga from Adult Fiction in a single glance. Part of it is also just, because, if you’re already taking a gamble on a $15 book, why not also ensure it’ll look good on your bookshelf, since that’s where it will spend most of its time. Part of it is because it’s just simpler. “Hey, that book hit the bestseller list? Yeah, make this one look like that.”

Sometimes that’s just a downright bad way of going about things, and sometimes it’s a genuinely racist way of going about them. We’ll get to that – first let’s just have some fun.

These two are from one of the first science fiction/fantasy series I ever picked up, and hoo boy does it have some interesting covers. The first image is the original hardback of Wild Magic (1992) by Tamora Pierce, the first in the The Immortals quartet. The second is the original UK edition of Emperor Mage, the third in the series, published 1994. The flying metal human bird is called a Stormwing, by the way. And yes, she’s riding a wooly mammoth (it’s a zombie, too). Love the pretty little potted plants and the purple backdrop. Also love the quote: “She reached deep inside herself … ”

For some reason the publisher thought these glories needed modernising.

AAHHHH NO WHo thought this was a good idea? Aping the style of a paranormal romance novel? Don’t do that, please.

I should explain, the one on the left, also by Tamora Pierce, is The Woman Who Rides Like a Man (1986, this cover 2011), from the Song of the Lioness quartet. I’ll admit, I haven’t read it in a while because it was never my favourite, but although there are two men in love with Alanna, that is not the point of the book at all. Every other version of this cover, and the other three in the series feature Alanna alone, as she should be, because it’s not a paranormal romance novel. On the other side, The Host (2008) is by Stephanie Meyer, the author of the infamous Twilight series. Although, from my not-very-extensive research, it does seem that one of the men (staring at her soulfully) in the background might be the girl’s brother. We can take bets as to which one of the handsome dirty-blond white boys he is (and no, I can’t tell who’s who on the Alanna cover either).

Okay, but as weird as those covers are, they’re not, like, that bad, are they? They’re just awkward and not something I would necessarily give to a young adult. On the other hand, there are some book covers that are really bad, and not just because of the design.

I think we can all see where Octavia Butler’s Dawn (1987, left) went wrong. The 1997 version is just the more accurate depiction of the main character.

This article on The Book Smugglers does a really good job of explaining the whitewashing problem in book covers, and I don’t want to repeat too much of what they said, but I do want to talk about Ursula K. Le Guin, the author of the Earthsea series. She has been dealing with this for a really long time, including when the Sci Fi Channel made a miniseries based on her books, and promptly cast almost all white actors. She actually wrote an article for Slate about it, entitled “A Whitewashed Earthsea: How the Sci Fi Channel Wrecked My Books.” Worth a read.

Let’s have a look at what Le Guin’s books actually look like.

This is the first edition, all the way from 1968, illustrated by Ruth Robbins. The description of Ged’s red-brown skin has obviously been noted. Then we get:

The first is from 1989, the second is a particularly weird UK edition from 1973. The fact that they’re both black and white is not an excuse for drawing an obviously white person there. And then there is this:

This one is the Icelandic edition from 1977 … and while they did get the red-brown skin …  and the whole abstract look is interesting … I’m really struggling here to find a way to describe this other than “truly disturbing.”

The SFF genre is not the only genre to have bad book covers, or even book covers that are less bad and more funny. It just seems to have most of them. I’m not as familiar with the other genres (apart from history, cough anything medieval cough) but I have seen some truly beautiful covers in the past few years.

A Distant Mirror, by Barbara Tuchman. This might be the audiobook, but no matter, a fight with the grim reaper shall never be silenced.

The Essex Serpent, by Sarah Perry, won several awards last year, which meant this beauty was displayed in literally every bookstore window for months.

I’m a huge fan of the current flowery trend in book covers! The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter, by Theodora Goss, is one of the prettiest I’ve seen. Very Rifle Paper Co.. And Hurricane Child, by Kheryn Callender, is not only gorgeous but managed to depict its main character properly as well!

If we talk about pretty book covers, we obviously have to talk about cookbooks, because if the cover of your cookbook doesn’t make us drool, you’re doing it wrong. The Arab Table, by May S Bsisu, has been making me drool for years.

I came across this book in the bookstore the other day, and I have to say not only is this one of the cutest book covers I’ve seen in a long time, the story within is cute and funny too. Yeah, I sat down in the bookstore and read it. I like dragons, okay? And Dragons Love Tacos (Adam Rubin).

I think that’s probably enough book covers for now – oh, wait, I am legally obligated to leave you with the Animorphs series, by K. A. Applegate.

Apparently they were actually good books.

The weirdest and whackiest of book covers. I'm not personally a huge fan of the American edition Harry Potter art by Mary GrandPré, although I'll happily agree to its iconic-ness.