#three things this show is not! and that's excellent <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[colouredbyd]

Bird-napped!

poly!marauders x fem!reader

synopsis: a peaceful afternoon takes a chaotic turn when the marauders mistake an eagle’s prey for flicker, sending them into full-blown panic.

warnings: starts of with the marauders pov then shifts to r’s. crack, fluff, eagle scare, suggestive comments, playful tackles, shifting, animal-related confusion, no actual danger. written at 2 am and not proofread :D

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: this was a little messy, but i still wanted to share it <3

part of my mini blurb series flicker's adventures

masterlist

The afternoon sun filtered softly through the canopy, casting dappled light on the ground.

James and Remus had agreed to meet in an old copse of trees, just a short walk from the Black Lake — far enough from the crowded castle corridors to steal a moment of peace

They spotted Padfoot already there, stretched out like a lazy shadow beneath a great oak, his tail flicking now and then in a restless dance, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

James crouched beside Sirius, his hand moving gently to ruffle the dark fur along his neck, drawing a low, contented rumble from Padfoot.

Remus, ever cautious, glanced around before he muttered, “Careful, Sirius. Someone might catch you shifting.” Sirius just smirked lazily, indifferent, curling his head on James’s lap and immediately launching into his usual chatter.

“Where do you think Dovey’s got to this time?” James asked, fingers still running through Sirius’s untamed hair.

“Probably tangled up in some ridiculous flower crown thing with that Slytherin Pandora.”

Remus smiled, eyes softening as he looked up from his book. “I swear, she’s lways got her nose in the strangest things. I don’t know how she puts up with Pandora dragging her into those wild plans.”

Sirius’s eyes gleamed with amusement even as he rested more heavily against James’s leg.

“Wild thing, through and through,” Sirius murmured, arms tucked behind his head as he lounged lazily in the grass.

James didn’t even look up as he tossed a twig into the air. “Speaking of wild — remind me why we agreed to play Slytherin with half the team down? I swear, if I get hit by one more poorly-aimed Bludger—”

“You’d deserve it,” Remus said mildly, flipping a page in his book. “Maybe if you actually followed the practice schedule.”

James scoffed. “I follow it religiously.”

“You show up late, eat half a pie on the pitch, and leave early.”

“And yet, I’m still the best on the team.”

Sirius shifted his weight with the grace of a sleepy cat, adjusting his head on James’s lap mid-sentence.

“Oi—Sirius—don't—” James’s words cut off into a strangled sound that landed somewhere between a yelp and a dying goose.

He jerked backwards, hands flailing. “Merlin's saggy balls, you absolute wanker!”

Remus looked up from his book, blinking. “What—?”

Sirius, perfectly unbothered, blinked up at James with mischievous eyes, head still resting in place. “What?” he asked innocently, lips twitching.

“That your... weak spot, Prongs?”

James shoved at his shoulder. “You pressed your thick skull right onto my dick, you arse. I think I just saw heaven for all the wrong reasons.”

Remus snorted, unbothered.

“I’m gonna have to hex you,” James grumbled, rubbing his temples dramatically. “Remind me why we’re dating him again?”

“Because I’m devastatingly handsome and keep your bed warm,” Sirius offered, rolling onto his back like a smug cat.

“Plus, I’m excellent at giving you the best dic—wait.”

His voice stopped. His head tilted back, eyes narrowing at the sky above.

“Wait, what the hell is that?”

James followed his gaze, frowning. “Looks like… an eagle?”

James blinked. “Wait. That’s… it’s orange.”

Sirius’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “It’s fluffy.”

Remus’s book fell to the ground with a dull thud. “That’s Flicker!”

Silence slammed between them for one breathless second.

And then all hell broke loose.

“Oh my god, it’s Flicker!” James leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Sirius over.

All three exploded into motion, limbs flying as they tore off the ground.

“What the fuck do we do?” Sirius was already pacing in frantic circles, hands tangled in his hair, breath shallow with panic.

“Do we fly? Do we—oh Merlin, if she gets dropped—”

“She’s gonna die,” James cried, arms flailing as his voice pitched higher, ragged with fear.

“She’s gonna die, I swear I’m gonna throw myself into the lake—”

Remus shoved both of them. “Shift. We shift and we run. We follow the bird and get her.”

That snapped them out of it.

Sirius nodded so fast his hair nearly whipped him in the eye.

Without another word, he dropped to the ground and transformed, a large black dog materializing where the boy had stood. James followed, antlers bursting outward as he landed as Prongs, hooves already kicking up earth.

Remus, still in human form, pointed with one shaking hand toward the direction the eagle was drifting, slowly curving into the trees.

“Go! Go that way—north ridge—she’s still moving!”

Prongs snorted and took off at a gallop, Padfoot close on his heels, weaving through the underbrush like a shadow given legs.

Remus grabbed his wand and sprinted behind them, heart pounding in his chest, a single thought looping in his head:

Meanwhile, not so very far away—though in that moment, it might as well have been a world apart—you were crouched in a patch of sunlight dappled through the forest canopy, fingers dusty with soil and glittering with flecks of quartz.

Pandora was kneeling beside you, delicately unearthing a piece of rose-colored crystal from the mossy earth and cradling it as though it held the secrets of the universe.

“This one’s called rhodonite,” she murmured with reverence, turning it so the pink surface caught the light.

“It’s for healing old wounds. Emotional ones. You’re supposed to keep it near your heart.”

You smiled, tucking a newly-plucked daisy into the growing crown in your lap.

The basket between you was overflowing with flowers—wild hyacinths, dahlias, foxglove—and a pouch of odd little gemstones Pandora had eagerly insisted you help her gather.

“I think you need this one,” she added, handing you a small smoky quartz. “For grounding. You’re always too far up in the clouds, even if you don’t know it.”

You took it with a soft chuckle. “I think you just like giving me rocks.”

She shrugged dreamily, pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Well, the rocks like you back.”

And just as you were about to laugh again, it happened.

A low rustling through the trees. Then a sharp thud. And another.

You both froze.

Pandora tilted her head. “Do you hear—?”

The barking came next, loud and frantic, too close for comfort. Your body tensed instantly.

Your breath caught.

“Padfoot?” you whispered, rising to your feet, eyes scanning the edges of the grove.

Another bark. Then heavy hoofbeats—closer, louder, thundering through the underbrush like a storm rolling in too fast to run from.

“Something’s wrong,” you said, voice barely above a breath as the air shifted.

You could see them now, just through a break in the trees: three silhouettes tearing through the underbrush like men possessed, chasing something overhead with a kind of reckless desperation that only one group of idiots you loved would display so dramatically.

You blinked up at the sky.

And there it was — a massive eagle soaring across the canopy, wings slicing the air like knives, talons gripping what looked suspiciously like a very round, very red squirrel.

You slowed only slightly as the realization settled in, breath hitching as you caught sight of the chaos unfolding in the distance. With a sharp inhale, you turned to Pandora, who blinked at you in confusion, clutching a half-finished flower crown.

“I’ll explain later, I swear,” you said hurriedly, thrusting the basket of flowers and crystals into her arms. “Hold onto this for me”

Her brows furrowed. “What—”

“Sorry!” you called over your shoulder, already bolting into a sprint.

“These bloody idiots,” you muttered as the wind caught in your hair, trees flying past you while you ran headfirst into whatever ridiculous mess they’d gotten themselves into now.

By the time you reached the clearing where the boys had half-collided with one another, Remus was the first to see you.

He froze like he’d been struck by lightning, eyes wide, chest heaving. “Wait— Stop! Stop!”

James, mid-gallop, skidded to a halt, antlers jerking. Padfoot, barking wildly, nearly faceplanted in the ferns before spinning and looking over his shoulder.

They turned.

And there you were, flushed and panting and very much not airborne in the talons of a ravenous bird of prey.

“Y/n?” Remus breathed, already half-running toward you.

You blinked as he reached you in three long strides, hands cupping your face like he couldn’t believe you were real, like if he let go you’d vanish into mist.

His eyes scanned every inch of you — for feathers, for bruises, for any sign that you’d been halfway to becoming bird food.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice thick. “Oh, thank Merlin. You’re okay.”

You huffed a laugh, confused and breathless. “Remmy, I went to pick flowers, not to get abducted by wildlife.”

Before he could respond, Padfoot and Prongs came barreling toward you.

In a whirl of limbs and fur, they shifted — fur rippling into skin, hooves becoming boots, antlers shrinking back into James’s curls as Sirius practically tackled you.

“Do you have any idea,” Sirius gasped, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently, “how bloody traumatizing it is to think your tiny girlfriend just got airlifted by a murder pigeon?”

“It looked just like you!” James added, chest heaving.

“All poofy and red and — and we couldn’t see properly from down there and—”

“You thought a bird kidnapped me?” you asked, blinking.

“It wasn’t just a bird,” Sirius said gravely, eyes wide. “It was an eagle. Like a huge eagle. We thought you were doing your little Flicker thing and got snatched.”

You blinked, then laughter bubbled up from deep inside, breaking free in a breathless, genuine laugh, the kind that made your whole body shake and left your cheeks aching, the kind you only ever had with them.

“You thought I got bird-napped?”

James looked mildly betrayed. “Don’t mock us. You’re the size of a housecat, love. I saw the thing — it was flying off with something that looked exactly like you.”

“I was with Pandora!” you laughed, trying to catch your breath.

“We were making flower crowns. And collecting crystals. Like normal girls.”

“Nothing about you is normal,” Sirius muttered, still holding onto your arms like you might vanish again. “I thought I was gonna have to wrestle an eagle.”

“I would’ve wrestled an eagle,” James added helpfully, one hand pressed dramatically over his heart. “For you. I was ready to duel with talons.”

Remus was quieter, still looking you over, but the relief in his eyes was unmistakable. “You scared us.”

Your smile softened. “You lot scared me more. I thought something had happened. Then I see the three of you charging through the woods like a pack of wild dogs—”

“One wild dog,” Sirius cut in, smirking.

The forest around you settled again. The eagle was long gone, probably off to find a real squirrel, and the boys slowly stopped vibrating with adrenaline.

You shook your head, still grinning. “You three are ridiculous.”

“And yet,” Sirius said, flinging an arm around your shoulders, “you love us.”

You leaned into him anyway, cheeks warm. “Unfortunately.”

Remus exhaled, finally letting himself smile. James reached out and tucked a stray leaf out of your hair.

The air felt lighter now, sun filtering down in golden dappled patches through the leaves, your basket of half-finished flower crowns still somewhere in the moss behind you.

“Well,” James said, looking between the three of you, “anyone else feel like we need a nap after all that emotional trauma?”

By the time you all made it back to the tree, the sun had shifted lower in the sky, stretching long shadows across the mossy ground, golden light spilling like honey through the branches.

The walk was slow and easy, filled with soft laughter that bubbled up between you like warm sunshine. Remus still hadn’t let go of your hand, and neither of you minded the world fading away around you.

"You had me so worried," he said again as you reached the clearing, and this time he sounded more exasperated than panicked, like the weight of the fear was finally settling.

His fingers curled more firmly around yours. "Do you have any idea how fast I aged in those fifteen minutes? I might have a gray hair now. D’you want to check?"

You grinned at him, nudging his ribs. "You would look very distinguished with a few grays, actually. Very professor-chic."

"Don't encourage him," James chimed in, dropping to the ground dramatically and patting the grass beside him like he was summoning a beloved pet. "You give Moony ideas and next thing you know he’s doing lecture voices."

Remus rolled his eyes, looking entirely unbothered, and turned back to you. "Still. You scared me, dovey. Don’t run off into the woods without telling someone, or at least leave a note.”

"I was gone for thirty minutes ," you said through a giggle, but kissed his cheek anyway. "Sorry, Moony."

"That’s too long," Sirius muttered as he threw himself down beside James with a groan, already halfway into transforming.

With a flash of fur, Padfoot was trotting in circles around you, tail wagging, tongue lolling out like he hadn't just been sprinting through the forest like a man possessed.

You reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he gave a pleased little huff before flopping dramatically across your lap.

"God, you’re heavy," you said, and Padfoot thumped his tail lazily against your leg.

"Oh my God," you laughed, and then with a quiet whoosh of energy, you shifted into Flicker.

Your fur brushed over Padfoot’s chest and he let out an excited bark, rolling onto his side so your tails could swish together in lazy arcs.

James leaned back against the tree with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Look at them,” he said to Remus, “absolute menaces, both of them.”

Remus, still standing, shook his head and pulled a book out of the bag he’d brought with him. “You say that like you aren’t the biggest menace in this group.”

“I am very charming, actually,” James said, inching closer as Remus settled beside him, “and incredibly reasonable.”

“You screamed because Sirius accidentally headbutted your—”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

“—your most prized possession.”

Flicker snorted audibly and Padfoot whined in agreement.

James pouted. “I’ll have you know it was a traumatic experience.”

Padfoot and Flicker had by now rolled closer to them, bumping up against James’s boots and Remus’s knee.

Padfoot flopped dramatically across James’s lap, tail smacking the book. Flicker curled around Remus’s foot, a little puff of auburn fur resting gently against his ankle.

Remus looked down and smiled softly, reaching down to brush a knuckle against Flicker’s ears. “You’re lucky we love you,” he murmured, low and warm.

[blatantprinterpropaganda]

i love television <3

[booasaur]

Something really amazing happened in France, and I think it'd help us in the US to learn about it. Forgive the long read, but I think this is genuinely great both because of what happened and how.

So as some of you might have seen, in a decision historians will debate for years (mostly to figure out just WTF he was thinking, even though he is alive right now and can be asked), the French president, Emmanuel Macron, currently in power and THREE YEARS before the scheduled election, seeing the far right rise in popularity decided to dissolve the assembly and hold snap elections.

577 seats were up for grabs. Remember that number. Since half of that is 288.5, 289 seats are needed for a majority.

The first round happened last week and boy, was it bad. The far right made HUGE gains. It won or was in first place in so many races. And Macron's party ended up third!

Overall, this is how things ended up after the first round:

Far right bloc: 33%

Left bloc: 28%

Macron's centrist party: 20%

Conservatives: 7%

The way the French system works is that if a candidate gets over 50% of the vote, they win outright, and some of the far right did manage that. But, many races went to a runoff.

Immediate projections after were that the far right bloc might win anywhere from 240 to 310 seats, a catastrophe.

A shameful swing to the far right leading to the first time they'll be in power since the 1940s? Yes, but maybe not??

This is where things get interesting.

Unusually, a lot of these runoffs are 3-way, instead of a simpler 2-way choice. And in pretty much every case, that helps the far right.

So on June 30th, the night of the first round, this is how things went down:

Immediately, the left parties put out the call: anywhere they were third, they withdrew and their voters would go over to whoever was running against the far right candidate. Their goal: form a "republican front" to block the far right. The far right cannot get 289 seats.

Macron's bloc was not so...motivated. Different people put out different instructions: in some places, if they were third, they should drop out, but only to help the center left, not far left, in other places, see how far you are, only then drop out, that kind of thing.

The conservative party simply said they won't drop out and won't give their voters instruction either way in races they're not involved in.

Late night developments:

More people in Macron's party are now beginning to realize the situation and starting to coalesce around whichever candidate can beat the far right one. Prime Minister Gabriel Attal, from Macron's party, says clearly the priority is to block the far right. BUT, some Macron spokespeople on TV say they'll form a coalition only with the center left and conservatives, splitting the left bloc if needed. Some individual Macronists still saying they won't drop out, even if there's no hope of winning.

Lol.

So, now July 1st:

Only half so far. In one race, where the sister of Marine Le Pen (the far right leader and the face of their movement) was leading, the third place Macronist refused to bow out.

Excellent quote from another Macronist:

Perhaps realizing the same thing, that Macronist in the race against the Le Pen sister now drops out.

In some places, third place Macronists are dropping out DESPITE Macron bewilderingly telling them NOT to?

Halfway through the day:

Of the 311 3-way or 4-way runoffs, the number is down to 135 because of these candidates dropping out: 121 Left, 56 Macronists, 1 conservative.

Oh, there was this, in case people had any doubts about how terrible the far right are:

And to show the selflessness of the left:

July 2:

The deadline to decide if they want to stay in a runoff is today.

A dozen new third place Macronists who said they'd stay in have now dropped out. One got a call from both the PM Attal AND Macron to drop out, signalling the dawning understanding of the importance of this moment.

Even some conservative party members are now backing the left candidate who faces the far right.

A Macronist who had 30.55% of the vote in the first round and came in third to the far right's 33.11% and left's 32.73% and who would have been tempted to stay has dropped out.

The deadline to stay in or not has now passed.

Look at these far right shenanigans!

Macron still being a freaking loser:

July 3rd:

In the end, of the 311 3- or 4-way run offs, only 91 left. Some polls come out that have the far right getting between 190 to 220 seats.

July 4th:

New polls say the balance of the voting itself isn't transferring between the left and center and predictions have risen for the far right, now predicted to get between 210 and 250 seats.

July 5th:

New polls again, left voters now predicted to do better transferring vote to the centrists, decreasing the far right projections again.

However, scandalous reporting emerges: while Attal was trying to fend off the far right, Macron was not only NOT taking the far right seriously, he was undermining efforts to defeat them. His team shrugged off the first round results and celebrated a BIRTHDAY as the results were still coming in?

July 6th:

A few runoffs happened yesterday, nothing much unexpected, some left and center wins.

July 7th:

The day of reckoning. At this point, the expectations are that the far right won't come close to that 289 number but could still easily have the most seats.

GUYS.

It's over and the left are in the lead!

A LOT of cases where a leftist or centrist was 2nd in the first round and now won.

Amazing:

SO many lessons to take from this.

First, you have to vote! You have to. You can't do anything without voting. The freaking French, who'll protest for anything, are showing up to vote. If you're trying to achieve any kind of result and it's not going to happen by January 2025, you have to vote now.

But just as importantly, the left and center (and even conservative) parties made very key decisions. They were all lucky that Attal, who Macron chose, saw the big picture, bigger than indeed Macron could. A stupid selfish centrist leader could have still ruined everything if it were up to him.

TL;DR: After a disastrous first round in the national French elections where the far right was on the cusp of taking power, the left and center formed a strong coalition and through the power of voting and unity, overcame the far right AND their selfish centrist president to win.

[kingkaisen]

ALONE || SATORU G.

♡ — SUMMARY: Yuji goes to Satoru for relationship advice, not knowing that the only love his teacher has ever known has been lost forever.

♡ — CONTENT: angst, mentions of reader’s death/dying during childbirth.

♡ — WC: 1.1k

“Are you busy?”

Yuji’s worrisome voice caught Satoru’s attention. The white-haired man, who sat on an outdoor bench, lost in thought, curiously looked up at the teenager standing in front of him.

“Hm?” Satoru paused. “Nope, I’m not busy at all. Something wrong?”

When Yuji didn’t answer immediately — his brown eyes glaring at the concrete ground as a telltale sign that something was bothering him — Satoru nodded at the empty spot on the bench, inviting him to sit.

Without hesitation, Yuji sat down and slumped over.

“I’m having girl problems.”

“Oh?” Satoru raised his eyebrows. “Do you need pads or-”

“Hey! Not like that,” with a frown, Yuji buried his face in his hands, the tips of his ears turning red from utter embarrassment.

Coming to his teacher for advice in general was humiliating enough for him, but he couldn’t imagine that anyone else would have been able to help him out.

Satoru was one of the very few people he knew who seemed to think about life outside of being a jujutsu sorcerer and could potentially offer him some advice.

“There’s a girl I’m interested in. I really like her, ya know? But I’m not sure how I should ask her out. I wanted to go see Human Earthworm 3 with her, but Nobara said that most girls aren’t into stuff like that. But if I ask her to see a chick flick, then what if she gets mad at me for assuming she’d wanna see that stuff because she’s a girl? But if I ask her to pick a movie, then it might seem like I’m putting pressure on her to make all the important decisions because I don’t care enough or something. What should I do?”

Satoru smiled softly. Looking at his dear student was like looking at his own reflection. Years ago, he too was a teenager, frustrated and flustered over a girl.

“Well, there are a bunch of movies that aren’t chick flicks or creepy films that you could take her to see. You could suggest three films and have her pick one. That way, it shows that you care, but you don’t make the mistake of assuming what she’d like. Also, I’d recommend going to dinner after the movie instead of before, that way you both have something to talk about.”

Yuji glanced up at his blindfolded teacher and blinked, taking in the valuable advice.

“Right! Good idea!” Breaking out into a smile, Yuji said, “I knew I made the right decision by asking you!”

“You sure did. I’m an expert, you know.”

Yuji laughed softly. Suddenly, the upturned corners of his mouth slowly fell into a frown, and his eyebrows furrowed as a thought crossed his mind.

“Hey,” Yuji turned his head to face Satoru, his eyes squinting from the afternoon sunlight. “You’re not really an expert, are you? I’ve never seen you with anyone before. Are you in a secret relationship or something? What goin’ on?”

A gentle, sad smile graced Satoru’s face, his voice soft and tender as he spoke. “Nope, I’m all alone.”

“Oh.” Yuji dropped his gaze to his red shoes. “Wait a minute, what about that one lady you went to go see?”

“What lady?”

“Uh . . .” Scratching his cheek awkwardly, the teenager mumbled, “I kinda overheard you telling Nanamin that you were gonna buy flowers on your way to see . . . uh . . . I think her name was Y/N. That was about a week ago. What about her?”

Typically, Satoru wasn’t the sort of person to find himself at a loss for words. But, right now, his mind, body, and soul seemed to have disconnected, caused by a broken spirit.

He was quiet only for a moment, but it was long enough for Yuji to innocently look up at him with great concern.

A lump formed in Satoru’s throat, but he spoke anyway.

If there was one thing he excelled at, it was being able to function through his pain. He had years of experience with that sort of thing.

“You misunderstood. That’s what you get for eavesdropping,” Satoru suddenly removed his blindfold, ignoring the ache in his head when he did so. He brought the soft black fabric to his lips, and gently kissed it. You had given it to him. “Y/N was someone I was in love with. I met her when I was around your age. She died five years ago, and I was getting flowers before heading to her grave.”

“Oh man, that sucks. I’m really sorry,” A flash of guilt washed over Yuji’s innocent face. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s fine,” Satoru interrupted, locking eyes with his student. “It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

The soft buzz of insects bouncing around in the nearby grass filled the silence as the sky darkened, the sun kissing the world goodbye. Satoru’s eyes flickered down to Yuji’s fidgeting hands, his fingers toying with the sleeve of his hoodie as he stared at the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru questioned. He knew his student all too well and could tell that the younger boy was biting his tongue, quite both figuratively and literally.

“I was just wondering . . . how did she die? If that’s an okay thing to ask. You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna. But I won’t lie, I’m curious, ya know?”

Satoru hummed, thinking about how death was a peculiar topic that the kind sorcerer was wholesomely interested in.

“Childbirth.”

“What?” Yuji’s spikey strands of hair shifted as he whipped his head in Satoru’s direction, eyes widening. “Seriously? That’s . . . I thought . . .”

“You thought she might have died in battle?” Satoru placed his blindfold back on, not to ease his aching eyes, but so Yuji wouldn’t see the tears starting to brim in his reddened waterline. “Sometimes we forget that sorcerers can die in other situations as well, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Yuji didn’t know if it was okay to ask another question or not. Satoru spoke with misery coating his words. But curiosity was a thirst that couldn’t be easily quenched. “What was she like?”

A heartbroken smile graced Satoru’s face.

“Well, she was shyer than most. Kind. A good person. It was pretty funny, because she could kill curses and take down enemies, but she was always too nervous to ask for oat milk instead of whole milk in her lattes whenever we’d go to a local coffee shop. And she was lactose intolerant too, but still wouldn’t ask. She was a hugger, but really only towards me. Couldn’t stand pollen. Loved watching TV and reading short romance stories about fictional characters. She was so . . . I loved her more than I can express with words.” Satoru had to clear his throat. “I wish I could say she died peacefully, but she looked scared. Died right in front of me . . . trying to deliver my kid.”

Satoru thought about your teary, bloodshot eyes, shining with fear as you held on to him while lying helplessly in a hospital bed.

He was stroking your hair, telling you that everything would be okay when the light left your gaze, and suddenly, you were nothing more than a corpse.

Yuji was silent, but Satoru knew what his next question would have been: did the child survive?

“My kid didn’t make it either.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuji mumbled. “I wish I could fix it. I wish there was something I could do. But . . . I hope you find love again someday.”

“I don’t.” As Satoru spoke, a single tear fell. “If it’s not with her, I don’t want it. I’d rather be alone.”

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @insomniacbehaviour @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @preciousamethyst @irisveinn @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace

[inkskinned]

i think a lot about exactly 1 thing from the roman empire: the concept of bread and circus. the idea was that if your population was fed and entertained, they wouldn't revolt. you are asking us to give up our one small life, is the thing - for under 15 dollars an hour.

what would that buy, even. i am trading weekends and late nights and my back health. i am trading slow mornings and long walks and cortisol levels. i am trading sleep and silence and peace. for ... this. for what barely-covers-rent.

life really is more expensive right now. you aren't making that up. i make almost 3 times what i did 5 years ago, and despite an incredibly equal series of bills - i am still struggling. the most expensive line item i added was to own a dog. the money is just evaporating.

we were okay with it because it's a cost-benefit analysis. i could handle the customer harassment and standing all day and the manager's constantly changing temperament - i was coming home to hope, and my life planned in a blue envelope. three hours would buy me my dog's food for a month. i can give up three hours for him, for his shiny coat and wide, happy mouth. three days could be a new mattress, if i was thrifty. if i really scrimped and saved, we could maybe afford a trip into the city.

recently i cried in the car about the price of groceries.

business majors will be mad at me, but my most inflammatory opinion is that people should never be valued at the same place as products. your staff should not be a series of numbers in an excel sheet that you can just "replace" whenever you need something at that moment. your staff should be people, end of sentence.

it feels like someone somewhere is playing a very bad video game. like my life is a toy. like someone opened an app on their phone and hired me in diner dash ultra. they don't need to pay me well or treat me alright - they can always just show me the door. there is always someone more desperate, always someone more willing.

but i go to work and know i could save for years and not afford housing. i am never going to own my own home, most likely. i have no idea how to afford her ring, much less the wedding. my dog doesn't have his own yard. everything i love is on subscription. if i lose my job, i have no "nest egg" to catch my falling.

this thin life - they want me to give up summer for it. to open my mouth and throat and swallow the horrible hours and counted keystrokes. they want me to give up mountains and any non-federal holiday. to give up snow days. to give up talking to my mom whenever i want. to give up visiting the ocean and hearing the waves.

bread and circus worked for a while, actually. it was the kind of plan that would probably now be denounced by republicans as socialist commie liberal pronoun bullshit.

but sometimes i wonder if we should point them to the part of the history book that says: it worked until it didn't.

[poisonofthepaint]

Day After Tomorrow - Part Three

a/n: this is the final part!! i really loved writing this story and i love jack so pls send in some ideas for him. hope u love it baiii

pt 1 pt 2

18+!!!!!! MDNI

content warning: age gap, awkward reader a little. oral (r!receiving), nipple sucking, p in v sex, i really don't know what else but this is pretty filthy LOL. i didn't have a lot of time to proofread so forgive me pls <3

Saying you were nervous for your date was an understatement. You’ve had your share of first dates, but you were certainly rusty at the moment. You’ve always been too busy to really deal with your love life. Between school, and your absurd hours at work, it only really left you about two hours a day of free time to yourself. And God, you were not gonna let some random person get in the way of those two hours.

But Jack wasn’t a boy. He was a man. He was a grown man. With a stable job, and a 401k, and real insurance, definitely not his parents. And at this point, you were quite scared the age gap was going to be a problem. You were mostly scared you were going to say something stupid in front of him. You knew you were far from unintelligent. You excelled in your degree, you had a lot of common sense, and humor! Which is proven to show intelligence. But in all honesty, you haven’t taken a science class since your freshman year of undergrad. The information from anatomy class had fallen so far out of your brain you’re pretty sure it still haunted your first dorm room. You didn’t know how to talk about his line of work with him, you didn’t know anything about emergency medicine. And that scared you, deeply. You have been so wrapped up in your philosophy groups, where everyone always knew what the other was talking about, that you weren’t sure how to learn something brand new anymore.

Maybe that was the most exciting part, though. The idea of opposites attract, like the movies. Yeah, it was exciting, not nerveraking. You had read recently that anxiousness and excitement caused the same physical symptoms, so you tried to trick your brain into being excited. You were excited. You had been looking forward to seeing him since he sent the first text. 

You texted back right away, of course, telling him that you’d be delighted to accompany him to dinner. He asked for your address, and said he’d pick you up, which was the most gentleman-like act you’ve experienced in years. Or so you thought, because before you know it, there’s three small raps at your door. You check your phone, seeing the time is 5:47. There’s also a text from Jack saying that he was on his way, you had missed it in your whirlwind of getting ready. You move towards the door quickly, turning the creaky knob. 

He looks good— unreasonably good. He has on a tight fitted black henley, a pair of nice, fitted jeans, and some black tennis shoes. You don’t know how casual attire makes him look so sexy, but it does.  A silver chain glints in the light, and you think you may faint. You’re so taken aback by his attractiveness, you don’t even see the bouquet of tulips that he’s holding out to you.

Jack stands there, letting you take him in. He's got a smug little smile on his face. “Hi there. These are for you. I was hoping you would just have a vase?” 

You nod, words not forming quite yet. “Can I come in?” he asks softly.

“Yes! Sorry, yes, yes, come in. Excuse the mess.” your apartment was spotless, but it just felt like the right thing to say. It’s what people said when they had guests, and your dialogue was being reduced to factory settings. 

“Nice apartment,”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad.” you grab a vase from under the sink, filling it up halfway with water. You make quick work of cutting the stems off the tulips before plopping them in the water.

“Are you ready to go after that?”

Your heart thumps in your chest, so hard you can feel it in your throat. “Yeah, I am.”

“You’re less talkative today,” he says. Not prying, just observing. He looks at you like he’s assessing you for symptoms.

“Honestly, I can’t really believe you’re standing in my apartment.”

He smiles, “Still think you’re dreaming me up?”

“Maybe a little,”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you how real I am tonight.”

You gulp at the innuendo, unsure if it was even supposed to be an innuendo, but that's definitely the way you were taking it.

Jack catches your eyes and nods his head towards the door before walking over, leading the way. You follow his suit instinctively. 

His car is a nice, black truck, and the inside is spotless. Not that you thought it would be dirty, but it’s unrealistically clean. Almost like he just bought it. You hear a soft talking over the radio, no, it’s something else.

He sees you trying to locate the noise, “It’s a police scanner, if there’s an emergency coming into the hospital I like to know so I can go help.” he blinks at you, recognizes the words coming out of his mouth, “Does that make me a crazy workaholic?”

You belly laugh, “God, no, I mean if people need help, it’s good you want to help.”

“I do like to help.”

“You really love it, don’t you?”

“I do, I think what I do is some of the most important work in the world, and I’m good at it. And I like being good at things.”

You hum in response, “Definitely very important work,”

“What do you like about philosophy?”

“I just think it’s an interesting study on human nature. I like applying philosophies I agree with to my personal life, or putting them on other people. I like sharing how to think one way instead of another. I just like to think, maybe.” you say, frazzled. No one really asks you why philosophy. They just hear that it’s your degree, and move on.

“I like that. The world needs more people who fucking think.” he says. His eyes are glued to the road, he has one hand on the wheel, and one resting on the gear shift. His fingers softly tap to their own rhythm.

“How many stupid people do you deal with in a day?” 

“More than I would like to admit. I’m sure you get your fair share.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to treat them for six hours while they tell me I’m wrong about life saving practices.”

He nods sharply, “This period of time is certainly an interesting one. I don’t know why half of them even come in, they just sit there and refuse treatment.”

You shake your head, “I change my answer. I’m getting a philosophy degree so I don’t have to deal with the general public.” 

It’s his turn to belly laugh, “I don’t blame you, kid.”

You get dizzy from the nickname. The car settles into a comfortable silence. You continue your drive until you pull into a small, nice Italian restaurant.

Jack puts the car in park. You go to reach for the handle and he scoffs, “Stay in.”

He gets out of the car and comes around to your side, opening the door for you. You want to cry, you still think he’s fake. You get out, try to pretend like your hands aren’t shaking. He closes the door behind you, then grabs your hand. The contact sends sparks right up your arm, just like the first time he grabbed the coffee up from you. You thought shit like that was fake, but it was real, this was real.

The dinner goes perfectly. The conversation flows. Jack is a lot less abrupt when he’s not in the middle of a shift. He tells you stuff about his personal life, about his parents, and even a little bit about the war. He talks to you about medical supplies he thinks are changing the future. And he lets you talk. He genuinely cares what you have to say. He never looks at you like your degree is anything less than his. He even looks blown away at some things. The owner of the restaurant comes over at one point. You learn that he and Jack served together. You feel honored to meet someone Jack knows already. The date is all you could have wished for– it was better than a dream. Jack was real, and he enjoyed your company. You could tell on his face. The creases between his eyebrows went away, and his smile lines got deeper. He was mysterious when you met him, but now, you felt like you already knew him, and how to read him.

The drive home is equally perfect. Jack cracks the windows a little, letting in fresh air. You feel the wind hit your hair lightly. He won’t stop looking over at you. His hand twitches towards you on the gear shift, and you reach out for it without thinking. He glances down, and then back up at you. He grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers together. You rest your sewn together hands on your lap, studying his rough hand. 

Of course, he walks you to your door. You lead the way, and you can hear him trailing behind you, slowly, cautiously. 

You unlock the door and turn to look at him, “Well, here I am.”

“Here you are,” he smiles.

You linger in the doorway, not wanting the night to end. “Did you have a good time?”

His eyes soften at you, “Yeah, I had a real good time. Best time in a while.” Your breathing falters. “I’d really like to kiss you.” Jack says.

You still, then nod, you can tell your eyes are wide and glazed over. 

“I’m gonna need some words, sweetheart.” 

“I would like that.” you say, barely above a whisper. 

He approaches you. Grabs your cheek, gives it a gentle rub with his thumb before leaning down. He lets his nose rest on yours for a second, taking you in. He’s so close, his chest bumps yours when he breathes in. He closes his eyes and closes the space between you. It’s soft at first, it’s kind. It’s– alert. You can’t help yourself. You need more. You make the move to deepen it and that’s all he needs. He presses into you, so hard that you enter your apartment. He’s so fucking smooth, you can’t stand it. You try not to think about all the practice he’s had, probably before you were even a concept in your parents head. He closes the door with his back before spinning you around and pushing you against the wooden entrance. You grab his face, pulling away from him. Jack chases your lips, but when you turn away, he starts placing soft kisses on your neck instead. 

“I want you to know,” you say panting, “I never do this on the first date.”

He chuckles into you, “This is our third date.”

“What?” you say, breathless, because he’s kissing a tender spot right under your jaw that’s driving you crazy. 

“Those times I saw you at the coffee shop. Those were our first dates.” You know he’s just talking to make you feel better, but it’s definitely working. “Don’t worry about it, no judgement here.” 

“You got it, Doc.” Jack stills. You think you fucked it. You curse yourself for making the corny joke.

He removes himself from your neck. Standing back to his full height. You try to not make eye contact, but his eyes chase yours, forcing you to. “Do you know how fucking crazy it makes me when you call me that.”

“No,” you choke out. 

“I’ve never even been into that. Never cared. But the first time you called me that, I almost broke. I thought about it the rest of the day.”

“And the second time?” you quip, playing into his games.

He shakes his head, places his forehead on your chest, “Killing me, baby.”

You look down, and see how hard he is. His bulge is straining against his jeans. 

He stands up again, “What do you wanna do, huh? Wanna keep playing games, or you wanna let me get you off?” 

The bluntness of his statement– and eagerness– makes you feel like your heart has dropped to the bottom of your stomach. “The latter,”

“Say it,” he says.  You shift on your feet, look straight down into the carpet. “I’m not gonna do it until you say it.”

“I want you to get me off.”

“Yeah, you do.” He kisses you again, deep, and hard. Your tongues clash. “Bedroom?” he asks.

You push off the door and start leading him to the back corner of the apartment. You thank yourself for picking up all the outfit options that you previously had sprawled on the ground. 

You let yourself fall onto the bed, moving back until your head hits the headboard. Jack doesn’t miss a beat, he follows you all the way back, never removing his lips from yours. He settles his hips between yours, and you feel the bulge instead of seeing it. He softly grinds into you, just once, just to make sure you know how you’re making him feel. He has a hand gently resting on your throat, just to stabilize himself. You remove it and lead it down, you put it under the dress you had on. You knew you were soaked through, and this is how you were gonna show him what he was doing to you. 

He groans into your mouth, “I have to taste you.”

You nod eagerly, and he doesn’t ask for words this time, just settles himself onto his stomach. You move down on the bed so your head can rest on the pillows. He doesn’t bother taking off your dress, just bunches it above your hips. He stares for a second, taking in the wet spot on your panties. Your hand moves an inch, going to take them off, but Jack grabs your wrist, presses it into the bed. He leans in and puts his tongue flat on you, through your underwear. 

“Shit!” you squeak. Your ears ring. Fucking doctors, of course he’d be able to find the clit while you had underwear on, while everyone else you’ve been with, you’ve had to show them. 

He grunts into you. Like he’s going crazy himself. Finally, he taps your hips, signalling for you to lift them. Of course, you do. “Already so good at following orders.”

The dominance leaking from his voice sends a wave of arousal through you. You imagined he would want to be in charge in bed, but he was so confident about it. It wasn’t shit he learned from watching too much porn— fake dominance that’s played up for the video. It was natural, it was who he was. 

You can’t find words to answer him, you just keep following his orders, trying to make him proud.

“Y’sure you want this?” Jack triple checks. 

“Please,” you’re breathless, already fucked out just from kissing him. 

He doesn’t say anything, just places his tongue flat on your pussy, licking a long strip all the way to the top.

You moan, louder than your neighbors would prefer. Jack is so good at it, you go back to thinking you’re dreaming. It’s absurd how good it feels. He knows all the right spots to hit, all the places only you could ever find. But he found them, and he’s claiming them. You feel like you’re becoming his. He teases a digit at your entrance and you preen, giving him permission. He sinks it in and curls it. He sets a steady pace that falls in alignment with how vigorously he’s eating you out. 

You already feel yourself getting close. You’ve never come this fast before— ever. Not even when you were doing it yourself. You can’t believe Jack is gonna beat your personal best. 

“You’re close,” he says into you. The vibrations go all the way up from your pussy to your brain. 

“Yes, I don’t know how, but yes. Please, I wanna come.” you ramble.  

“Give it to me, I wanna see you fall apart, honey.” He adds a second finger and your back arches up off the mattress.

You squeeze your eyes closed so hard you see white instead of black. He works you all the way through your orgasm, “That’s it, good girl. Look at me.”

Your eyes shoot open. This man and his need for eye contact. He wants to see everything. He wants to read you. And he does. His brows furrow at your face. He looks down at your body. Still in that dress that drove him crazy when you opened the door. 

He’s still letting his fingers pump inside of you when you come back to Earth. He stills them and pulls them out. You whine a little, he shushes you.

He makes sure you’re watching when he brings his fingers up to his lips, sucking off the juices he just got out of you. “God, you taste so fucking good.”

Your face goes hot, you try to look away but Jack’s too quick, again. It’s like he knows what you’re gonna do before you do it. He grabs your jaw. “Haven’t you figured out I wanna see you?”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Then stop running.”

You huff out a breath. You lean up to kiss him again and he lets you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it’s hotter than you thought it could be. You’re under his spell. Hopefully he really likes you, because you think you might follow him around forever now. 

You give up being coy, “I need you. Please, I need you, Jack.”

“Okay, you’ve got me. Don’t worry, honey,” he says.

You sit up and pull your dress over your head, unclasping your bra after. Jack takes his shirt off too. You lay back down and let your legs fall open. He hesitates before taking off his pants. You can sense he’s nervous. He takes the jeans off, and you see it. He looks at you, like he expects you to run. Like he expects the worst.

“Please,” is all you say. And that’s all it takes. Jack takes off his boxers, and his cock slaps up onto his stomach. It’s so long, the tip hits right below his belly button. 

He climbs up onto the bed, your legs open wider for him. You throw Jack a condom from your bedside table and he puts it on quickly. He lines himself up, the tip kisses your entrance. Jack comes up to where your head is, pressing his forehead against yours. He breathes into the space between you for a second, then, he sinks in.

It’s deep, really deep. So fucking deep you can feel him in your stomach. He strokes so that he hits your g-spot, and he can tell he got it by the way you moan. It was more a sob, really He places his mouth on your nipple, slightly tugging with his teeth. He plays with it for a while before giving the other one the same attention. All while not breaking his pace. It felt so, fucking, good. 

“So good, it feels so good.” you decide to tell him, to talk. You wanted to hear his voice.

“You feel so good. You’re sucking me in, baby. God, this pussy is even better than I imagined.” His chain dangles in your face, and you think you might be getting hypnotized.

“You thought about this?” you ask, trying to conceal your need for praise.

“For the past week, I’ve fucking thought about sinking my cock into you. You’re so beautiful. You’re so funny, and smart. You’ve got it all, baby. You’ve fucking got it all.”

The words send you reeling, “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long.”

“Me neither.” He grunts. 

His head falls into your neck. He places a deep kiss there, leans up to your ear. “Come around my cock, sweetheart.”

You weren’t one to disobey his orders. You come for the second time that night and Jack follows. He groans into you and lets his chin hit your shoulder. “Fuck,”

You both stay there like that for a while. Sweating, panting, coming down from the high of your life. 

“I’m gonna pull out, okay?” 

You nod, let him do whatever he wants. You’re so fucked out you don’t know if you can even open your eyes. 

He tosses the condom into the small trash bin beside your closet and grabs his boxers off the floor, putting them on before laying down beside you. 

You look over and smile at him. You can’t stop smiling actually, or giggling. 

Jack brushes your hair out of your face, “What’s so funny, hm?”

“That was so fucking good.” 

Jack laughs, loudly. The loudest you’ve heard his laugh yet. “Yeah, it was so fucking good.” 

You start to get shy, the highness of your orgasm wearing off, “I’d like to see you again, if you want.”

“Oh, honey. After that? You’re never getting rid of me.”

[roundedloaf]

an incomplete list of some Things that happened in the olympic opening ceremony

Both Lady Gaga and Celine Dion gave performances

Three teenagers got lost in the catacombs with the olympic flame and got saved by the phantom of the opera

a ménage à trois

20 different pink clad marie antoinettes holding their own chopped off heads watched a metal concert

Dionysius showed up to preach about sobriety??

a guy dressed as Napoleon did BMX tricks

the peace flag was carried by this horsewoman of the apocalypse

The phantom of the opera did parkour. a lot of parkour

3 seperate pianos were rained on

One was on fire

The on fire piano was involved in a very sincere rendition of John Lennon's Imagine

They never actually explained the phantom of the opera bit? I was really expecting him to look different

The minions stole the mona lisa

Are the minions french???

A french man in red white and blue played the accordion while wearing a beret

In conclusion: excellent entertainment, excellent showing off, good luck america trying to top this

[bucketbueckers]

HEY GOAT! so ik you have finals rn so just ignore this until ur done BUT i have a long (as usual) paige x reader request for you this time👅 for some backround paige and reader went to uconn together and have been dating for a bit like 3 years and they both get drafted by the wings (reader being 12th pick) and they are super excited whatever. OKAY SO basically reader is like the first person in her family to graduate college and it was really important for her to be there in person and walk with her family watching but she didn’t expect to be drafted in the first round let alone so far away. so she goes to ask the head of whatever at dallas if she can go to her graduation and they say prolly not so she gets super upset and paige decides to plan something with the team and flys her parents out and stuff like that one video with mika and the storm last year. ykwimmm like something super fluffy and just a littttlleee bit angsty.

-⬇️

LOVE IS THE WAY

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, 1% angst (like there's more fat content in some milk than there is angst in this story), unfathomable plot

wc: 5.4k

synopsis: As a first generation college student, graduation meant everything to you and your family. Your entire high school career was spent studying through the night, devoting yourself to academics, extracurriculars, and basketball, and reminding yourself that college was the goal. But basketball was your passion – your home away from test prep and the rigor of your courses, and the athletic scholarship from UConn saved your life in more ways than one. When you’re drafted 12th overall alongside your girlfriend of three years, it devastates you to find out that you wouldn’t be able to make it back to campus in time to walk across the stage. Luckily for you, Paige was more than willing to move mountains just to see you smile.

notes: HAPPY GAMEDAY CHAT (i deleted twitter this morning in honor of it) and HAPPY PB5 HOOPS DAY!!!! everyone lock in. this is generational. but real talk, as a first gen student, this request actually means the world to me 🤞 hoping i did this justice for u ⬇️ and i cannot thank u enough for these banger requests 😛 as alwaysss lmk what we're thinking and i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

Anyone who sees you might not believe that at first glance. Your game is clinical – smooth, effortless. Your jump shot is perfect, technical in a way analysts have described as academically precise. You play like you were destined for the professional leagues, like you dribbled a basketball for the first time at three years old instead of in the sixth grade.

Growing up, you didn’t have a lot. Your parents weren’t well off but they worked hard to give you a good life. You excelled in school, got exceptional grades, and by eight you knew you would do anything to get into college after touring the local university on a field trip. Your parents weren’t able to go to college, coming from families where they had to prioritize working. College, while impossible for them, became something that was within reach for you. College – an education – was the goal.

When you first started middle school, you knew you needed an outlet, something more than your grades and wit. You tried a few things. Art, while pretty, wasn’t for you. You were a little too restless for it, too much of a perfectionist to fully appreciate the abstract. You briefly considered band but your parents had to make the decision for you when they looked at the cost to rent an instrument from the school.

Sports was your last option. You liked the discipline, the structure, and how you could get all of your energy out. You showed up to softball tryouts, but again – the price tag attached to the glove, the cleats, and the gear was too much. It was the same story for soccer. You arrived at basketball tryouts, not really having much of an interest in it, but figuring you could suck it up if there was any option you could play.

As soon as you picked up the ball for the first time, dribbling it a little clumsily around your body, and following the coach’s instructions on how to shoot it, it was like something ignited in you. You put a little too much spin on the ball and it clanked off the rim, but you knew you could perfect it with a few more shots.

So you tried again. And again. And again. Until you finally sunk the shot from the three point line. That was satisfying.

“It’s not a lot,” you remember Coach Kerrigan telling your parents – clearly in what he thought was a hushed tone of voice. “Just $50 for the entire season. It covers the uniform and tournament fees.”

Your parents had paused, clearly contemplating – and selfishly, you’d hoped they’d give just this once. You had done everything right. You kept your grades up, your room clean, and you’d exhausted all other options.

“I don’t know,” your dad admitted. Your heart sunk to your stomach.

Even years later, you recall the weight of your coach’s stare, how his eyes traced the arc of the basketball as it left your hands. The accompanying swish of the net, how you chased after the rebound, settling in to shoot again. “She has so much potential,” he’d said. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

Your parents remained silent. You shot the ball, hoping, praying that just this once – you could try to find who you were outside of academics. Then, Coach Kerrigan spoke up. “Actually, I think we’ve got a little extra funding this year. So if you’d let her play…you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Your parents let you play. It took you years to realize the girl’s basketball team at your middle school hadn’t actually gotten any extra funding and that Coach Kerrigan paid the season fee out of his own pocket. And the next season’s. And when the high school coach approached you during your eighth grade year and asked if you’d be willing to give varsity a shot, Coach Kerrigan paid for that one, too.

High school basketball is where you truly flourished. It was a simple agreement with your parents – you could continue playing ball as long as you didn’t put college on the backburner. You pointed out that if you got recruited, you would be on scholarship and you truly didn’t have to worry about money anymore. Your parents believed in you. They’d seen what you were capable of, but when you grow up with so little, it’s hard to lose that worry that it could all slip away if you weren’t careful.

You upheld your end of the bargain. You kept your grades up, enrolled in AP courses, joined student government to round out your application. High achieving student. Honored athlete, Team USA gold medalist averaging 26.4 points a season and improving. Student body president. With a resume like that, you were sure you had a solid chance, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t keep working.

Geno Auriemma showed up to one of your games in sophomore year. So did Dawn Staley and several other college basketball coaches. Coach Auriemma kept showing up, though. After an electric win against a conference opponent, he’d pulled you aside and glanced at you like he was unimpressed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that reminded you of Coach Kerrigan’s unwavering confidence. Then, Coach Auriemma said, “You play like you’ve got something to prove.”

It wasn’t unkind. Just an observation. Your face was slick with sweat, your feet hurt, and you had a paper due for AP Lang that night. Your teammates were celebrating the win, but your job was far from finished. Isn’t that how it always is, though? Having to work a little extra harder now so you wouldn’t have to in the future. Sacrificing every day to prove to your parents that everything they poured into basketball wasn’t for nothing. Success was hard, exhausting, but God did it taste good.

Simply, you responded, “Don’t we all?”

Coach Auriemma paused. A slow smile spread across his face. He wished you a goodnight.

In junior year, you committed officially to UConn. Full ride athletic scholarship. Your mother cried and your father grinned proudly when the three of you got off the phone with Coach Auriemma.

Being a Husky didn’t mean you could rest easy. The draft was competitive and there was so much talent in the country. This time, there was no “agreement” between you and your parents. You were an adult, but they did have one simple request to get a degree in something versatile. A just in case.

So here you were – a biology major and student athlete. When you weren’t in lab, you were in practice. When you weren’t in practice, you were studying for calculus. And when you weren’t studying for calculus, you were a little busy falling in love with the sophomore point guard from Minnesota who made you realize that there’s a little more to life than ball and school. You had plenty of room for her – for Paige Bueckers – even though you didn’t make it official until your sophomore year at UConn.

It was her junior season. She’d suffered an ACL tear in August, right before classes started. It was a huge blow for morale – she was the heart and soul of the team, the leader on and off the court. But you were the glue who held everything together. Coach shifted you into a more traditional point guard role. You brought a quiet efficiency to the court and confident play-calling. You weren’t there to replace her. That wasn’t possible.

The feelings between the two of you had been growing since your freshman season although neither of you acted on anything. You were close friends but her injury, somehow, pushed you even closer. She texted you reminders to eat when she knew you had a gap in your schedule. You warmed up her heating pad and let her choose the movie on the nights you gave up the textbooks to stay in with her. You and Paige worked so well together and it became harder and harder to deny what you felt for her.

But when she kissed you for “good luck” before the first game of the season? You dropped a casual 23 points with 11 assists to take home the win and made her ask you out for real after the press conference.

That year, the early Sweet 16 exit in the NCAA tournament stung. So did the Final Four exit in your junior year. Paige was staying for a fifth year and you knew that the both of you had one more chance to reel it in for the last time.

And you did. Your senior season was hard but you loved (almost) every second of it anyways. When Azzi was cleared to return from injury. When Aubrey and Carol did, too. When Paige and Azzi tested every bit of your patience by spraining their knees at different parts of the season. When you lost to USC, Notre Dame, and Tennessee but blew out South Carolina – twice, once in the regular season and the second when it mattered the most. When your teammates had your back, unconditionally, just as you had theirs.

Your name started creeping into the mock draft predictions. Third round. Then second. Then first. You were hard to place – nobody could ever agree on whether or not you were a Sun, a Sky, or a Mystic. The only thing that was guaranteed was the fact your girlfriend would be a Wing and you’d cheer her on from wherever the draft took you.

Getting invited to the draft was a different feeling entirely. You had a shot. You were going to be selected, and for once, you truly allowed yourself to reflect – through thick and thin, for worse or for better, you’d made it here. Not just to the draft, but you made it through college, too, which had seemed so out of the picture. Everything your parents had ever sacrificed for you, you’d be able to give it back with interest. You got your degree, your education. You have your career in basketball. You have Paige. That was more than enough for you.

You flew your parents out for the draft in New York. They were ecstatic for you, nearly in tears when you showed them your dress for the first time – styled by Brittany Hampton, of course, because Paige was so keen on matching. It was made of a dark, lace material that glimmered under the lighting in the room, the bodice fitting you just right, and the skirt billowing out around your ankles, cut at the side to reveal one of your legs.

Paige nearly fell out the moment she saw you. You weren’t any better, either. Your eyes lingered (she was wearing her hair down – you might have fallen in love for a second time if you weren’t so drawn to the way her suit sparkled, too) while her hands traveled, linking her fingers at the small of your back and pulling you in. “You’re unreal,” she’d murmured as you wrapped your arms around her neck, smoothing out some of the baby hairs at her nape.

You just grinned, self-satisfied at her obvious speechlessness. Knowing you couldn’t ruin your makeup without your respective teams losing their mind, you press your temple to hers, relishing in the closeness before you’d be pulled away for interviews and to sit at your separate tables. “I could pinch you, if you’d like,” you offered. “Just to make sure you’re not dreaming.”

“Hands to yourself, aight?” she grumbled. “Sum’ about that biology degree makes you evil.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works,” you cooed softly. “Like at all.”

Paige just squeezed you around your waist, not saying much else, and the two of you made your way to the draft venue. Interviews were quick – pictures, not so much, especially when your entire team was in attendance to watch you, Paige, Aubrey, and Kaitlyn get drafted. You and Paige go your separate ways after the photo on the draft stage. She had a second outfit and you had to find your family – which leads you to now.

Your parents, CD, and Coach Kerrigan are waiting for you and you hug each of them one by one, although you linger on Coach Kerrigan. He doesn’t say much other than a “Proud of you, kid,” and you don’t either – not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down. You’re not sure if he knows the kind of impact he made on your life by welcoming you onto his team when he did, but he grins at you like he understands it just the same.

When Paige makes her way through the crowd, having changed into her second outfit, you almost fall out again. Somehow, you manage to keep it together, even as your jaw hangs slack in near awe while you’re examining the rings on her fingers, the fact that this suit sparkles too, and the devastating lack of an undershirt that has you ready to give up on the draft completely so you can run a few laps around the block to control yourself.

Obviously, she’s the first pick overall. She hugs everyone at her table before finding you and your family. You tell her that you love her and that you’re proud of you. She winks at you and asks you to keep an extra draft hat for her.

The next few picks go by agonizingly slow. You don’t think it should take this long for teams to settle on their next pick and the way the cameras linger on you makes your skin prickle. The Sky have the two picks late in the first round followed by the Wings with the last first round selection. When Hailey Van Lith is taken at #11, you deflate a little, thinking you’ve fallen to the second round. Truly – it’s not the end of the world. It just means you’d have to fight a little harder for a roster spot. That’s a challenge you’d be willing to take head on.

But when the commissioner steps up to the podium again to announce the 12th pick in the draft, you freeze when it’s your name that is called. You, to the Dallas Wings, the same organization that selected Paige only moments ago. Stunned, you hug everyone at your table, then your girlfriend’s family, before making your way up to pose with the Wings jersey. You’re only half-listening to the interview with Holly Rowe, too concerned about making it to the back for media and seeing Paige.

When you finally do, Paige’s expression is one of disbelief and awe and you fall into each other with breathless giggles. Your hat jostles from the force of her body against yours, but she reaches up to steady it, her hands cupping your jaw as she looks at you with something like wonder. Her eyes are the most disarming shade of blue you think you’ve ever seen – and this right here, this feeling of contentment, of knowing that you get to live out your professional dreams with your girlfriend? You want to live in it forever.

“Guess you didn’t need to save an extra hat for me,” she comments coyly.

You laugh, not even bothering with a response as you grab her face and kiss her. Paige sinks into you like you’re the only thing she’s ever been sure about. For a moment, you think that may be true. In a world full of ACL injuries, of never really knowing if you’ll be able to make it unless you work for it, the relationship the two of you have is something steady. Constant. You’ll always have space for each other, just like you’ll always know that loving each other is the easiest part of living.

After the draft, you and Paige don’t immediately fly out to Dallas. You have a final exam or two, shared victory tours and talk show appearances, rallies and loose ends to tie up. You’re booked and busy until the very last minute. Packing is difficult – you’re not quite sure how you’re supposed to fit the last four years of your life into a box and tape it shut. You just have to remind yourself that you’re not closing this door. Maybe you leave it cracked, because you’re not the type of person to abandon your past in search of your future.

But you do come across your graduation gown while you’re packing away your closet. It’s neatly ironed, ready for the big day – May 10th. There’s something about that day that gives you pause, so you pull out your phone to scan the email sent to you by the Wings front office. Your first preseason game was on May 2nd against the Aces.

The second preseason game? May 10th. In Dallas.

Your face falls. Your phone screen goes dark from disuse while you stare in silent disbelief at your graduation gown.

Basketball wasn’t always the goal.

It was a reprieve before it was your passion before it was the best part of your life. You didn’t know if you’d be able to play in middle school, didn’t think you’d get recruited to the best basketball college fresh out of high school. You didn’t know if you’d win a national championship or meet some of your best friends ever. You didn’t know that you’d get drafted.

College was the goal. The goal was beating the odds, of getting a degree and an experience that your family wasn’t lucky enough to put time away for. The goal was succeeding despite every barrier and obstacle that made it difficult for you. The goal was walking across the stage after four years, officially becoming a college graduate, making your family – and yourself – proud, to be able to say that you did. And, sure, walking across the stage doesn’t take away the fact that you did the time. That you excelled. That you sacrificed so much to be a student athlete and a STEM major. Whether or not you walk across that stage has no impact on whether or not you get the degree in the mail certifying that you did everything you wanted to and got something special out of it.

But walking across that stage was a physical reminder that you refused to quit – that you held out hope even when you missed out on so many opportunities because you lacked things out of your control. It’s a reminder for you, for your parents and your family who would fill the stands, a reminder that this is possibly the most important thing you’ve ever done in your life. No one would ever understand it if they haven’t lived it.

You knew you were stuck between a rock and a hard place. You couldn’t miss graduation – you didn’t want to. You knew that you couldn’t miss the preseason game, either. Not if you wanted to keep your roster spot. Not if you wanted to prove you had more determination than the other hopeful rookies on the team. Not if you wanted to prove you were an invaluable piece to the Dallas Wings roster. The most devastating part of the situation is that you truly don’t have a choice at all.

You’re still when Paige walks in, her voice startling you. “Hey, baby. You got another roll of tape? I completely fucked up and used like, half of it on one box, but it just wouldn’t shut–” She falters, her gaze meeting yours when she realizes that you’re barely listening and you’re staring catatonically. “You okay? What’s going on?”

“Graduation is May 10th,” you tell her, and she nods – because she’d had that date saved in her calendar the moment you submitted the documentation stating that you had all requirements and would be participating in the ceremony. “And so is our second preseason game.”

Paige’s body softens with regret and understanding all at once. You swear you see something curiously like guilt as if it’s her fault at all. Like she feels bad that she got the opportunity to graduate and walk across the stage when that was the one thing you’d set out to do with your life.

She doesn’t say anything. She just wraps her arms around you, letting you sink into her embrace while you try not to fall apart. Paige knows how important this is to you.

“I don’t think I can miss the game,” you confess, not having to look up to know Paige is listening as you rest your chin on her shoulder. “Not when I’m competing for a roster spot with Aziaha and Madison and JJ and everyone who’s not you, Arike, Ty, Dijonai, NaLyssa–” Your voice breaks, and you inhale sharply, feeling the familiar sting of tears. Paige runs a soothing hand down your back, comforting you enough to keep talking. “But my parents were supposed to see me walk.”

“They will, okay?” she murmurs, like she’s never been more confident than anything in her life. “It’s not over. You’re you. You wouldn’t make it this far just to give up now. Have you called Curt?”

“Well, I was a little busy having a mental breakdown before you walked in complaining about tape, so no, I did not call Curt,” you say dramatically.

“I’m so sorry I interrupted your spiraling,” Paige deadpans, which makes you laugh a little. She gives you one more squeeze before you extract yourself from her body, turning your phone on again as you take a seat on your bed. She follows suit as you scroll through your contacts for Curt’s number.

The line rings for a few moments. Paige, as if sensing your nerves, rests her hand over your knee for encouragement before Curt’s voice clicks through, greeting you. You remember your manners before you explain the situation to him. Graduation on May 10th. Preseason game too. Can I please miss the game so I can walk the stage and not crash the fuck out? You don’t say all of that – you use your professional voice, but the sentiment is the same.

Curt doesn’t respond for a moment. And when he doesn’t, you already have your answer. You deflate as he says, not unkindly, but clearly remorseful, “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to miss it. The coaching staff needs you there for evaluation and your contract–”

You stop listening when he starts talking about contracts and roster spots and how he’s really sorry, but he just can’t make an exception right now. You can tell he genuinely feels terrible that it’s happened this way, but the league is competitive. You need to be there if you want to play basketball in May. Knowing doesn’t make the feeling go away, though, so you thank him for his time when he’s done explaining it to you and you hang up.

Paige doesn’t make you say anything, already reaching for your phone and turning it off. She pulls you into her arms again, her mood dampened as she murmurs an apology in your ear, pressing a consoling kiss to the crown of your head.

It does make you feel a little bit better, and maybe, one day, you won’t feel as bitter and as disappointed about missing your graduation as you are now, but you just can’t push the hurt to the side.

You let Paige hold you for a little longer, her hands rubbing soothing circles on your back as you curl up against her, your head tucked into her neck.

But she’s quiet – maybe a little too quiet, and you wholeheartedly miss the expression of sheer determination on her face like she’s plotting something that you’ll never know about until the time comes.

The move to Dallas goes better than expected. You and Paige lease an apartment not too far away from the facilities, but decently away from the bustle of the city. You spend a huge chunk of your time between Target and Costco and building furniture together – Paige has always been handy although a little…creative, when it comes to the instruction manuals, so you have to force her to follow them exactly. The last thing you want is your coffee table crumbling.

Between practice, shopping, and getting used to being in a completely different city, you hardly have the time to think too hard about how you have to miss graduation. You try to let yourself be happy, too. The Wings vets are incredibly kind and helpful, although they love to tease you and Paige, which is probably something you should have known was going to happen as soon as Cathy called your name at the draft. Despite the ache of missing Storrs, your teammates, and what you still consider home, you can see yourself loving it in Dallas, too. You can see the Wings becoming your family, too.

The first preseason game goes as well as it could have. Not wanting to risk injury, neither the Wings nor the Aces do anything too crazy, just wanting to get the rookies acclimated to playing professional basketball. Your coach runs different rotations, evaluating how everyone plays. It’s sad to know that by the beginning of the regular season, a few of your new teammates will be waived, even if you have to work extra hard just to make sure it’s not you.

Ultimately, the Aces take the win. Losing wasn’t something that you were used to in Connecticut, so you try not to take it to heart. You sleep on Paige’s shoulder the entire flight back to Dallas, blissfully unaware of the plans she’s making on her phone.

A few days after the first preseason game, you’re making your way through the tunnel in the Wings facility to get ready for another grueling day of practice. Before you can enter the locker room, Paige catches your wrist at the door, taking your bag gingerly as you stare at her in confusion.

“Do you trust me?” she asks you in a tone of voice that is screaming Don’t trust me!

“Under most circumstances, yes,” you respond. “What–”

“Wait here,” she says softly. “And close your eyes, please.” You sigh, but you do as she asks, even placing your hands over your eyes for good measure. You hear shuffling inside of the locker room before she comes out again. “Keep ‘em closed, but hold out your arms.”

You do, and she helps you into what feels like a large coat. You hear the sound of a zipper and then she’s carefully fitting a hat over your head. “You comfy?” she checks in.

“Just hoping my girlfriend didn’t team up with the vets for some weird rookie hazing ritual,” you mutter, listening to her laugh.

“Something a little better than that, I promise,” Paige swears. She links her fingers with yours, giving you a gentle squeeze. “Don’t open your eyes. Just follow me.”

You let her lead you through the facility, hoping that she remembers she’s an athlete with coordination and that she doesn’t run you into a wall accidentally. Before you know it, she comes to a stop, and nervously, she says, her voice echoing, “Okay. Open your eyes.”

When you do, your breath catches in your throat. You’re dressed in your cap and gown and you’re in the practice gym, but what truly captures your attention is the makeshift stage that’s been assembled at the center of the court. There’s a podium, where one of the coordinators from UConn’s Department of Biology stands – you’d worked with her a lot when it came to your academics since you were always booked and busy with class, studying, practice, and games. Your entire team sits in neat little rows in front of the stage dressed in their practice jerseys, but most of all, your parents are front and center, too.

“Paige,” you whisper, your voice catching, and she takes your hands in hers.

“Surprise!” she says, her tone soft. Despite yourself, you give a watery laugh, trying not to cry in front of everyone. “You weren’t able to go back to Storrs to walk across the stage. So…I pulled some strings and brought Storrs to you.” You take the scene in again, your heart full. You lock eyes with Arike, who’s holding a laptop. She lifts it slightly to show you the Zoom call she’s on. The screen is full of your teammates – KK, Morgan, Ice, Sarah – and you can hear their cheers through the computer speakers.

“Dr. Snyder agreed to speak and present your diploma,” Paige continues. “And I flew out your parents for the weekend.” She lowers her voice, ensuring that only you can hear her. Your lip trembles, the love you feel for your girlfriend almost overwhelming. “I know this means a lot to you. Graduating. I’m sorry we couldn’t be in Storrs to do this, but…you deserve to be honored. You deserve to do this.” Her eyes shine a little brighter, the affection almost stifling. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you. I hope you like it.”

“Like it?” you echo, disbelief lacing your tone as you laugh again. “Paige, I love this.” Her features relax a little, her grin widening as she pulls you into a tight hug. “This means everything to me.”

“Then let’s graduate.”

You pull away and your teammates, coaching staff, and trainers all clap for you as you make your way to the lone seat reserved for you in front of everyone else. You grin a little, shaking your head as Dr. Snyder steps up to the podium fully, taking her job incredibly seriously. She clears her throat.

“Esteemed graduate, friends, family, teammates old and new,” she begins, winking at you, and you let your smile grow without a care in the world. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate an extremely special individual who was unable to make it back to Storrs to receive her degree. But unconventional does not mean undeserving, and I certainly can’t name one other student who deserves this more than she does.

“I’ve guided many students in my career,” Dr. Snyder continues. “None of them are ever the same, yet she stands a caliber above the rest. She juggled a rigorous course load, a taxing athletic schedule, and she did this for four years with determination, wit, and unyielding perseverance. She has made such a profound impact on our university, on the basketball program, as well as in the lives of many people around her. I am proud to have advised her, but even more proud to stand here today to see her achieve her dreams. On behalf of everyone at the University of Connecticut, we are so excited to see you write this next chapter of your life.”

If there weren’t tears in your eyes during Dr. Snyder’s speech, then there are when she reaches for the degree cover and says your name. It feels like getting drafted all over again – but it’s even better than being drafted, because this has been your dream longer than basketball has been a reality. It was difficult, and most days it felt damn near impossible, but you did it.

You rise to the raucous applause in the gym, a beaming smile on your face as you make your way to the stage. Before you reach for your hard-earned degree, you give Dr. Snyder a crushing hug, thanking her profusely. Together, you hold onto your degree, smiling for the pictures that your parents, Paige, and the Dallas Wings media team take all at once. Even Arike is angling the computer towards you and you can vaguely hear KK over the computer screaming, “Screenshot it!” – which makes you laugh, because you know they’d have your back. Always.

You step down, degree in hand, and Paige grins at you with that soft, cheeky, scrunchy look of hers. You roll your eyes, the tears surging forward again and you wrap your arms around her tightly, burying your face in her neck and letting it all out. And when your parents step forward, too, wrapping the both of you in a large, crushing hug, you weren’t too sure how you were supposed to keep it together at all.

Graduation wasn’t how you thought it would be, but the knowledge that your family got to see you walk across the stage means everything to you.

You’ve accomplished one dream, and now, it’s time for the next.

[tthoroughfare]

some random modern!abby headcanons as i Cannot think about anything else. NSFW in the latter half spit kink asf i’m not sorry

she’s chronically offline. has social media but does not use it — her IG has one photo from 3 years ago and the only other social media she has is a facebook account she made when she was 14. her entire page is just shit her dad tags her in; photos of her he’s taken while they’re on vacation, cringey middle aged humor, the Facebook Parent works

90% of the time only uses her phone for what a phone is actually for. probably has a super old one because she doesn’t see the point in replacing it; it’s somehow in like perfect condition though

texts in perfect grammar. before you got used to it you literally thought she was mad at you all the time. hasn’t got it figured out what emojis make sense contextually because she doesn’t really use them and occasionally sends you baffling messages like:

“Got off early. Can’t wait to see you. 😬” (was rushing and thought it was a smile)

but sometimes it’s also very cute, like a grandma who just figured out how to text:

“Do you want to tag along with Manny and Nora to a concert on Saturday? The people they were supposed to go with can’t anymore. 🎶🕺🎸”

the type of gf who will get you doing the most random activities. she’s constantly trying new hobbies and always wants you to be a part of it. she’ll decide on a sunday night she wants to pick up rock climbing, have you both signed up and in the climbing gym monday

or she’ll decide on a whim she wants to take you to a restaurant someone recommended even though it’s an hour and a half drive away

med student abby is canon abby…

she really didn’t want to be a cliche and go into it just because it’s what her dad does, but she was always encouraged to excel academically and found herself naturally drifting in that direction

she makes it look easy, but it’s really not. she gets stressed about everything a lot (particularly wrestling with worries about letting her dad down, which you reiterate she couldn’t do if she tried), but doesn’t really show anyone apart from you. you always make her feel better, though, just as she does for you with your problems

grew up well-off, but isn’t a dick about it. very generous with her money, always buying you little treats and picking up the bill despite your protests. takes you on weekends away wherever possible, or a bigger vacation somewhere tropical during the summer

honestly not the best cook… she’s just used to making food for herself, which tends to be pretty plain. gym bro meals ugh. however, has one or two incredible recipes she can pull out the BAG. makes them for you when she knows you’ve had a long day

would 100% be that post of the guy who set his alarm purposefully earlier so that he could wake up and cuddle his partner before he had to actually get up. she’s normally up before you, regardless of the day or time. abby’s an early riser; she loves the morning. you always stir with a warm drink on the bedside table, and either the sound of her pottering around the apartment or a text saying something along the lines of:

“Heading to the gym. Gave you a kiss before I left but you were still clean out, LOL.”

has extremely random and rogue music taste. same with movies. you figure this out not long into knowing her, when you’re talking about favorite films and she deliberates before carefully stating that her all-time top three are flushed away, interstellar and an old foreign movie you couldn’t pronounce if you tried

speaking of — loves movies! you guys frequent the cinema, but also like to stay in and have movie nights at home. you’ll watch just about anything together, taking it in turns to choose. when you stay in, you make it a Whole Thing. all the bedding gets moved to the living room, you buy snacks, she sits and lets you meticulously paint a face mask on her

sometimes, you’ll attentively watch the whole thing. sometimes, if you get halfway through and it’s not the best, she’ll allow her fingers to trail down from their position atop your upper arm in a manner she knows you’ll pick up on. dipping under your shirt and rubbing loose, gentle circles at your hip for what feels like forever, before nudging at your jaw with her nose and planting a light kiss. you turn to meet her, eyes flitting between hers and her lips; closing the gap and smirking against her mouth, “you’re not subtle.”

blowing air out of her nose and shrugging, she brings her free hand up to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss. it’s slow and deliberate, everything from the way she moves her lips against yours, to how she steadily shifts you on top of her. she likes to take her time with you, gets off when you have to say please

segueing into nsfw… praise kink spit kink gentle domination vers dynamic hey now

loves it when you show her how desperate you are for her, through words or otherwise. while i can’t see her being much of a talker herself (not to say that’s at all), she encourages your blathering about how good she feels, how much you need her. bonus points if you throw her name in there somewhere

should the occasion arise will absolutely put you through the mattress with the strap, but much more so an acoustic girl. two finger tongue combo diva. for her, it’s all about feeling you. how you contract around her, the little signals your body gives her she’s learned so well

to her, that’s the main point of sex. feeling as much of you as she can, feeling close to you, showing you how much she worships you. it’s filthy, yet reverent and devoted. gets a little possessive sometimes, because you’re hers and only she can have you how she does

whether it be arched up, her fingers plowing into you as she kisses her way over your upper back, hand threaded through your hair. stopping to suck a mark where your neck meets your shoulder, murmuring to ask if you can take three (she knows you can, just wants to hear you say it)

or on top of her, legs slotted together and your hand firmly bracing yourself on her knee whilst you rut against her. hearing her get slightly louder and higher pitched, revelling in the way she looks up at you, brows drawn and eyes full. shared wetness pooling and mingling, her hands all over you like she can’t decide which inch of sweat-sheened skin she wants to touch more

or after you’ve eaten her out and she’s still coming down, you running a hand over the outside of her thigh then kissing over her stomach — making your way back up to her lips, allowing her to taste herself through the sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. licking into her dirtily, running a thumb over her lower lip and softly telling her to open. abby doing as you say; always does as you say. a glob of spit falling from your mouth to hers which she accepts gladly, breathing jagged as she swallows. spurred on, dragging you back in with fervor, moving a hand to circle over your sopping clit

she’s never been like this with anyone, never wanted everything of a person so badly. she’d do anything for you, to you, let you do anything to her

while she does like it to be languid, to last, sometimes she can’t help herself. it’ll be the morning and she’ll rouse, tired eyes dragging over your form. abby shifting closer and wrapping an arm around your waist, you’ll stir a little and groan softly, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek and pivoting your head to give her a kiss. both brains still foggy, operating on basic wants, it doesn’t take long for it to turn from an innocent good morning peck to a desperate mess of tongues. then, to her mouthing at your neck, sliding her fingertips over your bare torso to knead at your breast. you’ll tilt your head back, let out a mewl of her name, before remembering it’s a weekday.

“what time is it?” you’ll ask, freezing and subconsciously trying to look at the clock.

“don’t worry, we’ve got time,” she’ll respond against your skin without missing a beat, hand making its way between your legs and coaxing a sharp exhale from you, “i’ll be quick, i promise.”

she knows you well — she certainly can be quick. still has time to make you that coffee she always does, too.

[erodasfishtacos]

A Touchdown & Tears (NFL!YN x Sports Photographer!YN)

prompt: a chipped tooth, bloody nose, and a whole lot of feelings for a young couple who couldn’t make it last.

word count: 4k

warnings: blood, angst, breakups

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2-3 one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

--

Harry doesn’t think the first time that he would bump into his first girlfriend from high school would be when he’s given her a bloody nose and a chipped front tooth.

Hear him out.

It was playoffs, Harry was playing like a beast and at the rate he was going, he was leading his team to the Super Bowl.

Towards the end, the opposing team, The Steelers, were coming up to tie the game because their defense had been lacking this whole time.

There were only six seconds left in the game when Harry did a sneak move where he faked throwing the ball but ran it to the end zone instead to score another touchdown.

With the momentum that he was running, he was running right towards the line of photographers, cheerleaders, other staff that lined the field.

He was just about to dig his cleats in to the turf to stop himself but an angry player of the opposing team hits him hard from behind.

It was unexpected and it sends him flying forwards into the line of staff, he winces when he falls directly on someone, and he unfortunately hears his helmet hit their un-helmeted head.

A yelp of pain is emitted from the person below him, he quickly pushes himself up, and onto his knees beside the staff member.

And he’s startled for a myriad of reasons.

The blood.

The tears.

The fact that he was staring at his first love.

YN.

Harry’s first girlfriend, first love, and honestly he thought that she might be his one true love, soulmate.

They’d been broken up for three years.

Three long years.

But Harry thought about her nearly everyday, wondering what she was doing, where she lived, and when he was feeling down - who’s bed she was in at night.

YN had blocked him, on every platform, and never unblocked from Harry’s checking - only able to creep from a finsta account.

Harry was down bad for YN, always had been.

They started dating in eighth grade, freshly fifteen, and so in love that it was stupid.

Nobody thought they would last, who would?

It was puppy love.

But time went on and they’d never broken up.

They decided on the same school, Norte Dame where Harry would go on to excel in football as she would in creative arts and photography.

Harry would have to rush home from away football games to come to her art galleries, typically making the whole team come with him.

They were fine until middle of senior year.

The stress was at an all-time high.

Harry was up for the Heisman Trophy (which he won) and was being scouted by the NFL, all while leading headlines on ESPN.

YN was a sure thing in his mind, the most stable and unwavering aspect which meant that he put their relationship on the backburner.

Like it would always be there.

He was loyal to YN, never once even remotely came close to cheating, that’s not what he means by neglecting their relationship.

Harry stopped randomly showing up to the media room after practice, instead choosing to go right to his frat to sleep.

Harry didn’t want to ever stay at her dorm anymore because he was always achey and her bed sucked which meant unless she agreed to sleep at a rowdy frat, she slept alone.

YN tried to keep the spark alive but she felt it slipping through her fingertips as Harry forgot to even mention that he got a sponsorship for Under Armor.

Harry was disconnected from everything but football.

He expected YN to deal with it, until it settled, and he got a spot in the NFL, then they could be perfect again.

He was stupid, greedy, and unfair to the person he loved most on this earth.

It came to a head when Harry was laying in his bed, a container of meal prepped chicken and rice on his stomach that he ate while watching a new Netflix series.

He hadn’t checked his phone, it had been on silent all day, and he didn’t have the energy to look at the damn thing.

Until his bedroom door comes swinging open and his girlfriend comes barging into the room with tear tracks down her cheeks.

She was dressed beautifully in a tailored suit with a structured bodysuit underneath.

Her makeup was smeared around her eyes but he was sure it looked impeccable before the tears had started.

“What the fuck?” Harry sits up instantly, going completely protective when he demands, “What happened? Who made you cry?”

YN doesn’t run into his arms like he expected when he opened them fo her.

No, instead she crosses them over her chest.

“You, you fucking did,” YN’s voice cracked on the last syllable, “I’ve been there for every important event for you. Even the less important ones, Harry. Since we were fifteen. You-you couldn’t even be bothered to care about the most important night of my college career.”

Harry feels a heart-stopping chill wash over him, like someone had just poured a gallon of ice on his body.

“Fuck, baby,” Harry starts to apologize, sitting up and uncaring when his dinner topples onto the floor and spills, “I can’t believe-“

It was her final presentation.

YN has been chosen to present her photographs in a gallery in the city, only two student got chosen, and she was one of them.

She’d been working on this project since the start of the year, it was her baby, and she had put her blood, sweat, and tears into it.

Harry hadn’t shown.

“I tried calling, texting, and you were just sitting in your bed? Carefree as fuck, huh?” YN laughs but neither of them think this is any part comical.

To hear the curse words leaving her mouth was odd.

Harry was the one in the relationship to have the mouth of a sailor, hearing it from YN in this context was almost…scary.

“No, baby. S’not like that,” Harry feels his throat tightening because he knows he’s fucked up, for the last few months, and this…this was bad.

“I can’t anymore, Harry,” YN sniffles as she blinks up at the ceiling, willing her tears to stop, “You haven’t been my Harry for the last eight months. I’ve been trying to be understanding but I don’t think you realize how poorly you’ve been treating me.”

“I can make it up to you, nut,” Harry tries desperately, standing up but hesitating when she takes a step back.

Nut- her nickname since they were in grade school.

YN bites her lip, the tears were uncontrollable, “This time, I don’t think you can. Harry, you haven’t come to one of my exhibits this year, you forgot our anniversary until the middle of that day, and haven’t once made plans for us. It’s always me now.”

Harry has a disgusting, sinking feeling because he knew that she was absolutely right.

“If you had fallen out of love with me, wh-why did you string me along?” YN asks quietly, he’d never heard her sound so broken, so tired, and hopeless.

“Don’t,” Harry gets louder, “Don’t you dare fuckin’ say that. I am so in love with you. Everyday it’s more and more.”

YN swallows down a sob, “I don’t want to be in a relationship where this is how someone shows me they love me. You’ve changed. You promised me football wouldn’t change you. You fucking promised me!”

“It’s hasn’t!” Harry defends sharply but he knows she’s right and he’s so disappointed in himself at this.

YN dabs her eyes with the heel of her hand, “I’m done, Harry. I love you. I imagined marriage, kids, my entire future with you. I…I can’t be with someone who goes out to a bar with their teammates while I’m begging you for attention and end up sitting in my dorm all alone.”

Harry shakes his head, “No! You’re not breaking up with me! You’re not fucking throwing away our relationship! It’s been fucking eight years!”

“I didn’t throw it away,” YN argues softly, her gentle tone makes it ten times worse because he knows she’s being rational, not emotionally driven, “You threw it away over and over again while I tried to pick up the pieces.”

“YN, this isn’t over,” Harry is yelling at this point, his heart was feeling like it was about to explode and there were fat tears streaming down his face, “Im not letting you fucking do this! To us!”

Harry isn’t thinking when he steps in front of the door, panicked and desperate to just have her listening, “We’re working it out.”

A knock and the door jolts open, a few of his teammates who had clearly been listening give their captain a serious look.

“H, you have to let her leave,” Niall says in a unsually subdued tone.

“Fuck off and mind your own god damn business,” Harry growls at him, his anger was uncharacteristic and frightening for the normally happy-go-lucky man.

“C’mon, YN,” Liam waves her over, giving Harey a firm look as he escorts her out of his room, “I’ll give you a lift home.”

-

Harry doesn’t sleep.

Harry destroys his room.

He breaks his most prized trophy.

His frat brothers throw him a party to cheer him up.

Harry gets so drunk that he sees double of everything.

He doesn’t know what’s going on as a girl shuts his bedroom door, giggling, and sloppily kissing at his neck.

He doesn’t like it.

It’s not YN.

He is about to tell her that when the door opens again to YN standing there with the most heart-shattering expression on he face.

“It’s been less than a day, Harry,” YN can’t stop the tears, devastated as she looks between the two of them, “I should have known I made the right choice. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Harry pushes the girl off but YN already disappeared and he can’t find her anywhere in house.

He stumbles back upstairs and passes out, never feeling so low in his entire life.

-

Harry has a massive bouquet of flowers as he knocks on her dorm room door.

When YN opens it, she looks awful with dark circles from lack of sleep, bloodshot eyes, and greasy hair from lack of shower.

“Baby, please please please,” Harry begs as he presents the flowers, “I know I’ve been fucking up but I can’t lose you.”

YN doesn’t react to the flowers, “You’re six months too late, Harry. This gesture would have meant something then. I was considering my decision and then I saw you with that girl last night.”

“I was drunk and we didn’t-“

“Did you cheat on me? During our relationship?” YN’s voice shakes and he fucking hates that she’s even questioning him on that.

“What? Never. Not even close. When would I have had time? I was trying to get it in with you every second I got,” Harry tells her, it was true, he was obsessed with her, her body, her personality.

YN doesn’t look like she believes him and that feels like a dagger through the center of his heart and twisting it.

“I wish you the best, H.”

“No,” Harry nearly whimpers, he steps forward, dropping the flowers and gripping her jaw, searing their lips together.

Surprisingly, YN doesn’t pull away, just grips his biceps and digs her fingertips in enough that it stings.

“Please, I can never love someone like I love you,” Harry whispers against her lips, tasting her tears as they fall.

“Then you’ll have to learn,” YN replies simply, stepping out of his grip and shutting the door on him.

++

That was three years ago.

Since then Harry had some hookups, two very casual relationships, and despite how much he tried to love someone like he loved YN it had never happened.

So as he kneels in front of her, he falls right into familiarity and actions, moving into her space and putting his hands on her shoulders, “Tilt your head back, nut.”

The nickname just naturally rolled off his tongue.

YN listens, she felt like she was about to have a panic attack from the pain radiating through the center of her face.

“Hu-hurts,” YN gasps as Harry helps her tilt her head, he’s pulling off his jersey with his free hand, struggling a bit but he’s trying to wipe the blood off of her face and neck.

“I know, just hold on. The medics are coming,” Harry soothes as he thumbs over her jaw.

Everything felt a bit surreal.

If he ever doubted that YN was the love of his life, it was reaffirmed as he got coated in her blood, her nose absolutely gushing.

“Is this payback for me breaking up with you?” YN manages to crack a joke even though she’s in pain, that’s his fucking girl.

Harry lets an embarrassingly honking laugh as he shakes his head, “Never in a million years. I can’t -“

“Move please,” One medic orders but soon enough, Harry is being shuffled out of the way and his coaches are dragging him back to the team sideline.

The game was over, YN was carted away on one of the little trucks, and Harry had never been so inattentive in a post-game meeting.

None of the compliments, kudos, praise about his game-winning touchdown even registered because he was freaking out about YN.

Harry cancels his plans to attend the after party.

Then he bribes the one medic with season passes to tell him which hospital they sent YN to.

Harry doesn’t think anything through.

He speeds to the hospital, parks without paying, and rushing into the emergency department to the front desk.

The very very old receptionist has absolutely no clue who he is which is perfect.

“I’m here, looking for YN LN,” Harry drums his fingertips against the counter anxiously.

“You have to be on her visitor list to be able to go back and see her,” The woman, Ronda from her name tag, mutters robotically.

Fuck.

He didn’t even think about that.

There’s no chance.

Ronda clicks her mouse a few times, “Only one name on her list.”

Harry knows it’s going to be her mom or dad.

“Are you…” Ronda squints, taking her glasses off to look, “Uh, Harold?”

Harry has to bite his lip because of course that’s what she put his name in as.

Just like she did at every restraunt that had a waitlist or every time he went into pick up their takeout at a cafe.

“Yes,” Harry coughs to disguise his laugh, pulling out his drivers license to show as proof.

++

Harry was holding his breath, wondering why she put his name on the list, was this going to break his heart even further?

Harry knocks of the doorframe before stepping in, YN was sat up in the hospital bed, and watching a trashy reality television show.

“Surprised my name was on the list,” Harry starts quietly, shutting the door behind him and loitering near it.

“I…I didn’t know if you would come,” YN looks down at her hands, shrugging sheepishly, embarassed, “But I was hoping. I don’t know, it was stupid of me. You’re this big ole’ famous star and -“

“And I will always have time for you. I’d never make that mistake twice,” Harry interrupts her, only taking a few more steps in.

“I…it hurts to see you,” YN admits as she swallows harshly, a telltale sign that tears would be coming.

Harry bites his lip, he felt just as choked up, “I can’t even tell you what it’s like to see you again. God, I’ve just never seen anybody as beautiful as you.”

YN rolls her eyes, “You were dating a Victoria’s Secret model.”

“No, I went on one date with her. That’s it and it was for publicity anyways,” Harry corrects her and it was the truth, “What did the doctor say?”

“I have to go see an oral surgeon about my tooth. He said my nose was severely bruised but no broken bones. I’m just waiting to see about my concussion test. I’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.”

“I am so sorry, nut," Harry sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sympathy.

“I don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re dating anyone but I have one thing to ask,” YN sits up a bit straighter, he could tell she was nervous.

“Anything,” Harry agrees breathlessly, his hands clenching at his side.

“Lay with me. Hold me tonight, please,” YN begins to tear up, wiping at her eyes, “I miss you everyday. I know it’s a lot to ask or if you have places to be-“

“I canceled everything for tomorrow already,” Harry confesses as he moves forward, “Even if I didn’t. I would drop everything to stay here with you. I’ll hold you for as long as you’ll let me.”

YN squirms over as much as possible to give Harry room, he kicks off his tennis shoes, and crawls onto the bed until he’s on his back.

YN turns on her side, facing towards him, hand resting over his heart, and nuzzling her face delicately to be mindful of her nose in his neck.

He feels hot tears drop from her face onto his skin and all he can do is hold her, slipping a hand under her shirt and rubbing at the warm skin of back.

“M’here, I’m right here,” Harry murmurs shakily, overwhelmed as he buries his own face in her hair and begins to tear up.

God, he fucking missed her.

And more importantly, the scariest thing was confirmed for him.

He’s never, even for a moment, fallen out of love with her.

++

[llamagoddessofficial]

Nightmare being so restrained AND a closeted romantic immediately gave me the image of him journaling about you. The journal would be somewhat of a legend/myth among the murder time trio (Killer vehemently insists that he caught a glimpse of Nightmare writing by the fire. Dust thinks he's full of shit) but if someone were to look in it they'd find some very detailed writings of your features, behaviors, thoughts about you... maybe some very literal prose. And if he found that person looking in it there would be no evidence that they (or the journal) ever existed

My Nightmare is, deep down, quite artistic. Whilst Dream has an eye for poetry and the written word, Nightmare has always been fond of form and colour. In another life, unburdened by powers and hatred, I imagine he would've lived a quiet and contented life as a locally successful painter.

Alas... this is not that life. He keeps his passions hidden, even from you. So his journal remains locked away in his room.

His journal is a little black leather-bound book, with uneven pages, so thick it needs a ribbon to remain closed.

It's messy. 90% sketches, most unfinished. Some are lit up with watercolours and some aren't. He sketches everything - landscapes, the interior of his castle, his henchmen, his enemies, memories from his childhood. There's one attempted drawing of what he used to look like before being corrupted, but he's covered that one in so much ink it's impossible to even tell what was underneath.

He's good at drawing. I mean really good. Hundreds of years of practise shows. He writes around the drawings, filling pretty much any gap on the paper, and he has excellent handwriting.

It's the only place where he's utterly honest with himself. He talks about his real feelings, his frustrations and desires... his biggest regrets. He bears his Soul, in that little book, because there's nowhere else he can. Not yet.

Just by reading it, you can tell when he meets you. And when he falls for you. It starts out small - just a profile sketch, a 3/4 view of your head from memory, the usual. But then it just continues. Another 3/4 view, more detailed this time. A closeup of your face. There's more you than words on the page. A day when he was clearly fixated on your neck and shoulders because there's three studies in a row. A whole double spread dedicated to a watercolour of you napping by an evening window.

He reminisces for pages about the lives he would've had with you if things had gone differently. A home? A garden? Children? Would he ever have made a good father?

He also talks in great detail about the strength of his feelings for you, and how he isn't even sure what to do with himself anymore.

No one knows about the journal.

... Except Killer.

Killer saw Nightmare writing in it, once, and decided to go snooping through Nightmare's room while he was out. He found the locked box, and the journal.

He took one look at what was inside - and then closed it again and got the fuck out of there. He still acts like he's searching for it because he knows the severity of what he came across. He will never EVER admit he saw it.

[gunsandspaceships]

Which of the OG6 Avengers can cook?

Based on the evidence from the films, I divided our six into three groups.

Group 1: Don't cook and don't try

Clint

Throughout his journey in the MCU, Clint has shown no signs of cooking skills, only eating skills.

We've seen him eating Laura's food, obviously, Grills' cooking, restaurant food and takeout. But he's never cooked on screen, and hasn't shown any willingness to do so.

Nat

No evidence of culinary skills, despite the assumption that it would be wise for the Red Room to teach Black Widows to be good housewives. The Red Room did not, as we can observe in this illustration:

And in this scene:

Nat was never seen cooking, and even when it made sense to cook, she chose ready-to-eat foods or simply made a sandwich.

But she knows how to make cocktails, so that's a plus.

Group 2: Do try, but they better not

Steve

Self-admitted that he sucks at cooking, but at least he tries.

It makes sense that he knows the basics, but he learned them during a time of not-so-great taste. It doesn't look like he was trying to take it to the next level, but it does look like others have had some experience with his cooking, and now it's an entertaining topic.

Tony

Eggs.

He can cook eggs. With varying success. What else he can do (with more consistent success) is start fires and experiments.

For which he ends up being kicked out of the kitchen of his own house.

By the way, the kitchen is officially Pepper's, which already says something.

Group 3: Cook and do it well

Bruce

Bruce can cook. But despite the fanon that he is a super chef who can cook dishes from all the cuisines of the world, there is no evidence of this in the films.

Instead, we are shown him preparing very simple dishes, and he is not always confident in his skills.

Perhaps between his solo film and She-Hulk he's gotten better in that regard.

What he definitely knows how to do is prepare different cocktails.

Thor

If this post can be considered a top list, then Thor will most likely be our winner.

He cooks food from different cuisines (apparently from different planets), serves it skillfully, learns quickly and shows enthusiasm.

And we can see this already in his first film. When he first arrived on Earth, he was already using the toaster oven and making French toasts, which he had probably never tried before.

He then cooked for Jane and learned to make excellent pancakes, judging by her reaction.

And even though his food doesn't always look appetizing to Midgardians, he knows what he's doing.

He can also make you a Bloody Mary for breakfast.

Thus, once again we come to the destruction of stereotypes. This time the stereotype that since Thor had servants for most of his long life, he cannot have the desire to cook and cannot learn and do it well. In fact, he turns out to be the closest thing on the team to a professional chef.

[moonstruckme]

I had my car’s battery die the other day (still don’t know why) and I thought it would be cute if the same thing happened to reader… so like maybe she’d be on the phone with Remus and Sirius be like “my car died which sucks lol” and he’d leave work early just to help her jump start her car 😍

Sorry about your car battery babe! That used to happen to me all of the time. I wasn't quite sure who you wanted the love interest to be in this one, but since you mentioned both Remus and Sirius I went with poly wolfstar, hope that's alright <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 757 words

When Remus arrives home, you seem to be bickering at Sirius while he rifles through his trunk.

“I know he said they were in here somewhere.” 

“Your manager is going to be so upset with you,” you fret. “I could’ve caught the bus.” 

“Yes, but why would you when you have a perfectly good car and a perfectly capable boyfriend?” Sirius turns to toss one of his flippant grins at you, and he catches sight of Remus coming up behind him. “Hello.” He greets him with a kiss, pleasantly surprised. “I didn’t know you were walking home, love, I’d have picked you up.” 

“It’s fine,” says Remus. “I thought you were at work.” 

“He was.” You seem unable to choose between feeling cross with Sirius and guilty with yourself, but you’re definitely distressed. “He left work early, just because I texted you guys.” 

“You know,” Sirius drawls, “some people want a partner who would drop everything to come help them.” 

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d known you were going to leave work!”

Remus understands your upset. Sirius is perpetually on thin ice with his manager—who, in Remus’ completely unbiased opinion, is a tyrant who expects far too much sacrifice from his employees—and Remus would feel bad too if he further jeopardized Sirius’ job by accidentally calling him away from work early. But also, you’re going to be late for work if you can’t get your car started. 

“You need his car here to get a jump, dove,” Remus says. He can feel Sirius’ smugness like an aura about him, but Remus ignores it. 

You sigh, resigned but dispirited. “You didn’t have to come home, either. I was only complaining to complain.” 

Remus smiles and stretches out his arm. You fit yourself under it automatically. “I wanted to see if I could help,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head in greeting. “Don’t be upset, okay?” 

You’re easily mollified by a soft touch and a loving tone. “Okay,” you mumble. Remus kisses your head again in thanks. 

“Alright.” Sirius stops digging around in the trunk, spreading his hands helplessly. “Are we sure we ever had jumper cables?” 

“We do,” Remus says. He lets you go to join Sirius, showing him the compartment where the spare tire and other essentials are kept. 

“Oh, a secret extra trunk. Excellent. Now, does anyone know how to use these?”

Remus has always been a public transportation beneficiary and Sirius was raised posh, so the three of you end up cloistered around Sirius’ phone watching a video about how to jump start a car. 

“Seems easy enough,” says Sirius. “So, we start my car first, then?”

“We start neither car before all the cables are attached,” you say, while Remus gives his boyfriend a worried look. 

“It seems important that we do everything in order,” Remus agrees. “Considering we’re working with electricity and such.” 

None of your objections seem to put a dent in Sirius’ confidence, however. Though nothing you’re doing involves working with grease, he takes his work shirt off “to keep it from getting dirty” and ties his hair back. It’s all rather dramatic, Remus knows, but he can’t find it in himself to protest. Neither can you, apparently. 

“Okay, so that one goes on the positive one.” 

“Right.” You tear your eyes from your boyfriend’s tattooed abdomen, visibly forcing yourself to concentrate on the battery. “Uh…” 

“The one with the plus sign, doll.” 

Sirius’ eyes dance with mirth, but he delivers the instructions patiently until both cables are connected and Remus is turning the ignition in Sirius’ car. 

“Okay, now yours!” Sirius calls to you. 

Remus hears the croaking sounds of your car trying to start, but then the engine roars to life. 

“Beautiful!” 

Remus gets out of Sirius’ car to see you beaming at each other, your upset over his leaving work clearly forgotten. Sirius looks like he’s about to pat your car approvingly, so Remus catches his hand before he can burn himself. Sirius appears not to notice the interception, only squeezing his boyfriend’s hand excitedly. 

“I’ll pull out of your way so you can get out of here,” Sirius says, backing towards his car. 

“Wait!” Your door opens, and you come running out. “Just one thing first.” 

You take Sirius’ face in your hands, planting a heavy kiss on his lips. He looks half dazed when you pull away and come for Remus, your mouth warm and sweet on his. 

You break away with a giant grin on your face. “Thanks,” you say breathlessly.

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of really excellent analysis on Charles' reaction to Edwin's confession, but there's a huge aspect that I haven't seen talked about at all yet. And that is, namely:

Charles Rowland is a people-pleaser.

Doesn't seem like there's a connection there, does it? Have a seat, my friends. Let me break this down.

The show lays the groundwork for this aspect of Charles' personality early. It's one of the very first things we learn about him, in fact. He's kind and agreeable and helpful, and he's always, always smiling. When Crystal insults him, he laughs it off. When Crystal and Edwin fight, he scrambles to diffuse the situation. He calls himself "a good sort of a chap," and it's important to him that he is.

In episode 3, we find out why. At home, love was always conditional for him. He spent his entire life trying to please his father, and he confesses to Crystal that no matter how nice he was, or how good at sports, it was never enough. That's how Charles sees the world. If he can make people happy, he might actually be good enough for them to love him.

Not only didn't he earn his father's affection, he didn't even manage, in his own eyes, to clear the low bar of being good enough to earn the privilege of not being hurt. And his mother, he says, was "quiet." From the flashback we see, she never stepped in for him or defended him. However hard he was trying, it wasn't enough to get her to intervene on his behalf.

So who else does he have? His "friends"? The ones who literally murder him when he steps in to stop them from doing a terrible thing? The act he put on wasn't enough to win them over in the end, either. However friendly he was, however personable, they turned on him and left him for dead.

Then he meets Edwin.

And when he meets Edwin, he's at his absolute lowest. He's not smiling and putting on a show, for once. He's in a corner of an attic cowering while he slowly freezes to death. But here comes Edwin, offering him kindness, and company, and comfort.

All these things that Charles has spent his whole life chasing, trying to be good enough to earn? Edwin just gives them to him.

Of course he stays with this boy. Edwin is there when he's lost in the dark, shining a light to guide the way. Edwin has seen him unsmiling and afraid, not a shred of his usual act in place, and Edwin has offered him kindness anyway.

So they begin their time together. And what are the things Charles will pick up on almost immediately?

Edwin says right away that he's spent ages in hell. He's plainly had an awful time. He doesn't know how to handle people anymore, but Charles, he knows how to be amiable, how to smile, how to offer levity when things get grim.

So he does. He falls back into what he thinks Edwin needs, the way he always tried to be what his father wanted to see. In the very first episode, he tells Crystal, "I try to be extra happy for all of us, don't I? And I do a pretty good job."

He doesn't ever discuss his own trauma because these boys are terrible at communication, but more than that. He doesn't ever bring it up because he's busy being the support he thinks Edwin needs.

And importantly, Charles doesn't have the self-reflection skills to realize that's what he's doing. Crystal clocks him with shocking accuracy, three episodes in. "He's been hiding it from you," she tells Edwin. "Probably been hiding it from himself." She's spot-on here: when Charles doesn't want to examine his own emotions, or can't face them, he shoves them down under a smile and he carries on pretending.

But that's not the only thing Charles will have picked up on from Edwin.

It's blindingly obvious that Edwin is bad at people. He's terribly repressed. He's from a culture in which emotional honesty and physical affection were not valued or encouraged. But more than any of that, Edwin has his sexual awakening during the events of the show. Before then, he is absolutely clueless about his own wants.

So we have a situation where a consummate people-pleaser who has spent his entire life learning that he has to earn affection finds his way into a friendship with the first person who ever saw him with his mask down and gave him kindness anyway.

Of course he stays with this boy. Of course he wants to keep this.

And what's the best way Charles knows to win someone over? Well, by being what he thinks they want.

So, out come the smiles, for Edwin's sake as much as his own. But more importantly, out comes whatever Charles thinks he needs to perform, in order to keep what is the single most important relationship in his entire life and afterlife.

At this point, Edwin has shown zero romantic or sexual interest, not just in Charles, but in anyone at all. He doesn't especially seem inclined to dating, or to romance, or even to physical affection.

So Charles takes his cues from Edwin, and the cues are very firmly, for thirty years: this boy doesn't have a glimmer of interest in him, not that way.

Fast-forward to the events of the show. Fast-forward to a staircase in hell, where they are being chased by a literal demon. Suddenly his best mate, who he has spent thirty years with, who is his most important person in the world, is saying that he's in love with him.

Of course he needs a minute. Of course he has to sort that through. Any feelings he has for Edwin are things that he has spent literal decades firmly ignoring in the scramble to try and earn affection by being what he thinks Edwin needs him to be.

Because Charles is a people-pleaser at heart. And he may be dreadful at self-reflection, but he is aces at hiding things from himself.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 8: The Toxic In Intoxication

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

Your mouth is poison (your mouth is wine)

(In which an all over the place writer, writes something that's a little bit all over the place)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy,

Words: 9.0K

TW: Swearing, a little bit of violence, mentions of blood, men being men

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Unfortunately, as I've been warning y'all for a while, the deadline did finally slip through my fingers. However I'm hoping y'all will forgive me for it because I am only one day late and this chapter is quite long. I do wanna warn y'all in advance that there won't be a chapter next week because I am going on vacation and my laptop is staying very, very far away from me. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm not sure how I feel about the whole thing but I'm hoping y'all will enjoy it anyways. I did actually edit this time but who knows how successful that was, so please let me know about typos/mistakes. As always, feel free to tell me about what you liked, what you disliked and anything you'd like to see going forward. Have a lovely rest of your weeks my loves <3

August 2025

Azzi Fudd is a spectacular liar. She excels at keeping up a façade of yes everything is perfectly fine in front of her friends and family. She’s quite good at tricking people she can barely stand into thinking oh yes i’m totally enjoying this conversation. But the person Azzi lies the most to, is without a doubt herself. As she steps out of the car into the hot Indiana air, bustling with noises from the growing crowd inside, Azzi internally repeats a lie to herself again: she did not show up to all-star weekend for a glimpse of her ex girlfriend. She’s here, as per Colleen’s managerial advice, to build connections, to further her career and to expand on opportunities in the basketball world. The fact that Paige Bueckers, who Azzi hasn’t seen in three months -the longest period of time they’d spent apart since she’d started at UConn- is definitely also going to be attending tonight’s party, is merely a happenstance. 

Taking a deep breath, Azzi puts one kitten heeled foot in front of the other, trying to ignore her heightened nerves. This isn’t her preferred scene by any means. She’d much rather be back in her hotel room, curled on her couch with a book and a pint of ice cream. It’s not that Azzi doesn’t like parties; she has her fair share of fun at Ted’s, but it’s the unfamiliarity of the environment and the lack of that once ever present comforting hand that used to tap out i’m here for you against the back of her own at big events like these, that has her yearning to crawl back into the car and hide away. 

“Azzi?” a familiar voice calls from behind her and Azzi lets out a sigh of relief as she sees Aaliyah walking towards her with a large welcoming grin, “Azeray!”

“Li-Li. Thank god you’re here,” Azzi reaches up to hug her former teammate, mentally thanking whatever god was looking out for her. She’d dreaded walking in by herself and now she wouldn’t have to. Really she probably should probably send Coach a ‘thank you’ text for having so many alumni in the league that there was bound to be a Husky she could attach herself to for the night. 

“I’m glad to see you too Az,” Aaliyah says, pulling away and looking at Azzi with a semi-concerned look, “but you seem a little extra relieved to see me? You good dude?”

“Just- just a little nervous,” Azzi admits, shuffling her feet uneasily. 

Realization dawns on Aaliyah’s face, “cause of Paige?”

“No you know I don’t like big unfamiliar places,” Azzi sighs when Aaliayh gives her a pointed look, “but I guess maybe- maybe a little cause of Paige.”

The Mystics forward shakes her head before linking her arms through Azzi’s, “I swear, I leave y’all for one year and everything implodes-," she bites her tongue, "shit was that insensitive?”

“No,” Azzi grimaces, “that’s pretty much exactly what happened.”

Something hard coils in her stomach at Aaliyah’s words. The truth is they’d been fine. Better than fine even. And then suddenly Azzi was lighting a box of matches she hadn’t even known she was holding and her whole world was on fire; an implosion of everything Azzi had once thought inflammable. She’d burned her hands trying to rescue them and all she has to show for it are invisible red hot pustules that refuse to heal. But perhaps, she thinks, that’s what a pyromaniac like her had deserved. 

Azzi cowers under the flashing lights of the cameras, clinging tighter to Aaliyah’s arm as the two of them make their way onto the orange carpet, the cameramen immediately swinging their devices to capture the college basketball player more than likely to be the number one pick in next year’s WNBA draft. She feels herself tense under their piercing gaze, anchored only by Aaliyah's strong and steady presence next to her. And as they pose for the cameras, she’s thankful for her former teammate’s company but she can’t shake the feeling that it should have been someone else. 

“And look who we have here,” Lexie Brown says excitedly as the two of them approach the interviewer, “y’all Huskies clean up nice.”

“We try, we try,” Aaliyah answers charismatically, doing a little hair flip to match her tone. 

“Aaliyah, it's your first all-star nod, how are you feeling?” 

“I feel great, you know it’s always good to see yourself being acknowledged and being an all-star has always been a goal of mine. So, I hope it’s the first of many and I’m just hoping my team gets the W tomorrow,” Aaliyah answers diplomatically.

Lexie turns to Azzi, “I bet you’re really proud of her. I mean you’ve got a couple of teammates who are first-time all stars between Aaliyah and Paige. You’ve gotta be feeling pretty proud of them”

“Y-yeah I mean,” Azzi clears her throat, trying not to flinch at the mention of Paige’s name, “It’s been- it’s been really exciting to watch them and I’m extremely proud-”

She’s cut off by the sound of excited chatter filling up the air and Azzi doesn’t have to turn around to know who’s just entered the premises. Not when she has a whole separate sensory system that flares up just for her. Azzi’s skin prickles as she registers the sound of familiar peals of laughter echoing from the orange carpet. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, forcing herself not to turn around. 

“Speak of the devil,” Lexie says goodnaturedly, getting her hand ready to beckon the blonde over and Azzi feels panic suffocate her lungs, not quite ready to face Paige yet. 

“Oh I don’t think-” Aaliyah tries to cut in, glancing worriedly at her friend but it’s too late. 

“Paige,” Lexie calls out, beaming over Azzi’s head at the Dallas Wings’ newest star point guard. 

The world seems to move in slow motion as Azzi feels Paige getting closer and closer to her. She smells the faint scent of fresh mint weaved with a hint of citrus first. Then she hears the sound of Paige’s breathing, perfectly even to anybody else but Azzi can hear the staggered harshness hidden beneath it. And as the blonde passes over her to settle on Lexi’s other side, she feels Paige’s arm brush against her own and it hurts to breathe. The contact lasts for a second but Azzi swears it’ll last forever, tattooing itself on her bicep as a wretched reminder of a touch she’s no longer allowed to crave. 

It’s funny, there’s a hurricane swirling between them and Paige can barely look at Azzi, keeping her eyes firmly on Lexie and Aaliyah as she greets the trio. And yet, there’s a sense of calm -of peace- that seems to wash over Azzi just by having Paige near her again. The older woman seems to possess some sort of magical power that weaves itself into Azzi’s nervous system, soothing away her frazzled nerves with an unspoken promise of and if you give me the chance i’ll make it all okay. 

Despite the hectic transition from a full college season to a frantic W season, Paige looks ethereal as always. Her two piece cropped vest top and straight fitted pants match the color of her eyes and a silver chain dangles across her chest. Two strands of blonde hair hide her signature diamond studs, the rest of it pulled back into a slightly messy bun. Azzi gulps at the way the vest top parts right above her midriff, Paige’s toned abs playing peek-a-boo behind it. She lets her eyes roam over Paige’s exposed arms, trying to ignore memories of how they used to go taut under her touch, down to the blonde’s bare fingers and she feels her heart constrict. No rings. It feels wrong. But then again, nothing has felt right for three months. 

“Azzi,” Aaliyah hisses and Azzi snaps out of her thoughts, realizing she’d been asked a question. 

“Sorry,” she laughs nervously, moving a strand of her hair out of her face; Paige’s eyes intently following the movement, “what was the question.”

Lexie smiles, “I was just asking about your thoughts on Paige’s amazing rookie year so far?”

“Oh um-” Azzi hesitates, shivers inching up her spine as she feels Paige drinking in the sight of the her body like she's a woman parched, “I’m just-” their eyes lock with each other’s and everything else seems to vanish until it feels like it’s just the two of them floating in between remnants of what they used to be, “I’m just really proud of her. I always knew she’d be amazing. She’s just doing what she always does. Being the best player she can be. So yeah I’m just- I’m just really proud of her.”

And Azzi doesn’t know how they got to this point where Paige seems almost shocked that Azzi could be proud of her, to this point where there’s droplets threatening to spill over both of their water lines and they no longer have the right to wipe each other’s tears away. 

“Aww,” Lexie coos, oblivious to the tension, “well on that sweet note, off y’all go and we’ll see y’all later.”

The walk into the party is kept alive with Aaliyah’s attempt at keeping a conversation going. While Paige tries to at least entertain some of, Azzi finds herself completely zoning out until they finally make their way inside into the cacophony of music and laughter. 

“Y’all wanna get-” Aaliyah begins.

“I see Jewell and Téa,” Paige cuts her off immediately, her legs already moving in a rush, “I’ll see y’all later.”

She gives Aaliyah a tentative grin but barely looks at Azzi as she practically trips over her pant-sleeves trying to get away. It feels like something’s biting against her skin, sharp teeth indenting you did this to yourself as Azzi watches Paige walk away. She watches as the tension slowly leaves the blonde’s muscles as she’s pulled into a hug by Jewell and then by Téa. The fake smile that she’d politely kept on her face the last couple of minutes for the sake of the cameras and reporters is replaced by something far more genuine. Azzi watches as Paige is absorbed into the warmth of the growing crowd, embraced by a league that adores her, and she feels the ice cold pinch of she belongs somewhere without you now start to freeze her own heart. 

***

Azzi’s doing fine. She’s gotten through the night with Aaliyah by her side, making small talk with a bunch of different players and she’s managed to keep a friendly smile the whole time. She’d even danced for a little bit, letting loose with some of the other college basketball players that had made the trip to Indianapolis. Sure, she’d occasionally been distracted by her eyes flickering over to the bar and finding a new pretty influencer batting their fake eyelashes at Paige but really she’s doing fine. Her head’s a little dizzy and maybe the third shot of tequila, influenced by a one leggy brunette that had gotten a little too handsy, wasn’t her brightest decision of the night but really, Azzi’s doing fine. 

Until she’s not. 

And it’s Paige's fault. She had to know that it would be Azzi’s last straw. She had to know that Azzi could live with watching a thousand girls flirt with Paige as long as the blonde in question stood rigidly by the bar doing nothing but smiling politely at them. She had to know that Azzi, after having spent most of their college life watching girls fawn over her girlfriend, could deal with the flirty hands that lingered just a little too long on Paige’s bicep. But it’s when Paige leans into this one girl -whose dark curls and tanned caramel skin are just a little too reminiscent of her own- when Paige’s lips graze just a little to close this one girl’s ear, that Azzi realizes she’s decidedly not fine. 

“I need some air,” she manages to bite out, ignoring Aaliyah’s concerned look as she marches out the back door, heading towards the deck. 

Azzi buries her face in her hands as she leans back against the brick wall. She knows she’s being unfair; knows she has absolutely no right to feel this way but something burns within her anyways and the light breeze does nothing to cool it down. 

“I’m not cheating on you,” a harsh voice interrupts her pity party and Azzi sucks in a sharp breath, “We’re not together and I can flirt or kiss or fuck-” she flinches, “anyone if I want to.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Paige’s voice is laced with accusation, “because the way you just stormed out says otherwise.”

Azzi continues to keep her head in her palms, refusing to look at the blonde, “it’s hot and stuffy in there. I just needed some fresh air.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying,” Paige spits out. 

“Well what do you want me to say instead?” Azzi finally looks up, her even cadence in stark contrast to Paige’s fiery tone, “I know we’re not together-”

“Because that’s what you wanted-”

“I know,” Azzi yells, and then quieter, “I know. I know I- I know I did this. But that- that doesn’t make it any easier to see you with someone else,” she swallows, “doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”

Paige scoffs, rubbing her face as she begins to pace, “you miss me? I was at Mohegan when y’all had summer camp. The whole team showed up to the game except for you and you want me to believe that you miss me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want me there,” Azzi confesses in a whisper, “you were so mad at me after-after everything- and I just- I didn’t want to ruin coming back to Connecticut for you.”

“For me,” Paige lets out a laugh devoid of any emotion, “god Azzi there you go again with this fake ‘selfless’ bullshit.”

A thousand and one retorts die on the tip of Azzi’s tongue as she shakes her head and pushes herself off the wall. She can smell the alcohol on Paige, can tell the blonde is itching for an argument but all she feels is pure exhaustion. 

 “I don’t wanna fight Paige. I’m tired and I just-” she bites her lip, fighting the urge to caress Paige’s cheek, “believe it or don’t but- I really do miss you.”

Sparks of electricity dance their way through Azzi’s veins when Paige curls a hand around her wrist, stopping her in her tracks from going inside. And suddenly she doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Dance with me,” Paige whispers. 

“What?” 

Paige shrugs, tugging on Azzi’s hand to pull her closer, “you said you don’t wanna fight and I- I don’t want you to go,” the confession hangs between them as Paige’s hands fall to Azzi’s waist, “so- let’s just- let’s pretend.”

“What are we pretending?” Azzi asks quietly and despite the warnings ringing in her head, she wraps her arms around Paige’s neck. It feels like coming home. 

“We’re pretending that we’re okay,” Paige says softly, holding Azzi’s hips as she begins to sway them gently, “we’re pretending that three months ago you said yes.”

“Paige-”

“Close your eyes Azzi,” the blond waves her hand gently across Azzi’s face, willing both of their eyelids to flutter shut, “we’re pretending that we’re not here- we’re in Minnesota or DC or I don’t know just- anywhere. And our families are here, laughing and talking and some sappy romantic song is playing. It's the best day of our lives and we’re both- we're both dressed in white-”

“Paige,” Azzi lets out a sob, as she begins to understand the picture Paige is painting for them; a picture drawn on a canvas that Azzi had torn up before any color could touch it

“Sshhhh just- let me have this okay,” Paige’s voice trembles as she leans her forehead against Azzi’s, “if I can’t have it for real, please just let me pretend.”

If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Azzi would fight Paige’s tightening grip. If they were both just a little bit more sober, maybe Paige would let go. Instead Azzi lets Paige play pretend, lets them keep their bodies pressed against each other, moving from side to side in rhythm with the wind. 

It isn’t until she hears footsteps approaching them that Azzi hurriedly moves away first and she can see the betrayal of if only you’d just let me hold you in front of the world written all over Paige’s face. They’re both quick to swap their tears for smiles that don’t reach their eyes as they turn to face the intruders. And Azzi wonders if Paige wishes she’d drank a little bit more too. Because maybe if they were both just a little more drunk, then tomorrow they wouldn’t have to remember just how right it had felt to play pretend tonight. 

April 2033 

“You look so pretty Mama,” Stephie gushes from where she’s perched on the bed as she watches Azzi put the finishing touches to her makeup

“Thanks baby,” Azzi smiles, blowing a kiss in the mirror. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie flips the running facetime call, skipping over to her mother with the phone in her hand, “doesn’t Mama look beautiful?”

Sixteen years later, and maybe it’s because of all the time they’d missed in between, but Azzi can’t help the bout of shyness that flushes across her features when Stephie places the phone, Paige’s face illuminated all over it, against the mirror so the blonde can get a proper look at Azzi’s outfit.

“You look-” Paige clears her throat, eyes dilated as they rake over Azzi’s whole body, “you look phenomenal.”

“Big word Bueckers,” Azzi teases, trying to disguise her blush, “did you just learn it?”

Paige rolls her eyes, “can’t even give you a compliment without an insult Fudd.”

“You guys argue too much,” Stephie says exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two adults who laugh. The younger girl sometimes seems far wise beyond her age. 

“We’re not arguing Stephie, we’re just-” Azzi struggles to think of a word. 

“Foreplaying,” Paige mutters under her breath and Azzi immediately glares at her. 

“Paige!”

Stephie scrunches up her nose at the screen, “what does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says shrilly, “Miss Buecks is just making up words.”

“Why would Miss Buecks do that?” Stephie asks, looking back and forth between her mother and the screen. 

“Why does Miss Buecks do anything,” Azzi babbles, as she begins to usher Stephie out of her room, “go grab your things Stephie-bean. Mama’s almost ready to drop you off at Nana and Pop’s house.”

Stephie pouts, “I wanna go to the party with you and Miss Buecks. It’s no fair you both get to go and I don’t,” she picks up the phone, looking at Paige with wide guilt-tripping eyes, “don’t you love me Miss Buecks?”

Azzi has to hand it to her daughter. She’s a smart one to choose Paige as the victim of her emotional blackmail, knowing her wiles had long stopped working on her mother. 

“You know I’d take you with me if I could Stephie,” Paige says, “but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow I swear.”

Stephie smiles and Azzi shakes her head at how quickly the five-year old’s plan had worked, “you’ll take me to the park and then we’ll get fries and then get ice cream?”

“That’s a lot of junk food Steph-”

“Ssshh Mama,” Stephie chides, “this is between me and Miss Buecks.”

“The park, then fries, then ice cream it is,” Paige concedes and Azzi rolls her eyes. 

Stephie grins brightly, puckering her lips to kiss Paige through the phone and eliciting a laugh from the older woman when she cheers, “you’re the best-est-est Miss Buecks. See you in a little bit. Don’t hang up without saying goodnight.”

“I promise I won’t,” Paige calls out after the little girl as Stepehie hands the phone back to Azzi and starts skipping towards her room. 

Azzi gives the blonde a look, “we have got to have a conversation about you learning to say no to her.”

Paige shrugs unhelpfully, “I don’t want to learn how to say no to her.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Azzi remarks, hands on hips, “and foreplay? Seriously? Us bickering is not foreplay.”

“Well it could be if you’d just let me fuck you after,” Paige grumbles and Azzi’s mouth falls open at the bluntness of it. 

“You say the most romantic things to me Paige Bueckers.”

They’re both quiet for a second as Azzi moves around her room, collecting her wallet and keys and to put into her purse. 

“You know there’s still time for me to come pick you up,” Paige says finally.

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, not wanting a rerun of the same argument they’ve been having for the last week. She knows it’s a touchy subject for Paige; that it veers a little too close to insecurities that stem from their past but she’s not quite ready to take this step yet. There isn’t quite any rhyme or reason to her logic except well, she’s haunted by memories of the last time they’d let the personal mix with the professional. Her phone still holds invitations to countless team reunions that she’d actively avoided and a group chat that she’s long muted. Azzi hasn’t stepped foot in the state of Connecticut since she’d entered the draft; she refuses to lose California too. 

“Teammates can carpool,” Paige explains vehemently, “it’s easily explainable.’

“I know-”

“Is this about Clémence?” bitterness tinges the edge of Paige’s voice as she chews her bottom lip. And there it is, the other subject they’d been tip-toeing around since it had been brought up at breakfast a week ago. Paige and Azzi are both excellent at avoiding talking about the harder topics but they’ve never quite managed to let anything go forever. 

“Why would this be about Clémence?” 

Paige narrows her eyes, sitting up from where she’d previously been lounging against her pillow, “maybe you don’t want her to see us together? Maybe you’re trying to spare her feelings I don’t know.”

“Paige-”

“You know what it’s fine,” Paige huffs, “I’ll see you at the bar Azzi.”

She hangs up before Azzi can say anything and the brunette lets out a litany of curses under her breath, annoyed with Paige’s ability to go from A to Z by skipping everything in between. There’s a part of her that knows Paige deserves an explanation about Clémence, a chance to have her lingering doubts confirmed or denied, but amidst the egoistic thoughts of well she married someone else and the self preservationist urge to prevent a potential fight, she hadn’t been brave enough to approach the topic just quite yet. Azzi’s about to step out of the room, when her phone pings with a facetime call from Paige again. 

“Are you calling to apologize for hanging up?” Azzi asks with a frown. 

“No,” Paige replies stubbornly, “I called because I hung up without saying goodnight to Stephie and just because I’m mad at you doesn’t mean I’m gonna miss saying goodnight to her.”

Something wonderful and warm blooms in Azzi’s chest as she silently walks over to Stephie’s room. This is a new chapter in Paige’s storybook that she’s slowly beginning to read; one scribbled with the blonde’s devotion to Azzi’s baby girl. Azzi still has every other chapter memorized; had thought nothing could be more beautiful than the words within the one that had been dedicated to her. But she’d been wrong. Because every day that she watches Paige and Stephie fall more and more in love with each other, she finds herself falling in love with how much they love each other. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, practically snatching the phone from her mother’s hand as she goofily grins at the screen, “you didn’t hang up.”

“I promised I wouldn’t,” Paige says, the hardness that had existed in her voice while talking to Azzi, dissolving into adulation, “you be good for Nana and Pops okay?”

“I’m always good,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, “can you come over really, really, early tomorrow?”

Paige laughs, “I’ll be there as soon as I wake up.”

“Good,” Stephie claps contentedly as she grabs Azzi’s hand to start walking towards the car, “good night Miss Buecks.”

“Good night Stephie-bean,” Paige echoes, blowing a kiss through the screen. 

“Paige,” Azzi says urgently, trying to stop the older woman from hanging up, “can you just hold on a second while I buckle Stephie in.”

“Az-”

“Please.”

“Fine,” Paige says, averting Azzi’s gaze as she sulks. 

Azzi lifts Stephie onto the car seat, fastening her seatbelt and pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek, before she closes the car door and uses it as a stabilizing structure to lean on as she pulls her phone back in front of her. 

“Hey,” she whispers. 

“Hi,” Paige says back begrudgingly, “you wanted to say something?”

“I-” Azzi swallows, “don’t go the bar-”

“Oh fantastic,” Paige cuts her off, her voice furious as she glares daggers at Azzi through the phone, “not only do you not want to go to the bar together, you don’t want me to go at all. Fine. Okay. Whatever. I won’t go. You have the time of your life with fucking Clementine or whatever-”

“Yet,” Azzi says loudly, trying to speak over Paige’s angry rant, “don’t go to the bar yet.”

“What?” 

Azzi licks her lips, “don’t go yet. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents-”

“What does that have to-”

“Will you just let me fucking finish?” Azzi almost bangs her fist on the car in frustration and she’s glad to see that it makes Paige look just a little bit sheepish, “as I was saying. I’m gonna drop Stephie off at my parents and uh- your house- it’s um- it’s on the way to the bar so I thought,” she shrugs with fake nonchalance, the edge of her mouth turning upwards, “I thought maybe- maybe I could pick you up on the way.”

Paige stares blankly at the screen, eyes blinking as Azzi’s words slowly register, “you- you wanna go to the bar together?”

“I didn’t say that,” Azzi teases, eyes twinkling as she basks in the thrill of eliciting that Azzi smile from Paige’s lips, “teammates carpool right?”

“Teammates definitely carpool.”

April 2029 

“You invited Clémence to our movie night?” Jana asks in a whisper, as she walks into the kitchen where Azzi’s making popcorn. Her Saturday nights have gotten rather boring since she’s had Stephie, consisting of alternating between movie nights with Jana and dinner with her parents. It wasn’t the most thrilling of times but she looked forward to them all week, excited to not have to spend a night in solitude.

“She asked what I was doing tonight and I told her we were having a movie night and then she asked if she could join and well I couldn’t just say no,” Azzi explains, sticking the bag into the microwave. 

Jana cocks an eyebrow, “do you want me to leave?”

“Why would I want you to leave?” Azzi asks, crinkling her nose as she juts out an ear just in case the baby monitor goes off. 

“C’mon Az,” Jana says pointedly, leaning on her elbows against the kitchen counter, “you’re telling me there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”

Azzi grimaces uneasily, not quite wanting to answer the question, “nothing that would require you to leave.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it,” Jana relents, grabbing a soda from the fridge on her way back to the living room, before she pauses in the doorway to look back at Azzi, “but I know what it looks like when somebody’s in love with you. And that girl out there,” she nods her head towards where Clémence is daintily sitting on the couch, “she’s definitely getting there.”

Jana’s a rather observant person but Azzi knows that she’s at least a little bit wrong this time. Because Clémence might be a little bit in love with -even if that’s not a fact Azzi particularly wants to acknowledge- but it's impossible for her to look at Azzi the way Jana remembers someone else looking at her. That had been something completely different; a gaze that saw all the little chinks in her armor, all the imperfections carved against her walls and loved her inspite of them, maybe even because of them. Clémence might love her, but Azzi doesn’t think anyone can be in love with her the way the person she’d been hopelessly in love with, had. 

When she walks back into the living room with the popcorn in hand, still plagued by her younger teammate’s words, Azzi’s deliberate to sit on the couch next to Jana instead of the open space next to the francophone. The flash of hurt in Clémence’s eye causes guilt to trickle down her spine but Azzi thinks a flash is better than the tsunami of pain she could cause if she doesn’t start to ease herself out of this right now. There’s a selfish part of her that doesn’t want to, that’s going to miss having somebody who hangs onto her every word. Azzi likes this feeling of being wanted, even if it’s not by the person she wants. But that person isn’t hers to want anymore and she won’t torture Clémence by barricading her in the same jail that has held Azzi’s soul captive for the last four years. 

They’re about half way through the movie, awkward tension eased by Jana’s incessant chatter, when Azzi’s phone buzzes. Already confused at the timing of the call, she’s even more perplexed to see Ice’s name flashing on the screen. 

“Oooh Iceyyy,” Jana’s eyes light up when she catches a glimpse of the CallerID, “put her on speaker. Ice is one of our UConn teammates,” she explains, turning to Clémence who nods in recognition, “she probably did something dumb as fuck and need Azzi’s advice.”

“Don’t be mean,” Azzi scolds with a grin, knowing that Jana’s probably right as she picks up the call, “hello-”

“I hate you,” Azzi freezes at the sound of the familiar voice, laced with unfamiliar malice. Next to her Jana stiffens immediately while Clémence observes the scene in front of her with a guarded frown. 

“Paige who the fuck are you calling?” Ice’s voice is muffled in the background, “oh shit, Paige give me back my phone.”

“No. She needs to hear this,” Paige grits out, her pitch wavering with the effects of alcohol, “she needs to hear how much I fucking hate her. Azzi do you hear me? I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there. Did you hear what I said?”

“Paige,” Ice hisses again. 

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat, fingers digging into her bare thighs as she grips her phone so hard, she half-expects it to break into pieces in a reflection of her heart, “I heard you Paige.”

“Good. Because I do. I really fucking hate you,” Paige repeats again and Azzi flinches, “you ruined me Azzi. And now you’re ruining my marriage. My wife is perfect. She loves me. She loves being seen with me. She loves being known as my wife. Everything I ever wanted from you, she’s willing to give me. But she saw that damn hug at the Olympics and she- she’s upset with me. She thinks- she thinks I’m not over you.”

“Az maybe you should-” Jana says softly but Azzi immediately raises a hand to stop her. Maybe she’s a masochist but she can hear the hurt laced underneath the anger in Paige's voice. And if what Paige needs to get rid of her pain is a target to aim all her arrows at, then Azzi’s willing to sacrifice her heart, or at least what little is still left of it. 

“And the worst thing about it,” Paige’s voice breaks, “is that she's probably right. I have the perfect fucking woman at home and I can’t seem to get over the one who broke my heart and never looked back. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Paige,” Ice pleads again and Azzi can hear her former teammate trying her best to wrangle the phone out of Paige’s firm grasp. 

“I’m not done yet Ice. I need to talk to her and I need to talk to her now because if I don’t, I’ll never get the courage to say any of this again,” Paige is sobbing now, and her broken whimpers pierce Azzi’s heart deeper than any words could,  “why couldn’t you just have said yes Az? I know- I know your reasons but why- why couldn’t you have just loved me enough to look past them? How do you do it Azzi? How do you live without me because it’s been four years and I- I still don’t think I know how to live without you and I hate you, I hate you because you do.”

No, Azzi thinks, I really don’t. But she doesn’t say anything, rapidly blinking back tears as she avoids both Jana’s concerned look and Clémence’s more thoughtful gaze. 

“I wish I could just feel nothing towards you Azzi,” Paige confesses, heaving as she struggles to breathe through her tears, “I don’t want to hate you. I don’t want to miss you and I really- I really, really don’t want to love you. Please just make it stop. I’m so tired of this Azzi. I’m so tired of hurting. How do I make it go away? Please tell me how I make it go away? How did you make it go away?”

“I didn’t,” Azzi whispers, so soft she’s not sure Paige heard it; she’s not sure if she wants Paige to have heard it. It’s the kind of pain, she thinks, she’s destined to feel forever. It’s weaved itself into every crevice of body and now it exists as just another innate part of her. Paige thinks Azzi’s learned to live without her but really all Azzi’s learned is how to live with these permanent scars of i think i’ll miss you forever. 

“That’s enough Paige,” Ice’s voice is clearer now, having finally snatched the phone out of her teammate’s grip, “Azzi-” she begins apologetically, “she’s just drunk. She didn’t mean-”

“She did,” Azzi clears her throat, sinking into the way Jana's arms wrap around her, “she’s um- she’s gonna be really hungover in the morning. Make sure she- make sure you give her water but don’t- don’t give her coffee. She’ll want it but it’ll only make it worse because she uh- she- when she drinks too much, her stomach hurts and the caffeine- it just- it makes it worse so- don’t let her drink coffee tomorrow morning okay? And make sure- make sure she eats something before she takes painkillers. And Ice?’

“Yeah Azzi.”

“If she doesn’t remember any of this tomorrow morning, please don’t remind her.”

***

April 2033

The bar is buzzing with noise by the time Paige and Azzi finally arrive. It’s an exclusive enough place that they won’t be too bothered by fans asking for pictures and autographs but the size of the crowd still puts Azzi a little bit on edge. She can’t help the small smile that flitters across her face when she feels Paige’s hand resting on her lower back as the blonde guides the two of them through the crowd in search of their teammates. For the last eight years, Azzi has been her own protector and she’s learned to guard herself but it’s nice -it feels right- to have someone else ready to be her shield too. 

“You know Bueckers,” Joyce says as the two of them finally approach the table that had been reserved for the Valkyries, “some might say that one should be on time when meeting their new teammates. Just a thought.”

“And some might say Edwards that being fashionably late is being on time,” Paige quips back. 

Joyce grins, “alright time for introductions.”

“I’m pretty sure I know-”

“Shut up,” Joyce reprimands, throwing an arm around Paige’s shoulders, “let me introduce these brand new people to you.”

“They’re not-”

“Sssshhh. Let me have my fun. We’ll start over here with Westbeld and Booker. You might know them, their teams kicked your ass during the 23-24 season,” Joyce says with a smirk. 

“Oh I do remember that,” Paige says thoughtfully, eyes twinkling with mirth, “what happened the season after?”

“Don’t be cocky Bueckers. It’s unbecoming,” Madison chides as she rises from the table to give Paige a hug. 

“Yeah I try not to remember that Elite Eight game thanks,” Laila says, making a disgusted face. 

Joyce glares at her, “did I introduce you yet Miss Phelia?”

Laila raises her hands in surrender as Joyce continues to give Paige a tour of the Valkyrie team. Azzi had known that Paige would fit in well with her teammate -really the blonde had the uncanny ability to fit in anywhere- but seeing it realized in front of her, it seems even clearer. Paige feels like the last mosaic piece, slotting in right where she belongs. 

“Those two over there are our babies,” Joyce points to Haylen and Jayla, “they’re like five years old but we love them anyways.”

“I’m almost 25,” Haylen protests. 

“See,” Joyce remarks, “literally children. And that one,” she points to Jana who beams at Paige, “well you already know her even if you sometimes wish you didn’t probably-”

“Hey!”

“Oh shush Jana,” Joyce says airily, “and I supposed there’s no point in introducing Azzi to you since y’all came together,” she pauses to look between them, “y’all don’t live that close to each other. Why didn’t you just carpool with Jana? I’m pretty sure she lives closer to you.”

Paige opens and closes her mouth a couple of times as Azzi feels her own cheeks heat up at the innocent enough question, “we um- well it's just- you see- my house is on the way from her parents and she had to drop off Stephie so it just- it just made sense you know? For efficiency’s sake.”

“Oh yeah for efficiency’s sake. They’re both very efficient,” Jana smirks, “makes a lot of sense.”

Joyce gives all three of them a weird look, “y’all Huskies are strange. It was just a question but anyways,” she grins as she finally steers Paige towards the blonde in the corner and Azzi stiffens at the way Paige’s body immediately tenses, “a couple of our teammates aren’t here but we do have a former teammate. Paige meet Clémence.”

“We’ve met,” Paige says, attempting to school her features to resemble anything but the discomfort she’s feeling within, “during the Olympics that is. We’ve beat France a couple of times.”

It’s a purposeful word choice, beat instead of played and Azzi's fingers fidget with the hem of her top as she tries to avoid looking at either of the two women. 

“Yes. It is good to see you again,” Clémence says tersely, her French accent stronger than the last time Azzi had spoken to her. She shakes Paige’s hand rather formally before her eyes focus on Azzi and she determinedly walks towards the brunette, “and it is really good to see you Azzi. I have missed you.”

“I-” Azzi stutters at the French woman pulls her into a hug; over her shoulder she can practically see steam coming out of Paige’s ears as she hyper focuses on how Clémence makes it a point rub her thumb down Azzi’s back, “it’s um- it’s good to see you too.”

She pulls away and she can feel the disappointment reverberating from Clémence’s body as Azzi practically flings herself on the chair next to Jana, wondering what she’d done to deserve this moment as a punishment for her sins. 

“Save me,” she pleads as Clémence and Paige sit as far away from each other as possible, occasionally shooting glares when they think the other isn’t looking. 

“Save you from having two hot women fighting over you?” the center teases, “you truly have such first world problems Azzi Fudd.”

“They’re not fighting over me-”

“Azzi you will have your usual rum and coke no?” Clémence asks and Azzi looks over to where the francophone is intently staring at her, “I will go-”

“Oh there’s no need,” Paige says immediately, “you sit Clémence. You already have a drink. I was gonna go get one for myself and I’ll get Azzi’s too. Besides, Azzi's more of a fruity drink girl. Az I’ll get you a piña colada-”

Clémence narrows her eyes, “maybe she liked that when she was in college but Azzi likes something different now.”

“She might like something different now,” Paige counters, standing up aggressively so she towers over the table, “but she’s always gonna love a piña colada right Azzi?”

All eyes turn to look at Azzi who wants nothing more than to cower under the table- or hit Jana who seems to find this very unamusinging situation rather entertaining, “I um-” she swallows, “I think tonight calls for something stronger. Round of shots for the table? On me?”

It placates the situation for a while as the rest of the team cheers on the idea, beckoning over one of the bartenders to orders a round of tequila shots for the table. For a moment, Azzi tricks herself into thinking maybe that’ll be the end of ridiculous situations for the night as the team downs shots to Jana yelling “to the Valkyries” but she should have known it was wishful thinking.

Half the team ends up on the dance floor, swaying to the mixed rhythm of the music and the newly minted alcohol coursing through their bloodstreams. Azzi watches with a smile as despite her protests, Joyce manages to drag Paige onto the dance floor with her, engaging her in some eccentric dance moves as they try to outdo each other on who can look the silliest. And as the rest of the girls cheer the blonde on, it feels like Paige is chiseling out a place for herself in another part of Azzi’s world. 

“She is easy to love,” Clémence’s hot breath fans Azzi’s ear as the francophone takes Jana’s empty seat next to the brunette. 

“Clém-” Azzi sighs. 

“She fits in well with the team,” Clémence continues, something wistful in her voice, “I have seen her play. She will fit in well on the court with you guys as well. She will fit in well next to you.”

“That’s the hope,” Azzi says softly as she tilts her head to look at the other woman, “you fit in well too. I mean it Clém. We’ll miss you at GSV.”

Clémence smiles bitterly, “I would have liked to stay but they needed the cap space so they could sign her. She- she’s quite expensive. I mean considering she is casually wearing swarovski crystals on her neck in a bar on a random Saturday night, I am not surprised.”

The two of them laugh despite the gravity that looms heavily over them. Azzi and Clémence haven’t been anything in a long time but she’d never quite shut the possibility of a potential future done. She can hear the lock ready to click now. It’s bittersweet doing the right thing but as Paige glances over from the dancefloor, eyes darting cautiously between the two of them, Azzi knows that she doesn’t want to keep any other doors open. Not when the one with Paige’s name etched on the door handle, leads to home. 

“One last dance?” Clémence asks softly, holding out her hand. 

Azzi hesitates, knowing that it would irritate Paige but she thinks she probably owes Clémence this and so she smiles and takes the francophone’s outstretched hand as they join their other teammates. It’s nothing beyond friendly and they both keep their hands to themselves as they sway to the music, but Azzi can feel the annoyance radiating off of Paige from across the dancefloor. She would never admit it, perhaps it’s a little toxic of her, but there’s a certain thrill to making Paige jealous. There’s something about the way the blonde’s blue eyes flare with ice cold envy, the way her jaw hardens as she grinds her teeth. The way she looks at Azzi like if she had her way she’d drag the brunette out of the bar and mark her with a possessive you’re mine you’re mine youre mine. It makes Azzi clench her thighs together as she tries to focus on Clémence. 

“I understand now,” the francophone says thoughtfully as Azzi’s peers up at her in confusion, “when you told me that you could not be with me. I get it.”

“I don’t-”

“You are here with me but you aren’t actually. You will always be with her,” Clémence tilts her head towards Paige, “you always have been. I understand now,” she says again simply before her face hardens, “even after all those words she said to you on the phone that night.”

Azzi’s stomach curls at the reminder. She knows exactly what night Clémence is referring to. Sometimes when she closes her eyes, it’s those words, coated in anger and malice, that shower around her like acid rain, seeping into her skin and infecting her bloodstream.

“I told you, you deserved better,” Clémence says and Azzi gulps, “but you said- you said you deserved worse. I hope you don’t believe that anymore Azzi. Just because you hurt her doesn’t mean you need to let her hurt you too.”

“I-” Azzi’s cut off by a hard body ramming into her own and she feels herself going stumbling back into the unwanted arms of a random man, “I’m sorry,” she says tersely, struggling to get out his grip. 

“No worries pretty girl,” he says toothily, the heavy stench of alcohol in his breath making Azzi feel nauseous, “but now that you’re here, how about I buy you a drink.”

“No thank you,” Azzi says sternly, trying to push the man away but he’s relentless. 

“Aw c’mon don’t be like that sweetheart,” the term of endearment sounds like an insult falling from his lips and Azzi loses her patience, stomping her heel into the man’s foot to finally free herself from his grip and he yelps in surprise.

“I said no thank you.”

“What the fuck,” the man spits out, standing up as Azzi takes a step back. He’s got some muscle and although, despite his bravado, she knows she’s strong enough to take him, she’d rather not create a scene. Her plan is to walk away. Paige seems to have other ideas, suddenly materializing in between Azzi and the man, a furious look on her face as she squares him up. 

“Do we have a problem?” the blonde asks menacingly. 

“Nothing other than your little friend here being a fucking bitch.”

Paige’s eyes darken as she takes a threatening step towards him, prevented from going further only by the way Azzi immediately laces a hand around her wrist, “what the fuck did you call her?”

“I called her a-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Azzi cuts in, stepping in between a glaring Paige and a man who’s clearly underestimating her strength, “let it go Paige.”

“Yeah,” the man mocks, “let it go Paige.”

“You fucking-” Paige tries to lunge at him but Azzi’s quick to shove her back gently. 

“Don’t cause a scene,” she warns. 

“Azzi-”

“Paige please.”

“Holy shit,” the man wolf-whistles, “y’all play for the Valks. You’re Azzi Fudd. I know you.”

“Good for you,” Azzi spits out at him before turning her attention back to Paige, who looks like she could kill the man if given the chance, “c’mon let's go back to our tab-”

“It’s funny you’re acting like such a fucking prude when you have a bastard chi-”

An unmistakable crunch rings out through the bar as the man goes flying backwards. Azzi’s knuckles are bleeding as her breath comes out in ragged huffs. She hadn’t wanted to cause a scene; could have walked away from a man being a drunken idiot, could have walked away from being called a bitch or hell, even something worse. But the man had attacked the one part of her that she’d always be ready to go to war for. He’d brought up Stephie and she’d seen red. Her fist had moved of it's own accord.

Paige doesn’t say anything and Azzi can feel the anger still vibrating from the older woman’s body as she roughly grabs Azzi’s unhurt hand.

“Let’s go,” the blonde’s voice is eerily low, “we’re going home.”

***

It’s a subconscious choice to let Paige drive Azzi’s car even though they’ve both sobered up considerably, not that one shot had done much in the first place. It’s a subconscious choice that Azzi reaches over to lace her fingers through Paige’s free hand, resting it on her lap, as the blonde use her other hand to grip the steering wheel. It’s a subconscious choice that they end up driving to Azzi’s house in complete silence. She’s not sure who’s mad at who, if they’re even mad at each other or that man or just the world but she can feel the fury suffocating the air. 

“Where’s your first-aid kit?” Paige says gruffly as Azzi unlocks the door. 

“Bathroom,” Azzi says quietly and Paige is off towards it before the word has even fully left the brunette’s mouth. Azzi scrambles after her, pausing in the doorway as Paige rummages through drawers, knowing better than to interrupt to help when Paige looks livid like this.

“Sit,” Paige points to the sink once she’s finally found the sanitizer and gauze to clean up dried up blood staining Azzi’s knuckles. 

“I can do it my-”

Paige glares at her, “just sit on the fucking sink Azzi.”

Putting away her own irritation at being told what to do, Azzi lifts herself onto the flat surface of the sink, opening her legs slightly so that Paige can stand between them. Despite still quivering with barely concealed rage, Paige’s touch is gentle as she dabs at the remnants of red liquid on Azzi’s hand. 

“You should’ve just let me punch him when I wanted to,” she says finally. 

“So you could be the one bleeding?” Azzi raises an eyebrow. 

“No because he would’ve never gotten the courage to say shit about Stephie if you’d just let me kill him when he called you a bitch,” Paige bites out venomously. 

“And let you go to jail? I couldn’t do that to Stephie,” Azzi tries to lighten the tension in the room, “she’d miss you too much. 

“This isn’t funny, Azzi,” Paige seethes as she begins to wrap the white gauze around the wound. 

“I know,” the younger woman says, trailing her other hand down Paige’s arms trying to soothe her anger, “but it’s fine-”

“It’s not fucking fine,” Paige yells. 

“Baby-” the word slips out from Azzi’s lips before she can catch it. She hasn’t used it for someone other than Stephie in so long that it feels foreign on her lips and yet, it fits exactly right. 

“Did you call Clémence that too?” and there it is, the real reason behind the volcano erupting as Paige decidedly looks away from Azzi. 

Azzi narrows her eyes, “I don’t know Paige. Did you call Olivia that?”

“That’s different,” Paige grits out, “Olivia was my wife.”

Azzi flinches at the word; hates that somebody else had ever had the honor of being called that even if she knows it’s unfair of her to feel that way when she’s the one that had turned it down first. 

“Exactly,” she says slowly, “you married someone else-” she holds up a hand when Paige protests, “I know. I know I said no but you married someone else Paige. So you don’t get to be mad at me for having something with someone else too.”

Paige is quiet for a moment and Azzi sees the exact moment the fight leaves her body as she lets out a sigh, leaning her head against Azzi’s shoulder. 

“You’re right,” Paige whispers into Azzi’s neck, hands moving to rest against the brunette’s thighs. 

Azzi runs her hand through Paige’s hair, brushing it in tandem with the harmony of her breathing, “we can’t keep throwing the past in each other’s face, Paige.”

“I know,” Paige breath tickles against Azzi’s skin and she shivers in spite of the tense moment,“I just-” the blonde lifts her head to look at Azzi, “I need to know who Clémence was to you. You- you know what Olivia was to me and I- I just need to know the same about Clémence.”

“She-” Azzi hesitates, “we hooked up a couple of times,” she squeezes Paige’s hand when the blonde flinches, “but then she- she wanted more but I couldn’t- I couldn’t do that. Partly because I didn’t- I didn’t feel the same- don’t look so smug,” Azzi chides when a small grin forms on Paige’s face, “and partly because we were on the same team. I didn’t want to complicate things, not like last time. Feel like I should probably have a rule not to date teammates.”

“Right.”

Azzi watches the cogs turning in Paige’s brain and she reaches out a hand to ease the creases forming on her forehead, “what are you thinking Bueckers?”

“I just-” Paige bites her lip, “what about me?”

“What about you?”

“I mean we’re gonna be- I mean we are- we’re on the same team too,” Paige says and Azzi can hear the insecurity of will you leave me again weaved through her voice. 

“You don’t get it yet do you,” Azzi whispers, reaching up to cup Paige’s face, “baby you are the exception to all of my rules.”

[anim-ttrpgs]

Why You Should Try Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy Part 8: Fun and Easy Character Creation

This is part 8 of a multi-part series of posts about the awesome features of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, in no particular order.

Find the earlier parts here:

Part 1 Link: We Worked Hard on It!

Part 2 Link: It's Easy to Learn!

Part 3 Link: It's Easy to GM!

Part 4 Link: It's Easy to GM and Supports Narrative and Roleplay!

Part 5 Link: It Revolutionizes Investigation and Mystery Solving in TTRPGs

Part 6 Link: PCs are Not Just Mystery Solving Automatons

Part 7 Link: Excellent Time-Keeping Mechanics Keep the Pressure On

I talked about Skills in previous parts, and here we will go more in-depth into them, as well as other awesome things that make up a Eureka character.

Skills

As mentioned before, Eureka characters have an all-purpose array of 21 Skills meant to cover just about anything they’re likely to encounter while trying to solve a mystery, with a rating that tells you how good or bad they are at each of these skills. You don’t roll for skill points, nor do you get a set amount of them to distribute. The only rules are that each skill must be set to a rating between -3 and +3, and at the end, they all have to add up to a net 0. This means that for every +3(making them an expert at that skill), they have to have a -3 somewhere else, or three -1s, etc. This can make character creation a little bit like a puzzle, where you slowly uncover just who your PC is as you move their skills around to add up to 0, while still giving you complete control over their strengths and weaknesses.

There are also additional “Write-In” skills, which are more specialized. You can also write in your own skills as Write-In skills if none of the official ones suit your PC. Any Write-In skill has to be set to +1 or higher, and counts for the total.

Traits

In addition to skills, Eureka characters are made up of Traits. These are literally personality traits that have a mechanical effect on that PC’s gameplay, further supporting roleplay. Each PC has 3 Traits by default, but additional Traits, up to 6 total, can be added at the cost of extending how many Investigation Points it costs them to get a Eureka! Point.

Traits can radically change how the PC plays, and of course help define their personality by encouraging and discouraging certain behaviors through bonuses and penalties. Many Traits also provide additional ways of spending Eureka! Points.

Here’s a few examples and a link to a big masterpost of Traits, though at the time of writing this there’s even more Traits than the masterpost shows. You’ll have to download the Eureka rulebook to see them all. (It's linked at the top of this post.)

Truth

A PC’s “Truth” is another mechanic that really fleshes them out in gameplay. It is one of more extra little elements of their personality. It could be a motto they live by, their short temper, their overly trusting nature, etc. The only rule is that it has to be something that would be likely to spur them to action or get them into trouble. Once per Scene, when they say or do something that is in line with their Truth, they gain a +1 bonus to their next 5 skill checks. This keeps your characters acting in-character, and rewards it.

Inventory and Wealth

You might have noticed that "Wealth" is a skill. In short, this skill is rolled when PCs buy something, or when they need to know something about high-society. (It can also be reversed when they need to know things about lower class environments.)

Another thing that Wealth governs is the PC’s inventory items.

Inventory items are determined on a per-scenario basis by rolling for how many Wealth Points can be spent on items before the scenario starts. You’ll get your investigator a house (or equivalent), a vehicle, and whatever else they can afford. Having the right item for the job can save lives, but powerful weapons, fast cars, comfortable homes, etc. can get expensive quick. Just like in real life, rich people generally have an easier time of things, but some of the best moments in our own campaigns have come from PCs struggling with money.

(You also fill out the PC’s Tiers of Fear in character creation but I already talked about that in Part 6.)