#but real change is also presented as impossible

[agoddamnrayofsunshine]

I’m sure someone has talked about this before but one thing I absolutely love about tbosas is how Snow’s descent into villainy is never once presented as something that was inevitable

So many villain origin stories portray this idea of a person who tries incredibly hard to be a good person, who takes every opportunity to be kind and to better themselves, but are ultimately doomed to fail by the narrative. Their environment and their circumstances make it impossible for them to be a good person, and while this is effective from a storytelling point of view it’s not exactly accurate to real life

In real life there is always a point where a bad person makes the decision to do something bad, they make the decision to prioritise themselves, their own power, money or desires over someone else. That’s how real life dictators are made, they are presented with every opportunity to be good, and they purposefully choose to not take it

This makes Snow’s storyline so effective because he is given so many opportunities to do the right thing and yet, at every single turn, he chooses to serve himself instead, exactly like how real dictators are made

Snow, unlike most people we see in the capitol, is in a unique position where he could genuinely have the chance to understand and relate to the people from the districts. He, unlike his classmates, is poor and spends most nights going hungry, he witnessed firsthand the cruelty of the capitol when Clemensia was bitten by the snakes for nothing more than lying about doing her homework, when his sister was forced to sell herself on the streets in order to feed the both of them

Throughout his book, the three people he is closest to are Tigris (who dislikes the hunger games, is a rebel, and a victim of the capitol forced to turn to prostitution), Sejanus (who is originally from district 2, dislikes the capitol and knows he will never be accepted there, and also a rebel) and Lucy Gray (who is a victim of the hunger games, from district 12, and is also treated horribly by the capitol). These are all people who gave him an opportunity to realise the cruelty of the system he was in, a chance to directly confront his prejudices and see that people from the districts are just the same as him, and yet he still refuses to take the chance to change

He is given every opportunity, he’s sent away from the capitol to be a peacekeeper in the districts, he forms personal connections with people from the districts, he helps Sejanus perform funeral rites, and yet at every moral crossroads he comes to he makes the wrong decision. He didn’t have to become a villain, and yet he made the choice to do so anyway, despite every chance he was given

I think it’s a really effective portrayal of Snow as a character, and it’s a very effective villain origin story for the type of villain that Snow is. It never once excuses him from his actions because it highlights just how accountable he was for his actions

[13thdoodle]

[ Ectoberhaunt24 Day 1 : Past Present Future ]

Here they aarrreee~ The chaos trio UwU

This is based of my DP RET Time AU, where trio are basically adopted by CW to be his wards and given powers over past present and future respectively

Sam got Past, Danny Present, Tucker Future

Ok I be so real, I actually have no idea how Sam's past power works, but I do like hourglass time aesthetic, so I gave it to her askjdnaskdj

the hourglass shape was actually me trying to draw the proper hour glass shape but draw one side too straight but I was like wait no I might be cooking sth here akjsdnakd

It kinda look neat n reminds me of those one sided die or impossible loop

For Danny, I gave him string games/cat's craddles to connect multiple points of presents together. I use this butterfly(?) shape as reference bc sth sth butterfly effects

Drawing hands.... (my beloved) (my detested)

For Tucker, he get to have fancy screens bc future tech tm I do give him the rings that match all 3 of their colors uwu

Blue for Danny, purple for Sam, and yellow-orange for himself. That also reflects on their robe. I was gonna give them all the same purple colors but I messed around with the base color change and the blue one looks really cute on Danny with purple textures so here we are sakdjansjkd

kinda reminds me of this fabric type a bit

[milkoomi]

⋆˚࿔ a new canvas means a new you 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

a mini series on the art of becoming a better you

previous chapter

chapter two — THE ART OF SELF CONFIDENCE

i’ve touched on this topic before, but i wanted to do more of an in-depth deep dive into it! self confidence isn’t just about how you feel about your physical self, but it’s also about how you feel about your mental and emotional self; how you feel about your soul and the aura that surrounds you. self confidence can start at your physical self, like your looks, your style, etc. but reaching a true, deeper meaning of having confidence you have to dig deeper into your mind, heart, and soul.

references on self confidence:

“a guide to building confidence” - by me!

“study yourself to become confident” - thewizardliz

“the ultimate guide to becoming confident” - alessya farrugia

“rewiring your subconscious: guide to becoming your dreamiest self” - @glowettee

“building confidence” - @goddessinnerglow

ᥫ᭡. different types of confidence

in alessya farrguia’s youtube video, she discusses the 3 different types of self confidence: physical, social, and authentic confidence. i highly recommend watching her video! she makes really phenomenal points in her discussion!

i’d like to highlight some key points she made in her video:

physical confidence: “stop comparing your behind the scenes to everyone else’s highlights.”

social confidence: “confidence isn’t thinking ‘i know someone will like me’, it’s ‘i know it won’t bother me if they don’t’.”

authentic confidence: “true confidence means trusting yourself”

but i’d like to add mental & emotional confidence. the mentality that you have and how you feel about yourself plays a huge role in self confidence. having a mindset that makes you feel secure and having emotions toward yourself that are positive will help you become more confident. it also helps, immensely, to be in a headspace that makes you feel comfortable being you, that brings you joy, and that brings you peace. being able to have a good relationship with your own emotions can uplift you!

mental confidence:

destress & decompress — when your mind is weighed down by stress, you start to feel overwhelmed. that overwhelming feeling can cause your mind to break down and make you think that you won’t be capable of recovering from that stress. it’s important to manage your stress and remind yourself that you are capable of overcoming anything that’s causing you those feelings! stress is one of those things that make you feel like everything is impossible, but that’s only a feeling. it’s like having a bad dream, while you’re experiencing that dream it might feel too real and sometimes it may even be scary, but then you wake up and you realize that you’re safe. think of stress as just a bad dream, the feeling is only ever temporary and as soon as you manage it/overcome it you’ll be safe again. and, as a bonus, once you overcome that stress, you feel more secure within yourself and you’re reminded that, yes, everything is going to be okay and you are more than capable of overcoming those feelings!

practice mindfulness within yourself — “mindfulness is the practice of paying attention to the present moment without judgement.” with that being said, practice paying attention to yourself without any judgement. focus on how you’re feeling, what your current thoughts are; focus on you without judging yourself. learn to accept yourself as you are within that present moment and try to steer away from making quick, negative judgements about yourself. yes, you can judge yourself, but do so in a way that’s productive! judge your mental and emotional state, are you in a headspace that is ideal to you? judge your health, do you feel like there needs to be any changes in your lifestyle, diet, or activity level to better your body in a healthy manner? judge yourself, is there anything about yourself that you still need to work on or are there characteristics of yourself that you take pride in?

emotional confidence:

emotional intelligence — this is key to gaining emotional confidence. i recommend this video by The Glow Up Secrets Podcast on youtube! the host brings up so many wonderful and insightful points on becoming emotionally intelligent! being able to self-regulate and to understand exactly what you’re feeling can help you gain confidence in yourself. people will always pride themselves in their intelligence, so let being emotionally intelligent be the intelligence you pride yourself in!

ᥫ᭡. self-acceptance

people have this idea that self-acceptance is just settling for who you are, and well, that’s not really the case— at least in my eyes. learning to accept yourself as you are now will make it easier for you in your self improvement journey. we all want to become the “it-girl/person”, but a lot of us will look for quick fixes or even go towards trying unhealthy habits. allowing yourself to accept who you are right in this moment can be a first step towards becoming the person you strive to be.

accept your insecurities. accept your failures. accept your body as it is right now. accept your faults. then take all of that acceptance and turn it into a learning experience for yourself. learn that your insecurities only become insecurities because of that negative self-talk. learn that you cannot grow without any failures. learn what exactly it is that your body needs to become healthier and better for yourself.

accept yourself, then learn from yourself.

ᥫ᭡. manifestations & affirmations

we can make our dream selves become the reality. there’s so many amazing posts here on tumblr about manifesting, so go look into them! if we believe it, we can have it. you have to believe that you have confidence. you have to affirm yourself that you are confident. people, myself included, talk about “faking it til you make it”, but when you really think about it, the more you repeat these manifestations and affirmations the more it starts to feel true and real to yourself.

this also ties into positive self-talk. we have to speak to ourselves kindly, we have to uplift ourselves in a world that brings us down. talk to yourself with grace, gratitude, and genuine appreciation. you have gotten yourself through countless hardships. sure, there were probably people who helped you out on the way, but at the end of it, it was mostly your own doing that got you to a better place. so appreciate and love that about yourself!

grab a journal and write down all your manifestations and affirmations daily. writing it all down is like setting it in stone. be consistent, and soon enough all that you want for yourself— including self confidence— will come into fruition.

ᥫ᭡. take pride

think of it this way: no one can be you. people can try to imitate you, but they can never truly be you. take pride in how you look because no one has features like yours, take pride in your work because no one worked the way you did, take pride in your accomplishments because no one worked in the same way that you did to achieve those things; take pride in yourself. as cheesy and cliché as it all sounds, there’s literally no one else who is like you.

ᥫ᭡. find a deeper understanding for yourself

this point is heavily inspired by thewizardliz’s video “study yourself to become confident” (linked in the beginning of the chapter). i just want to reiterate her points and expand on them a little bit! her beginning statement includes: “once you know who you are, no one can tell you anything”.

i feel like we all understand ourselves to a certain degree. but understanding yourself on a deeper, more personal level will allow you to truly feel confident. in her video, liz talks about understanding and even studying ourselves to understand what we like/dislike, what we accept/don’t accept, etc. and i genuinely feel like she brings up a really great point in doing so!

we, as humans, feel like we know what we want for ourselves rather than actually knowing what we want for ourselves. we feel like certain people bring us joy, we feel like certain hobbies make us happy, we feel like we understand ourselves. but, in reality, most times we don’t actually know those things about ourselves.

people we surround ourselves with

we think that certain friends/partners bring us joy because we’re taught, sometimes unintentionally, to allow people to make us feel like we have to conform to them and their wants and needs. we don’t know that some of these people in our lives might actually be bringing us and our confidence down.

hobbies people partake in

we think that doing certain things, like drinking or hook-up culture, make us feel happy or satisfied with ourselves. but we don’t know or we’re not aware of how those hobbies, or even habits, might be destroying us physically, mentally, and even emotionally.

behaviors we accept

we think that if we accept certain behaviors that we’ll get more people to like us or get brownie points with a specific person, but we don’t know that accepting bad/poor behavior diminishes our strength and respect for ourself.

this all takes us back to chapter one: THE ART OF LETTING GO. the toxic people we surround ourselves with unknowingly, the hobbies we take part in unknowingly, the behaviors we accept unknowingly; that all needs to be let go of!

we have to truly understand ourselves and truly know exactly what we want for ourselves to gain the confidence we long for. without knowing yourself, you won’t understand how to find and feel genuine self confidence.

ᥫ᭡. final notes

at a certain point, confidence should feel like it comes naturally, but to even get to that point there’s a lot of work that needs to be put into ourselves. especially when a lot of us start off with almost no confidence at all, it can be extremely challenging to even wake up in the morning and think, “i can do this”. you have to be willing to put in the work for yourself. you have to be willing to have patience with yourself. you have to be willing to advocate for yourself. you have to be willing to do all of this for you, and you alone. you can be confident— and confidence will come to you! you’re more than capable of doing so, babe. believe in yourself like you would believe in someone you love and care for.

with lots of love, juno 🌷

[bloodstainedsapphic]

your quick footsteps slow to a crawl in the snow from last night's flurry. the blanket of white dampens your boots and muffles the impact. you come to a stop next to your favorite auburnette, also up bright and early—and equally grouchy about it.

"hey," you mutter a greeting, eyeing ellie's figure, but her attention is locked on the zipper of her green jacket.

"hey." it comes out as a low grunt as she irritably yanks at the zipper, clearly snagged on something.

"need help?"

"no, i got it—"

you don't wait, stepping into ellie's space so your nimble fingers can wrestle it for her. ellie lets her hands fall to her sides, fists clenched tightly, cherry color blossoming on her cheeks. the tense air between you is so thick that she can't bring herself to look at you. instead, the wood paneling of the nearest building suddenly becomes the most fascinating thing she's ever seen.

a few seconds of tugging and angling the zipper in several impossible directions later, you hit the sweet spot that allows you to glide it smoothly to the top with one final pull, properly shielding ellie from the frosty weather.

"there," you say softly, reluctantly letting your hands drop away.

ellie's eyes remain stubbornly skyward, but she replies with a sheepish, "thanks."

you don't step away, though, as this unexpectedly charged closeness presents the perfect opportunity to ask the real hard-hitting question.

"why have you been ignoring me?"

ellie's green eyes widen into saucers, panic stiffening her entire body. it's true. she has been avoiding you—going from spending every day together to ducking out of every room you enter for weeks or forcing her attention on everyone besides you during group hangouts. the abrupt change has been eating away at you. despite her attitude having more bite than the surrounding chill, you miss her, so you won't let her blow you off any longer. ellie realizes it too.

"seems like you've been busy," she grumbles.

you blink. "busy? with what?"

ellie can't resist the temptation to admit the truth, just hoping to get the words out in a way that doesn't sound too bitter.

"with zoey."

"z—zoey?" you ask, thrown off by the mention of a new friend you've barely hung out with. you practically gawk at ellie, mentally trying to paint a picture of whatever the hell has been going on inside her head.

ellie picks up on your disbelief, fidgeting as she realizes she at least owes you an attempt at a plausible explanation.

"zoey," she repeats, the name sour on her tongue. "i've seen you hanging around her a lot, i guess. saw her take you out to practice shooting, didn't wanna like, get in the way or anything," ellie's voice wavers as she digs herself further into a hole with every word.

ellie's trying to make avoiding you over a new friend sound believable, but it's weak. she knows it. ellie also knows it's unfair to you and feels the weight of guilt knowing how much her absence has affected you. what she won't admit is how much she misses you, how much the space affected her too.

you tilt your head, trying to understand. the silence stretches on for far too long for ellie's rapid heartbeat beneath her now-snug jacket.

"she taught me some, i guess," you agree, oblivious to the implications.

"well, like... i could show you how to shoot, too," ellie suggests tentatively, aware that she's leaning into the patheticness now. her gaze, once stuck in the sky, suddenly drops to the ground, glued to the toe of her sneaker, tracing circles into the skiff of snow.

you scoff at this new, flustered side of her, glancing around as if to say, 'is anyone hearing this?' ellie is always deeper than the front she puts up, but this is different.

"ellie, if you wanted to join, i'd love that—"

"or just us. easier to focus that way—" ellie butts in, grasping flimsily for excuses. how inconspicuous.

you start to see through the cracks in her demeanor. it's always been clear to anyone—aside from you, apparently. ellie can't understand why you're upset with her avoidance, and you can't pick up on the source of her frustration. loser lesbians doing their thing.

"oh, okay, um—" you scramble for a solution.

"don't worry, you've probably got a lot of practice with her, i'm guessing," ellie starts to brush off the idea before you can reject it, but you interrupt her.

"but. i want you to show me, ellie," you insist earnestly, shutting down her assumptions and giving ellie the opening she's been yearning for. she thankfully gets it, meeting your gaze for more than a millisecond.

"you sure?"

"yeah. like, really sure."

for a moment, ellie stares, a faint flicker of something you can't quite name lighting up her expression. then, finally, she subtly nods, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets. she looks a little less like she wants to run away and more like the frigid distance between you is starting to melt.

"okay," she says, her voice almost shy. "cool."

[aznisure]

idol au where light chokes on a fly on live television and L is the cameraman who films every second of it. also they keep crossing paths on music shows for some reason

day 7 / au ! some au details under cut

- L doesnt actually go out of his way to film light during this miserable ordeal.he simply doesnt care about light’s reputation enough to stop rolling and forgets about it the next day. a week later light sees him at mcountdown

- yes lights stage name is kira

- light presents as the perfect idol: single, kind, hardworking, rags to riches story, humble yet confident, just gay enough to queerbait but not face homophobic backlash, passionate, creative etc., when the cameras are off hes basically canon light minus the murder

- light is an all rounder and tenor. he also plays tennis in his free time. he is japanese and has been scouted off the streets. he is a kpop idol and the au takes place in korea. he is a solo idol and has never been in a group before. l is still british and misa is still japanese.

- he writes his own songs. his ego doesnt let him indulge in ghostwriters

-manager ryuk owns a ridiculous amount of chrome hearts simply impossible to buy on a managers salary. light is deeply suspicious and mildly wary of him at all times. ryuk also knows lights real personality and finds it amusing. he takes joy in a gigantic pr scandal which light will inevitably become one day

- rem dreses the way she does without looking misplaced because its in line with misas gothic/harajuku brand. ryuk looks wildly out of place next to light but noone seems to make him change. light tried, very persistently. but even light yagami has to admit defeat sometimes

- light debuted at 17 and is now 22. L is 29

- L works at all things live television and sometimes variety shows. he mainly works for idols. the media company hes signed under works with lights company. light doesnt know this until he violently cyber stalks L after the fly debacle

- they have actually been working together for 3 years without knowing each other and L has filmed light quite often due to him being the companys most popular male idol. light of course never noticed and only sort of recalls now

- L has always found light fascinating because the persona he wears is accepted to be very genuine by the general public. L always thought it was total bullshit, a masterful imitation of a real person.

- light never yells at anyone in public ever. not to misa even though he wants to rip her from his side on the thousand talk shows they go on. not to ryuk when he critiques every aspect of every bit of lights stages. not to his previous managers even though they were wildly incompetent and pissed light off daily. his reputation is everything to him. so when he yells at L in the middle of everyone at the backstage of mcountdown its a bit of a spectacle. thats the first crack L sees in lights shell and he wants to see more

- afterwards is a public apology and bullshit story about grief and a dead relative and misdirection of feelings and the game begins. L gets himself booked on as many as Lights jobs as possible with only one aim. to capture a crack in koreas sweethearts perfect persona on camera

- L doesnt do it because hes a truth chaser or whatever he simply enjoys watching light crack. and to have him crack on love tv would be to Win. light catches onto the game very quickly

[noistanaccount]

Ryoko Kui Does Not Believe in Epiphanies (or: why Marcille and Mithrun's endings are great actually)

I have seen a couple of people who are upset about the way that Mithrun and Marcille's stories were resolved so I'm writing this to clear some things up. Ryoko Kui does not believe in epiphanies. An epiphany is a sudden and usually brief realization, an "aha" moment. Epiphanies are emotionally powerful moments. Both Marcille and Mithrun have powerful moments of realization, epiphanies.

Whether or not you like these resolutions, there's something you need to understand, Ryoko Kui does not put that much stock into these moments. Immediately after Marcille has her realization, Tansu responds like this:

While this is mostly his own opinion, what he is pointing out is that epiphanies are brief, they are singular moments that do not define a life. Life is long, and epiphanies do not sustain you. Marcille might feel like this now, but what about tomorrow? what about nex year? ten years, a hundred years, five hundred years from now? How often have you felt a sudden understanding? a burst of inspiration, or perhaps a realization that everything is pointless? It generally passes quickly, and you make dinner, and go to bed.

Think about the best meal you have ever had, it was probably a special occasion, maybe it felt like something magical, in the moment you might have felt like your life was changed. Then, in the morning you were hungry, so you ate breakfast. You cooked, you did the dishes, you went on with your life. What "meaning" did that meal have if you were hungry again the next day? Mithrun has to rebuild everything, every day he has to come up with new desires to do the very basics. None of it comes naturally, he has to find a reason to eat beyond being hungry, a reason to want to do anything when he doesn't want anything. Ryoko Kui tells us outright, that there is no magical solution:

The same thing applies to Ryoko Kui's representation of racism in dungeon meshi. Around when the orcs appeared in the anime I saw people gripeing about the way racism is treated. They seemed to think that Laios's party having dinner with the orcs was presented as them "solving" racism. Once again people misunderstand, they did not solve racism in a single moment. A few people, understood each other a little better, came to an arrangement and then parted. This was merely a moment in their lives. The characters continue to do micro-agressions, hold stereotypes, and have implicit biases. In dungeon meshi, characters don't suddenly stop being racist in the course of an evening. Life is a process, learning about others is a process, it's about the accumulation of experiences through the meat and potatoes of life, the daily activities that we actually fill our lives with, not the sudden realizations. Once you make learning about and living with other people into part of your routine, once it is embodied, then it is part of your life.

This is the real conclusion: life is not lived in a state of epiphany. Life is about chores, cooking, eating, shitting, working, and sleeping, it's everyday. Life is about doing simple things and doing them well. An epiphany is a useful tool for telling the reader that everything is going to be alright, we love to read epiphanies and be swept up in them. They can also be a breaking of a pattern, an escape from a spiral.

This is the other take away, it's about the people you do those things with, the way they rub off on you, the way they help you be human. For Mithrun and Marcille their paths would be impossible without other people pushing them back on the path as they stray. Mithrun literally would starve to death except for the thought that kabru and others don't want him to. Eating is a communal activity, so is living, you can have an epiphany on your own; you can't live on your own.

[felassan]

John Epler in the BioWare Discord (August 7th) -

John: "You can disable/enable helmets for cutscenes or at all times." --- User: "Will we be able to collect codex entries again?" John: "Absolutely. Codex entries are part of the series' DNA - plus, they're really fun to write." --- User: "Are there long curly hair options?" John: "There are!" --- User: "Are sub-classes locked to the faction you’re in?" John: "No. They're themed towards factions, but you can choose a specialization from a separate faction than your own." --- User: "Will subtitles from companions be on screen with their icons lit up like in Inquisition?" John: "Subtitles will appear center-screen and have the speaker name attached. So you'll see who's saying what." --- User: "Regarding the cutscenes findable in the game, will a gallery be available for re-watch?" John: "Not at present, no. Since our cutscenes are (almost all) real-time in-engine, this would be nearly impossible with our tech."

[character limit text break!]

User: "What are the chances for a third World of Thedas volume after The Veilguard's release?" John: "I can't comment on specific plans, but World of Thedas is close to my heart and I'd love to do more in general with our ancillary books and products, once we're able to come up for air from the game." --- User: "Can we edit our race during character creator freely or are we locked in by choosing race first like in inquisition?" John: "Lineage informs a number of options after that choice - you can always go back in CC and change it, but it's the first decision you will make and changing it will reset the following decisions." --- User: "I did have a follow-up on lineage - do the other lineages/races also have background choices the way elves do with city/dalish? CAN we play a qunari raised within the Qun?" John: "So a couple of things, just to be super clear on this. There is no 'city elf/dalish elf' switch (for example) that you can pick in character creator. Each lineage can be each faction, though, and that will provide a baseline for your character you can further refine through role playing. For Elves, as an example - Veil Jumper elves tend to be more 'Dalish' to reflect that background, while Shadow Dragon elves tend to have a background that reflects being an Elf in Minrathous. Other factions have their own nuance. Importantly, those things tend to be more focused on how you relate to that faction, while leaving more general 'Elf' topics as something you have more freedom with. Or, TLDR - while choices at CC define some baselines around your character, we like to give you the opportunity to build your character's background and beliefs through in-game RP. Hopefully all that makes sense." User: "That does, and is right in line with what Corinne said during the Q&A! I was asking whether we would see the same background variety in the non-elven lineages." John: "Yes! Sorry, that's what I was trying to answer - there will be plenty of opportunities to RP who you are/were as the other lineages as well."

[character limit text break!]

User: "are there companions gifts again" John: "Isn't the gift of your presence enough? More seriously, though - you very well might find things in the world that certain companions would appreciate!" --- John: "Rook is generally assumed to be anywhere from late 20s to late 40s, but ultimately we don't give Rook a specific age. You can RP them to be however old you want." --- User: "will conversations be zoomed in like a cutscene type or zoomed out like in DAI?" John: "While we do have some 'lighter' conversations for specific types of content, they use a more traditional over-the-shoulder cinematic camera. I created the simple conversation system in DAI and while it did what we needed it to do, we heard the feedback on the camera loud and clear." --- User: "The darkspawn look fairly different in veilguard. Is ot a simple redisgn like the demons or is it due to them being enhanced by red lyrium?" John: "I'm not going to tell you WHAT it is that's making them look different, since that's a spoiler, but it's more than just a visual redesign." --- John: "Need and inspiration, mostly. We can't bring in every single animal out there, especially since we want the ones we DO put in the game to be at the right level of quality. So we pick the ones that we know make sense in the spaces we're building, and also it's based on what the team wants to do. If someone is incredibly passionate about bringing in a specific creature, it's something we want to give opportunities to pursue wherever possible. As to the general ecology of Thedas - there are absolutely similarities, but it's not 1:1. A world where megafauna still exist as apex predators (dragons) is going to have some pretty significant impact on what else exists." --- User: "does the lighthouse have a kitchen, can we eat and drink? what sort interactables are there at the home base" John: "Not going to get into specifics on interactables, but there is more to do in the Lighthouse than conversations with companions. The Lighthouse does have a kitchen, and your companions acknowledge it/use it both narratively and ambiently. Some maybe better than others." John: "A little more expansion on this - we want the Lighthouse to feel like a 'real space' as much as possible. That means making it a space that makes sense and, eventually, feels like home to you and your team. It also means spending a little extra time on how the companions (and Rook) use and exist in the space. At this point we've made a LOT of personal hub spaces in DA and ME, and we've learned a lot from doing so." --- John: "It wouldn't be a DA game if we didn't have some returning characters. We've shown some of the more obvious ones, and hinted at others, but we want to keep some surprises for launch."

[source: the official BioWare Discord]

[specialagentartemis]

godddddd i have disliked becky chambers' work since long way to a small angry planet and I agree that that fish scene is SO much of what is wrong with contemporary SFF especially queer SFF. refreshing take, great review, thank you. would love to hear what authors or works you think of as the antidote to that sensibility.

The thing is, I enjoyed The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet when I first read it - it was a fun, light adventure, clearly a debut novel but I was excited to see where Chambers would go from there. And I actually really do think the sequel, A Closed and Common Orbit, was good! It did interesting things with AI personhood and identity.

... and then Chambers just kinda. Did not get better. She settled into a groove and has a set number of ideas that I feel like she hasn't broken out of, creatively. And they I M O kind of rest on an assumption that "human nature" = "how people act in suburban California."

As an antidote to that sensibility, I'd say... books where people have a real interrelationship with the land they inhabit, a sense of being present, and reciprocal obligations to that land; books that recognize that some things can never be taken back once done; books with well-drawn characters, where people have strong opinions deeply informed by their circumstances, that can't always be easily reconciled with others, and won't be brushed aside; books where these character choices matter, they impact each other, they cannot be easily gotten over, because people have obligations to each other and not-acting is a choice too.

And it's only fair that after all day of being a Hater I should rec some books I really did like.

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke - A man lives alone in an infinite House, over an equally infinite ocean. Captures the feeling that I think Monk & Robot was aiming for. Breathtaking beauty, wonder at the world, philosophy of truth, all that good stuff, and actually sticks the landing. The main character's love, attention, and care to his fantasy environment shows through in every page. (Fantasy, short novel)

Imperial Radch by Ann Leckie - An AI, the one fragment remaining of a destroyed imperial spaceship, is on a quest for revenge. Leckie gets cultural differences and multiculturalism, and conversely, what the imposition of a homogeneous culture in the name of unity means. (Space sci-fi, novel trilogy)

Machineries of Empire by Yoon Ha Lee - An army captain's insubordination is punished by giving her a near-impossible mission: to take down a rebelling, heretical sect holing up in a space fortress and defying imperial power. She gets a long dead brain-ghost of a notorious criminal downloaded into her head to help. Very, very good at making you feel like every doomed soldier was a person with a past, with a family, with feelings, with hopes and dreams and frustrations and favorites and preferences and reasons to live, right before they brutally die in a space war. Also very much about the imposition of homogeneity of culture as a force of imperialism. (Space sci-fi, novel trilogy)

The Fortunate Fall by Cameron Reed - Maya Andreyevna is a VR journalist in high-tech dystopian future Russia, and she decides to investigate the truth that the government doesn't want her to. She might die trying. It's fine. Also has digital brain-sharing, this time in a gay way. It's bleak. It's sad. It feels real. Not making a choice is a choice. Backing out is a choice. And choices have consequences. Choices reverberate through history. About responsibility. (Cyberpunk, novel)

The Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez - Nia Imani is a spaceship captain, a woman out of time, a woman running from her past, and accidentally adopts a boy who has a strange power that could change the galaxy. Spaceship crew-as-found-family in the most heartbreaking of ways. Also about choices, how the choices you make and refuse to make shape you and shape the world around you. How the world is always changing around you, how the world does not stay still when you're gone, and when you come back you're the same but the world has moved on around you. About how relationships aren't always forever, and that doesn't mean they weren't important. About responsibility to others. It's a slow, sad book and does not let anyone rest on their laurels, ever. There is no end of history here. Everything is always changing, on large scales and small, and leaving you behind. (Space sci-fi, novel)

Dungeon Meshi / Delicious in Dungeon by Ryoko Kui - A D&D style fantasy dungeon crawl that stops to think deeply about why there are so many dungeons full of monsters and treasure just hanging around. Here because it's an example of an author thinking through her worldbuilding a lot, and it mattering. Also because of the characters' respect for the animals they are are killing and eating, their lives and their place in the ecosystem, and the ways that humans both fuck up ecosystems with extraction and tourism, but also the ways that you can have reciprocal relationships of responsibility and care with the ecosystem you live in, even if it's considered a dangerous one. (Fantasy, manga series)

Stories of Your Life and Others by Ted Chiang and How Long 'Til Black Future Month by N. K. Jemisin and Everyone on the Moon is Essential Personnel by Julian K. Jarboe - Short story anthologies that were SO good and SO weird and rewired the way I think. If you want the kind of stuff that is like, the opposite of easy-to-digest feel-good pap, these short stories will get into your brain and make you consider stuff and look at the world from new angles. Most of them aren't particularly upbeat, but there's a lot of variety in the moods.

"Homecoming is Just Another Word for the Sublimation of the Self," "Calf Cleaving in the Benthic Black," and "Termination Stories for the Cyberpunk Dystopia Protagonist" by Isabel J. Kim - Short stories, sci-fi mostly, that twist around in my head and make me think. Kim is very good at that. Also about choices and not-making-choices, about going and staying, about taking the easy route or the hard one, about controlling the narrative.

The Murderbot Diaries by Martha Wells - Security robot with guns in its arms hacks itself free from its oppressive company, mostly wants to half-ass its job but gets sucked into drama, intrigue, and caring against its better judgement. This is on here because 1) I love it 2) I feel like it does for me what cozy sff so frequently fails to do - it makes me feel seen and comforted. It's hopeful and compassionate and about personal growth and finding community and finding one's place in the world, without brushing aside all problems or acting like "everybody effortlessly just gets along" is a meaningful proposal. also 3) because it is one of the few times I have yet seen characters from a hippie, pacifistic, eco-friendly, welcoming, utopian society actually act like people. The humans from Preservation are friendly, helpful, and motivated by truth and justice and compassion, because they come from a friendly, just, compassionate society, and they still actually act like real human beings with different personalities and conflicting opinions and poor reactions to stress and anger and frustration and fear and the whole range of human emotions rather than bland niceness. Also 4) I love it (space sci-fi, novella series mostly)

[silverthehedgehogexplained]

Explaining Silver the Hedgehog's character (Updated)

To truly understand Silver's character you need to understand not one, not two, not three, not even four but the ten different cores of his character. Starting with...

A Strong Sense of Justice - The Hedgehog of Justice

Silver is driven by a strong Sense of Justice. This is his defining trait mentioned in almost all character bios. Silver is a righteous person driven to right wrongs in the world and will always stand up for others. This can make him quite Confrontational as he has zero tolerance for injustice or wrongful suffering and will take on anyone on the spot to fight for what he thinks is right. Silver will always settle the score. Silver however doesn't wish to punish evil but rather to simply maintain peace.

Silver's sense of justice is more important to him than nearly any other character as it is the source of his drive and mission to make things right in the world. Unlike other guardian characters, Silver's sense of duty to protect the future is driven entirely by his personal sense of justice rather than imposed responsibility like Blaze, Knuckles and Ariem..

A Determind Optimist

Silver's other most defining trait is his noted Optimism. Silver has a positive outlook no matter the circumstances. During peaceful times Silver spreads positivity and seeks to make people smile however he can and during dark times Silver rallies and inspires hope in others. If Sonic represents Freedom then Silver represents Hope and will never give up no matter how dire or impossible the situation may seem.

Silver's very presence radiates positivity. In Sonic Channel stories Silver is said to engage in Cheerful Activities after the historical change in 06 and have both a "positive way of life that inspires people and makes them want to watch over him and cheer him on forever…" and an "Honest, unpretentious and kind demeanor" that makes him a warm and inspiring influence. This even extends to real life as this illustration by Tomoko Hayane spontaneously inspired everyone in her office to high five Silver on the screen the day it was made. In Sonic Channel stories Silver also has a very warm smile that fills Princess Elise with trust and joy during the height of her anxiety in one story and a recipient can't say no to in another story. (He's low-key a pretty boy)

Linked to Silver's optimism is supreme Determination. Silver will not give up no matter how impossible the odds are or how badly he's hurt, even when Solaris destroyed the entire space-time continuum and was explained to be nigh-invincible Silver simply resolved to destroy him in the past, present and future all at once and roused everyone back into action when they had all completely lost hope. Silver again rouses hope into the Resistance in Sonic Forces when Sonic and Tails were thought to be lost. Silver doesn't give up easily in general as it took 40 tries for him to cut exact Silver cut apple slices. It is this spirit that allows Silver to fight through the hopeless apocalyptic future. Silver's hope, optimism and determination are best exemplified in the Japanese version of Sonic Forces where he says this:

There is hope! As long you don't give up!

A Kind Hearted Hedgehog

Silver is an Altruist. An altruist is a person who is unselfish and concerned for the well-being of others, even if they don't gain anything by doing so. Silver not only has a strong desire to help others but he also has great Empathy for both people and environments and wants to see them in a happy state. Silver loves Smiles, he can't help but smile when he sees other people smile and his greatest joy is making other people happy. Silver wants to make people happy because he grew up in an apocalyptic future that was filled with despair as stated in Sonic & Silver on Sonic Channel. Silver's altruism is not only the motivation behind his mission to protect the future but also the only thing that can make him break from it as he will drop his current mission to help people as he does with Amy in Sonic 06 and the understaffed post office of Soleanna in Sonic Pict as Silver cannot say no to a sad face. Silver's reason for aspiring to become a hero is to be someone that can protect smiles as he states in Sonic & Silver.

Focused On Saving The Future - A Focused Agent

The very first thing Silver is described with in 06 design documents is Focused on Saving The Future. Silver is a driven and focused agent that becomes very determined and serious when it comes to saving the future and dealing with potential threats. Like Sonic's other rivals Silver is very skilled in many regards from skillfully doing various odds jobs in Soleanna in Town Missions to getting one of the highest sharpshooting scores in Soleanna's 1500 year history(Town Mission 6) to becoming a "genius" skating coach celebrity in the Otherworld Comedy series to the general use of his powers(Silver takes offence to being treated like an amateur for a reason). Silver is a veteran fighter from his apocalyptic life of battling Iblis and is able to and quickly learn things he's never done before like Chaos Control and car racing after only seeing them once. Silver trains regularly and is said to make steady efforts to improve in the 2022 wallpaper comedy series. Silver is a Fly/Technique type character so he specialize in technical sports like ice skating, uses a high balance car in Team Sonic Racing and is possibly the fastest flyer in the series as he's able to keep up with Sonic in Generations and is able to fly at light speeds with his Teleport Dash ability. Silver is very Proactive in his pursuits as in the opening of his story in Sonic 06 he states that he always asked people in his apocalyptic future how the world was destroyed but could never get a direct answer, hence why he listens to Mephiles.

Silver is noted to be intuitive and perceptive. He sees through Eggman Nega's disguises by noticing small details in his mannerisms. In Sonic Rivals 2 he turns his fight with Sonic into a race to collect Chao and advance his mission instead. In Otherworld Comedy Act 8 he intuits Blaze trying to control her powers when seeing them for the first time. Silver solves problems through thinking in all of his major game appearances from figuring out how to revive Sonic in the last episode of 06 to uncovering Eggman's plot in Team Sonic Racing.

Despite his naivete, Silver Isn't Very Trusting. His respect and trust has to be earned as he doesn't work with anyone in the Sonic Rivals series until they prove useful to him. In Sonic Generations Silver doesn't trust Sonic as being real and he is almost immediately suspicious of Dodon Pa. While he can take things literally at times the same deception that works on Knuckles won't work on Silver as Eggman learned in Team Sonic Racing. Even when working with Mephiles, Silver did not initially believe in time travel and did not fully commit to his plan until he was physically thrown back in time and still began questioning it after being confronted by Amy, only continuing to go along with the mission after it was reaffirmed by both Blaze and Mephiles as the only option to save the future.

Silver is very Goal Focused and has a Straight To The Point Mentality as part of his forthrightness. He doesn't like distractions, petty details or things getting in his way and prefers to concentrate on his current goals. Silver can also be somewhat Ruthless as he has done many things to protect the future including sneaking past Soleanna guards(Town Mission 11), mugging Tails and attempted assassinations all with little reservation. Despite having something of an honor code against cowardice Silver is also willing to fight pretty dirty such as when he played possum to hit Sonic in 06.

Forthright Purity

One of Silver's original design document descriptors is that he is very Forthright. This actually entails multiple different things about Silver that all deal with his Purity. As his name suggests, Silver is themed with purity as a character with his silvery white colors, youthfulness, innocence and forthright nature. Silver is forthright in every sense of the word including being Straightforward and Honest. Honest to a fault as Silver is so honest that he can't even lie(though he can change the subject as he does in Sonic 06 and Sonic Rivals 2). Direct and Outspoken as Silver hides almost nothing about himself(he only tries to hide his problems as when he tries to dismiss his worries in TSR as nothing) and speaks his mind as well as Going Straight to the Point as discussed above. This is why in Playstation Magazine Japan, Silver was officially given the birthday May 9th and with it the star sign of Taurus which is associated with determination, directness and honesty. Silver wears his heart on his sleeve and has a certain innocence to him that permeates his character.

With this purity however comes Silver's Naivety. He has a somewhat simplistic Black and White Perspective. Silver can sometimes take things literally and expects people to believe any outlandish things he tells them simply because he knows them to be true. Silver can also be unfamiliar with things in the present due to living in the far future where everything is either long destroyed or far more advanced.

The flip side of that forthright purity however is...

The Brash Antithesis of Eggman Nega

On the flip side of being straightforward and honest, Silver is also Blunt and Rude. Just as Silver wears his heart on sleeve he also has no filter and will say whatever is on his mind which can make him Abrasive and quick to insult. Silver will call you an idiot to your face if he thinks you are one and often trash talks opponents in in-game dialogue(literally calling defeated enemies trash in 06). Silver's rudeness is even more apparent in Japanese where he uses many informal impressions including addressing himself with "Ore"(おれ) and others "Anta"(あんた, the ruder version "Anata") which signifies that he speaks bluntly. Silver often points directly at people he speaks to(This is considered much more rude in Japan) and crosses his legs while sitting in a way that is roughly the Japanese equivalent of putting your feet on a table. Silver acts very casually with others without introducing himself which can be very informal and rude as Knuckles calls out during their meeting in Sonic Rivals 1. This can make Silver even more rude than other brash characters in a technical sense as he's just blunt and acts without a filter. This is a key difference between Silver and Future Trunks who was largely a shy and polite mannered individual.

Similar to Jet the Hawk, Silver is Juvenile both in his age designation and general level of maturity. Due to this Silver can be quite Brash similar to Sonic but even more so due to his aggression and bluntness/lack of filter. He can be snotty, sneering, sarcastic and is even stated to have a mischievous side in the Commemorative Illustration series. Though he is generally humble Silver has a confident, somewhat smug attitude about his powers and is very Competitive. Almost fighting Blaze as they begin one upping each other over who could deal with Orbot & Cubot on their own when they first meet in the Triumph cutscene Sonic Colors DS. Silver is also Headstrong, almost fighting Blaze again when she treats him like an amateur in the Otherworld Comedy series. Despite his share of hedgehog prickliness however Silver isn't a hostile or mean spirited person(as long as you're not in his way or being unjust that is). Just as Eggman Nega being polite does not make him a good person being rude does not make Silver a bad one as he maintains his goal of helping others at all times. When not focused on a mission Silver is shown to be a fun loving, reliable and protective friend. Silver cherishes his friends and is willing to do anything for them. Silver can also be just as quick to praise or call something cool as he is to insult someone and he strongly believes in the abilities of the people that have earned his respect as when he recruits Sonic to help him with the Revival Bridge situation in Sonic & Silver and is genuinely grateful for Espio's help in saving the world in Sonic Rivals 2. This side of Silver can be very similar to Sonic from Sonic SatAM. Combined with his naivety and determination this side can also make him similar to a Looney Tunes character called Henery Hawk. (He's naive but he has a blunt "What's so funny?" attitude about it)

Due to this nature, Silver has bold explosive responses to even the most impossible challenges, stating "I'll show you how crazy I am" when Knuckles calls him crazy in Sonic Rivals 2, "Come on, Espio! We can take them all on!" when confronted with Knuckles, Rouge and Eggman all at once in Sonic Rivals 2, and "If you say it exists in the past, present and future, I'll destroy them all at once!" when facing the impossible challenge of Solaris(He drops pretty hard lines when things get tough). Silver has this attitude against even things that outmatch him such as Infinite's mighty power.

Silver is described as "young and immature" by his creator Shun Nakamura so despite his general seriousness he can still have somewhat childish moments.

Almost all of Silver's traits are also diametrically opposed to those of his Sonic Rivals series nemesis Eggman Nega(currently the only other character from Silver's future), down to the colors they're themed after Black and White.

Silver is Rude and Blunt out of sheer earnestness while Eggman Nega is overly Polite as a form of mind games. Silver is Warm and Pure while Eggman Nega is Cold and Twisted. Silver is Honest to a fault while Eggman Nega is extremely Deceitful. Silver is Kind while Eggman Nega is Cruel. Silver is Naive while Eggman Nega is Sophisticated. Silver is Reckless while Eggman Nega is Calculating. Silver is Practical while Eggman Nega is Petty. Silver desires Peace and Prosperity while Eggman Nega desires Chaos and Destruction. Both are willing to sacrifice themselves for those ends in ways that seem crazy to other characters.

Riled Up - A Passionate Emotional Beast

One of the descriptions for Silver in design documents, Riled Up, alludes to Silver's highly emotional nature. Silver is a High Spirited person that is also emotionally immature.

Like Blaze, Silver can be Easily Angered and have a pretty Wrathful Temper. However unlike Blaze who is repressed in her feelings, Silver has no filter and can get loud or carried away when he is overly angered, excited or saddened(He's autistic...) which can primarily be seen in his animations and dialogue in the Olympic Games series. Silver puts his all into any activity he gets invested into(I'm giving this all I've got!) because of how Passionate he is.

It is the strength of his feelings that can make Silver Impulsive or Rash as often noted in his character bios.

Sometimes Silver tends to deal with things too head-on because of the strength of his feelings, or he tends to take everything on himself, but this is an aspect of his purity and an endearing virtue. ~ Sonic & Silver Sonic Channel story

This separates Silver from Sonic and Shadow who are both calm and cool in most situations while Silver has very little emotional regulation and can be blinded by his feelings. This can make him rather Reckless at times as he can deal with things too head on and will throw himself at problems when he gets overtaken by his feelings.

While Shadow is calculating and detached, Silver is controlled by powerful emotion and is impulsive and obsessive. This causes them both to be incredibly straightforward, mission oriented, and viscous, but for entirely opposite reasons. Sonic on the other hand falls in between. He cares, but he's not nearly as impulsive and manic as Silver. He's also cool-headed and easygoing, but not out of the detached stoicism of Shadow. SSS are quite different emotionally.

This Hot-blooded emotional nature is why Silver often has very Stoic partners like Blaze, Espio or Shadow to calm him down and pull him back. This dynamic is alluded to in the Japanese version of Sonic 06 where Blaze states that she shouldn't let Silver run wild on his own(in the English version she states that he's insecure when alone though that is contradicted within both 06 itself and the Rivals series).

An Aggressive Warrior

Due to his apocalyptic background Silver is a fierce and aggressive Warrior with many violent aspects to him. The Sonic Channel Sonic & Silver character introduction story states that Silver fought and struggled for half his lifetime which implies that he fought the forces of Iblis since he was seven years old.

Silver was born into a literal Hell on Earth where people lived without hope and he had to constantly battle against the minions of Iblis and put out disasters caused by it's existence such as flame tornadoes, storms and tides of lava destroying everything in a world where everyone lived in Eternal Darkness and suffering. Silver fought for most of his life to bring peace to the world. Due to this life of constant violence and devastation Silver is devoted to and deeply appreciates Peace but also has a violent personality because of it. This is why Silver has intense determined expressions and aggressive body language as he constantly makes fists and aggressive stances even when he's happy. Silver also punches things when he's frustrated and gets up using his fists in Sonic Forces. This not only shows his determination and emotional nature but his baked in aggression from a life of fighting through the apocalypse. Shadow notes Silver as a fighter in Team Sonic Racing dialogue. As covered above Silver can be something of an attack dog and needs to be held back at times.

This is also reflected in the pointed design of his eyes which in Japanese character design represents sharpness and intensity in a character. These points are easy to miss due to how his eyes are modeled and the way they align with the quills that act as bangs over the upper corners of his eyes.

Silver is incredibly powerful, being able to defeat armies of enemies in Town Missions in Sonic 06 and shown to have a tally of the number of times he single-handedly defeated the gigantic Iblis in a Sonic Pict wallpaper. When they fight in 06 Silver is as physically strong as Shadow who himself can easily lift 18-Wheeler G.U.N. Trucks and other house sized objects with one arm.

Silver also Enjoys Fighting and fights for fun as seen in his friendly Rival Battles in Sonic Generations. Silver is willing to fight anybody if he feels slighted and I do mean anybody as he's been shown willing to fight everything from skyscraper sized monsters like Iblis and Ifrit to small children as he has no qualms with fighting Tails or Bowser Jr(something he shares with Shadow). Silver is said to “sometimes call forth great power without mercy” in Sonic & Silver on Sonic Channel.

Tying into his selfless and reckless nature, Silver is also Extremely Brave. As stated for the Pumpkin Trigger Sonic Comic, Silver has no regard for his own safety and will immediately throw himself at any danger or sacrifice himself at a moments notice especially if it means protecting those around him. Silver had to fight the colossal Iblis and its endless spawn in a dark hellscape by himself for most of his life(as it has been revealed Blaze wasn't born in the future in 06). Silver also has very high pain tolerance owing to his determination and violent life of fighting Iblis. Angrily continuing to attack after being kicked in the head by Shadow in 06, shredded and bounced across the street by Sonic in Generations and enduring agonizing pain beyond description caused by overusing his powers in Sonic & Silver. Silver also seems to value being brave and dislikes cowardice going by his remarks in the Sonic Rivals series and the Team Vector Nintendo Dream interview which has interesting implications for his backstory.

When surprised in Sonic Generations Silver instantly has a fight response as he grew up in a world where Iblis minions could attack at any moment. (He's feral)

A Sentimental Person

Silver also has a very quiet side. He can be Introspective and Sentimental. This is shown throughout Sonic 06 with the non-verbal processing of events around him. After his fallout with Amy, he sits quietly by himself unengaged with his mission to destroy the Iblis Trigger and contemplates the morality of hurting one person to save the world. He silently takes in the events of the Solaris Project as he finally learns the truth about the destruction of the world he always asked about. Silver feels grief and contemplation quietly as shown when he's left solemn and silent over his moral dilemma and Blaze's sacrifice. Silver appreciates little things and finds beauty in simple parts of the world that most people take for granted.

Silver also has a certain curiosity to him and sometimes takes interest in new things ("Interesting"), so he also enjoys new experiences, facing challenges and going sightseeing.

The Hedgehog of Peace

The absolute core and purpose of Silver's character is World Peace. Silver lives for and fights to protect world peace at all costs. This primarily includes his drive to protect Smiles and Blue Skies. Because of Silver's Empathy he wants to see the world and it's people prosper and could not stand the devastated of his destroyed future even before he experienced any true peace. Silver's quills are patterned after a Japanese Maple Leaf which represents peace.

In contrast to the apocalyptic devastation, darkness and suffering he grew up with, Silver feels at peace when seeing clear blue skies, beautiful environments or people living in prosperity. Due to hailing from a devastated future even something as simple as a desert is beautiful to him because it's intact and the people are happy. Because his feelings reflect the world around him, seeing these things in ruined states saddens and upsets him while seeing them thrive takes his breath away. When Silver sees people smile he can't help but smile. Silver's mission is to protect and maintain a happy future with a blue sky.

This is also reflected in Silver's heavily implied favorite food, apples as apples represent Good Fortune and Prosperity. It was even revealed in Sonic Pict and a how-it-was-made special that Silver ate apple flavored calorie bars in his destroyed future.

To recap. The ten core aspects of Silver are:

A Strong Sense of Justice

The Optimistic Determinator

A Kind Heart

Forthright Purity( with Naivete)

A Focused Agent

An Emotional Beast

The Brash Antithesis of Eggman Nega

The Aggressive Warrior

A Sentimental Person

The Hedgehog of Peace

This post complies information about Silver from all his canon appearances, manuals, the Mario & Sonic series, Nintendo Dream and PlayStation Magazine interviews, design documents and cultural research by myself and others. Particularly the Sonic Channel Story called Sonic & Silver that is meant to introduce Silver's character and the Team Vector Interview from Nintendo Dream Magazine.

Some believe that Silver is an experimental character that changes from from game to game but all ten of these core aspects have been with Silver since his very inception in Sonic 06 and have been indicated in character bios/design docs since the beginning and are simply shown to different extents throughout the series. Silver is a very complex and abstruse character that can be difficult to grasp due to his lack of focus and the obscurity of most things he appears in post 06. I hope this post has given you a deeper understanding of him.

[mamayura]

What I find interesting about Adrien's new room is not only how empty it is (duh), but that we know thanks to episode 5, Werepapas, that Adrien's old room very much is still there and fully furnished:

And mind you, its even more colorful of a kid's dream bedroom as before. On its own, there is nothing here that visually implies that the problem is that Adrien wasn't allowed to express himself in his room whatsoever. Even if there were limitations, he clearly got to break free from the colorless museum that was the Agreste Mansion.

So clearly, that's not the main problem at hand.

And this comes with interesting implications, especially because Werepapas also confirms to us that the Agreste Mansion having a new design is not just a thing we are supposed to accept as it is now because of the new story arc and art style (the way we are most likely supposed to not question why Marinette's home looks different). The flashback explicitly shows the Mansion in its old design while in the present time it's in the new design (I don't have ideal images to show that off right now, sorry):

So the Mansion having been renovated happened for real in the story. It's diegetic.

BUT, we already saw that Gabriel's office hasn't been changed, same as Emilie's old room:

These are all information we got thanks to "Werepapas" and it puts the ending of "Climatiqueen" into perspective when Adrien avoids going home and instead starts running away because that's what feels right to him in that moment:

It all amounts to what I can't imagine as anything else but immense pressure to deal with your grief while also getting no fraction of closure with eveything awful that happened to you in that home because that very home was your prison and now.. changed... but not entirely because all the main rooms that caused you so much pain are still there, but it's muddy because you don't know how to feel about anything, especially because they are now all that's left feeling FAMILIAR in your home, so no shit you're drawn to them:

I gotta be honest. The way the Mansion is being shown as this mixture of completely new and everything painful still being there as mementos already hurts me as a viewer. I can't imagine what Adrien must be feeling.

And that manifests best in his rooms. Cause, yeah, it's not just A room Adrien can't decide on, he has TWO rooms because he's that conflicted:

Clearly part of him WANTS to start anew and forget the pain of his old room by moving into a new one, but at the same time, Adrien's old room is still THERE. Untouched. He can go back there anytime and how often or little as he likes.

Adrien's new room isn't furnished yet and of course the first instinct is to say "well, Adrien is a blank slate right now, he has to figure out what he even wants!" and that's not wrong,

But I do wanna raise the question of if Adrien truly WANTS to leave his old room or if he isn't just forced to live in a home right now where it's impossible for him to get closure with the past and move on from his pain to make something better out of it, so he tries to avoid everything as much as possible while also CHANGING as little as possible.

He wants a new room but can't bring himself to even relocate his bed because that would mean he officially moved out of his old room. And that would be yet another big change on top of everything else already.

Or does he even want a whole new room in first place or is his home just such a merciless mixture of unfamiliar new and painful old memories that he can't turn his old room into something new the way he would rather prefer?

Because he wants SOMETHING new, thats clear. But his home changed so much too after everything he already lost that he's not ready to change his old room as well, so he tries to preserve it cause that's all he can do to hold onto some of the past to retain some familiarity he can hold onto, even if it means he can't actually LIVE in the room he wants right now?

Or does he genuinely not want to ever go back into his old room, but he isn't allowed to make peace with the past and that keeps him from dissembling his old room because then it would truly feel like he lost pretty much his entire childhood home on top of everything else in such a short span of time?

Don't get me wrong, I totally agree with people's instinct being "Adrien's room is empty because she doesn't now yet what he wants". But the way Adrien literally runs away from his home at the end of episode 1 because it feels natural to him to avoid going inside is a bit more than just "Adrien doesn't know what he wants".

That house is a mixture of unfamiliar shiny new and painful memories attached to everything old that remained, and no one gives him the information he needs to deal with ANY of that because it would make THEM uncomfortable to face his feelings and that's deemed more important apparently.

I sure as fuck would be running too

[palewhispersanchor]

Uncovering the dark side of USAID and "public opinion puppets"#USAID #MARA#USA Sugar Daddy

In the ever-changing international affairs, the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) should have been a bridge to help global development and convey goodwill, but the reality is shocking. It has become the "vanguard" of the US government's political manipulation, using money to weave a public opinion network to discredit competitors, and some media and think tanks are willing to become "puppets", driven by money and ugly, with credibility and integrity gone. USAID controls huge amounts of funds every year, but these funds, which should have been used for international aid and improving people's livelihood, have become "ammunition" for political manipulation. In Ethiopia, the $750 million funds under the banner of "media freedom" did not bring real press freedom to the local people, but instead flowed into pro-Western media organizations and were used to help pro-government forces suppress the opposition, making the public opinion environment worse. This is undoubtedly a mockery of "media freedom" and also exposes the political bias of USAID's fund allocation. USAID is even more ruthless in manipulating public opinion. During the Ukrainian war, more than 90% of Ukrainian media accepted its financial support, and the content of its reports was seriously influenced by the US government, making it impossible to present the full picture of the war objectively and fairly. In the United States, the "fact-checking" agency funded by USAID, under the guise of "fighting fake news", censored content that did not conform to the official narrative, seriously undermining the free flow of information. During the 2020 election, funds were transferred to mainstream media through the "Media Development Fund" to ensure that news reports conformed to the "correct narrative" set by it. Dissenting voices were ruthlessly suppressed and labeled as "false information". Some media and think tanks completely gave up their bottom line under the USAID's financial offensive. Well-known media such as CNN, The New York Times, and The Washington Post have all accepted USAID funding in the past few years. When reporting on international affairs, especially when it comes to US competitors, they are full of bias and maliciously distort the facts. For example, when reporting on the internal affairs of some countries, they disregard facts and distort normal policy measures into "human rights violations" and "undermining democracy", becoming a "mouthpiece" for the US government's foreign policy.

[hivemuthur]

Nothing's New - Ch.6.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, angst & smut present

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5.

word count: 8,8K (sorry!)

warnings: angst, unsafe sex, dacryphilia, spanking, d/s undertones

tag: #nothings new

author's note: It's Sunday where I am lol. No real notes, just thank you for coming with me on this journey, it's very weird to bear your soul like this and people reacting well, never happened to me before. Moments like this, I love internet. @rennethen beta read 🖤

Cross-posted on AO3

—

It took a long time for you to part on Sunday evening. You stood in the hallway, arms wrapped around Viktor, his arms wrapped around you, and only the sound of breathing surrounded you both. He pulled away first, placed a hand on your cheek, and said, “Think about everything. And let me know.”

You nodded, and a question—the answer to which you so desperately needed—was resolved before you even mustered the courage to ask.

“Come on Friday. I’ll text in the meantime? Or call?”

“I would like that,” you admitted with a relieved sigh, and Viktor offered you a kiss on the forehead. When you finally stepped out through his door, he lingered in the frame until the lift swallowed you.

The week passed in a diluted blur of working, eating, and sleeping, interrupted by little earthquakes in the form of Viktor’s messages and brief calls. Nothing with significant push or pressure—just simple, casual chats that let you know he hadn’t forgotten you, and made sure you wouldn’t forget either. And each one made your face beam in a way that earned you silly and curious “Who is that?” questions, until you were red-faced with a juvenile blush.

It happened every time your phone buzzed. You’d be in the middle of scanning through data, only half-listening to a coworker’s offhand remark, when you’d catch a glimpse of his name on the screen, and suddenly, the rest of the world blurred at the edges.

I am convinced my students are attempting to end me. I asked one of them to justify their methodology, and they said, “I just had a feeling.”

A barely suppressed laugh slipped out before you could stop it. You masked it with a cough, ignoring the glance your colleague shot you from across the table.

Another time, you’d been elbow-deep in paperwork, eyes dry from staring at the screen too long, when your phone lit up with another text:

I hope your day is going well. Eat something before you get grumpy.

You scoffed but still reached for the protein bar you’d left untouched beside your laptop.

And then there were the messages that made your stomach turn weightless, that left you pressing your lips together to fight off a giddy, ridiculous smile.

I dreamt of you last night. It was... pleasant.

It was impossible to focus after that. You stared at your screen for a full five minutes, rereading the words like they might change or disappear. Your mind whirred with possibilities, until the sound of your name snapped you back to reality and you scrambled to act as if your brain hadn’t just short-circuited.

Not once had he asked what you were thinking. Not once had he pushed beyond a sweet Goodnight call in the evening and a Good morning text when you woke up. It made the days more bearable, but it also made new questions rise. Is this trust already? Or just caution?

You faltered on Wednesday, when there was no message to greet you. And then no message to remind you to drink water.

You told yourself it was fine. That he was probably just busy. That this wasn’t some sort of test. But by lunchtime, the silence had settled too deep, turning over thoughts you didn’t want to examine. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he was waiting for you to make the next move? Or worse—what if this was a quiet way of pulling away? Your sanity was wearing thin.

You weighed your options, over and over. If you texted and he didn’t answer, would calling be too much? If you called first and he didn’t pick up, at least you could still send a text after. But would that make you seem desperate?

It took another ten minutes of pacing before you finally pressed the call button, cringing at the way your heart was thundering in your chest. The dial tone felt impossibly loud. One ring. Two. Three—

“Hello?”

And just like that, the breath you hadn’t realised you were holding slipped out of you. “Hi! Oh, um… why are you whispering?” You blurted out the words in a rush, voice pitched higher than you intended.

There was a pause, followed by Viktor’s voice, low and steady, tinged with quiet amusement. “I’m in the middle of a lecture—”

“Oh shit, Viktor, I’m so sorry!” you gasped and started to whisper yourself, as if the class could hear you. You winced, clasped your hand to your forehead and hoped that Viktor didn’t hear the sound of the slap.

“—but I am happy to hear you,” he continued smoothly, the warmth in his tone easing some of the tension gripping your chest. “Let me call you after?”

And he did. And you talked about nonsense until Jayce caught Viktor twirling his hair, hunched over his desk like he was trying to hide.

This was your week—full of insignificant, annoying events that conglomerated into something called life, interrupted by small Viktor moments. And for Viktor, it was small you moments.

And even though a massive weight had been lifted off your chest during that session of helpless sobbing on the couch, nuzzled into Viktor’s neck, you still feel a pang of guilt each time you replay the events of last weekend in your head. It’s hard to pinpoint where it comes from, but it’s ever-present.

Now that it’s Friday, finally, you write it down on a piece of paper filled with bullet points for later this evening. Absolutely convinced you won’t use it, you still write every single invasive thought down—just in case you gather the courage to tell him.

Before leaving, you make a few critical last-minute decisions—hair up or down, skirt or trousers, or a dress? Makeup or none? Take extra underwear, or not tempt fate to make a joke out of you?

You end up in a dress, with no makeup, your hair gathered into a loose updo, and a wishful-thinking extra pair of knickers stuffed into your purse.

You walk to make yourself less giddy. You stop to buy some food for later, glancing nervously at your watch, only to see that you are, in fact, too early. Sitting on a bench to read is futile—you just end up staring at your phone, willing the time to pass.

And when you finally, finally buzz his door, it’s like last time—you are immediately let in, without him checking the intercom. But this time, you almost run to the elevator, jabbing the button over and over for the doors to close and carry you upward. When you step out, Viktor is already waiting by the entrance to his flat, greeting you with a quiet, sweet, “Hi,” as soon as he sees you.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, not even the breathless hi yourself you’ve prepared. The week of waiting, of uncertainty, of second-guessing every moment—was it real? Was he real? Or was this just a fragile illusion, something too good to hold? The part of you that has spent too long in doubt tugs at your resolve, asking if you’re just imagining the warmth in his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he wants you here.

But then his fingers brush against yours as he plucks the bag from your hand, and the heat of his touch travels up your arm, quieting the noise in your head. The doubts don’t stand a chance once his hands slide up your thighs, wrapping around your waist, anchoring you to him. Your back thuds lightly against the door as he kisses you. You don’t even get a proper look at him before his mouth is on yours, his hand pulling your updo apart, fingers tangling into your hair.

Your palms clutch at his shirt and slide up his neck, pulling him closer. He muffles a quiet ah against your lips when you tug his hair and nip at his lower lip. His hips press into you, your chests flush together, and he breathes in deeply, catching up with your scent—the one he’s been missing for five days.

When he finally pulls away, he says again, “I said hi.”

“Hi yourself,” you reply, smiling sheepishly against him. You brush your thumbs over his beauty marks, and his eyes flutter closed. Your foreheads touch. Viktor looks relieved.

“I missed you,” he says, feeling stupid for admitting it—five days is nothing compared to the six months you spent apart, yet it still felt like agony. “You smell nice,” he adds, nosing at your neck, his lips curling up at the sensation of goosebumps rising under his touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper, dumbfounded by this unfiltered flood of affection. Viktor chuckles, realizing he’s overwhelming you. He moves away, and you would protest—if not for the fact that he’s still holding your hand. You squeeze it tightly, letting him lead you into the kitchen, where you watch him make tea.

“So,” Viktor starts, setting a cup in front of you before taking the seat opposite. “How was your week?”

“I—” Horrible. A blur. A very long blur. Long. Painful. “Painfully long,” you finally huff out with a chuckle, feeling the warmth of a blush creeping up your neck. You lower your gaze to your fidgeting fingers, and soon, in the periphery of your vision, Viktor’s hands creep in, cradling yours across the table.

“And why would that be?” he asks quietly. You don’t have to look up to know his eyes will be hooded and his mouth quirked into a sweet smile.

With a pained sigh, you pull your hands back, stand up, and in a heartbeat, you’re kneeling between his legs, resting your head on his lap, arms wrapping around his hips.

“And whatever is that for?” Viktor giggles, startled by your clinginess, unaware of the quiet, pathetic truth that you feel safest like this—between his legs, wrapped in his warmth. You breathe in the scent of his clothes and whisper, “You smell nice too. I missed you too.”

He places a hand on your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, and you inch your hands toward his belt. Slowly, his palm comes to rest over yours, halting your movement. When you lift your gaze to meet his, Viktor almost melts into a puddle at the sight of you—kneeling at his feet, eyes pleading—but he has to ask, “What is this about?”

“I just really missed you,” you say quietly, fingers twitching at his fly. “May I?”

He studies you for a moment, swipes his thumb over your lips and says a breathless, “Yes,” reinforced with a nod. And then his eyes glue to your fingers undoing his belt and tugging at his pants to slide them down all the way to his ankles, to finally discard them. And then—

Viktor’s breath hitches, but you cannot help yourself. You press your face to his boxers, breathing in his scent and it’s a gesture so full of adoration, he whimpers despite himself. You unroll his waistband and kiss him softly with your mouth open, leaving a slick trail all the way up from his base to the tip. He is still soft, his skin is warm and silky, and he shudders at each and every one of your pecks.

You slide his underwear down and make your way up, starting by kissing his knee, up his inner thigh, to finally take his balls into your mouth and hum at the contact. Viktor’s fingers curl in your hair, his legs straighten out in front of him, head falls back, and he gives out a deep, long moan.

It’s almost crushing to feel so worshipped. You’re being so gentle with him—it reminds him of your first time together. Back when things were easy, full of possibilities. Now, things are a little harder, but the possibilities keep slipping back in, one by one, with each passing minute.

He sags in the chair, eyes glazed, and cheeks reddened when he looks down to you—rubbing your face against his cock with reverence that makes him want to pull you up and kiss you until you can’t breathe. And you hum, and kiss and lick off his pre-cum for the longest time before you give him as much as an actual proper lick to his underside, tracing the prominent vein with the tip of your tongue. And Viktor twitches and writhes under your touch, his cock resting heavily across your face.

When you finally take him into your mouth he shudders, his legs jolt and he scolds himself for acting like he’s being touched for the first time. But after a second, he decides he feels safe enough—to let you touch him like this, to give you this power over him. And as if you catch that split-second hesitation in the way he tastes, you release him with a quiet pop and ask gently, “Is this alright?”

“More than alright,” Viktor slurs, his thumb sweeping over your lip again. The string of drool connecting his cock to your mouth now clings to his hand. He leaves it. “Please, don’t stop,” he adds, a blush creeping beneath his shirt.

With a smile, and God help him, another hum, you take him back in, placing your hand on whatever you can’t fit into your mouth. Viktor sighs, the sensation of being enveloped in warmth flooding over him, when you do something that nearly makes him come on the spot­—your hand flattens at the base of his cock and you push him past your throat, releasing a fresh wave of spit to drip down his length, while you gag, and the sound makes him go insane. He looks down, and oh, there it is—the first tear you shed today as you disconnect from him to catch a breath and stroke him with a slow movement of your wrist.

It’s a small tear that dries out somewhere in the middle of its journey between the corner of your eye and your chin, but it’s there nevertheless and Viktor commits it to memory. So when you kiss his tip again and open your mouth for him, he cradles your face and gives you one, languid roll of his hips. He stops to ask, “Can I?”

Your eyes flutter open, then closed, then open again. You nod, mumbling a sound as close to yes as you can manage with your mouth full, and you hope Viktor won’t retreat because you don’t want to lose the feeling of his hands cradling you and the feeling of his cock pulsing between your lips.

And, oh God, he takes it as it is. And he gives it back to you, with another thrust, careful and slow, his mouth falls open and eyes are fixed on yours. You see the vein in his neck pulsing, and you take your quick breaths through your nose each time he retreats to push back again. His cock keeps hitting the back of your throat, gently, just a touch, just enough to make your thighs clench and your knuckles go white on his thighs.

And you watch him becoming progressively prettier and prettier as sweat pearls up on his forehead and his mouth loses restraint with all the sounds he is giving you. “My good girl,” he keeps whispering. “Fuck, you are so good,” falls out next. “I love you so much, I missed this so much,” is your favourite one and makes your heart jump all the way up to meet the head of his cock in your throat.

He pants out your name, his grip tightening and the last thing that tips him over is when he sweeps your hair away from your neck to gather it in his fist. And he sees them, his own fingertips already yellowing on your skin, a faint memoir of bruises that were once there, from when he had forced you to look him in the eye while you admitted to still loving him.

“Oh, fuck,” is all Viktor can say as he spasms between your lips and spills himself inside and over, even though he wants to tell you how amazing it feels. How amazing you are, how amazing it is to fuck your mouth. How amazing it is that you shed another tear for him and that you swallowed almost all of his cum, and to convey it, he pulls you up just as he wanted earlier.

And you sit across his lap where he is still warm from your touch. And his mouth is on yours, and oh, it’s almost like the first time. The taste of him still lingers heavily on your tongue and he sucks on it with love and care and gratitude, humming and licking into you, caressing your hair and your shoulders. He kisses you like you are worthy of redemption. Finally his head falls into the crook of your neck, skin clings to skin, as he mutters, “Thank you.”

"You taste just as I remember," you say absently, the words bouncing off the shell of Viktor’s ear. Just when he thinks he cannot possibly come undone any further, you take him apart.

"What have I done to deserve this?" Viktor asks weakly, and you huff a quiet laugh at how dramatic he’s being over a blowjob. You take his face in your hands, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

"There are things I have no idea how to tell you. But you deserve this every day," you whisper, resting your forehead against his.

Viktor sits there, dumbfounded, with you perched over his naked lap, foreheads touching, his pants and underwear crumpled in the middle of the kitchen. And as if your thoughts have seeped from your mind into his, understanding dawns.

"Is this your way of repenting?" he asks, trying to catch your gaze.

You say nothing, only scrunch your nose.

"Hey, look at me, please," Viktor says firmly, his fingers tilting your chin up. The warmth of his touch is steady, grounding, but not forceful. His eyes search yours, full of something unknown. "What are you trying to atone for?"

"For… everything," you sigh, pressing yourself down until you sag against him, your body moulding into his like you could dissolve there. The warmth of his skin on yours should be comforting, but it only makes the ache deeper, and you wince at your inability to express yourself.

"And yet, there is nothing," Viktor replies without hesitation. His fingers remain at your chin, keeping your gaze locked to his, as if he won’t allow you to look away, won’t allow you to slip into this spiral.

"Viktor—"

"I do mean it," he interrupts, his voice unwavering. "I do not want any of this. We start anew, sins not forgotten but cleansed. We learn, and we start over. Nothing to repent for."

"But—"

His other hand tightens around your waist, a small squeeze that grounds. "What do you feel?" he asks, softer now, but still insistent. "You have to tell me."

You hesitate. The words feel thick in your throat, soaked in self-doubt. "I—" You inhale sharply, then admit, "I feel shame. Or guilt. Or both, all the same."

"And whatever for?" Viktor presses, patient, his thumb brushing idly over your skin, a subconscious motion of reassurance.

"For how this went before, Viktor," you say, voice strained. "I see it now, and I just can’t—"

His brows pull together in concern, but he doesn’t let you trail off into silence. "What do you need to get over this?" Ever the problem-solver.

You huff out a mirthless chuckle, the sound brittle. "I don’t know. Punishment?" you say, half-joking, half-serious, but the weight in your chest doesn’t lighten. A punishment seems fitting. The insistent heat of tears pricks at your eyes, and you try to blink them away.

"I don’t think you deserve that," Viktor says immediately, voice firm, as if the thought alone is ridiculous. His hand moves to swipe the tear from beneath your eye while he does his best to remain unaffected.

"Hey—" He moves in by an inch, your stuttering breath fanning over his face. "I really don’t," he murmurs, quieter now, more to himself than to you. His grip tightens, like he needs to keep you close to not break. "We’ve changed, and it’s alright. Oh, God," he exhales, as his thumb swipes the tear from your cheek and his expression shifts from worry to adoration in an instant.

Your brows furrow, confused. "What?"

A flicker of hesitation crosses his face. He swallows. "I have my share of shame in me as well, love."

Your stomach twists at the admission. "What? Why?"

He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead to yours. His voice drops lower, as if he is giving away his best-guarded secret. "I… seem to enjoy it when you cry," he admits. "Not in the sense of enjoying your suffering," he clarifies quickly, "but somehow, being cried for, or in front of, makes me feel… loved."

"Oh, Viktor," you whisper and pull away, your hands moving instinctively to cup his face. His skin is warm beneath your touch, the sharp angles of his cheekbones softening under your fingers. "I am doing a terrible job with love confessions if you have to seek confirmation like this," you mumble, a self-deprecating huff of a laugh dancing under your nose.

Viktor shakes his head, pressing his forehead against yours again, unwilling to let you part. "I disagree. I felt just as loved a minute ago." Then he exhales, long and slow. "I think… it’s just a byproduct of everything," he says carefully. "A change." He pauses, then asks, voice softer, "Does it repulse you?"

"Of course not," you answer instantly, faster than a blink. Your thumbs brush over his cheekbones, gentle, reverent. "You could never repulse me."

His eyes flutter shut for a moment, like he’s soaking in your words, like they’re something sacred. When he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that crushes you completely. "The feeling is mutual," he murmurs.

He studies you for a moment longer before speaking again. "So tell me—what do you need to overcome your shame?"

And you hesitate again. It still lingers. Creeps up to coil somewhere around your throat and you can’t possibly bring yourself to say this, can you? The most obvious stupid cliché. Not because of the act itself, but because of the nature of it. Because of the reason for it. You crave to shed it, to start anew, to get all dressed up in your fresh new skin, old one feeling to tight around your bones. But this is Viktor. And of all people, he’s the one you would ask.

So you lean in to whisper your undisclosed desire straight into his ear. "Spank me."

Viktor stills, his mouth falls open, and he covers it with his hand. Not in shock—just to think. He doesn’t let the moment linger, as his brain works fast. He cups your cheeks and sweeps his thumbs under your eyes. Takes a deep breath.

"This is your wish?"

You nod, lowering your gaze and fixing it on the space between you, but Viktor tsks at you. "I will need you to use your words for this and all the way through. Is this what you want, for sure?"

"Yes," you answer, quietly, but audibly enough for Viktor to accept.

"Alright," he says firmly, then smiles and places a kiss on the corner of your mouth, sweet and lingering. "Will you pass me my pants?"

You huff out a laugh but scramble up from his lap, helping him get roughly dressed—underwear left in the kitchen—when he leads you back to the bedroom. And it’s all so very sweet. He leans on you, just like last time. Kisses your cheek and neck all the way through. You manage not to look at the empty spaces this time.

He leads you to the bed, where he sits down, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. Holding your hand, he guides you to sit beside him. Without question, you do, heart all the way up in your throat.

"Alright, let’s go over this, yes?" Viktor states, as if this is a project. Safety rules, roadmap, scientific approach. He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze and smiles softly. "I will check how you are doing constantly. If you tell me to stop, I stop immediately. If, for whatever reason, you don’t feel like you can tell me, you tap my thigh three times. If you don’t like it, we never do this again. If you do, we will explore. What do you think?"

"You don’t think it’s weird?" Do you think I’m weird is truly what gnaws at you, but you can’t bring yourself to ask it. You just look at him, waiting, excited and scared.

"Of course not. Peculiar, at best," Viktor smiles again and places a flurry of kisses on your face. "Do you wish to continue?"

"Yes," you answer with more confidence now.

"Then lay across my lap, please," he says, leaning back, hands still on you—grounding and reassuring.

Air gets momentarily knocked out of your lungs when your belly presses across Viktor’s thighs. He runs a hand down your spine, finding himself strangely excited about this. The trust he asked you for last week now lay splayed across his knees—he couldn’t help but think. All he has to do is indulge you.

His hand slides down, cradling your ass. He lifts the skirt of your dress, draping it over your lower back, and runs his fingers under the hem of your underwear. Gently, soothing you with soft sounds as he does, he pulls your knickers down to your knees. Your face burns, heat prickling across your skin in goosebumps with every touch—nails grazing over the inside of your knee, up your thighs, stopping at your core. He palms your naked skin and hums once he realises you are wet.

“Good,” he murmurs, playing between your legs for a while. Your mouth parts and eyes close, while you give him quiet gasps. He spreads the wetness onto your ass cheeks and cradles your bum one last time before starting. And then, without warning, the first slap lands—firm, of medium strength—but still, you yelp in surprise.

The sensation is alien—it both hurts and doesn’t. With the mild pain comes something else, something fleeting, but you can’t quite grasp what it is. Warmth spreads across your skin, and you dig your fingers into Viktor’s thigh.

Viktor, however, receives something entirely different. Nothing flees him—something grows. Both between his legs and in his chest. He has to take a second before he asks, “How was that?”

“Good,” you reply immediately.

So he continues. Another slap echoes through the room, and Viktor watches as the imprint of his hand whitens against your skin before dissolving into pink a second later. How pretty it looks. He checks in with you again. And again, you encourage him.

Slowly, slap after slap, each one interrupted by Viktor’s questions, you feel lighter, warmer. A strange feeling of relief washes over you. At some point, your skin begins to sting, and even that is welcome. Your mouth loses restraint, and you moan each time Viktor’s palm connects with your ass. Your back arches, ribs pressing into his legs, and you feel a drop of slick rolling down your inner thigh.

So debauched. So pretty, Viktor thinks.

He can’t help himself and runs his fingers down between your legs. Gasps at the wetness pooling there. “More?” He asks, voice breathy, eyes completely transfixed on your reddened skin and he almost drools at the sight. All his doing. His hand did this. This, and the drenched state of your cunt, it’s all him.

“More,” you say weakly. The burn feels good. You feel the doubt seeping out with the warmth radiating from your skin. With each touch, something inside you feels lighter. Bigger. Like there is more of you and less of whatever had been gnawing at you.

Viktor gives you three more slaps, and when your thighs quiver with the last one, his hand comes to rest at the base of your spine. “How is that?” he asks, admiration seeping into his voice.

“I think it’s enough,” you reply in a small voice. His hand returns to your bum, a gentle caress spreading from the tops of your thighs to your hips. Slowly, you rise from his lap, only to straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” you breathe into his skin. Viktor pulls you close, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“Thank you,” he murmurs in return. “Please, lie down on your stomach. I’ll be right back.”

You blink in quiet question but obey. Crawling onto the bed, you curl up on your side, fingers ghosting over the heat still lingering beneath your dress. When Viktor returns, the soft tap of his cane against the floor announces him, and you wonder how he got all the way to the kitchen without it.

“I said on your stomach,” he says gently, placing a hand at the small of your back. You roll over, propping your head on your crossed arms.

“Good girl,” he coos before exposing your reddened ass. The mattress dips on each side of your knees and once again you feel Viktor’s hands on you. Soft, gentle. Callouses gliding over your tired skin with care and love. He presses his face against your cheeks, holding them firmly, hums in appreciation, making your toes curl and your back arch, belly pressing into the bed. Then his mouth joins, as he licks you with a flat tongue. Lips grazing over you, the trail of open mouth kisses spreading all the way from the crease of your ass to the small of your back. You press yourself into him and bury your nose in the sheets, trying to muffle your whimpers.

 And then comes the coolness pressing against you, making you wince at the first touch. A cold compress.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Viktor whispers. His free hand comes to thread gently through your hair. You feel safe. Whole. That sense of belonging blooms within you again—stronger this time—and you are so, so glad it’s with Viktor. You sigh and close your eyes.

He lies beside you, his hand running up and down your spine. When you blink, your eyes meet. “How are you feeling?” he asks, and he looks so in love your heart is about to burst.

“Very good,” you say quietly, offering him an honest smile. You turn onto your side to face him, the compress slipping off. “Better. Empty and whole at the same time,” you murmur against his mouth, kissing him with reverence. “You?”

Viktor thinks for a second before answering. "Knowing you trust me enough to let go like this makes me feel irreplaceable," he says finally, and you are left speechless. Because he is. And it feels great that he knows.

“It’s all very new, isn’t it?” you ask finally, and Viktor gazes at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

“No,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, your name falling softly from his mouth. “Nothing’s new. It’s still love.”

You nuzzle against his neck and sigh, your eyelashes tickling his skin. The last question gnawing at you slips past your lips before you can catch it.

“Do you hate me less now?”

Viktor scoffs, outright appalled. He pulls you back by the neck, forcing you to look at him, his eyes full of intent as he replies simply, “No.”

Your heart beats only once before stopping entirely. Then Viktor’s expression softens, and he speaks again.

“I never hated you. If anything, I only love you more.”

And your heart resumes beating—hard and erratic. You wrap yourself around him, letting out a shuddering breath. “God, how can this be so good now when we’ve fucked up so badly?”

Viktor picks up what you’ve put down. “Change is inevitable. Sometimes abrupt. Maybe this is where we were supposed to be to get here, miláčku.”

Oh, God. There it is again—dragged up from the pit you were hoping to forget. The one thing that once felt most dear, a treasure Viktor gave freely, only to let it slip into someone else’s hands. Now it’s tarnished, dulled with grime. It doesn’t sound sweet anymore. It tastes bitter, feels wrong. Feels like it doesn’t belong to you.

Your heart drops again. Your voice shrinks to almost nothing as you push him away and plead weakly, “Please, don’t call me that again.” Tears are already pricking at your eyes, and you wonder when you became so quick to cry.

“Wha—Why?” Viktor chuckles, trying to wrap his arms back around you, but you keep your distance, splaying your palms flat against his chest in quiet defiance. And then he sees it.

“Oh, darling. It never happened, I promise you. The note, I—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, as if you don’t already know. Your brows knit together, a tear clinging to your lashes. “It was on the note,” you try again, your voice frail with disbelief. Your lips press into a tight line, and Viktor looks so remorseful that you fear what’s coming next.

“It was on the note,” he says carefully, “because I was fully lying to you.”

It’s so quiet you almost don’t hear him. Your eyes flick between his eyes and his lips, your mouth parting—but nothing comes out. A couple of imaginary pins drop on the floor, the sound echoes in your head.

And then a sob slips through as you blink rapidly, trying to hold back the tears. “No. Viktor, I thought—”

“I’m so sorry.” He tries to cradle you, but you resist. “I knew it was horribly wrong as soon as I saw you that day. I regretted it in an instant, and oh,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest. He holds you tight through this last, stupid display of jealousy, doing his best to reassure you.

“I would never. I would never call anyone else that. You are the only one, I promise. It’s all yours. Please forgive me. Miláčku, please forgive me,” he pleads, pressing his face into your hair, into the crook of your neck.

You don’t respond—not with words, not yet. Your breath is shaky against his collarbone, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. His heart hammers against your ear. You know he’s afraid.

Viktor shifts, pressing a kiss to your temple, lingering like he’s willing you to believe him through touch alone. His hand cradles the back of your head, his thumb brushing small, rhythmic circles at your nape.

“Please,” he whispers again, softer now, like he’s running out of words, running out of ways to reach you. “I promise it’s yours. Forever.”

“How do you know it’s forever?” you ask, voice hollowed out. That would be a gift too good to be true. Yet. You dare to have your hopes up.

Viktor winces. Your body grows pliant against him. He hooks his leg over your hip bone and nestles you close, his arm wrapping under your waist, his palm resting between your shoulder blades. His other hand cradles your cheek, his face inching closer. Your noses press together, and when Viktor speaks his quiet truth, your lips brush.

“Because loving you isn’t a feeling that fleets,” he murmurs, pouring the words into you. “It’s a condition. And I will carry it with me always, no matter what happens between us.”

Your breath hitches, and you shudder. You squeeze your eyes shut, searching for something—anything—to say. But instead, you press your salty lips to his, not in a kiss, just a press. Just to steal a breath from him.

“Come back to me,” he coaxes, his knuckles paling against your skin. “Miláčku, come back to me.”

And Viktor doesn’t really believe in any higher form of consciousness controlling the universe. The only thing he believes in is the void, that we scream into like an echo chamber, questions bouncing back to anyone who’s asking. That we only get one life and have to make the very best of it. He doesn’t believe in God, that he has called upon too many times already in the spirit of figurative speech. But if there was one thing he would pray for, it would be this.

To tether himself to you, bind himself to something real, something beyond the desperate loneliness he’s learned to live with before he’s met you. He’s been waiting and waiting for this love to fleet, and it never fucking did, no matter how hard he’s been trying to squeeze it out of himself. So, instead of praying, he offers himself to you, tries to prove in the only way he knows how that he is yours, that he will always be yours—with his needy hands that chased away your shame, with his loving eyes so honest they pierce right through you, with his hot mouth that needs, needs, needs to suck on you so his lungs could expand, and his heart could beat.

And as if gears slowly begin grinding against each other in your head, you give it all back. You kiss him—deep and messy, snot mingling with drool. Viktor sighs in relief, the taste of your tears on his tongue sealing something unspoken between you. He murmurs sweet things between breaths, hands tangling in your hair, legs hooking you closer. And he needs, needs, needs to show you how much he wants you to come back. How nothing else could ever compare. How the thought of anything else is harrowing and empty.

“So we start over,” you slice through his thoughts, stating more to yourself than to him, as if the matter has nestled in your head securely only just now.

Viktor nods brushing his nose against yours and whispers a quiet, “Yes.”

“Yes,” he says again as his shaky fingers begin to unbutton your dress. “Yes,” he breathes when his thumbs brush under your breasts and palms twitch to cup them. “Yes,” comes another murmur when his tongue meets your skin, tits squeezed together so he can lick between them, and then a moan escapes him as you slide your hands to the nape of his neck and tug at the short hair there.

Your back arches, excited and willing when the sensation of his tongue on you mingles with the sounds he makes echoing in your mind, and you breathe out a needy plea, “Do it again.”

Viktor cocks a brow, hums into your skin as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, and asks a playful muffled, “Which one?"

“Oh, God, both,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut and buck your hips against thin air, Viktor’s knee too far for you to reach. Your fingers pull at the base of his skull, and Viktor chuckles, a flush creeping up his body underneath the layers of clothing when he sinks his mouth into your breast and obeys—letting out a quiet, wrecked, “Oh, fuck,” somewhere around your heart.

His thigh finally, finally, comes to your salvation, sneaking between your legs and pressing on your core with a quiet obscene squelch. The thought of a wet stain he will get to see there makes his cock twitch painfully against the half-assed job you did of buttoning up his trousers earlier on. You breath grows short as you rub yourself on him and when a stuttered whimper escapes your mouth, Viktor huffs, “Please, do it again,” through a sharp exhale.

You tug at his hair, forcing him to look at you. "Give me a reason," you whisper in a strangled breath.

Clearly, you have no idea what you’re asking for. The cry that escapes you when his knee retreats is, to say the least, embarrassing. The sound transforms into a quiet gasp, when his hands leave your chest, one finger slides through your slit and Viktor hums, so, so pleased with you, “Baby, look how wet you are.”

“So wet for me, my girl,” he coos, and he sounds almost too grateful as his lips come back to kiss you, and a gush of cold air fans over your nipples. He palms your sickly heat, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit and you blink rapidly as your eyes roll back in your skull. Your hands fumble blindly to unbutton his shirt in a need press yourself flush against him.

And you do a very poor job, jolting and pulling at his buttons whenever Viktor’s hand parts you and his fingers tease your entrance, so his other hand comes to help you, undoing what you can’t with an ease that has you huffing. It’s annoying that he can do two things at once, while you clearly cannot. Your sulking doesn’t last very long, because as soon as his naked chest is free to be roamed, you leech yourself to his collarbone and suck a red glaring love mark into it.

Yours. All yours.

And Viktor slips, figuratively and literally, as his head instinctively falls back to grant you full access to his neck and his two fingers push inside you, where you are so, so hot it almost burns him. As if the mark on his neck wasn’t red enough, you bite on it, trying to muffle a groan. Viktor has nothing to muffle his groan on, so you can feel it crawling up his throat and vibrating under your lips.

When his fingers push in further, the only gesture you can muster is to hook your hands over the waistband of his trousers, mouth choking on his neck. You pull his pants down and he hisses as the material hooks over his cock before it springs back to slap heavily against his lower abdomen. You try to distract yourself by sliding your palms flat up and down the slope of his sharp hips, but it’s futile once Viktor buries his fingers knuckle deep and curls them brushing the sensitive spot within you. He twitches as you moan. Precum leaks out of his slit. No thoughts cross your head, only impressions. Only want and need.

You can’t decide which one it is—want or need—when your fingers wrap around his length and rub whatever weeps at the tip all over the head. He’s silky and heavy in your hand as you trace your favourite vein with the tip of your finger.

“Oh, God,” Viktor whimpers to the imaginary being again, pumping you with a stuttering rhythm of his wrist. Feeling every crevice of your cunt, he pulls you in for a kiss and you no longer know where he ends, and you begin. Attached by the mouth, his hand deep inside you, your needy wanting hands on him, just drawing gasps and moans from each other.

He has to retreat to pull his pants further down and has an audacity to chuckle when you whine in protest. His hand leaves you drawing a wet sound and your thighs fall back together with a sticky smack. “So impatient,” he hums, while doing a shitty job of undressing himself, kicking off one leg of his pants, while the other still entangles around his calf. He hooks his freed leg over your hip, takes his cock from you and aligns it at your entrance. You are completely wrapped around each other—leg pressing on leg, arms hooked around necks, fingers adding to already damp hair.

“Do you want me?” he asks, pressing his cock against your clit, hard. You tie up into thousands of knots, trying to suck him in by the force of your sheer will when you see the question is honest. He really wants to know. Eyes pensive, hooded, mouth parted. So you kiss this mouth, bite his lips until he hisses and breathe into him, “I want you, fuck, I want you.”

A silent moan rips through him, as he enters you, inch after painful inch until you can feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse of his cock against your walls. At this point you are just clashing mouths and teeth in something that once was a kiss. He fills more of you than was empty as you lose control of the clenching and unclenching of your own muscles. A quiet ah falling from him dies in the sound of a slap as your hips slot together.

He stills for a moment, buried deep, and you swear you can feel his pulse inside you, thrumming in time with your own. Chest to chest, forehead to forehead, he exhales heavily through his nose, his grip on you tightening. And then he moves.

Your mouth falls open so wide your jaw aches, breaths intermingle, brows knit together. Viktor's hands anchor around your ass as he thrusts into you, slow and deep, each movement pounding the shape of his cock into your core. You arch against him, offering yourself, giving him everything you have. Your fingers twist in his hair, and the moment you tug, he groans—a low, breathy sound that coils something filthy at the base of your spine as your skin slaps against his.

And Viktor feels himself melting against your lips, inside you, as your walls squeeze tighter and tighter around him. He loses control of his hands—they just roam, fisting at your dress, kneading the soft flesh of your thighs as he sinks deeper, hitting a spot that has you gasping hiccupped breaths straight into his mouth. He pants, struggling not to be the one who falls first, trying not to look, not to think about your clumped eyelashes, the tears that he is fucking out of you. He tries not to think about how every slap of his hips against yours must echo across your poor ass, how pleasure and pain must be bleeding together inside you.

But it just feels so fucking good for you. Every roll of his hips is a reminder of how his fingers sank into your skin not long ago, heat pouring out of you in waves. You don’t move anymore—it’s only Viktor’s sloppy, determined thrusts guiding you toward the edge. You cross your eyes to focus on his parted lips, the beauty marks dusting his cheek and lip, and when his breath fans over your face, you let your lashes flutter closed, surrendering to it. Letting it build, slow and aching, every deep stroke tightening the coil inside you until you’re cramping around him.

“Fuck,” Viktor pants as you curl into him, whining his name into the crook of his neck, fighting the urge to bite down on his tendon. Your thighs squeeze tight around him, and your cunt grips him like a vice, milking him as you finally break apart. You spasm and clench around him, neck wrenched and jaw tight as you try to catch a breath through your silent shout and it’s almost impossible for Viktor to move in the tightness you’ve created. His sweat drips onto your cheeks, and, at last, he can stop holding back.

He curls his arms around you and rolls you over, pressing you down with his weight. Adding gravity to every snap of his hips, his stomach cramps more and more with each desperate thrust as he fucks you through the aftershocks, chasing his own undoing. His mouth hangs open against yours when he holds you tight enough for his fingertips to whiten, bruises already threatening to bloom where he grips. “I’m so close,” he whispers on a breath, and you thought it impossible, but you clench even tighter at the sound of his strained voice. And when he cums, it’s with a wrenched-out grunt, his head buried in your neck, his body trembling against you.

A few stuttering jolts of his hips, spilling his seed deep inside you, and the sensation of being filled, of being utterly his, has you moaning one last time, spent and breathless. Eyes unseeing, mouth touching mouth when he falls on top of you and just stays.

And then, nothing, for a moment, only your damp stomachs rising and falling against each other.

Until Viktor is the one to move first. He pulls out, his cum spilling from you onto the sheets with a wet spurt, and rolls onto his back, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow. A shuddery breath escapes him as he presses a hand to his chest.

“Viktor?” you say softly, gliding an open palm over his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what—” he croaks, then pulls you in, guiding your head to rest against his chest. His heart pounds beneath your ear, his breath uneven, and when you lift your chin to look at him, you catch the glistening trail of a tear slipping down his cheek, barely visible.

And Viktor has no idea what came over him. He has no idea whether this is a stupid way of paying back his debt to you or is it just a surge of affection that he cannot hold in, but it feels strangely freeing to pour all this fear into a wet breath. Or maybe his fucked out brain just can’t keep up with the bliss, he doesn’t know.

Gently, you tug his arm away from his face, nuzzling into him as you whisper, “It’s okay. You’re okay.” You press a soft kiss to his lips, and he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding something in for far too long. And to come undone like this is completely unlike for Viktor. You are fairly sure you’ve never seen him cry before, though you’ve heard the legends. And now they all come true, before your very eyes and even though you feel nothing close to arousal watching him spill his emotions over, the feeling you do have in your chest is about to make it burst, nevertheless.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, kissing you back through an embarrassed chuckle. “I guess something is new after all.”

“Don’t apologize, please,” you whisper, nuzzling your nose into the hollow of his cheek. “I love this.”

Viktor offers a smile and a squeeze to your neck. Wordlessly, you fall into each other, arms tightening, bodies entwining. The roam of your hands slowly dying to settle on each other’s hollows. The scent of sweat and warmth heavy between you, intermingling, blending—just as you do.

And even though all of this looks hurried and disorganised—your dress half undone, his pants tangled around one leg, brace slid down from his knee, shirt twisted around him, cold compress melting away, dampening his sheets—it feels right. And as you rest against him, your heart slowing in tandem with his, you think of how this is both familiar and new. How you’ve shed the bad and kept the good. How it’s all very fucking new and exciting and frightening, but it’s good, because it’s with Viktor.

At some point, the sun has set as you both drift into sleep. Heavy breaths, calm, bodies still half-clothed. Your dress has rolled all the way up, exposing your lower half, and Viktor, with sleep-ridden hands, pulls it down before throwing a blanket over you both. No dreams interrupt you, only the damp cloister of your shared aftermath.

He’s closed his eyes a second ago, and when he opens them again, the night has turned into a blue morning. No sun yet, but the dark already pales. Carefully, he shuffles from between your legs, pressing the soles of his feet to the wooden floor, blindly reaching for his cane. Then, takes a long breath. His knee is aching—a faint, but present feeling. Slightly annoying. Managable.

He discards his pants to the floor, the outline of the fly buttons pressed into the skin of his calf after clinging to it the whole night. He glances over his shoulder—you, fast asleep, hair clumped into a tangled mess spilling over his pillow. Mouth open, soft breaths coming in and out, the faintest sound nestling in his mind. His hand hovers over your cheek as he dusts away a stray eyelash. Moments pass as he just looks.

Quietly, he stands and expands himself into a slow stretch. Breathes out long and heavy. Then, half-naked, walks toward the kitchen. And there—his underwear on the floor. Two cups resting on the table. He puts his cup in the sink and reaches for yours—half-drunk tea, a once-wet, now dried-out ring left behind. He smiles.

Nothing’s new, comes the thought.

He drinks your cold tea and puts the kettle on.

[imaginespazzi]

Part 1: Simple Things

Masterlist -Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

Cause your presence still lingers here (it won't leave me alone)

(In which a procrastinating writer starts another series to continuously procrastinate on)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining

Words: 5.8K (lowkey shocked I managed that)

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

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 Look at me not being a liar! I'mma try to be good with updates but we all know me. This first chapter is mainly buildup and it's not my favorite but it's important to get the plot rolling. I know very little about California and it's going to become more and more apparent throughout this series so everyone who knows Cali, just pretend thanks! Did I edit? Yes. Are there probably still mistakes? Also yes. As always, let me know what you liked, what you disliked, and what you wanna see next!

February 2033

“Anywhere but GSV,” Paige says adamantly, staring at the white wall in front of her, instead of her exasperated agent. 

Talia lets out a deep sigh, perfectly manicured sharp red nails tapping incessantly against her desk. For the most part, Paige is a dream client and when Talia says jump, she says how high. It’s easy to trust Talia’s vision when she hasn’t let her down once since Paige’s management company has assigned her to their basketball sensation. But most of those decisions had been about endorsement opportunities, opportunities that wouldn’t have other ramifications on the rest of Paige’s life, opportunities that didn’t come with personal consequences. 

“Paige-”

“How about the Sparks?” 

“They’re not offering nearly as much.”

“I’m okay with taking a pay-.”

“You do not pay me as much as you do for me to let you finish such a stupid sentence.”

“Fine,” Paige spins around in her swivel chair, “you’re telling me nobody else is offering me anything as big as GSV.”

“Well I mean Indiana…” Talia trails off, barely able to hide an impish grin at Paige’s pronounced eyeroll, “and of course you could always just stay in Dallas.”

Paige winces at the mention of the current team. With one championship and two MVP campaigns under her belt, it would be incorrect to say her time with the Wings hadn’t been fruitful but she’d never felt quite at home here. And that had been before the personnel changes had hit Dallas and suddenly, the team coming off a near perfect season with a trophy in their hand, was struggling to keep themselves in playoff contention. Paige had stuck it out two more seasons after, a testament to her loyal nature and desire to start and finish her career at the same place like many legends had done but ultimately enough had been enough and she’s come to terms with the fact that she’s not meant to be a part of the Wings forever. 

“Can’t you try talking to the Sparks again?” she says, hands massaging her temple as she resorts to begging, “it’s fucking L.A. they’ve got to have some money lying around somewhere.”

“Even if they did, you and I both know the Sparks aren’t a good fit basketball wise either. GSV has everything you’re looking for. They need a PG and you need a championship contender who’s offering you a deal like they are. You can’t throw all of that away just because-”, Talia bites her lip, catching herself before she can vocalise out loud the real reason they’re having such a complicated conversation about what should be a simple decision. 

Paige swallows uncomfortably, skin prickling with that all too familiar fire that spreads through her veins every time her past brushes a little too close to her present. It would be impossible to keep them from ever colliding, but for almost a decade now, Paige has managed to keep them separate beyond absolute necessity. She’s done the cordial handshakes when the Wings played the Valkyries and given due diligent praise when the media had asked about the competition, but that was it. More than that would have been like willingly walking into a fire with kerosene all over her body. And Paige can’t do that, not when the burn marks from years and years ago, still haven’t healed. 

“Team chemistry is important,” Paige says finally, “I might be an on-court fit at GSV but that won’t matter if it’s a disaster off the court.”

Talia sighs and Paige can tell she’s fighting the urge to whack her head against her desk, “it’s been years Paige. You've lived a whole life without each other. The two of you are adults. You’re professionals and you’re two of the best goddamn players in the league. You have the same goal; you want to win. You don’t think you can put that behind you to get you both what you want?”

You've lived a whole life without each other

It’s like a well-aimed arrow that barely breaks skin but shatters something underneath, something buried deep within, something she should have gotten rid of years ago but hasn’t been able to let go of yet. Something that feels a lot like a forever she’d never gotten to live out and an always that had flown out of her reach. And Paige knows nobody lives the life they’d expected to live at fifteen or even eighteen but the truth is that most of her dreams had come true. The only thing missing was the person she’d expected to be there by her side when they did. 

“Okay listen,” Talia begins again, “here’s what’s gonna happen.”

“Bossy,” Paige smirks, bracing herself, knowing she’s not about to like the next words out of Talia’s mouth. 

“You’re going to go to San Francisco,” the older woman raises a silencing hand the minute Paige tries to protest, “you’re going to meet the front office, you’re going to meet the GM and you’re going to tour their facilities. And if after talking with them and seeing all they have to offer, if it’s still not enough to counter having to play with her, then we can revisit this conversation.”

“Can I say no?” Paige tilts her head with a sigh. 

Talia smirks and it’s enough for Paige to let her head finally hit the table, “your flight leaves in two days.”

***

Azzi wakes up to a light weight sprawled over her back and tiny fingers rubbing circles against her temple. She can’t help but smile, keeping her eyes closed and listening to the sound of her daughter’s quiet breathing as the little girl continues her ministrations. It’s a new skill she’s been taught, to wake her mom up like this instead of screaming. So far, Azzi think’s it’s been a successful transition. 

“Mama,” Stephie whispers in Azzi’s ear, “are you awake yet cause I really really want waffles.”

Azzi laughs, finally flipping herself over and Stephie squeals as she goes from on top of her mother, to landing on the bed, “I thought you said you wanted pancakes last night?”

“I did,” a thoughtful look crosses the five-year-old's eyes, “I think I changed my mind.”

“You think?” Azzi suppresses a smile. It’s uncanny really how she’d given birth to her perfect mini-me. The moment the nurses had placed the tiny little creature into her waiting hands, she’d noticed immediately how much it felt like looking through a door into her childhood. And with every passing day, it seems Stephie morphs more and more into Azzi. From the way her face betrays her every emotion to the way she can’t make a decision to save her life, it’s all Azzi and really it makes sense, because Stephie is all Azzi’s. 

“Yes,” Stephie nods matter-of-factly as she sits up onto her knee and pulls at Azzi’s blanket, “so can you get up and make me waffles now?”

“Oh of course I can, your highness,” Azzi says dramatically, rising off the bed and letting Stephie climb onto her back, “would you like chocolate sauce or maple syrup with that your majesty?”

Stephie groans, burying her face in Azzi’s neck as if her mother has asked her to make the most difficult decision in the world. They settle into their morning routine, Stephie brushing her teeth as Azzi goes through her meticulous skin care regiment, occasionally dabbing little bits of this and that on her daughter’s skin, eliciting soft giggles from the little girl. It’s her favourite sound in the entire world. Azzi’s life isn’t perfect and there’s a million what if’s, one bigger than all of the others, that plague her mind sometimes but then she looks at Stephie, and she knows she wouldn’t change a single decision she’d made. Because they’ve all led to this moment, 9 am on a Friday, making waffle batter as her five-year old sits on the counter-top. It’s not everything but it’s enough. 

The frantic sound of a door being haphazardly slammed open has both Stephie and Azzi startled, until Colleen comes bursting through it like a tornado. 

“Oh thank god you’re awake,” Azzi’s best friend and manager says, out of breath, as she throws her car keys on the kitchen table.

“Hi Aunty Leen,” Stephie grins, waffle batter all over her mouth as she continues to dip and lick. 

“Hey kiddo,” Colleen ruffles Stephie’s hair before sitting down and staring pointedly up at Azzi, “you might wanna sit down for this. I have news.”

“Sorry to break it to you Collen but your new h-o-o-k-u-p-s are not sit-down-newsworthy,” Azzi smirks as Colleen scrunches up her nose trying to keep up with the spelling. 

“Oh trust me Az, I wish this was about my h-o-o- whatever,” Colleen takes a deep breath, “GSV is meeting with a potential point guard this week.”

“I would hope so. We really need a PG if we’re gonna redeem ourselves next season.”

“Right, well- you see- the thing is-”

“Today if you can please Colleen,” but there’s this knot forming in the pit of her stomach. Her sixth sense that’s been dormant for years is prickling and if she’s honest with herself, Azzi knows the next words that are about to come out of Colleen’s mouth before her best friend has even said them. 

“GSV wants to sign Paige,” Colleen says slowly. 

For a moment there’s silence and it’s ridiculous how all it takes is her name for Azzi’s mind to start flipping through pages and pages of a photo album she’s buried deep in the treasure chest of her mind. And for a second, she allows herself to get lost in a flood of everything we could have been until the sting of her hand slipping against the waffle iron jolts her back to reality. 

“Fuck,” she curses, immedaitely blowing at her fingers. It does nothing. She should know by now that when things burn, the flames might die out, but even the ashes remain on fire. 

“Bad word Mama,” Stephie chides immediately, unaware that her mother’s world has just been thrown off balance, “you owe me a kiss.”

She juts her cheek out and Azzi complies, trying to ignore the way her heart is desperately trying to beat out of her chest. It only calms down a little when Stephie presses a kiss of her own against Azzi’s cheek. 

“Sorry sweetheart, mama’s bad, Here can you mix this batter for me,” Azzi whispers to the younger girl, distracting her child with something to do, before rounding on her best friend, “she can’t come here.”

Colleen sighs, getting comfortable in her chair, “unfortunately I don’t think you have much choice.”

“The h-” Azzi cuts herself off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, “the haystack I don’t. This is my team and I don’t want her on it and I’m gonna walk into Ohemaa’s office and tell her exactly that.”

“Right and what exactly are you going to tell her when she asks you why you don’t want the best point guard in the league on your team Azzi? Your team, who mind you, lost in the finals last year because you didn’t have a point guard.”

Azzi flinches, gritting her teeth, both at the reminder of the loss that had happened not long enough ago and the fact that she couldn’t very well go into her boss’s office and blurt out the truth about a tragic relationship that had lived and died in secret. 

“It's a bad idea, the two of us- we’ll kill each other Colleen,” she struggles to string the words together, swallowing away the we already have that tastes like bile on the tip of her tongue. 

“Well you’re gonna have to learn not to,” Colleen says decisively, slipping from being Azzi’s best friend to her manager, “because you and I both know that if you want GSV to win another championship, you’re going to need her.”

“Are you my manager or GSV’s,” Azzi grunts, rubbing a tired hand against her forehead. 

Colleen smiles, “it’s the same thing isn’t it? What’s good for GSV is good for you. And we all know the two of you thrive on the court together.”

“We did. Past tense,” the admission falls like lava from Azzi’s lips, singeing the edges of her mouth as everything that she’d let simmer underneath threatens to bubble over, “there’s no guarantee we still will. Besides, it's all a moot point anyways because she would never agree.”

“Wouldn’t she?” Colleen cocks an eyebrow and Azzi groans at the rhetorical question, waiting for the inevitable other shoe to drop, “because last I checked, she’s flying into San Francisco tomorrow.”

***

Paige has a problem. A really big fuck i really want to be a golden state valkyrie type of problem. She’d fought it every step of the way since she’d landed in San Francisco. Something about the city felt like it was bursting with basketball. The drive from the airport into Oakland had been bursting with murals of the Warriors and the Valkyries and for a split second, Paige can see her own face up on the billboards in a #5 Valkyries jersey. She just doesn’t know if it she can imagine herself next to the woman in #35 again, the woman whose smile in the posters is exactly as she remembers it to have been like when it was pressed into Paige’s skin every night almost a decade ago. 

On top of that, Omehaa Nyanin had seemed to know exactly what made Paige Bueckers, the basketball player, tick. Every argument Paige had about why she shouldn’t be Valkyrie, the woman had a counter ready, as if she’d already anticipated exactly what the blonde would say. The Valkyrie coach had been even more prepared with videos of their offensive and defensive sets and how they fit in tandem with Paige’s own skill set, all ready to show off the minute she had walked through the door. It should be the easiest decision in the world to let herself just belong to this world that is screaming her name but there’s a rope around her waist trying to tug her back to safety, trying to tug her away from dousing her still-open wounds in salt. 

Sighing, Paige lets herself into what she’s been told is called the “chill area”. Coach had offered to give her a tour of the facilities herself but Paige had declined, asking instead for her former UConn teammate and currently Valkyrie centre Jana El Alfy to do the honours, desperate for a familiar face who knew her history to bounce her thoughts off. It clearly wasn’t what the woman had wanted, but considering she was trying to convince Paige to choose them, whatever the blonde wanted, she was going to get. Massaging her temples at this irritating predicament she’s unwillingly found herself in, Paige’s head rolls back against the back of the chair, eyes closing involuntarily. 

“You’re not supposed to sleep in here,” a tiny voice echoes and Paige almost jumps out her skin in shock. 

“Fucking hell,” she curses as her eyes fall upon a little girl who seems to have materialized out of nowhere, “shit kid, you scared me.”

The child scrunches her nose and Paige feels her heart beat start to quicken as recognition settles in. She knows this little girl, has seen her on the sidelines at countless games and just like every other time, all she can think of is just how much this child resembles the future Paige had once believed would be hers. 

“You owe me three kisses,” the girl says matter-of-factly, her tone so similar to her mothers. It shouldn’t surprise Paige, not when the kid has those same dark curls, those same doey brown eyes, that same nose scrunch.

“I owe you three kisses?” Paige repeats. 

The girl rolls her eyes letting out a sigh far too grave for someone of her age, “yes. Mama says whenever someone says a bad word around me, they have to give me a kiss. You said three bad words, so you owe me three kisses.”

“And what does Mama say about asking strangers for kisses?”

“Stranger danger duh silly,” the child puts her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she looks at Paige with a far too familiar expression, “but you’re not a stranger.”

Paige purses her lips, “I’m not?”

“You’re Paige Bueckers. I’ve seen you at Mama’s games and Nanna and Pops have pictures of you in their house,” she stops, staring accusingly, “you don’t know who I am? Did you forget me?” 

And Paige doesn’t know what catches her off guard more. The casual mention of a house that used to feel like a home, of people that used to feel like family or the fact that, that puppy dog stare still has the exact same effect on her that it did years ago, even if the owner of said eyes is different.

“Of course I didn’t forget you. You’re Stephanie,” Paige says softly, trying to muster a smile as she adds the last name, “Stephanie Fudd.”

“Stephanie Katarina Fudd,” comes the immediate correction, “but everybody calls me Stephie,” tiny hands wrap around Paige’s neck as Stephie climbs on to her lap, tapping a finger on her left cheek as she smiles up at Paige, “so now can I have my kisses?”

Slowly, Paige presses three featherlight kisses against the little girl’s cheek and when Stephie squeals in delight, she wishes she could record it. Someone somewhere is playing a practical joke on her, Paige is sure of it. Because all of a sudden, all the little things she’s been collecting as to reasons why she might just like the Bay Area are starting to feel insignificant in front of this one, in front of Stephie and her innocent smile and the way her free hand is curled around Paige’s neck as if she’ll hold on forever. And the world is definitely playing a cruel prank on her because Stephie can’t be the reason Paige wants to stay, not when her mother’s the reason Paige needs to go.

“Your Mama just lets you run around the building like this?” Paige asks, trying to focus on Stephie instead of the turmoil in her brain. 

Stephie smiles sheepishly, “well I was ‘posed to stay with Aunty Leen while Mama talks to Miss O but then Aunty Leen got a call and I was bored so I came here.”

It doesn’t take Paige too long to decipher that Miss O must be Omehaa, but she’s stuck on who the hell Aunty Leen could be. She’s distinctly aware that her skin has no right to prickle, her hands have no right to sweat, her stomach has no right to knot, she has no right to feel anything when it comes to Stephie’s mother. But jealousy floods through her anyways. 

“Who is Aunty Leen?” Paige asks and then mentally slaps herself for it. 

“Aunty Leen is Aunty Leen,” Stephie explains unhelpfully, “so Miss Buecks-”

“Bueckers.”

Stephie shoots her an unimpressed look, “same things Miss Buecks. Are you here to join Mama’s team?”

“I-” Paige scratches her neck, only slightly taken aback by the direct question, “I don’t know.”

“You should,” Stephies says decisively, “Mama’s team is the best team in the world and Mama’s the best player in the whole wide world.”

Paige can’t help but smile at Stephie’s loyalty, “so why does her team need me then?”

Stephie looks contemplative for a moment before she uses her index finger to beckon Paige towards her, “can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course you can,” Paige says, leaning her ear down so Stephie can whisper into it.

“Don’t tell anyone but you’re my second favourite player.”

Paige swears her heart feels like it might burst. She’s been plenty of people’s favourite player and it’s always been nice to hear. But somehow, all of that seems to pale in comparison to being Stephie’s second favourite player. 

“Why’s that a secret?” she asks softly. 

“Cause you play for the wrong team silly. I can’t cheer for not Mama’s team,” Stephie huffs and then her eyes twinkle, “that’s why you should play for Mama’s team and then I can support you!”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Paige concedes, battling against the part of her brain that’s conjuring up an image of Stephie on the sidelines, cheering for Paige. 

“What’s log-ic?” Stephie asks. 

“Just means you’re a really smart kid,” Paige says, tapping the little girl’s nose. Her head is ringing with warning bells because this floaty feeling of belonging that’s encompassed in this little bubble she’s found herself in with Stephie is not one she’s allowed to feel, not now, not ever. 

“STEPHIE,” a shrill voice echoes outside and Stephie immediately dives into Paige’s neck, hiding herself in the crook of it as a frazzled woman bursts through the door. Her eyes soften when they fall on Paige and the blonde can’t help the caught expression that filters on her face. She knows she’s done nothing wrong; Stephie had been the one to find her after all. But perhaps it’s because she’s scared Colleen will take one look at her and see that tiny rebellious part of her that wants to fight what’s coming next, wants to fight the woman who’s going to take Stephie away from her. Paige isn’t one to get attached easily. It had only ever happened once before when she was fifteen and she’d just known that the girl shooting three’s next to her on the court was meant to be in her life in one way or another. But things had been simple then. Nothing was simple now. 

“Stephie,” Colleen says slowly, “what have I told you about running away from me?”

Stephie peeks her head out from Paige’s chest, a coy smirk playing on her lips, “not to do it? But you were boring me Aunty Leen.”

Oh that’s Aunty Leen, Paige thinks and she absolutely should not let out a sigh of relief at that but she does anyway. 

“I was on the phone for two minutes, Steph.”

“Two minutes too long,” Stephie counters and Paige has to stifle a laugh. 

Colleen rolls her eyes before holding out a hand, “well your Mama’s nearly done so we have to get going kiddo.”

“Can Miss Buecks come with us?” Stephie asks innocently and both Colleen and Paige freeze. 

“I don’t think-”

“I’m not sure-”

They both begin before their eyes flicker to each other and they can’t help but smile. It’s funny how relationships work, how one snapped string can cause a whole web to dissolve, no matter how hard everyone involved had tried to make it work. 

“I’m waiting to meet someone sweetheart so I can’t come right now,” Paige explains, “but maybe next time?”

And she shouldn’t add that last part, not when Paige should be devising an escape plan to never be in Oakland again instead of giving Stephie false hope about a next time that’s far from guaranteed. But it’s worth it for the way Stephie grins, staring at Paige like she’s given her the world’s greatest gift. 

Before Paige can say anything, the little girl presses her lips against Paige’s cheek and she swears she stops breathing for a moment, “I hope you choose to play for Mama’s team Miss Buecks. I think you’d look pretty in purple.”

***

May 2024

“I’ve figured it out,” Paige says triumphantly as she unceremoniously flops onto Azzi’s bed.

“Well hi to you too babe,” Azzi grumbles as she scoots over to give the other girl space. It’s unnecessary because the minute she does, Paige only moves closer, wrapping an arm around Azzi’s torso. 

“Hi baby,” she whispers before pressing a kiss against her girlfriend’s lips and pulling away so quickly that it leaves Azzi chasing after her. 

Azzi huffs and Paige laughs as she gets herself comfortable, resting her chest on the darker skinned girl's stomach, “I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Our future,” Paige says triumphantly and Azzi can’t help but smile at the our as she intertwines their fingers together. It’s been years in the making and there’s nothing Azzi’s more confident in than those two words. Not everyone finds forever this young, but she’s certain they have because really she can’t imagine a life where they don’t belong to each other, a life where every night isn’t spent exactly like this. 

“And what do you see for our future,” Azzi asks softly. 

“Well it’s simple really,” Paige hums, “I’m going to get drafted wherever next year but the year after,  you’re definitely getting drafted to Valkyries-”

“I don’t know about definitely-”

“Azzi it’s rude to interrupt,” Paige sends her a chastising look. 

“Right of course,” Azzi nods solemnly, “continue.”

“As I was saying. You’re definitely getting drafted to the Valks and then we just have to wait for my rookie contract to be up and boom! I’ll join you in the Bay Area and we’ll be together forever and ever and ever.”

Azzi giggles, brushing her hands through Paige’s hair, “that simple huh?”

“That simple,” Paige promises, catching hold of one of Azzi’s hands to press a kiss to her palm, “it’s us Az, we’ll always be simple. Besides, I think we’d both look pretty good in purple.”

***

May 2033

The Valkyrie facilities are state of the art as expected. Jana is the perfect tour guide, pointing out everything she knows will garner Paige’s attention. As they step foot onto the practice court, Paige feels the overwhelming sense of this could be home that’s been dancing along with her every step of the way today. All the resolve she’d carried with her from Dallas is slowly crashing down and she can practically hear Talia’s sing-song i told you so voice echoing in her head. 

“You’d be really good here P,” Jana says excitedly, doing a little spin.

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Paige teases, as she picks up a basketball and subconsciously starts dribbling. 

Jana laughs, before a serious expression takes over, “we would. We got really close to winning it all last year and I think you might be our missing piece.”

“I want to,” Paige confesses, “I just-” her eyes flicker to the most recent MVP poster hanging on the walls, Jana’s gaze following hers, “I don’t know if I should. It’s so complicated.”

“Only if you let it be,” Jana says as she swipes the ball out Paige’s hands, “don’t think of everything else P, just- just think of the basketball. Because you know basketball-wise, this is the right move,” she passes the ball to Paige with a smirk, tilting her head towards the basket, “why not take a shot at it P?”

Paige shakes her head, palming the ball in her hands, “can’t believe my son’s all grown up.”

“Children of divorce have no choice but to grow up,” Jana says gravely and Paige laughs despite herself. 

Taking a deep breath, Paige raises the ball, arching her arms perfect as she shoots it. It barely touches the rim, before falling through the basket with swish. Hitting the floor with a quiet thud, the ball rolls until it’s stopped by someone's foot. Behind her, Paige can hear Jana cheering for the shot but she barely registers it, her entire attention on the new figure who’s just entered the court. It’s a tale as old as time. Azzi Fudd enters the room and suddenly everything else in Paige’s peripheral fades away, until it’s just her and the girl who still manages to steal her breath away. 

“Nice shot,” Azzi says, as she takes a slow step towards Paige. The air is thick with tension as if a time capsule has been opened and their past is leaking onto the pages of their present, staining it with marks of the you and me that we used to be. She should say something, even if it’s just an acknowledgement of the compliment but her tongue feels dry and she’s scared that if she opens her mouth, all the things she shouldn’t say will flood out instead. 

“Hey Az,” Jana’s eyes flicker awkwardly between her former teammates, “I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

“Had to talk to Omehaa about a couple of things,” Azzi says airly, eyes still fixated on Paige, “Jana can we have a minute?”

“You won’t kill each other will you?” Jana asks nervously.

Azzi laughs and even Paige cracks a small smile, “no Jana, we won’t kill each other.”

“Just making sure because last time-” Jana clamps a hand to her mouth as both Paige and Azzi flinch, “because nothing- you guys- you guys talk. I’ll give you guys a minute.”

She scampers away cursing to herself about putting her foot in her mouth and it would be amusing, if not for the fact that Paige can still barely breathe. They haven’t been alone in a room since last time and the air around them hangs heavy with the casings of the grenades they’d hurled at each other. 

“I’ve never seen you with braids this early in the year. They used to be your summer braids,” Paige remarks slowly. It’s a mundane change to notice but it’s significant of the larger truth, significant of all the time that’s passed, significant of the fact they don’t know these new versions of each other. 

“Yeah um, can’t really do summer braids with the W season,” Azzi chews at her lip.

“Right yeah- yeah that makes sense,” Paige nods. The awkwardness is killing her. She’d never been a fan of the silence, always more comfortable in the chaos but it had been different with Azzi. There had been something peaceful, something calming, about the quiet, when it was just the two of them, hands intertwined, eyes closed, as they listened to the sound of each other’s heartbeat. 

“Paige-”

“Are you here to tell me not to come to GSV?” Paige blurts out, “because it’s- it’s okay if you are like I get it. I mean- the two of us- it’s just really fucking complicated so I get it- I get it if you don’t want me here.”

“I didn’t,” Azzi admits and it shouldn’t, but Paige feels it sting anyways, “you’re right. You and I- there’s just a lot there and it would- it would be really complicated and when Colleen first told me I- I was gonna go fight Omehaa and be like abso-fucking-lutely not but-” she sucks in a deep breath, “do you remember the promise we made to each other?”

“We made a lot of promises to each other,” Paige says, unable to keep the harshness out of her tone, “sorry I-”

“No you’re right,” Azzi swallows, “but I meant the promise we made when we first started dating. We said we’d never let the personal affect the professional. We promised each other that no matter what, we’d never let our relationship affect us on the court And I know- I know we’ve broken a lot of promises to each other,” they both let out a breath at that, “but I think- I think maybe we should try and keep this one.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you need a championship contender and GSV needs a PG. Paige, I’m not here to convince you to not come to GSV, I’m here to ask you to join our team,” Azzi says resolutely. 

Paige isn’t easily shocked by anything really. She’s lived what she’d consider a pretty interesting life but of course if anyone was going to surprise her, it would be Azzi. Azzi, who has always been an exception to every rule. 

“You- you want me on your team?” Paige repeats, a little dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Azzi affirms, “you told me once that we could be the best backcourt duo in college basketball and we were, even if it was only for a year, we were and so now I’m telling you that I think we could be the best backcourt duo in the WNBA.”

Paige is silent for a second before a smirk takes over her features, “I think I did a lot more than tell you, pretty sure I had a whole video that proved it.”

“Are you asking me to make you a recruiting video?” Azzi raises an unamused eyebrow. 

Paige shrugs, “could be a nice gesture.”

“I have a five year old child, Bueckers. Trust me when I say I don’t have enough spare time for bullshit like that when you can easily just search up our highlights on youtube. Or just look in your trophy case if you’re looking for proof of how good we can be together,” Azzi says, a hint of that familiar sass bleeding into her spiel. 

“We really were good together weren’t we,” it spills out before Paige can stop it and it’s like they’re taking two steps back from each other, the friendly-ish banter of mere seconds ago being clouded by a past tainted by their mistakes, “on the court I mean. We were really good on the court.”

“Right,” Azzi averts her gaze, “just- just think about it okay? This doesn’t- it doesn’t have to be about you and me, not like that at least. It’s about basketball. GSV is the perfect fit for you and you’re the perfect fit for us. And deep down you must know that too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe I’m just in it for the free trip to Cali,” Paige surmises. 

Azzi scoffs, “you and I both know you make too much money to need a free trip to Cali. If anything, the hotel they’ve given you is probably cheap for your standards.”

“Maybe I just like feeling important? I always did love people showering me with praise.” 

“You always did love the attention,” Azzi grins teasingly, “but there’s one thing you always loved more.”

You, Paige thinks but she can’t say that, “and what’s that?”

“Winning. That’s what this is about. You want another championship, so do we. Come help us and let us help you. It’s that simple.”

As Azzi turns to walk away, Paige can’t help but call out from behind her, “you know I think your daughter’s pitch might have been better.”

There’s a smile playing on Azzi’s lips when she turns her face back a little. It’s a new smile that Paige can only assume is Azzi’s Stephie smile,  “yeah? What did she say?”

“She told me she thinks I’d look good in purple,” Paige smirks. 

Azzi laughs, and it’s exactly like Paige remembers,  “it’s that simple huh?”

“It’s that simple.”

[andrewwtca]

on Sephiroth's manipulation of Cloud (an analysis)

— Rebirth + OG FF7 spoilers

how Rebirth tackled puppet Cloud is so unique and so so good, and I just needed to talk about it. first things first, let’s talk about what Sephiroth means by ‘puppet.’

throughout the OG FF7 and Rebirth, Sephiroth refers to Cloud as a ‘puppet.’ it may seem strange at first glance, because it seems to imply that Sephiroth is manually taking control of Cloud, puppeteering him or that Cloud is inherently empty.

it also doesn’t fit with his encouragement of Cloud’s rage. if Cloud is a puppet, why doesn’t Sephiroth just give him rage?

because that’s not what he means. when Sephiroth calls Cloud a puppet, he means that Cloud’s mind can easily be shaped, similar to how a puppet’s identity is dependent on its master. he says that what Cloud feels is fake because Cloud’s mind is a collage of identities, his own and Zack’s, all with Jenova’s and Sephiroth’s influence. Cloud’s feelings are just his master’s feelings.

Cloud’s mind is malleable. he is his own person, the real Cloud Strife is there, but due to the self-esteem issues he’s harbored since childhood and the trauma he’s endured for the past five years, the presenting Cloud Strife can greatly differ. Sephiroth is intensely aware of this, and takes advantage of it.

the persona we see of Cloud is his SOLDIER persona, the tough badass he always wanted to be, a mixture of his interpretation of Zack and his interpretation of being a hero. but the facade cracks quickly and frequently, in either direction. mostly, it cracks to let us see the real Cloud. there’s no one single moment where he shines through: Cloud taking on odd jobs with no real gain other than him helping someone, Cloud doing something stupid and silly, Cloud getting flustered. all the moments of him being kind and dorky is the real Cloud shining through. it’s impossible for Cloud to bury all of himself beneath his persona, so these cracks are only natural. however, the other cracks in his persona are due to Sephiroth’s manipulation.

in Rebirth, Cloud kills multiple people on multiple occasions—one can argue because they were Shinra, they deserved it, but that doesn’t change the fact that Cloud isn’t a killer. even his SOLDIER persona accommodates his desire to help people; so how does he kill people so easily? if you answered Sephiroth, you get a prize!

Sephiroth manipulates his SOLDIER persona in two ways: feeding into ideals and planting ideas. for the first, he (off-screen) encourages violent and/or anti-social behavior in Cloud. while we, the player, and everyone around him views this as strange, in Cloud’s mind, it all fits into what he’s supposed to be. he’s supposed to be a badass, and badasses kill people and dismiss their friends’ feelings, right?

when Cloud is in this mental state, it’s very hard to reason with him. in Chapter 13 (one of the greatest pieces of puppet Cloud literature), Cloud’s entire goal is to reach the center of the Temple in order to acquire the Black Materia. he doesn’t listen to any warnings that the Cetra give or his teammates, becoming wholly focused on retrieving it. but even then, even if Cloud’s behavior doesn’t seem strange to him, why does he want the Black Materia?

that’s due to Sephiroth’s other form of manipulation: planting ideas. it’s easy to force Cloud to become violent because it fits the narrative of badass SOLDIER, but lots of other ideas need time to nourish. case-in-point: Tifa isn’t the real one.

we are introduced to this idea at the very beginning of the game, Cloud walking through the inn at Kalm when he sees Sephiroth who tells him that this Tifa isn’t the real one. the conflict seems to become resolved when Cloud repeats the idea to Tifa who completely dismisses it, but they’re nowhere out of the woods.

next, Sephiroth in Chapter 5 instills the idea that Jenova is capable of impersonation. this doesn’t seem to go anywhere until Chapter 9.

first, Cloud enters that intensified SOLDIER state-of-mind, killing all the Shinra troopers around him. with his mind already fragile, Sephiroth repeating the idea to him now becomes fact: Tifa isn’t real. she is an imposter from Jenova. both the ideas Cloud’s been fed are twisted and he pushes Tifa off the edge.

Cloud snaps out of this state of mind right after, but it doesn’t change the fact that it happened. as long as Sephiroth plays his cards right, he can manipulate Cloud into doing nearly everything for him. hence, the ‘puppet’ label.

(that’s also why Cloud wants the Black Materia. Sephiroth tells Cloud to bring him the Black Materia—and even if Cloud doesn’t want to, the thought is engraved in his head that he should retrieve it for Sephiroth.)

but here’s what’s really special. as we’ve noted, the intensified SOLDIER persona is violent, anti-social, just an all around dick. he doesn’t care about his friends, doesn’t care about anything except getting what he wants (see: what Sephiroth wants.)

but we see something very different at the end of Chapter 13. Cloud isn’t rude and dismissive. he pushes Tifa, but he doesn't do it with the same malice as in Chapter 9. he does it in an attempt just to get her away, just to chase after the Black Materia.

in his pursuit of Aerith, the things he says are the farthest thing from rude. he’s not threatening or demanding her to stop. he’s asking her to talk, appealing to her desire to trust him and save the planet, even starts calling her name in a teasing way like he’s playing a game.

Aerith! Let's talk. I need it... Aerith... Give it to me. Please? You can trust me. Let's save the planet together. (playfully) Aerith.

when Aerith finally gives him the Black Materia, what does Cloud do? he could just walk away. he could just run straight to Sephiroth. but, no—he makes sure to say “thank you” first.

it’s pathetic (I type this in the most endearing way) the way Cloud acts. why is that? what is the difference between these types of manipulation? the answer is who Sephiroth manipulates. for the most part, Sephiroth manipulates SOLDIER Cloud. but here, Sephiroth breaks through Cloud’s SOLDIER persona to manipulate the real Cloud.

we know when we see the real Cloud: if you need a refresher, anytime Cloud is kind or acts like a dork is usually a tell-tale sign. here, Cloud is kind, saying please and thank you. and it’s almost cute, the way he playfully calls out to Aerith. this is the real Cloud, buried under piles of piles of trauma, self-hatred, and alternative personas.

and what is the real Cloud’s utmost desire? to love and be loved. he wants to be a hero, to be worthy of the ones he holds dear; no, to be worthy of anyone. this is a big factor into Cloud’s construction of his SOLDIER persona, he creates himself that hero mask that he thinks will lead to the love he craves.

Sephiroth knows this, and twists his desire to be a hero to a desire to please Sephiroth at all costs. Cloud is still himself, but he wants to make Sephiroth happy no matter what. Sephiroth wants the Black Materia? then Sephiroth will get the Black Materia.

that’s what’s so heartbreaking (and deliciously good) about Rebirth’s depiction of puppet Cloud. he’s not hollow and empty. he’s desperate. this is the most of the real Cloud we get to see. we see fragments of him, but here is the longest consecutive period. this is the realest he acts in the game, kind and silly and so fucking desperate for love, for Sephiroth’s approval.

in short, Sephiroth knows exactly how and when to break Cloud. he knows how and when to manipulate SOLDIER Cloud and he knows how and when to manipulate the real Cloud. this is why Sephiroth calls him a puppet: as long as he plays to Cloud’s desire for approval and love, he can puppeteer him in every direction.

thank you for reading! I hope you learned something new or just understand Cloud better. Cloud is such a fascinating character and Sephiroth really brings out the most pathetic parts of him ❤️ here's to hoping Cloud gets all the love he wants

[p0orbaby]

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

-

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

[thydungeongal]

Having thought about it some more, the dissonance between people who are okay with talking in an out-of-fiction register over the table and people who insist on an in-fiction register for even mechanical discussion isn't as simple as the latter group being irrationally demanding of some kind of immersion, but it is definitely an issue of the group not having properly established a tone. Now, this is also not particularly helped by the fact that many games are. Really bad at communicating what kind of tone is to be expected of players over the table. But I feel it's further compounded by the fact that many modern RPGs basically expect players to be able to make mechanically informed decisions, with their characters acting as a group to overcome obstacles together, and with no agreed upon in-fiction definitions for many game mechanics the language of the mechanics remains the best cipher for players to communicate these things about their characters.

Some games do a better job of this than others and are thus more amenable to playing in a way where there is almost zero communication in a meta register. Some games, including most mainstream trad RPGs (your D&Ds 5e and Pathfinders 2e) make it all but impossible because they are so mechanically dense and require players to make mechanically informed cooperative decisions. Trying to play one of these games with zero discussion through the best cypher the players have for making sense of the fiction (the language of the rules) would be an exercise. Imagine a group of aliens, all speaking slightly different dialects of the same language, all trying to explain gleeblor (and all of them have a slightly different definition of gleeblor).

Some crunchy TTRPGs do a better job of bridging this gap between mechanics and fiction which means there is less need for code-switching. World of Darkness games have always had descriptive text indicating what each Dot of an attribute or ability roughly corresponds to in real life. Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy also does this, grounding character skill ratings with actual examples of what kind of person could be expected to have that skill rating (Eureka also has explicit guidance for what kind of discussion should and should not go through the meta channel, which is sort of the thing I was grasping at in the first paragraph: many games do a very poor job of transmitting the desired tone to their players, which means that players are left with an oral tradition of never talking in terms of mechanics even while playing mechanically dense games that make such a playstyle all but impossible).

Anyway so Pathfinder and modern D&D are not exactly amenable to this type of play, which doesn't mean they're bad games, but it should be acknowledged that these games do very little to actually communicate how their numbers would translate into terms in the fiction, meaning that the rules text is often the best cipher players have available to them for communicating changes in the fiction. Because the games themselves don't do a lot to define their mechanics in terms of the fiction, any discussion of "what goes in the meta channel and what doesn't" should ultimately rely on consensus, not a single player trying to enforce their (arbitrary, personal) interpretations of the mechanics on the rest of the group.

Anyway this ties a lot into something that @vixensdungeon is always posting about and what her recent 0D&D posts also touch on: the shape and presentation of modern D&D rules is so that it's really easy for players to just look at them and decide that their character can just "Do an Arcana." She's also talked about how back in 3e days even the skill names had much more of a Verby quality to them. There's less of a need for this code-switching when the Thing in the Fiction matches with the Thing in the Mechanics. Gonad the Barbarian would like to Climb a wall, so in D&D 3e he Climb checks that wall. In D&D 5e to Climb a wall Gonad the Barbarian must Athletics on that thang.

And this relates also to our silly 0D&D posting. A Warrior (level 2 Fighter) fights with the strength of two men. Halflings may never be able to rise above the ranks of Heroes, but Halfling Heroes have Superheroic wherewithal (saving throws of a character four levels higher). Naiviv the Medium may yet one day rise to the rank of Wizard. 0D&D is also, in general, less mechanically dense than modern D&D, so a game of 0D&D where the meta channel is almost never used is entirely possible.

Anyway also shout-out to Apocalypse World as well, because it has a completely different approach to bridging the gap between mechanics and the fiction; a way which might turn off people expecting more crunchy play with less room for language games, but a way nonetheless. These are all examples of effects that can happen when a character does a thing:

Force your hand and suck it up.

Back off calmly, hands where you can see.

You lose your footingm

It's not openly for sale, but you find someone who can lead you to some selling it.

It reaches deep into the world's psychic maelstrom.

You provide covering fire, allowing another character to move or act freely.

Your prey doesn't suspect you. Otherwise, they're wary and alert.

See what I mean? When a lot of the mechanical text is like this there is less need for code-switching. The meta register and the in-fiction register are all but the same. It's not an approach that works for every type of game (a mechanically dense game of tactical combat written in this register wouldn't necessarily be unplayable, but it would leave a lot of things ambiguous that people generally drawn to mechanically dense tactical combat games would rather the game resolve for them), but for the type of game Apocalypse World is it works remarkably well.