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mlqueen89 · 5 days ago

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Six | Stakes

I want to know Everything about you that I've had to dream about Every single almost that we've been dancing around I want to know Who we are when we can stop pretending we're just friends Let's go to those places that we've never been

The Way I Wanna by Max McNown

pairing: jake “hangman” seresin / ofc (top gun: maverick)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

warnings/triggers: 🔥smut in overall series, p in v sex, fingering (lmk if i missed any!)

word count: 8,518

summary: ellie realizes that she needs to swallow her pride as the stakes are upped in a significant way.

A/N: i think i have some of the best readers on all of tumblr, if not all of the internet. so, since you’ve been so patient with me and i've been torturing you with all the sexual tension...

my biggest apologies for leaving you guys hanging! lots of illness and #toughlifeshit going on, but all is looking up.

for those of you looking forward to the glen powell/f!writer oc fic "i can do it with a broken heart," my lovely betas and i are cooking up the launch.

there are a few tag requests that don’t have tumblr usernames attached in the tag form. If you requested a tag and you don’t see yourself tagged, let me know and I'll tag you right away and add you to the tag doc!

allons-y!

❥ playlist ♡ masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ glossary of terms ♡ previous chapter ♡ next chapter ❥

The data was in the red again.

Angry, relentless, it seeped across Ellie’s screen in jagged lines and pulsing errors. When she closed her eyes, to sleep, to blink, under the spray of a hot shower, she could see it still, just behind the quiet in her mind, burned into her retinas.

Error.

Failure.

Danger Ellie Rigby, danger.

Was it irrational to think that numbers could taunt her? Because it sure felt like they were.

She’d been at this for hours—no, days. It was days, now. Days that bled together with routine and numbers that didn’t act the way they were supposed to.

A symphony of chaos orchestrated by Jake fucking Seresin.

Pulling flight data, filtering telemetry, layering Jake’s flight logs over top of every other pilot’s log in the system, from testing and from mission training (because why stop with just Rooster and Teak) always resulted in the same findings.

Jake’s data showed the same maneuvers.

Same wind shear.

Same altitude drops.

Same variables, same route, same conditions.

But his data didn’t bend like Rooster’s or dip like Teak’s. It broke. Every. Damn. Time.

She muttered fuck and I'm going to murder him under her breath, dragging the cursor through the heatmaps, watching his flight path curve and zip, carve through her projections and predicted variables like a scalpel through paper. A hot knife through butter.

It didn’t make sense. Nothing she wrote could predict him. Nothing she coded could contain him.

No matter how often she adjusted the parameters, no matter how often she read his data and shifted her tech to catch him where he’d dodged, the same red numbers filled her screen.

It was as if he studied her data sets during pre-flight briefings and quickly noted how they could be shattered until they were unrecognizable. She was almost certain he did, she could practically see it, his eyes, mischievous and fucking twinkling, catching hers as he strode past her toward the tarmac.

Not even the Anti-Seresin protocol she coded after that first test flight disaster made her feel better when it popped up on her screen. Instead, it made her something that teetered between frustrated and livid.

If the time constraints weren’t impossibly tight to present something functional, stable and reliable, she might have been impressed. Might have been.

If it’s not ready... Mav had mentioned, again, just the other day as he dragged her out of the office to get some fresh air and a coffee, almost prying her rigid fingers from the edge of her desk ...we can defer to next quarter.

It took every ounce of patience she had left to keep her hand from crushing the disposable cup in her grip, to keep her gait even as they walked. She responded as she had before: No, it’s ready.

Deferring now felt like admitting that she wasn’t cut out for this, and by birth, she knew in her goddamned bones, she was. Even if she didn’t like acknowledging it, she was Rick Neven’s daughter, a top class, damn good Top Gun pilot. Raised on the shoulders of quasi-uncles like Iceman and Mav, Wolfman and Slider. That meant something.

It had to.

She leaned in closer to the screen, as if proximity might change what she was seeing before she leaned back in a huff, combing a hand through her hair.

Nothing held him.

Not her algorithms.

Not the predictive modeling.

Not even the black box diagnostics that she’d demanded access to from the higher ups.

He was effectively a ghost in the system. Untouchable. Untraceable. Un-fucking-reasonable.

And yet, all of it would have been easier to deal with if he wasn’t also (unfortunately) the last person she wanted to or should have been thinking about late at night.

It would have been so much simpler if she didn’t remember the sound he made as he finally gave her what she was begging for and pushed inside her, a low groan against the shell of her ear. It would have been less complicated if she didn’t still dream about his fingers in her hair and the scrape of his teeth against the hard edge of her collarbone.

She couldn’t fucking think straight anymore.

It was as if when he was undoing her, with his mouth, with his hands, with the way he moved inside of her like he knew what would set her alight, he’d quietly rewired her brain. Remapped neural pathways until they all led back to him. His smell, his taste, the sound of his voice and the way it hit deep parts of her, so her mind thrummed like a tuning fork.

Sometimes, more so now after the night she left him at the Hard Deck a week ago, there was very little between her and the overwhelming need to satisfy herself. In a bathroom stall, in the quiet of her office, after hours with the door locked, biting hard into her bottom lip as she came with the thought of him on her mind.

Nothing ever quite satisfied that need for him though. The pinch of desire still lingering just out of reach, building until she next had to ease the pressure of it.

Every time, on the come down, she pushed away the suffocating thought that she’d never remembered a time when she’d felt like this. Simultaneously smoldering and yet, burning.

“You wanted me?”

Her spine straightened sharply, his voice hitting her like heat. It was something she felt in her stomach. A flop. A flush of liquid warmth that pooled a little lower than her bellybutton.

She didn’t hear the knock if there had been one. Just that familiar drawl curling through the air, low and casual, laced with something just beneath the surface.

Ellie looked up fast, heart kicking against her ribs. Across the room, Jake stood in the doorway, tall, golden, and infuriating—his flight suit still on, the zipper tugged halfway down like if was nothing, like he didn’t know what that did to her.

Except he did—he had to. The night they’d met, when he’d looked at her over the rim of his beer, the same easy confidence in the way he presented himself, the same suit clinging to his body like a second skin.

She gave a curt little nod toward the chair opposite her desk. Her mouth was dry, and she swallowed hard, hoping the thick, hardwood between them would be enough of a buffer. Enough distance so he couldn’t hear the erratic beating of her traitorous heart as loudly as she could.

When he stepped into the room, he shut the door softly behind him and moved toward the chair. He didn’t sit, instead choosing to hover near it, hands planted on his hips, a trademark smirk exposing dimples.

“You still chasing my numbers?” he asked, eyes flickering to the screen in front of her.

“Depends, are you still screwing mine up?” She shot back easily, second nature, but her voice didn’t quite carry the edge that she’d meant it to.

“Told you I don’t play by the rules, Ace.”

Admittedly, it was to be expected. Rules and Jake Seresin never did play nicely.

If she ever had to determine who amongst them had been body snatched, the first sign she’d look for was a version of Jake that toed the line and didn’t fall back into his usual penchant for getting under her skin. No pun intended.

He smirked, but there was something else in his eyes. Something darker. Pupils blown wide, eclipsing his beautiful green eyes with something hungry. And when his gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, she felt her stomach flip.

“Maybe your system just can’t keep up with me.” He continued, his voice dipping lower still.

Her pulse stuttered. She looked away—only to find herself looking down. Below the waist, his flight suit clung to the shape of him, already hard and her mind betrayed her.

Flashes. The way he took her apart without hesitation. The filthy things he’d whispered in her ear like promises of what was to come as she writhed beneath him.

Hands dragging her hips to the edge of the bed. His mouth tasting her like he was starving.

The way he looked up at her as she looked down, gripping the headboard and rocking against his mouth, greedy for the next crushing, shuddering wave of orgasm he pulled from her.

The hot weight of him stretching her open, filling her when she’d begged, desperate, for the kind of release only his cock could provide.

It was the memory of a night she’d tried to bury in mountains of logic and equation. Tried to shrink into boxes with labels and cautions. Yet, it managed to crawl back up every day when she saw him, every moment he smirked at her with that shared knowledge. It brought back with it the feelings and the swift, intense ache of needing him, a body no grave could hold down.

She wanted him again. God, she fucking wanted him.

“You’ve been thinking about it too,” she said then, breaking the silence. It had meant to be a question, but it came out as a fact, low and raw.

“Every damn night.” The gravelly sound of his voice was all she needed to hear. He never lied to her.

Then, between them, it was as if something snapped.

Ellie stood and stepped around the desk, and he stepped forward to meet her there, hands sliding to her hips. She didn’t stop him. Couldn’t anymore. His touch burned through the thin slip of her shirt, and he kissed her, tongue already in her mouth, like they picked up where they had left off.

Yet, it wasn’t clumsy or rushed. It was a rhythm—one she remembered just as she knew to breathe. Without instruction, he knew where she wanted him to touch her, how to make her gasp into him without guidance. Responding to her thoughts as they passed through her mind.

His mouth moved to her neck, his hand under her shirt, deftly undoing her bra before he palmed her breast, pinched her nipple sharply until a muted moan parted her lips and her knees threatened to give way. She could feel his smirk against her skin as she clutched his shoulders, holding herself upright.

He didn’t even need to be inside of her, she thought, she’d come just like this, gripping him as the world melted away while he nipped and sucked where the hickey he’d left that first night had been. If he wanted to mark her, reclaim her as his, she’d let him.

She stumbled slightly as he pressed her backward until she hit the edge of the desk, breath ragged as he lifted her up onto it like she weighed nothing. She hit the desk with a soft gasp, papers fluttering to the floor, test results and calibration logs scattering like leaves as her hands swept back to brace herself.

She wasn’t in complete control of her words when they started to come out, unedited, spilling, “You remember—” she began, already breathless, her chest heaving as she tried to find the next word.

Jake’s voice came out rough, hazy. “I remember every sound you made. Every time you said my name, like you couldn’t help yourself. Begging me to—”

He was working the button on her jeans now, one handed, as he reached up around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him, his lips crashing to hers like a diver surfacing for air. The button released and he dragged her pants off sharply, pulling her closer to him with the motion.

Ellie broke the seal of their lips first, tipping her head back a gasp moving through her as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of her panties and found her clit, swollen, pulsing. She instinctively clenched around nothing as his thumb brushed her, slick. She watched, entranced as he swallowed thickly, she’d come for him, as many times as he let her.

“Jesus,” he said it like he had to hold himself back, like the part of him that wanted this to last and the part of him that wanted to fuck her, warred. “You’re still so fucking wet for me...” it came out as a growl, primal.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, rocking against his hand as he slipped two fingers inside of her, his thumb still moving in lazy circles, just behind the first orgasm waiting to fall out of her.

Where Jake didn’t like to follow rules, he followed instruction well.

He didn’t stop.

Fingers working her just right, like he knew her body better than she did. Like he owned it.

She was already so close, and he knew it, so when she arched against his hand, the papers still beneath her crinkling and stuck to her skin, he slowed, moving up her body dragging her shirt up to pinch her hard nipple between his teeth.

“Jake—” she breathed, her brow scrunched.

Ellie whined as he pulled his fingers out with an obscene, slick sound. When she propped herself up on her elbows, her hand trailing down to fill to void of pleasure, Ellie watched as he pulled the flight suit down, leaving only a white undershirt and his dark blue tented boxers.

In the light of her office, taking him in, she could see the patch of material dampened with pre-cum. Something in her spiked, her fingers picking up speed as she chased the edge of her ending.

“Not yet,” he huffed out a breath, his eyes glazed and wild all at once, grabbing her wrist, prying it away. He bent to kiss her clit carefully, reverently, the slightest flick of his tongue and the smallest bit of suction when he came away almost sending her off the cliff face into a freefall.

Her legs roped around his waist in response as he straightened, holding him to her.

She was wet and needy and already so close she was shaking from the anticipation of it. It was like muscle memory—he knew her. Knew exactly how to unravel her.

His eyes caught hers, his hand carefully pulling himself out, the tip already slick with his want. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stepped closer and dragged the tip of his cock through the mess between her legs. The bump of him on her clit had her hips moving forward, chasing it as a moan escaped her lips. In her ears, she could hear the wetness of herself, could feel her empty cunt clenching around nothing.

“Jake—” his name was breathy on her lips, a whispered prayer, “—please.”

Her legs tightened around his lower back, trying to pull him forward closer as he slid himself down toward her opening and he hissed something that sounded at once close and far away.

“Fuck, Ellie—” He breathed out her name and once it fell from his lips, she wanted to hear him say it again. He spoke her name like he was trying to center himself, trying to regain control of a situation he himself definitely didn’t have control over.

Ash in the wind.

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he groaned, resting his tip just at her entrance. When he pressed forward, pushed into her, the gasp that tore from her was involuntary. She swore she saw fucking stars as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she closed them into darkness.

Then—nothing.

She jolted upright.

Ellie's skin was slick with sweat, sheets twisted around her thighs, skin flushed and pulsing with the echo of a climax that hadn’t really happened.

Dark room. Her bed. Alone. No Jake. No desk. No hands. No mouth. Not one inch of his cock inside of her.

She withdrew the hand between her legs, the wet heat pulsing, aching and unsatisfied. The glow of her phone on her nightstand a beacon in the still darkness: 3:41 AM.

Her head fell back against her pillow with a loud groan.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Ellie threw off the headset, the clatter as it hit her laptop and then the floor almost inaudible over the loud groan that fell from her lips.

Today’s test flights had been a disaster.

Just like the test flights from Monday and Tuesday.

Just like every test flight since the first when Hangman had dismantled her tech without a care in the world.

When she screwed her eyes shut a headache thrummed steady, just out of the reach of the Tylenol she’d popped an hour ago. Mashing the heels of her palms into her eyelids, she pressed until starbursts of white erupted in the blackness.

Maybe she had a tumor.

It was the only logical explanation, right?

Maybe her dreams about Jake in the night and the way they clung to the very corners of her thoughts in the day was her body telling her there was a foreign mass lodged in a cortex. She made a mental note to do some spotty research on where she could get a CAT scan in a half-assed attempt to troubleshoot, likely ending with one Google search before being forgotten.

Until her brain reminded her during the night by way of a (reoccurring) fantasy where Jake, hands placed firmly on her hips, bent her over a pool table and fucked her, wet panties pushed aside haphazardly because he couldn’t waste another second not being inside of her.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

She was in the middle of typing “sex dreams and constant headaches correlation to brain tumors” into a new tab when a gradient of blue and white filled her phone screen and Mav’s name flashed, bold and white.

When she answered, she was flushed, embarrassed as though he had the faintest idea of what she’d just searched, raw dogging it in a non-incognito browser.

“Mav?”

On the other end of the line, there was a bluster of air, a scream of a jet ripping down a runway, the unmistakable sound of it taking to the sky. “We’ve got a problem.”

The problem, as Mav delicately explained, was “monumental”—the Mount Everest of hurdles. It was to their project what the iceberg was to the Titanic: catastrophic and unavoidable. Not enough lifeboats. Women and children first.

Ellie only half appreciated the candor as she watched Mav pace the length of the P-51 Mustang, a WWII era relic he always seemed to be fixing up, sitting in a hangar he’d somehow managed to hijack for personal use.

She was sure there was a metaphor mixed in there, for how it looked perfect to her but whenever she asked Mav, it always seemed to need one difficult to find piece or another. Always a work in progress. Never complete.

“Stark is demanding answers.” He huffed, paused. Paced some more. Kicked a loose nut he came across in his path. Ellie listened to it ting and clatter off something else metallic, lost. “Didn’t say why, but it can’t be a coincidence that some of the Admirals are sitting down with the Office of Naval Research end of next week.”

Fuck.

How many 'fuck' moments could she have in one day?

Her count was already up to three, before 11 AM.

“Okay.” Ellie stepped up to the table of blueprints, drummed her fingers on top of Mav’s flight helmet sitting on a side table, absently.

The Office of Naval Research meeting was next week. Stark sitting down with her now meant, she hoped, that the Rear Admiral hadn’t completely given up on the tech’s potential.

The single word response earned Ellie a hands-on-hip eyebrow raised look from Mav as he stopped pacing. “Oh, you have those answers then?”

“Depends on the questions she asks.” Ellie could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, magnifying the headache exponentially. “When?”

When was the hour of their greatest need? When was the march to the gallows? Prayers, prayers, sorrows, sorrows.

Mav huffed a laugh before he glanced down at his watch. “Now.”

The conference room was colder than Ellie expected, the air conditioning hummed softly in the background, the shades drawn across the large picture window at her back.

The ominous feel of doom did not escape her, creeping up the back of her neck as she fought back a shiver. The walls were bare except for the Navy insignia hanging behind Rear Admiral Stark, who sat at the head of the table, expression unreadable. The small, beige timer she’d wound and set on the table, front and centre, ticked away: seven minutes.

Ellie sat across from her, back straight, hands folded in her lap to keep from fidgeting. Mav was beside her, silent—for now, his posture a bit more relaxed than Ellie’s rigid one, but she could see the seriousness in the straight line of his mouth, the hard furrow of his brow.

When Ellie had appeared, Mav at her side, RADM Stark had granted him a seat at the table, despite the way her lips pursed as if she’d sucked on a lemon. He’d been granted permission to sit in on the firm condition he “kept his mouth shut”, a fact Ellie could tell he clearly wasn’t happy about.

Rear Admiral Stark exhaled, fingers drumming against the table for only a moment before she broke the silence. “Let’s not waste time, Ms. Rigby.” She nodded at the ticking timer before she leaned forward, her hand waving over the spread of papers Ellie had provided. Her eyes didn’t shift down to the reports, the meticulously gathered documentation, charts and data. “With the meeting coming with Navel Research and the Secretary of Navy, the test results your tech are putting up aren’t where they need to be.”

Ellie nodded, forcing herself to hold the woman’s gaze. “I’m aware, ma’am. But I can assure you, they are improving. We’ve been within two percent of the projected margin for the last three simulations. If we then adjust for environmental factors, the success rate is—”

“I don’t want excuses,” Stark interrupted smoothly, her gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve had weeks. You have some of the best pilots in the world at your disposal. And yet, somehow, we’re looking at numbers that still don’t meet expectations.”

Ellie swallowed, pulse drumming at the base of her throat. “I understand, ma’am. We’re working on recalibrating the—”

Stark cut her off with a sharp look, her long finger tapping the paper closest to her. “Ms. Rigby, woman to woman—” her gaze didn’t slip to Maverick once, “—don’t bullshit me and I won’t bullshit you. I’m not interested in projections; I’m interested in results. The results aren’t good enough. Does sixty percent truly look like progress to you? You want me to sit in front of that stuffy old bastard Quigley and tell him as much?”

Ellie’s mouth pressed into a thin line. She could feel Mav shift beside her. She didn’t need to look at him to feel the energy rolling off him. As agreed, he hadn’t spoken outside of professional pleasantries, but she could feel the barely restrained tension pooling in his aura as he silently fought for his life to hold back the words surely backing up in his mind, just on the tip of his tongue, like a jammed printer.

Part of her wanted to reach under the table to grip his arm, tell him to relax, that she had this under control, but she wasn’t sure she believed that herself.

“Moreover, do you think pilots are going to be okay flying with tech that gives them a forty percent chance of being scattered over the ocean or enemy territory?”

“No, ma’am. But—”

Stark held up a hand again. She leaned back in her chair, assessing Ellie for a long, drawn-out moment, the silence only filled in by the ticking of the air conditioning and the timer. Ellie didn’t shift, didn’t shrink under the weight of it.

“Do you have any idea what this project is to me, Ms. Rigby?” she sighed, voice even but tinged with the weight of her position as she glanced at the timer ticking away. “It’s my last vote for funding approval. My final act on paper before I turn in my stars in the spring. I have given the Navy everything, sacrificed and borne the weight that comes with my rank. I won’t go out on a sour note. I won’t attach my name to a failure.”

Stark let it breathe, let it sink in, watching Ellie with a measured look. Then, as if on an afterthought, she exhaled deeply, shifting slightly in her seat.

Of all things Ellie had expected, it was a dressing-down. But it wasn’t until the Rear Admiral’s lips curled into something resembling a smile, nostalgic, that Ellie realized she may have underestimated just how hard this meeting was going to hit.

“I know you know what the Navy takes from a person.” Stark’s voice was even, neutral. “Your father was one hell of a pilot. Not one person can question that. But make no mistake, that doesn’t mean I’ll cut you any slack. If this doesn’t work, I back the pulling of the plug. And when I walk away, I walk away clean.”

Ellie stiffened. Her hands slipping off the table and clenching into fists in her lap before she forced them flat again, her fingers still trembling, clammy. Of course. She should have seen it coming.

Stark’s gaze flickered over her reaction, assessing, as if she were waiting for Ellie to break—waiting for some sign she’d struck a nerve.

Ellie made sure to give her nothing.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, ma’am,” Ellie said, tone steady, even if her stomach was twisting itself into knots.

Mav shifted beside her, the first movement he’d made in minutes. Ellie didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. She knew the expression he’d be wearing. The barely restrained frustration on her behalf as his mouth opened and snapped shut again just as quickly.

Mav had always let her fight her own battles; she was sure he knew better than to step in now.

“Then tell me, ten words or less, why I shouldn’t recommend Research pull funding and scrap this right now.”

Ellie inhaled sharply, Stark’s words a kick to her stomach. “Because it’s not going to fail.”

Stark sat back, skeptical. “I wanted to back a woman in the field. Thought it was time for a shift, time to show that women could lead the future of aviation tech, plant the seed for after I’m gone.” She exhaled slowly. “Maybe that was a mistake.”

Ellie stiffened. “No, ma’am. It wasn’t.”

“Good,” Stark said simply, then leaned forward again, folding her hands atop Ellie’s reports. “The Secretary is meeting end of next week to go over our funding. If you can’t prove to me that this program is worth the resources the Navy is putting into it, I will recommend we pull the plug. And I don’t care whose daughter you are.”

Ellie nodded once, firm. “Understood.”

Stark studied her for another beat, as if trying to decide whether she believed in Ellie’s resolve.

Finally, she gave a curt nod, seemingly decided. “You have one week. If I don’t see substantial improvement by the time the Secretary marches his short ass onto this base, it’s done.”

Ellie inhaled slowly, measured. One week wasn’t much time. Frankly, it wasn’t nearly enough. But it was better than nothing. One week was better than having her funding pulled today, here and now.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Stark glanced at Maverick then, just for a second. “Captain Mitchell,” she acknowledged before rising from her seat, straightening out her uniform. “You’re both dismissed.”

Ellie stood, reflecting Mav’s formality at her side, but she didn’t relax until Stark left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Only then did she exhale, her shoulders sagging.

Mav allowed a hand to scrub his face before he let out a long breath, a single word evacuating him on it. “Jesus.”

Ellie forced her hands to stay still on the table, even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to move. To act. To do something. Plan.

Instead, she turned her eyes to Mav, “well, I think that went super well, don’t you?” The dry smile that pushed up the corners of her lips didn’t reach her eyes.

Mav just shook his head. “You okay?”

Ellie nodded, because what else was there to say? She didn’t need Stark to cut her any slack, in fact, she preferred it that way. As it was, she’d be picking the thorn of Hollywood’s legacy out of her side until the week was over.

“What’s our next move?” Mav was already starting for the door, motioning for Ellie to follow.

Ellie swallowed, squaring her shoulders. “We prove her wrong.”

“Sounds like you have a plan.”

Ellie chewed her lip for only a moment. “I might have one.”

Ellie hadn’t told Mav exactly what her plan was, only that she had one.

The fact that this was her only plan at the moment wasn’t something she had wanted to divulge, because this plan in particular may just come back to bite her.

Ellie leaned against the concrete wall outside the locker rooms, hugging her tablet to her chest. When she’d reached the end of the hall, she waited, timing it just right—most of the pilots had already filtered out after mission training, and she just needed a few minutes to firmly swallow her pride and get a moment alone with Jake.

Coyote strolled past her, chatting animatedly with Fanboy, giving her a tight nod.

Fanboy, however, slowed as he took her in, assessing—his eyes flicking quickly to the tablet she hugged and then to the way she shifted from one foot to the other. His head tilted slightly, the beginnings of a smile curling the edges of his mouth.

“Rigby!” Fanboy held out his fist.

Ellie hesitated, then tapped her knuckles against his. It was enough to make him grin while Coyote rolled his eyes. “Garcia.”

“You coming out tonight?” Fanboy shifted the flight gear bag on his shoulder, lifting it higher.

The look of confusion on Ellie’s face must have been enough, he didn’t miss a beat. “Hard Deck. A bunch of us are going.”

“Oh.” It took her a moment to force a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe.”

Fanboy nodded, but the look of mischief that crossed his face told her he could see past her attempt at indifference. “You should. You always look like you could use a drink.”

Coyote scoffed. “Jesus, Fanboy. Drag her, why don’t you. Just say she looks stressed and get it over with.”

“C’mon man,” Fanboy groaned. “What I’m saying is kick back. Relax a bit.”

Ellie shifted her weight, her eyes flickering to the locker room door as it swung open and a few more pilots–Harvard and Fritz–slipped out.

It would have been fair to say she wasn’t entirely focused.

“Yeah. I mean, maybe?”

Fanboy looked triumphant, providing a quick, almost reflexive double thumbs up as Coyote grabbed the strap of the bag slung over the Wizzo’s shoulder and tugged.

As they walked away, Ellie could have sworn Coyote murmured something to Fanboy that sounded a lot like ‘why are you so goddamn weird, dude?’

Her face was already in her phone, pulling up her browser where her last search stared back at her, the results mocking her:

Reddit – r/AmITheAsshole - Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA?

Can Frequent headaches and vivid dreams be a sign of a brain tumor? - WebMD

Tumors & Sleep Disturbances: When Should You See a Doctor? – Mayo Clinic

Headaches and Sex: Could It Be a Neurological Disorder? – VeryWell Health

Urban Dictionary: “Brain Tumor Horny”

Ellie’s scoffed, but her thumb hovered over the first result.

Thinking about fucking my co-worker – AITA? – Posted in r/AmITheAsshole

The absurdity of it almost made her laugh. Almost.

If it weren’t for the pounding in her skull and the realization that this was, in fact, her reality, she would have. Laughed, that is.

Instead, she found herself very seriously debating on whether or not to tap into the rabbit hole and ask Alice.

The sound of the locker room door swinging open and slamming shut barely registered in the background. She heard the boots on the floor moving in the opposite direction, followed by a laugh that sounded like Yale or Payback. When she glanced up, she saw them disappear around the corner at the far end of the hall.

She returned to the glow of the phone for only the briefest of moments when a voice, too close for comfort, cut through her focus.

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl.”

Ellie jolted. The phone nearly slipped from her grip as she jammed the lock button and dragged her eyes up, stuffing the device into her pocket.

Teak.

Of course it was fucking Teak.

He, like the presence of a rash of questionable origin, always showed up at the worst possible times.

“Didn’t take you for a Reddit girl,” He repeated as if Ellie hadn’t heard him. She hated the way his eyes traveled from her hip where she tucked her phone away, back up to her eyes, slowly, measured.

“And I didn’t take you for someone who sneaks up to read over shoulders.”

Teak clicked his tongue, shrugged. “Didn’t have to sneak. You were pretty distracted.”

The breath that left Ellie was sharp, fighting against the urge to let him know how annoying and pretentious and pig-headed she thought he was.

Instead, she watched as he shifted, a hand combing through his short, still damp hair before he used it to brace against the wall beside her, head tilted like he was about to deliver the sagest of wisdom. If a tree falls in the forest.

“You know, it must feel fucking terrible,” he mused, and Ellie didn’t miss that his tone dripped with mock sympathy. “Being just... bad at the one thing you’re telling everyone you’re good at.”

Her grip on the tablet tightened. She didn’t blink.

If being a prick was an Olympic event, Nathan Hughes would take the podium. Medal in every event. 10 out of a possible 10 asshole points across the board.

It took her a half second to recover.

“It’s funny you should mention that.” Her voice was smooth, schooled. “I was about to say the same thing to you. I’m glad you brought it up.”

Teak’s expression, shit-eating, faltered for the briefest of moments, before he recovered. But Ellie had seen it.

“If you want to talk about failures, we can,” she continued, her voice level. She barely restrained the sing-song lilt hanging just off stage as she tapped on the screen in her arms. “I have your individual test results right here. Won’t be able to cover it all, of course. But I’d be happy to give you the abridged version.”

Teak’s jaw ticked. Tightened. Relaxed. When his grin returned, it was razor sharp instead of easygoing, fun. “You’re awful cute when you’re defensive, Rigby.”

If looks could kill, Teak would have spontaneously combusted. Reduced to a cancerous ash.

“So, what’s the deal?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the locker room door before his gaze was back on her.

“You lookin’ to corner Seresin? Plan to share some of those search results with him?” His blue eyes flicked toward her hip again, the shape of her phone in her pocket. She wondered if the way his tongue swiped his bottom lip was intentional, his gaze lingering longer than she would have liked. “Or were you hoping to find another pilot?”

He let the insinuation hang between them, watching her, waiting. She felt like a fish in a tank. Teak tapping a finger against the thick walls beside a sign that told him not to. No flash photography. No tapping.

I’d rather eat broken glass.

I’d rather listen to Fanboy explain the plot of every single Fast & Furious movie in excruciating detail, complete with Vin Diesel impressions.

I’d rather spend the next five years in a sensory deprivation tank.

I’d rather let Rooster give a masterclass, step-by-step breakdown of his skincare routine, including optimal moustache grooming techniques and his thoughts on the benefits of double cleansing while properly incorporating retinol.

She’d have to workshop her comebacks.

“Careful, Hughes. Sounds like you’re dangerously close to the neighbourhood of jealousy.”

Teak didn’t waver, but she saw the moment his eyes sharpened.

“Nah,” he drawled, lazy, assured. “I think I’ll let Hangman take the ‘L’ on this one. I like my women a little more—”

Stupid.

Compliant.

Broken.

When he moved, his fingers reaching out to brush the strand of hair that had fallen across her vision, Ellie had already reflexively taken a step back. Oil to his water. If her reaction bothered him, he didn’t show it, instead, his fingers curled back before his hand dropped.

When the locker room door squealed open, it shook Ellie out of survival mode for just long enough. When she tilted her head past Teak’s shoulder, a pilot, bag slung over his shoulder, glasses held in his grip, stepped into the hallway.

Bob.

Relief flooded her, flushing out the cold pit in her stomach.

Thank fuck for Bob. She’d owe him a beer. Or twenty. She’d never been happier to see him.

When he placed the glasses on his face, lenses wiped clean on the hem of his tan uniform shirt, Ellie watched his expression shift from easy to something more guarded when he saw her and then Teak, still braced on the wall, too close.

The door snapped shut before he spoke.

“Hey Rigby.” His tone was cautious, his gaze cutting to her, his eyes locked on hers as if to say, blink twice if you need help.

He pushed the glasses up on his nose. “Everything... good?”

Ellie didn’t hesitate. Didn’t allow Teak, who had already turned and opened his mouth, to speak for her. She imagined he’d tell Bob everything was great. Nothing for him to be concerned about.

The scorpion ferrying across the river on a frog’s back. If Teak spoke first, he’d smooth this over. Shoo Bob away.

“Where’s Seresin?”

Bob blinked as her abrupt tone settled between them. If he picked up on it, he responded anyway. “Still in there. He’s always the last one out.” Bob motioned to his hair with an eyeroll.

Perfect.

Great.

Private conversation. Away from Teak.

Ellie pushed off the wall, ignoring the knowing look Teak shot her as she brushed past him and smiled at Bob.

Right now, Teak and whatever it was that he thought of her was a backburner item.

The heat of the locker room, thick with steam and the scent of soap hanging in the air, hit her hard as the heavy door swung shut behind her.

The staccato rhythm of her heels clicking on the damp tiled floor was punctuated by the slam of a locker.

When she rounded the corner, her fingers a white-knuckled grip on her tablet, it didn’t take long to spot Jake.

Standing near his open locker, towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

He was rubbing another towel through his hair, oblivious to her presence, the deep cut of his muscles on full display, the ��v’ of his abs disappearing behind the hem of the cotton at his waist. The dog tags on his bare chest caught the dim light overhead as he dried his hair, and Ellie felt the weight of her shifting thoughts before she could stop them.

Jake, behind her.

One hand gripped tight on her hip, fingers digging into her soft curve, bitingly painful and firm in a way that sent pulses of pleasure rippling straight to her core.

Dog tags dragging across her bare back as he leaned forward to sink his teeth into her side, nipping and teasing as he guided himself to her aching, waiting—

No. Nope.

Clearing her throat, Ellie knocked on the locker closest to her.

The last thing she needed to do was watch him take off the only thing wrapped around his waist with her standing there.

She repeated it to herself until she was convinced it was the last thing she wanted.

Jake turned, one brow arching as he took her in, his eyes sweeping her from head to toe. His smirk was slow, knowing. “Rigby.”

She ignored the way her pulse kicked up at the sound of her name in his mouth. The way it rolled off his tongue, light, airy.

“I need you,” she started, quickly adding an addendum when she noticed how his eyebrow quirked, “your... help.”

The word weighed a metric ton. The vowels and consonants tasted bitter and acrid on the way out.

This was her reality now: asking Jake Seresin for help. Her Hail Mary in the dying seconds of the half. Or was it quarter?

“Well,” he paused for a moment, tossing the towel he’d been drying his hair with to the bench, “this wasn’t on my bingo card for the month.”

“Don’t start.” She warned, her eyes reflexively rolling.

“Start what?” Jake’s hands were in the air now, submissive, nonthreatening, but his lips were already curved into the beginnings of a smirk. “Just... I think I might be hearing things. Sometimes the Gs, they mess with your head...”

She tried to ignore the way his muscles moved beneath his skin as he shrugged, tugging at his ear as if it were waterlogged.

Ellie huffed out a sigh, pulled from deep in the core of her being.

Why had she thought this was going to be easy? Why had she thought Jake would have let her get away with asking him for help without a mild ribbing?

Working past the pride lodged in her throat, actively fighting the part of her brain urging her to turn right around and walk out of here, Ellie forced herself to stay. “I need your help.”

Nope, saying it didn’t get easier the second time around.

Jake blinked, hands finding his hips as he assessed her, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek.

Was he—? Did he just flex? Ellie’s eyes flicked to his chest for a fraction of a second and she knew he’d seen it.

“Are you going to say something, or—?” Ellie’s hands flew up before they fell again.

“Just really didn’t see this coming...” he feigned shock, sucking his lip in, biting down.

Ellie let out a strangled groan.

She was going to leave here and tell Mav that her plan had backfired and then she’d take it to the grave of her career as RADM Stark threw a handful of dirt onto the casket.

Here Lies Eleanor Amelia Rigby Neven’s potential.

Foolish enough to ask Jake “Hangman” Seresin for help in her hour of greatest need.

The obituary would request hope and prayer for the career of other women in aviation technology in lieu of flowers.

“Don’t make me regret this, Seresin.”

He grinned but, to her surprise, didn’t push. Instead, he stepped in beside her in a fluid motion, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as he tilted his head to get a better look at the screen.

From the corner of her eye, heart beating erratically at the base of her throat, Ellie watched as his expression shifted, the teasing edge in his eyes giving way to something sharper, more focused.

“Alright,” Jake nodded once toward the tablet in her hand, “show me what you’ve got.”

Ellie hesitated for a moment before swiping, pulling up the parameters she’d been tweaking earlier.

She paused to flex her fingers mid-swipe, the clean, masculine scent of his soap clinging to his skin enveloping her. The awareness of him, his shoulder brushing hers, jarred her concentration, a kite whipping in the wind of a tornado.

He smelled like that stupid candle she’d been conned into buying years ago at the Irvine Spectrum Center Yankee Candle.

Mountain Cabin? Or maybe it was Mountain Lodge?

Tumblr says it’s what the perfect boyfriend smells like! Like, remember that scene in the Avengers movie where Captain America just like, rips apart the log— the sales associate had slipped into a tangent as Ellie carefully placed an overpriced glass jar full of scented wax into her basket.

Now, she wondered whether or not she still had it, packed away somewhere.

By the time she found her way back to her winding train of thought, remembered what her voice was again, Ellie had to clear her throat.

“The system’s good,” she admitted, nudging the data sets around on the screen. “But it’s rigid. It doesn’t account for pilot instinct, for the way you—” she stopped herself for a half beat, “—for the way some pilots push beyond textbook expectations.”

Jake’s gaze shifted, glanced at her, lips twitching. She heard the teasing edge in his voice and didn’t need to look up to know the twinkle was back in his green eyes. “See, was that so hard to say?”

He was enjoying this far too much. Smug jerk.

And yet, Ellie couldn’t help but shake her head, trying to hide a smirk of her own.

“Excruciating.”

And yet, she didn’t want to crush up broken pieces of lightbulb and add it to her morning smoothie instead of sharing space with him.

She didn’t want to listen to Rooster talk about niacinamide as the alternative to being in Jake’s orbit.

The laugh that rumbled in his chest, a genuine, almost surprised sound, made Ellie’s stomach flutter. Caused her skin to prickle as she fought the shiver edging up her spine.

She’d have to add another symptom to her ongoing research (Google search) on tumors, because she definitely didn’t want to unpack that right now.

“Alright, let’s start here,” Jake reached across her, his finger hovering over a spike in the telemetry readings just before a telltale stream of data indicated a system overload redline. “You’re focusing too much on the failsafes—they’re throttling responsiveness.”

He swiped up, his fingers brushing hers as he manipulated the screen and pointed out another less-than-ideal reading. “See, it’s here too.”

Ellie frowned, but as he pointed out another, third data spike, explaining where she needed more flexibility, she saw it—saw the gaps she hadn’t considered, the places where the tech needed to adapt instead of restrict, open up instead of close down.

How had she missed that?

If it had been difficult for her before, to insinuate that Jake’s flying skills were above average, stellar, if she were being completely honest, her next words weren’t any easier.

“Fine. Can you show me how you’d fix it, if you were me?”

When she looked up from the data streams on the screen, Ellie swore she saw Jake’s focus flick up from her lips to her eyes.

“Yeah, I could.”

He shifted beside her and Ellie’s thoughts drifted back to the stupid candle, which she’d (embarrassingly) bought three of. Perfect boyfriend, Mountain Lodge. She hadn’t even burned the thing, just opened the lid and huffed it before squirreling it away again.

“Hard Deck, then? Tonight?”

At least then she could disguise meeting with him as coincidence. They’d both been invited by Fanboy, part of the “bunch of us” collective, she’d say.

Jake was already shaking his head, even before she’d finished.

“Nah. Got a better place in mind.”

“Where?” She was frowning, her brow scrunched together.

“I’ll text you the address.”

Ellie was about to remind him that she hadn’t given him her number, but he was already moving. She felt the coolness of the air in the space he created between them and Ellie stepped forward almost reflexively, chasing the warmth of his presence.

She watched the bands of muscle in his arms, a magpie distracted by a shiny coin, as he reached into his locker and pulled out his phone. In a moment, it was in her hand, the screen opened to a blank contact card. She punched in her contact information and handed it back.

“See you later, Rigby.”

As she turned to leave, Jake grabbed the hem of his towel, tugging it until it fell away, everywhere except for where his hand hovered, just over....

Ellie caught the movement in her periphery, but she kept her eyes forward.

“I’m still here,” she pointed out, pausing near the corner of the bank of lockers.

Jake hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t stop, moving behind the open door of his locker and depositing the phone on the upper shelf.

Ellie swallowed tightly. She was certain—certain—that he could have waited until she left, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t in a rush to cover up or dismiss her. If anything, it felt deliberate. An almost wordless invitation: you can stay if you want to.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to look away.

“Text me,” she waved her hand dismissive, and without waiting for a response, she strode out the door, her pulse hammering in her throat, the small, steamy room suddenly short of oxygen and far too hot.

Behind her, as the locker room door swung shut, Ellie swore she could hear Jake chuckle.

Hours later, back in her office, Ellie was pouring over the data sets Jake had been pointing out, making quick notes on the data spikes when her phone buzzed against the desk. A new message from an unknown number stared back at her when she flipped it over.

Hope you’re hungry.

Below the text was an address. She frowned as she pulled up the map app and punched it in. When the location popped up, she groaned, scrubbing a hand over her face.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

a/n: i am pumped for the next chapter. the tides are changing for ellie/jake. anyone want to take any guesses as to where jake suggests he and ellie meet?

also, the mountain lodge candle theory is real. no, as a canadian, i have not been able to find one. 😫

if you love this series, reblog, comment, like!

tags: @hookslove1592 @mrsevans90 @avengersfan25 @jbennsquared @dempy

@obsessed-fan-alert @djs8891 @lunatygerqueen @khouse712 @alipap3

@yuckosworld @marvelouslyme96 @luckyladycreator2 @lovelylndskies @cardi-bre91

@whatislovevavy @qutequeersstuff @tgmreader @writergirl28 @literal-tv-menace

@queenslandlover-93 @fantasyfootballchampion @marrianena @dizzybee03 @justjess2025

@malindacath @b8211na

taglist if you want to be added/removed!

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nullbojack · 6 months ago

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The drama is everything wrong with the Eternitydev community

This post will be long as I'm listing every wrong doing this community has done. For almost 2 years I've been watching this drama and I am just annoyed and disappointed how childish this community is. Even MrDrNose doesn't behave like a mature adult like he should.

I won't name any of the cuprite behind the harassment and death threats because this will just incite more drama. 1. Malicious harassment and slander of the Doc writer who is 16 years old! The person who wrote the document known as the "MrDrNose and the Eternitydev Community Exposed" is "Proto-Kaiden". Who is a minor who wrote the document to call out the wrong doing of the community after they were bullied and harassed out of there.

Of course it wasn't about the harassment. As it shared some other topics such as the concerning choices the developer has made toward the game (Inserting more easter eggs and a repeated 'fetish inserts' of a character instead of focusing more on building the game more), or the time the moderators refused to ban an exposed pedophile from their server after numerous minors were sexually harassed. Now these are concerns that needed to be brought up, and some people have agreed that this is something that need to be resolved. However there are a terribly amount of fans who responded with harassments and threats. These people were upset to see a document on their developer and decided to stalk and harass this minor and continually send threats, insults and tried to spread lies about them to try and get more people to harass them. They even made a subreddit which had around 40 - 50 members all dedicated to try and "Remove Kaiden". Thankfully it was banned, but the fact people went this far over a document is disgusting and not okay. We are supposed to be a "Mature Community" yet can't behave like decent human beings and went to target a 16 year old because they wanted to silence him. They even try excuse their actions by bringing up what he done (That being that he "starts fight in the server" however when I look into this, this is not true and that its the mods who started fights about him for doing almost anything,) or just making up baseless claims.

They even went as far to slander him of being a PEDO with no proof.

Of course it wasn't just Kaiden that they targeted, they targeted people who would take his side, even people who wanted to stay away from the drama were harassed because they agree with the document. This isn't okay and that needs to stop. What make this bad is that MrDrNose enables this behavior and pretends this isn't happening despite many people bringing this up. Not only that he even punish those who goes against the harassment.

On the Eternitydev Wiki three people (one of which is a mod) got banned because they argued with an individual who has been trying to harass Kaiden. Unfortunately I do not have the screenshot of the entire thread as it was removed, but I remember the people that got banned from that thread who called out the harasser for their behavior.

2. MrDrNose had the chance to resolve this drama with Kaiden but choose to throw it away and ghosted the drama.

The biggest disappointment is that MrDrNose have enable this drama to continue. Early this year he was confronted by his own fans on Itch.io (it was a crappy drama that happen over a ingame file titled 'Ariral sex treehouse',) that he could discuss this with Kaiden and resolve this issue so that everybody can be satisfied. He said he will give it a try. However he didn't do anything to even talk to him and actually ghosted the situation and try to keep people from talking about it. As shown by Kaiden himself, Nose did not dm him on twitter or discord.

This actually annoyed me but this drama is still happening because MrDrNose did not want to confront about it and settle it. When it was asked if he did contact Kaiden, Nose would make claims that he did but that he would claim that Kaiden was demanding. He did not provide any screenshots to prove that he did contacted Kaiden and was accused of lying to try and keep the drama going. MrDrNose would respond by banning a few accounts from the comment format and he would change the Itch.Io comment format and have his moderators delete any comments that asked about the drama. It is completely shitty for MrDrNose to let the drama continue for a long time without ACTUALLY trying anything to resolve it peacefully and instead hides from it enable weird people to harass people who goes on the Document's side. What MrDrNose did wrong is enable a conflict that could of been ended so much earlier if he actually care to end it. Instead he ghosted it and let people be harassed over it. I don't even get why he would let this continue. Does he like the drama? Does he like negative attention? Either way, This just hurts the entire community and it's reputation and that will affect the game's popularity because people will be turned off from wanting to share content about VotV because of this hostile and toxic community full of overzealous man-babies who will fight to the end of the earth until Kaiden is gone from the internet.

I don't think I need to explain what he should of done to make a better outcome. It's obvious what he should of done instead of what he just did. 3. MrDrNose is immature and it becomes a problem. MrDrNose's is undeniably immature, and this lack of maturity has caused some issues which make people turn on him. Instead of acting like an adult, he acts like a complete child and antagonize people. For a while now he's been confronted by old fans who has issues regarding if he will ever truly remake the game "Advanced Education with Viktor Strobovski" like he said he would. These fans have lost their trust with MrDrNose after he suddenly deleted 'AEwVS specific channels' and made the server entirely VotV focused. Because of this, fans go out to call him out. And MrDrNose would respond the worse way possible by threatening to delete AEwVS off the face of the earth.

And surprise! This causes more conflict in the community.

My next example of how immature is that he degrade people who call him out, referring to them to be "Mentally ill".

This just make everyone see him as an ableist assholes. Which he is an asshole. Just calling people mentally ill as a way to cope with being called out for his flaws is unprofessional at best and will make people turn on him more for acting this way. One last example of his immaturity is when he told about why he is getting hated.

I don't really need to point out why this is immature. If he sees issues about himself such as "sexualizing characters in public channels" (Inside of a discord server that have members below the age of 17) and "Backstabbing his older fans" as something that "only children will care about," it just make everyone look at him as someone who is not to be trusted if he does not recognize what is right or wrong. It actually pisses me off how a grown ass man cannot acknowledge to why people turn on him and act confused and mad about it and resort to calling them "children" and "mentally ill" for it.

MrDrNose actually need to rethink how he's been behaving and need to learn that lashing out like this will make things worse for himself. The best salutation is to listen to people and respond like a reasonable adult instead of a child. Instead of threatening to delete a game to keep old fans hush hush about it. He should instead reassure that eventually he will remake the game, and I think the best way to convince the old fans to trust him is to share hints of ideas of what he may add in the Remake of AEwVS. Instead of treating issues about his server as nothing but "something that children only care about," he should instead admit that these things are wrong and that he should do better and make sure to not make these mistakes again.

If he continue to behave like this, the game might as well be doom to fail if he can't get his crap together and behave like an adult. People can and will get sick and tired of this and will move onto another game that will explode in popularity. I already know that tons of people have move on from the game. The game ain't exactly being developed properly. Sure it does get updated that add a few major changes, but along in the update are just a dozen "Easter eggs and secrets" that doesn't even need to be added. The game has enough secret easter eggs yet MrDrNose still add 23 more easter eggs in the game despite it not even being necessary. I find it to be kinda lazy if the developer works on these "Major updates" and half of it is just a dozen easter eggs.

It gets very annoying and get people tired of having all this crap be shoved into the game instead of real content such as new Entities, Signals and events. MrDrNose honestly should actually work on the game where he adds more entities and signals instead of making 25 easters eggs. There is ENOUGH easter eggs in the game. 4. Why am I making this post? I'm just completely tired of people being completely ignorant and going around hurting others. People need to grow up and just accept that these are real issues that can't be shrugged off, and not going around throwing baseless pedo accusation to harm a minor for writing a document. The only way the community can become better if the people in it become better human beings that behave civilized and understanding, while the bad ones get exiled from the fanbase. And I wanted to point out to MrDrNose that he should grow up and learn to stop behaving like this child that get cranky that they get called out for not being perfect. If you are reading this, MrDrNose. There is no question that your game is great. However, just because your game is great doesn't mean you can't make mistakes. You remain accountable for your deeds, the conduct of the community, and the consequences that result. Give up trying to prove that you did nothing wrong and simply acknowledge that you made poor decisions and that you need to improve. Is that really difficult? The popularity of your game will suffer as a result of the many bad actors in your community has done. Plenty of people have already left the community because of a lack of hope or interest. You can still make an effort to show people that you're going to do much better and make changes that will hopefully make a much better future for the people in the community. The best way to start is by settling this drama.

#votv #ariral votv #voices of the void #dr kel votv #advanced education with viktor strobovski #aewvs #abibaz #alex basics in biology and zoology #Drama #Article #recap

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rheas-chaos-anthology · 11 months ago

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How to fight writer's block (45 ways)

If you are indecisive like me, use a 1-45 number generator and do that one

Listen to music that's the vibe of the scene you need to write.

Set small goals, like one sentence a day. Majority of the time that will make you want to write more

Get an accountability partner

Use writing sprints, write for 5 or 10 minutes without stopping. Then take a break and repeat.

STOP BEING SCARED TO WRITE BADLY

write something random, maybe just a paragraph to get in the flow

write while doing something else, like eating lunch or watching TV if you can focus

read a book you wouldn't normally read

do some physical activity

do writing games/writing prompts

imagine people making fanfiction about your work

watch a movie/show to inspire you

write the scene you've been wanting to write

do something else creative (doodle, paint, cook, etc)

edit a scene

rewrite a scene in a different setting

take a shower/bath or just wash your face

pick up a random book/remember a book you've read and "pick a fight" with the author. What did they do that you didn't like and why don't you?

listen to your favorite song (with lyrics) but imagine it in a different context. imagine it a scene from a show/a show.

make a list of things you want to include in your work, eventually you will come across an idea you will want to write.

use pen and paper

create a check list of things you have to do (make them small like open computer, open google docs, write one paragraph, etc.)

identify your strengths

identify your weaknesses

write from a different pov

remember why you started writing this project

remember why you started writing in general

dress up and pretend you are in a movie about a writer

reread your writing and find your favorite part

create a writing ritual, do two thing to get you in the mood of writing

take a break

write for one imaginary reader, what does that one reader want to see?

write some bad poetry (helps you "feel" your emotions)

use this game, you have to write an amount of words that you choose before the opponent knocks you out: Fighter's Block! (cerey.github.io)

write with a friend

write badly on purpose. And when i mean bad or cringe i mean commit. Write a dicord mod x discord kitten Wattpad fic (maybe dont post it though 😭). Just make yourself laugh

If you are stuck because you dont know what to do come up with something stupid that can be changed later (for this one scene the hero a has fourth leg that allows them to dig through the wall)

Figure out why you can't write and address that first.

imagine someone reading your story for the first time and it inspires them to do something they wouldn't have done otherwise (confess to their crush, start writing too, come out, etc)

GIVE YOURSELF DEADLINES AND STICK TO THEM

OR HAVE SOMEONE GIVE YOU DEADLINES

write about having writers block

write something that isn't yours (dont steal peoples work and try to publish it/pass it off as yours). Like a scene from a show or incorporate song lyrics into your scene.

create Pinterest boards based off your characters/plot/scenes

STOP BELEIVING IN WRITERS BLOCK AND WORK THOUGH IT. WRITE IT BADLY. WRITE IT BADLY. WRITE IT BADLY. WRITE WHEN YOU DONT FEEL LIKE IT. WRITE WHEN YOU THINK YOUR TERRIBLE. WRITE WHEN YOU ARE UPSET. WRITE IT BADLY.

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jimblejamblewritings · 1 year ago

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An Observation of Humankind [thinkpiece number: 1]

Every girlie (nonbinary, women and men of all orientations included) is a type of Marauder and their partners are marauder love interest — fandom version included.

James Girlies:

either like sports or play sports, especially soccer/football or rugby

bad eyesight

defends everyone

himbo and ditzy but we love them for that

fanfiction reader/sharer

have had several short-term but very intense crushes

surprisingly not always high school sweethearts (which yeah odd cause of Lily)

nature bros

calls their journal a diary with no shame

are always outside and can't sit their ass at home for too long

love bouquets

own at least one pair of converse

loves pop music and Hozier

have scaled a fence before

might be able to play the guitar

handwriting could be nicer if they tried

didn't get their drivers' license right away

take their coffee any way that isn't straight black coffee

definitely think all people are hot even if they don't swing that way (think lesbians love Thor)

loved Merlin the tv show

James Girlies love Regulus and Lily people, which means:

cold people, smart people, black cat people, painters, polite people, readers, homebody people, gothic people, hippie people, people with beautiful handwriting, black coffee drinkers, whisky lovers

Sirius Girlies:

dog people and cat people equally

doc martens

loves coffee and tea equally

fanfiction writer/reader

gorgeous handwriting, probably cursive

might know or has had an interest in calligraphy

an astrology and/or astronomy girl

speaks at least two languages

plays an instrument, any instrument... but their parents definitely suggested piano

leather jackets

denim jackets

wears way less black than people think

fantasy nerd and has played dungeons and dragons

was a superwholockian

usually the only child or older child

doesn't smoke but everyone thinks they might

cocktails or whiskey and beer, no in between

virgin till like freshman year of college or later, to everyone's shock

looks like a black cat but is actually a golden retriever

however they could kill you don't get it twisted

has trauma but won't trauma bond

crooked smile and not perfect teeth but gorgeous anyway

perfect hair that is deliberately messed with

motorcycles and vespas and small cars

listens to every genre of music

tattoos (even if just one small one)

journal person

can quote certain movies by heart

unfortunately turned on by sweater vests

fashion girlie

Sirius Girlies love Marlene, Remus, and other Sirius people, which means:

warm people, confident people, tall people, flirty people, musicians, readers, intellectual people, fancy people

Remus Girlies:

sweets lover

probably likes dark chocolate the most as well as hot chocolate

owns sweaters, probably vintage, some handmade by their Sirius girlies

plays chess

can draw

mismatched socks

waits till the last minute to do laundry

is more of a cat person but also loves dogs

didn't have strict parents and ended up giving themselves curfews and discipline and only late realized the reverse psychology

keeps a notebook about everything their partner likes

messy cook in the kitchen

loves tea a bit over coffee

is probably the actual smoker of the group

doesn't make their bed

good kissers

always carries a jacket or wears a shirt under their sweater so they can give it to their partner

can hold their liquor a bit too well perhaps

has trauma and might trauma bond

great fashion sense but will wear literally whatever is clean

Remus Girlies love Sirius, Pandora, and Dorcas (hear me out) people, which means:

black cat looks and golden retriever personality, weird people, people that pour their pain and emotions into their art whether music or painting or drawing, people that take time to care for themselves in the morning, witchy people, smiley people

Peter Girlies (pretend there was no betrayal):

underestimated

asks the most off-putting questions without realizing it

takes a camera everywhere

loves board games

tea drinker all day every day

baker

sends selfies at literally any angle because they don't care

always pays attention to everyone

loves breakfast food eaten not at breakfast

had a ukelele phase

cleanest of their friend group

Peter Girlies love Mary people, which means:

sunshine people, almost always happy, excitable people, pda lovers, carefree topeople

#mara #marauders #james potter #peter pettigrew x reader #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #marauders fluff #peter pettigrew

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doks-aux · 1 year ago

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Fic: Dead Men Take No Dares

Fandom: Our Flag Means Death

Characters: Izzy Hands, Edward Teach, Stede Bonnet, Lucius Springs, Ivan, Fang, Nathaniel Buttons, Crew of the Revenge

Relationships: Izzy Hands & Edward Teach, Izzy Hands & Crew of the Revenge, Izzy Hands & Ivan & Fang

Rating: PG-13/Teen

Content/Warnings: Truth or Dare, friendship (existing, mending, and growing), humor, and a callback to one of my favorite jokes from Season 1

Summary: “Fun, huh?” He breathed in and out once very deliberately then opened his eyes to look at Fang, face carefully neutral. “All right. I can do fun.”

Izzy is strong-armed into a game of Truth or Dare and decides to play by the rules.

Notes: Written for the zine Above All Else: An Appreciation of Izzy Hands in 2023 and set in a possible post-Season 1 future where everyone is trying to get along and no one is very good at it. (Except Fang, of course.) Written before the premiere of Season 2 and has not been edited to reflect any of that updated canon. The only difference between this text and what appears in the zine is the correction of three minor grammatical errors that will haunt me for the rest of my natural life.

Word Count: 1368

Read on AO3

Israel Hands was seven minutes and fifteen seconds into his frantic search for his captains or, indeed, any sign of life on the Revenge, when he finally heard Bonnet's voice ring through the halls of the gundeck.

“All right! Perhaps we ought to revisit and revise our ‘no more than two truths before a dare’ rule to ‘at least two truths before a dare.’”

The conversation was coming from the jam room, and Izzy hastened his steps in that direction, taking note of each voice that joined in.

“But then we’d barely get any dares!” Black Pete whined.

“I’m fine with that.” That was Spriggs, vaguely distressed as always. “I’m great.”

“Uh, it’s not Truth or Dare without any dares.” Black Pete again.

“Maybe that can just be a rule for Captain Ed and Wee John.” Roach then.

“Sorry about that,” Feeney said at the same time that Edward chirped, “Sorry, mate,” neither sounding particularly sorry at all. Was the whole fucking crew in there?

“Now, we don’t want to single anyone out...” Bonnet waffled--prompting a small chorus of “Yes, we do”--just as Izzy stepped through the door.

“Captain... s?” he asked, catching himself before he forgot to pluralize. He looked first to Edward then to Bonnet, taking in the room’s remaining occupants in between. It was, of course, the whole fucking crew. “Wh--?”

“Hey, Iz-dog!” Edward bellowed cheerfully, springing to his feet and barrelling toward Izzy with enthusiasm he had not anticipated.

“Oh, no, Izzy’s here!” Spriggs gasped, also jumping to fling himself at Izzy.

Edward reached him first, gripping his bicep and tugging excitedly. “You’ve gotta get in on this, mate. We’re--”

“I guess we have to stop having fun now,” Spriggs’ exaggerated lamentations rose over the rest of Edward’s sentence. “So sad.” Undermining his words, he grabbed Izzy’s other shoulder and leaned in to hiss, “What took you so long? There’ve been three fires already.”

“Fire?” Izzy darted his eyes between Edward and the boy before scanning the room more thoroughly. “Where is there a fucking fi--?”

“It’s out, Boss,” Ivan announced, and Izzy whipped his head around to see him stomping out the last embers of a fucking fire.

“Why is there--?”

“In my defense,” Edward cut in, snapping Izzy’s attention back to him, bright-eyed and grinning, “I was dared.”

Izzy held Edward’s unwaveringly mischievous gaze for a moment, just in case an explanation would be offered unprompted.

It was not.

“What are you--?” he began, valiantly suppressing most of a weary sigh.

“We’re playing Truth or Dare,” Jim interrupted this time, annoyed, though whether with him or Edward, Izzy wasn’t sure. He was getting whiplash all the same.

“What the fuck is--?” But Izzy cut himself off this time with a frustrated shake of his head, a growl dying in his throat. That one he actually knew, and it wasn’t the point. “Never mind. Edward, wh--?”

“You should play, too, Iz! It’s a blast!” The implish gleam in his captain’s eyes dimmed just slightly, his smile turning sheepish. “Didn’t mean not to invite you. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

That wasn’t the point. It was not within five hundred nautical miles of the fucking point. But the genuine apology in Edward’s tone took Izzy off guard all the same, stayed his tongue while he allowed himself to appreciate it.

“Oh, of course,” Bonnet butted in before Izzy could find his words again, which was marginally better than interrupting him, but that margin was about as thin as Izzy’s patience. “You can squeeze right in, we haven’t been playing long.”

“Three fires,” Spriggs mouthed silently in Izzy’s peripheral vision.

“I don’t care about your fucking game.” It came out with more bite than Izzy meant it to even if it was true. (He was trying to be less of a dick. They all were. They were bad at it, but they were trying. It just was not the point right now.) “Edward, listen. Wh--?”

“Aw, don’t be like that, Iz. Play with us!”

“Edward, I need to--”

“Join the game, and you can ask him anything you like,” Bonnet said, chipper and smug. “When it’s your turn.”

Edward squashed Izzy’s delusions that he might consider reason by immediately nodding along. “There ya go, Iz, just wait your turn.”

On second thought, fuck the both of them.

“That settles it! Have a seat, Izzy,” Bonnet continued like he didn’t even notice Izzy’s heroic attempts to explode him with his mind. “We’ll do a few rounds so you can see how the game is played.”

“I don’t--”

“And then you can have a turn!”

“Captains--”

“Just let it happen, Boss,” Ivan muttered, calm and commiserating, throwing an arm across Izzy’s back. “Come sit with me and Fang.”

Not wanting to fight because they weren’t supposed to be doing that sort of thing anymore (and because Ivan could scruff him like a cat if he chose), Izzy allowed himself to be led to the bit of floor claimed by Fang, who beamed and scooted over to make room for them.

“Hi, Izzy,” Fang greeted as Izzy sat beside him. Izzy grimaced in reply, careful not to shift his weight onto his bad foot as he settled on the floor. Ivan sat on Izzy’s other side, bracketing him between his old colleagues.

“Does anyone remember whose turn we were on?” Bonnet asked, and conversation erupted through the room, everyone talking over each other while Izzy straightened his spine and tried to catch Edward’s attention through the chaos.

“Anyone who doesn’t love arson,” Spriggs groused, flopping in defeat beside Black Pete.

“Seconding no arson,” Boodhari agreed.

Frenchie laughed. “That’s not a big number on this boat, babes.”

“May I have a turn?” The Swede raised his hand. “I will not choose fire.”

And on and on the inane chatter continued, Izzy squirming in impatience as Edward looked everywhere but at him. He was nearly ready to snap when he felt a gentle touch at his back.

“It’s not so bad, Boss,” Fang murmured kindly, giving him that soft-eyed look that Izzy never knew how to respond to since he’d promised to stop yanking his beard. “Give it a chance. Maybe you’ll have fun.”

Izzy bit the inside of his cheek before he could spit something ugly. He clenched his fists until his fingernails dug into his palms, squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars, and tensed every muscle in his body until he had no choice but to relax.

“Fun, huh?” He breathed in and out once very deliberately then opened his eyes to look at Fang, face carefully neutral. “All right. I can do fun.”

He would wait his turn.

Fang smiled like he was proud of him, and Izzy did not tell him to fuck off. Bonnet got the game started up again, and Izzy observed the proceedings dutifully. There didn’t seem to be any sort of logic to how the turns were taken, the rules were clearly made up as they went, and the truths asked and dares accepted were as ridiculous and reckless as he would have expected. Nevertheless, he was grudgingly impressed that the Swede could contort his limbs into a pretzel with such ease.

Finally, Bonnet looked to Izzy and spread his arms out with his customarily unwarranted pomp. “Now it’s your turn, Izzy. Ask anyone anything you’d like.”

“Fine.” Izzy looked Edward straight in the eye. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Edward answered, still constrained by the new dare limit.

“Who’s steering the fucking ship, Edward?”

“The fuck do you mean? Buttons is. Right, Buttons?”

Izzy watched realization dawn in Edward's eyes, his slow, horrified turn to the wall, where Buttons had been standing the whole time.

Buttons, very much not steering the ship, stared back, unblinking. “Olivia wanted to watch the game,” he said of the seagull perched on his head. “She’s a yen for hot gossip.”

“...SHIT!”

Edward tore out of the jam room, most of the crew stampeding after him. Izzy remained seated, Ivan and Fang still at his side and Buttons still against the wall. Under the thunder of footsteps and bickering and Bonnet shrieking in panic, Izzy smiled.

“You were right, Fang. That was fun.”

#Izzy Hands #Israel Hands #Edward Teach #Blackbeard #Stede Bonnet #Lucius Spriggs #Ivan #Fang #Nathaniel Buttons #Our Flag Means Death #pirates #doc's fanfiction #doc's stories #doc pretends to be a writer #zine entry #ofmd fanfiction

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imaginespazzi · 1 year ago

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Part 3: Shades of Grey

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

That's the thing about illicit affairs (they lie and they lie and they lie)

(In which a masochistic writer makes things difficult for herself and makes things even messier than they were before)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Pining, a little bit of Hurt/Comfort and Fluff as always

Words: 7.2K (nice and short as always)

TW: Explicit Sexual Content (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Cheating

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job of sticking to my deadlines, who woulda thunk it? Fun fact, I'm at ~ 50 google-doc pages with this fic and despite my constant "trying to write less" rants, I'm actually lowkey proud of that. Anyways, there's a pretty clear hint (I am not a subtle person) as to why what happens at the end happens and if you pick up on it, I promise it'll save you from losing your minds till I write part 4. Also a couple of logistical details about the Cayman Islands are probably off but it's what worked so it's what I did, just pretend lol. Per usual, I did edit, there's probably still typos any way, feel free to point them out. And as always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Happy reading and have a wonderful rest of your week lovelies!

August 2021

The fight was inevitable but neither of them can tell you what really lit the flame. One second they had been fine (well as fine as two girls who knew tonight was their last night in a while could be), the next they were hurling bullets at each other. There’s a subconscious part of Azzi’s brain that tells her to grab Paige and duck for cover, to preserve whatever little bit of friendship they can. But her whole body vibrates with anger as Paige’s words crash around her like a tsunami, drowning out the good angel on her shoulder that’s pleading with her to stop.

“It’s a good thing really. You and your non-existent nerves would have never survived playing for UConn,” Paige sneers, and that mean smirk on her face just doesn’t quite fit right, “I don’t know what I was thinking with that honestly. You’re not built like that.”

Azzi flinches, eyes blazing, “some of us want to be more than just another good UConn player.”

“That’s what all the people not good enough to play for UConn say,” Paige retorts bitterly and Azzi doesn’t think she knows this girl standing in front of her, one whose words are aimed to make her cry instead of laugh.

“Not good enough and yet you still wanted me on your team.”

“Nah you know what, my bad, I didn’t realise you’d fucking stab me in the back like that, ” Paige hisses, “you’re a fake as fuck friend and you’d probably make a shit teammate.”

Azzi’s never had a heart attack. She doesn’t even fully think she knows what a heart attack really is. But she’s certain this pain in her chest can’t possibly be anything less than one. It starts at her heart and then spreads to her lungs and then floods through her body, until she can’t move, she can’t breathe.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispers.

Paige hesitates, as if suddenly aware of the fragility of the moment, her voice considerably softer when she speaks but she doesn’t take it back, “ real friends choose each other.”

“Oh my god,” Azzi laughs, it’s the worst thing she could do in the moment and Paige’s eyes flash with anger, “you’re so fucking full of yourself.”

“Watch your fucking mouth-”

“Don’t you even dare. You say all that shit to me and now you can’t hear some of it back? Contrary to what you might think Paige, my whole life doesn’t revolve around you. My decision for where to spend the next four fucking years, does not revolve around you,” Azzi’s voice rises with each word.

Fighting is cathartic in a way. They’ve spent almost a year delicately tip-toeing around the subject, growing further and further apart and yet still holding on for dear life. And Azzi doesn’t want to let go, but everything feels burning hot, and her hands are starting to blister.

“Oh you’ve made that very clear,” Paige bites back, “you’ve made it very clear just how little I mean to you.”

“Because I chose a different school? That’s all it took Paige, seriously? That’s all it took for you to call our friendship fake?”

“No what it took Azzi was you being a fucking liar.”

“I didn’t lie about anything.”

Paige scoffs, her voice taking on a pitchy mocking tone, “ ‘I’d love to play with you Paige’, ‘being on the same team would be nice P’, all of that fucking bullshit when you didn’t mean any of it.”

“Oh we’re playing that game,” Azzi seethes, “how about ‘Az I’d support you no matter what’ huh? Where did all of that go?”

“Maybe if you didn’t make stupid decisions then.”

“No, actually choosing not to play with you might have been my smartest decision yet,” as soon as the words are out, there’s a part of Azzi that wishes she could wrench them back in.

“Right,” Paige’s voice is eerily quiet now, “well I hope that works out well for you then. Go to UCLA Azzi, have a great fucking life and stay the fuck away from mine.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Azzi takes a cautious step towards the blonde and almost immediately, Paige steps backwards, her expression suddenly blank. The change to indifference is somehow worse than the previous malice, “Paige-”

“Fuck this, I’m going home,” Paige says resolutely, her fingers fidgeting with themselves as she reaches for her phone and wallet.

“We need to talk this out, we need to try and fix this,” Azzi all but pleads, trying to position herself in front of the persistent older girl who’s trying to make her way to the door.

“I don’t know if I want to fucking fix this,” Paige yells, shaking away Azzi’s hand on her shoulder, “I don’t know if it’s worth it,” her voice breaks as she says the next words, “I don’t even think I wanna be friends.”

When Azzi’s 14, Paige Bueckers dribbles through a USA basketball camp court straight into her life and teaches her all about how one person can come into your life and carve out a permanent shelf. When Azzi’s 16, Paige’s casual smiles and not-so-insignificant touches teach her all about the complicated space in-between just friends and something more. When Azzi’s 18, Paige says those words, ones that sound a lot like giving up, and teaches Azzi that sometimes in life, even the people you thought would never make you feel this way, are the ones who'll break you the most. And that’s the day Azzi makes a promise to herself that she’ll never give someone that part of herself again, unaware that when she’s 20, Paige will teach her that some promises are meant to be broken.

***

July 2023

Azzi doesn’t know what god she pissed off to get herself into this position, stuck in a booth with Zoe on one side and Paige on the other. Her girlfriend’s left hand is placed firmly on her thigh and Azzi has to fight the vehement urge to shake it away because Zoe’s normally soft, sweet touch feels itchy and heavy. But the way Paige’s biceps are pressed against hers might be even worse. Every time the blonde moves a little, the sliding of her smooth skin against Azzi’s arms, sends a jolt of electricity through her veins. And Azzi doesn’t know when she became that girl, the girl who already has someone to hold her but is desperately craving somebody else’s touch.

When people’s girlfriends surprise them with an unexpected visit, the appropriate reaction is to be overwhelmed with happiness. Except since she’d met her, Azzi’s summers have always belonged to Paige. With them having lived in separate states most of their lives, it was the one time they got to be with each other for an extended period of time. It was an unspoken rule really, one that they had subconsciously still followed the year before when Azzi had shown up at Paige’s door, even if they’d only gotten the last couple of weeks of the season; summer was theirs. So, when Zoe had shown up that afternoon with a bright smile and shining eyes, all Azzi had been able to register was a sense of loss as Paige pulled her hand out of Azzi’s.

Introductions had been somewhat awkward. Her parents knew of Zoe, but hadn’t met her yet. They were nice of course, her dad pulling the shorter girl into one of his bear hugs and her mom giving her a warm smile. Jon and José were more awkward, nodding their greetings but making no move to actually welcome her. Paige had managed to muster up a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, and shake the other girl’s outstretched hand. And then there was Drew, whose normally goofy smile seemed to have disappeared.

“Who are you?” the young boy had asked quizzically, his eyebrows crinkling together.

“Oh umm, I’m uh- Azzi’s girlfriend,” Zoe had replied, the last word causing Paige to involuntarily flinch.

Drew had looked over to Azzi then, his eyes wide and accusing, “you can’t be Azzi’s girlfriend.”

“Is that so?” Zoe hummed, clearly not taking him seriously.

“It is,” Drew had said petulantly, ignoring Paige’s warning squeeze, “she’s Paige’s.”

The silence after had been deafening, as Azzi tried to stop herself from choking on air. Eventually Paige had regained her senses first, apologising for her younger brother’s lack of filter (“he says stupid things all the time”) and then Azzi’s dad had swooped in before things could possibly get any more awkward, proposing that they all go out to dinner. And that’s how Azzi has ended up here, shuffled in a booth, opposite her parents, with Paige on one side and Zoe on the other. Life really and truly isn’t on her side these days.

“So girls, what are y’all pizza orders?” Tim asks jovially. Azzi’s brothers and Drew, desperate to go enjoy the sun (and avoid Zoe), had already told them their orders before zooming to the park right outside the restaurant.

“Oh uh- Az you wanna share a Margherita pizza?”

“Azzi and I’ll just have our usual.”

It’s as if the world wants Azzi to suffer as both Zoe and Paige immediately look at her expectantly. The girl in question keeps her eyes focused on the menu in front of her, unsure how to best handle this predicament by doing anything other than maybe just running out of the restaurant.

“What’s your usual?” Zoe asks, her voice all curiosity and no ill-intent.

“Grilled chicken and bacon with spinach and onions.”

“But Azzi doesn’t like onions, she says they make-”

“They make her breath smell I know,” there’s a hard edge to Paige’s voice, “but she-”

“She can’t pick them off. She can’t pick anything off of her pizza because it takes-”

“It takes the cheese off, I know that too. That’s not what I was going to say. She doesn’t eat them because she thinks they make her breath smell but she does like them. It’s just-,” Paige’s eyes flare with mischief, “she only eats them around people who are close to her. Guess you’re not quite there yet.”

Since Azzi had mustered up the courage to finally tell Paige about Zoe, right before summer break started, Paige had been nothing but respectful, supportive even. Until tonight apparently and Azzi doesn’t even know to react to the fact that her best friend has started a pissing contest over fucking onions.

“Right,” Zoe bites her lips, her ever-present smile slipping slightly as she slowly pries the menu out of Azzi’s hands and looks at her with hopefully eyes, “but we’ll get the Margherita tonight babe?”

“I-” and Azzi really should say yes, side with Zoe like the good girlfriend she is, except, well, all she can think about is that Paige hasn’t smiled since the California girl had arrived in D.C., “I think um- I’ll stick to my usual Zo, I’m sorry.”

She’s a terrible girlfriend, because immediately Zoe’s smile fades, and Azzi barely notices it, too busy watching Paige’s grin light up her face. Her baby blue eyes sparkle as if she’s won some important battle and it’s not even dark yet, but Azzi swears it feels like the stars have come out.

“Okay,” Tim says slowly, looking between the three younger girls, as he waives over the waitress, “if that’s decided then.”

The issue with Paige being pretty, is that nobody’s really immune to it, including the cheerful waitress that practically skips over to serve them. Her eyes glaze over a little bit as they roam across the blonde’s face and then to her arms before drifting down to her torso. Paige’s tank top doesn’t leave much to the imagination, exposing both her muscled biceps and toned torso and Azzi doesn’t need an x-ray to know the widely appropriate thoughts going through the waitress’s head. The feral roar of mine takes birth in her stomach and the quieting whisper of she’s not does little to subdue it.

“I’m Libby,” the waitress says, tongue darting across her lips, eyes solely focused on Paige, “and I’ll be your server today.”

Libby collects orders dutifully, polite and agreeable, but doesn’t once fully look away from the blonde, practically drooling once she finally gets to her, “and what can I get for you to drink babe?”

Azzi’s not sure whether it’s the sultry tone or the nickname that gets Paige’s attention, but all of a sudden her best friend is staring up at the waitress with her own flirty smile. She likes to think she’s not a particularly violent person, but Azzi thinks she might end up in jail for homicide tonight.

“Well babe,” Paige winks, Azzi wants to die, “what would you recommend?”

Libby smirks, clearly feeling triumphant as she leans on the table, one hand reaching out to brush Paige’s forearm, “sex on the beach.”

Several things happen at once. Tim chokes on a breadstick. Katie immediately thumps him on the back. Zoe lets out a laugh. Azzi’s nails break the skin of her palm, drawing blood as she fists both of hands. And then-

“She has a girlfriend,” it’s a blatantly untrue but all Azzi can think about is stopping this random girl from eye-fucking her Paige. It does the trick, Libby’s eyes go comically wide, as she steps back from the table, from Paige.

“She does?” Tim asks. Next to him, Katie, shoots her daughter a knowing look that veers on the edge of disappointment.

Azzi stutters under the heat of Paige’s glare, the blonde clearly unamused by her lie, “I uh- I mean um- it’s not official but um yeah,” she doesn’t even sound convincing to herself, “I’m uh- I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

She practically shoves Paige out of the booth so she can climb out of it herself, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her heart hammers in her chest and she tries to block out the sound of Paige’s being questioned by her dad, as she rushes into the restroom.

There’s no amount of water she could splash on her face to make this heat go away, but she tries anyway, unsure of when the tap water starts to blend in with the tears streaming down her face. The unsettling anger of how dare she flirt with another girl beating in her heart is replaced by the guilt of i’m not allowed to feel this way thrashing around her rib cage. It hurts all the same, as Azzi clutches her chest, trying to even out her breathing.

She doesn’t hear the door open or close until, “What the fuck was that?”

“Get out,” Azzi whispers, closing her eyes and leaning her head on the mirror, “just give me a second okay?”

“Oh no, no, no, you owe me a huge fucking explanation right now,” Paige hisses, “what the fuck was that bullshit? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“It was a joke-” before Azzi can even finish the sentence, there’s a hand on her biceps, forcing her to turn around. When she opens her eyes, Paige’s face is far too close to her own and when she tries to move back, she’s trapped with the cool edge of the sink. It’s too much, the proximity, the tension, the lingering touch of Paige’s fingers curled around her arm.

“Stop lying,” Paige bites out.

“It just slipped out babe,” and fuck, Azzi absolutely hadn’t meant to add that last part, hadn’t meant to make it so obvious what exactly had triggered her little outburst. Realisation flashes across Paige’s face, as she takes a step back, letting go of Azzi, and the distance should be freeing, but instead it just makes her feel lost.

“That’s what this is about?” the blonde asks in disbelief.

“Yes- no- I don’t know, okay,” Azzi’s voice is high-pitched, “I’m sorry okay. I’ll tell the waitress it was a joke,” she lets out a humourless laugh, “I didn’t mean to fucking cockblock you.”

“Cockblock me? Dude I wasn’t trying to fuck the waitress what the fuck?”

“Could’ve fooled me babe,” Azzi sneers.

Something menacing flashes in Paige’s eyes, “stop calling me that.”

“What? You don’t like me calling you babe. You didn’t seem to have a problem when it was her.”

“Oh my fucking god Azzi,” Paige throws her hands up, “you don’t get to do this. Not when your girlfriend is sitting right there.”

The reminder of Zoe is like being splashed with cold water and Azzi feels everything inside of her freeze. She grips the edge of the sink, trying to find some semblance of balance as Paige continues to glare at her.

“For the past few hours, I have had to hear your girlfriend call you every fucking nickname in the book. I have had to watch her kiss you and move your hair back and grip your fucking knee under the table,” with every sentence, Paige inches closer and closer, until she’s accentuating every word by pushing her index finger into Azzi’s chest, “and you can’t even fucking deal with me calling some other girl babe?”

“Paige,” Azzi whispers when Paige’s voice breaks on the last word. Their faces are so close, she can feel the other girl’s uneven breathing all over her skin. And it takes everything in her to not cave in and reach a hand out to caress away the tear that's threatening to fall from the blonde’s tearline.

“It’s been hell Azzi,” Paige spits out, “so you don’t get to be upset if I want to fuck someone-”

Something snaps and before Paige can complete the offending sentence, before she can imprint an image that will forever haunt Azzi’s mind, Azzi silences all the warning bells of why she really shouldn’t, and pulls her best friend into a searing kiss. Immediately, Paige’s hands come to rest against Azzi’s hips, pressing her firmly against the edge of the sink. It’s as if they’re trying to meld their bodies together, both of them gripping each other as close as possible. Outside, it’s a summer evening of clear blue skies, but here in this random restaurant restroom, lightning strikes.

Paige bites at Azzi’s bottom lip and then traces her tongue over the bruise she’s created, smirking when it elicits a gasp from the younger girl. Lips still firmly moving against Azzi’s, her hands work expertly on the buttons of Azzi’s tight shorts. The sensation of everything Paige is all-consuming and Azzi feels like she’s drunk on the taste of her best friend’s skin, as she moves away from Paige’s lips, to pepper kisses on her neck, before moving down to suck a mark into her collarbone. Mine, mine, mine.

“Fuck Az,” Paige moans when Azzi’s teeth grate against her skin and it’s the brunette’s turn to smirk. But her cockiness is short-lived when Paige’s fingers finally find their way into her now unbuttoned shorts. They press down on her clit through her underwear, making her whine.

A cry of “Paige,” escapes her lips when the blonde slides Azzi’s panties to the side, her middle and index finger beginning to rub circles around the younger girl’s clit in a tantalisingly slow rhythm.

“So wet, so fucking wet for me,” Paige’s voice is wrecked with want, as she brings her free hand to cup Azzi’s jaw, forcing her best friend to look her in the eyes. It scares Azzi, the sheer amount of emotion she can see swirling in the blonde’s eyes. There’s lust and then there’s something else, another l-word that she can’t bring herself to acknowledge, knowing it’ll ruin her, ruin them.

“Please,” Azzi whispers against Paige’s mouth, as the older girl’s fingers slip from her clit to tease against her soaking entrance, dipping into her folds but not giving her what she wants.

“If you want something baby,” Paige traces Azzi’s lips with her thumb, “you have to ask for it.”

Azzi's hands moved away from where they had been firmly gripping Paige’s waist, to wrap around her neck. She bites softly against Paige’s left earlobe, eliciting a low groan, before bringing her lips as close to the blonde’s ears as she can, “I want you to fuck me.”

It’s all it takes, Paige finally gives Azzi what her body’s so desperately craving, for far longer than she’s willing to admit, pumping two fingers into her pussy, while her thumb stimulates her clit. And fuck, Paige knows exactly what she’s doing, fingers curling in the exact right spots and Azzi feels like she’s floating or flying or falling, maybe all of the above.

“Please, please, please,” Azzi babbles incoherently, burying her face in the crevice of Paige’s neck, tears beginning to blur her vision. Because, it’s too much, the ecstasy, the fact that it’s Paige behind the ecstasy, the fact that this is better than her wildest fantasies.

“Doing so good for me baby,” Paige praises, fingers starting to move faster, “taking my fingers so fucking well Az, think you can handle one more?”

Azzi whines in response. Paige pushes in a third finger, both of them letting out identical sighs of pleasure. She’s slow for a second, giving Azzi time to adjust but-

“Fuck, Paige, faster, please,” the younger girls moans, grinding fervently, desperately, against Paige’s fingers, trying to create more fiction.

“Anything for you Az,” Paige whispers, and even in the high of the moment, Azzi knows those words are about more than sex, “whatever you want.”

As Paige’s fingers begin to move at a rapid pace, curling around her g-spot, over and over and over, Azzi can feel that familiar pressure building in her stomach. Her fingers claw at Paige’s neck in warning, too worked up for words. Paige nudge’s Azzi’s face out of her neck, free hand cupping the younger girl's jaw.

“Come apart for me baby,” she whispers before pressing their lips together.

Azzi’s hips stutter as her orgasm rolls all over her, pussy clenching around Paige’s fingers, as she moans into the older girl's mouth. Spent, her body goes limp, her best friend’s firm grip pressing her against the edge of the sink, the only thing anchoring her and keeping her uprights. Paige slowly pulls her fingers out of Azzi’s pants and the loss of contact feels wrong. It’s instinct really, as Azzi reaches for Paige’s hand and brings it up to her mouth, sucking each of the older girl’s fingers clean one by one, and it’s worth it for the way Paige looks wrecked.

“Az-” she begins softly, eyes filled with questions but before Azzi can even think about any answers-

“Azzi,” reality crashes and burns around the two girls as Zoe’s voice calls out for her girlfriend. The sound of footsteps gets closer and closer. Panic takes the place of pleasure as Paige and Azzi jump apart from each other and the realisation of their surroundings hits both of them at the same time. Sweat sheens against Paige’s collarbone and Azzi’s lips are bruised, her eyes still glazy. Their identical dishevelled demeanour gives away far too much. Just as the restroom door creaks open a little, Azzi dives into one of the stalls.

“Oh, hey Paige,” guilt pools in Azzi’s stomach at the sound of Zoe’s innocent voice, as she presses her ear against the stall door, “is Azzi in here? She’s been gone for like 20 minutes.”

“She- she was,” Paige stutters, and Azzi hates herself even more for putting her best friend in this position, “I-uh I think she um- she wanted some fresh air.”

“Ah okay, I’ll go try and find her,” Zoe pauses, “are you okay? You look a little flustered.”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Paige assures in a high-pitched voice, “just uh miss my girlfriend you know.”

Azzi flinches at the lie. She’d made such a fucking mess today. The lying, the cheating, all of it was so out of character and all of a sudden, she feels dirty. Tears brim in her eyes as she begins to process the gravity of what she’d done. And perhaps the worst part of it, is that she can’t find it in herself to fully regret it. If she could turn back time, she doesn’t know if she’d do anything different. Because when it comes to Paige, Azzi’s fine living in shades of grey.

“Yeah, I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Zoe says slowly.

There’s a pause and Azzi knows the words neither did I are floating in Paige's mind before she answers, “yeah, it’s uh- it’s new.”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you,” the sincerity in Zoe’s words hit like stones, rupturing whatever built up image of i am a good person Azzi had ever had of herself

“Thank you,” Paige replies quietly.

“It just-,” Zoe draws in a breath, “Azzi she- she worries about you a lot you know. Even before- you know- when you guys weren’t- you know? Like I think she thinks about you a lot,” there’s an unmistakable wistfulness in Zoe’s voice, “ like- if you’re doing okay and all that. And I don’t- I don’t even know you but I know she wants you to be happy- and- and I want whatever Azzi wants- so- so if you’re happy- that’s good.”

“That’s- that’s really sweet of you,” Paige sounds as guilty as Azzi feels.

There’s quiet for a minute until, “do you think I make her happy? Does she- does she talk about me?”

Zoe’s voice is laced in insecurity and hopefulness and Azzi wishes she’d never brought this girl into her mess in the first place. The sun-kissed Californian had been a classmate who had accidentally stumbled upon Azzi mid-breakdown on a random Thursday. One second she was hesitant, the next she was spilling her woes to a stranger, tired of holding it in. And from then on Zoe had been on a mission to just be there. She’d never hidden her intention, always clear that she wanted more than friendship and Azzi, despite knowing that her heart didn’t really have space for anyone else, had let her loneliness be her guide and given in to the urge to just let someone hold her. But the truth is that while every other second spent with Zoe was filled with mentions of Paige’s name, every moment spent with Paige was never about anything else other than her.

“She- she does, she seems happy,” Paige can’t bring herself to say the with you. The blonde sounds defeated, as if the admission that Azzi could possibly be happy with someone else has taken everything out of her.

“Good, it means a lot,” Zoe’s voice is lighter now, like there’s a smile hidden in it, “especially from you. Thank you. I’ll uh- I’ll go see if I can find her.”

Azzi waits for the sound of footsteps shuffling and then the sound of the door clicking behind Zoe, before prying herself out of the stall. Paige is hunched over the sink, face buried in her hands. And the words my fault, my fault, my fault imprint themselves all over Azzi’s heart.

“Your girlfriend’s looking for you,” Paige says, not bothering to look up.

“Paige I-”

“Just go Azzi, we’ll just” Paige scoffs, “we’ll just play pretend again,” the walls are up again and Paige is unreachable in her castle built from the ashes of the purity in their friendship that they’d just sacrified for a fucking quickie in a barely-lit restroom. And maybe Azzi should say something, maybe she should stay and see if she can fight her way into Paige’s castle. But Azzi’s no knight in shining armour, not Paige’s, not Zoe’s, not anybody else’s because knights don’t cheat and they don’t lie and they don’t break people’s hearts. So she listens to what her best friend says, she walks out, and she pretends she doesn’t hear the sob that’s let out behind her.

***

November 2023

UCLA is up on UConn, it should be a pretty momentous occasion and it is. Azzi’s had one of the best games of her career to get her team mere seconds away from getting their first win over the powerhouse. For UConn, so has Paige, except there’s nothing but frustration gleaming in the blonde’s face. The game had been bad for UConn, the cracks created by injuries on full display. And the competitor in Azzi was more than happy to take advantage of that. But the part of her that was Paige’s best friend was stuck on how tired Paige looked. Someone fucking help her, Azzi had thought throughout the game, she literally just came back from injury.

The outcome of the game is clear and Azzi’s already on the bench getting rest, cheering for her own team of course, but keeping a subtle eye on what’s happening with Paige. Azzi’s eyes follow Paige as she’s finally subbed out. The older girl walks to the end of her own bench, hands coming to rest on her thighs as she hangs her head, face scrunched up in irritation. Paige does that thing where it's like she’s trying to bite of all the skin on her lips and Azzi has the familiar urge to march over and make her stop, preferably by kissing her, not that that’s a thought she’s allowed to have.

It’s ironic really, the 2,943 miles that had once been the reason they’d fallen apart, is the only thing holding them together. Being out of each other’s reach makes it easier to ignore what had happened over the summer, makes it easier to not give into that same vice all over again. And it makes sense, Azzi thinks, because since she’s met her, whenever Paige had just been a blurry goofy face on her screen, they’d been good at the just friends thing. The moment they could touch though, that’s when lines got blurry. As much as Azzi’s not sure how she survived a year without Paige, she’s even less sure about how she’d survived that one year where they’d practically lived in each other’s skins.

Things in the handshake line are somewhat icy with both teams being overprotective of their star players. Muhl’s eyes are full of disdain once she reaches Azzi and Arnold barely shakes her hand, only doing as much as she has to, to keep up appearance. Azzi’s teammates aren’t any better, Angelica smiles at everyone until she reaches Paige, and Kiki rolls her eyes at the point guard. But it doesn’t matter what anybody else does, not when Paige practically falls into Azzi’s arms, her tense body finally beginning to relax a little.

“You did good,” Azzi whispers into the blonde’s hair, tightening her hold on the other girl as she soothingly strokes her back.

Paige scoffs, burying her face further into Azzi’s neck, “you did good, I did what I had to.”

They break apart reluctantly, the shutter of cameras ruining the intimacy of the moment. Their hands hold on a touch longer but the minute they finally slip away from each other, the familiar feeling of i’m tired of missing you that seems to always be lingering within Azzi, prickles against her heart.

***

UConn and UCLA don’t have a rivalry but if you were sat at the hotel restaurant in the Cayman Islands on a lovely November evening, you wouldn’t know that. There’s multiple women’s basketball teams present at the restaurant and everyone’s mingling with each other but the Bruins and Huskies seem determined to avoid each other at all costs. At one point, Angelica and Muhl, of course it would be them, accidentally bump into each other and Azzi holds her breath at the icy glare shared between them. She’s not sure how she and Paige ended up with something akin to the women’s basketball version of the Montagues and the Capulets, but it seems fitting with the way her life’s been going, that it would eventually start to take the shape of a tragedy.

It’s around 10pm when Azzi notices Paige moving in the direction of the door, towards the beach. Azzi hesitates for a moment, knowing her need to go after the blonde isn't just one born out of a best friend’s concern, but it’s Paige. It doesn’t matter if there’s inevitable destruction on the other side, it’s Paige and when it’s Paige, Azzi will follow.

Paige’s silhouette on the beach, glowing underneath the moonlight, with waves crashing onto the shore beyond her, is straight out of a dream. Azzi’s not an artist by any means, but she thinks if she were, this moment would be her muse. The sea wind causes Paige’s hair to flutter with it. Her eyes are closed in concentration, knees pressed against her heaving chest as she takes in deep breaths of salty air. Azzi traipses across the sand, sandals in hand, before falling to the ground next to the other girl. A whisper of a smile is the only acknowledgement Paige offers her as they let a comfortable silence glide over them.

“It would be nice to live here,” Paige says after a moment, “it’s peaceful.”

“Except when it storms,” Azzi surmises.

“It’s not peaceful anywhere when it storms,” Paige counters matter-of-factly, “can you just let me have my moment?

“Right, right, continue.”

“Well now I don’t want to.”

Azzi laughs. Paige grins. It’s so easy. It’s so fucking scary.

“Why’d you leave the restaurant?” Azzi asks cautiously.

“Fresh air.”

“And?”

Paige sighs, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, “it’s gonna be a long season.”

“It always feels like that at the beginning.”

“I know- it’s just- after last year- I just thought it would be different. We’d show the world this time. Be like the other UConn teams of the past. Maybe I just wanted something easier.”

“No you didn’t,” Azzi nudges Paige’s shoulder, “you’ve never wanted easy in your goddamn life Paige. If it’s not a challenge, then it’s not for you. Because you’re God’s strongest soldier, and He’ll give you his hardest battles, right?”

“Right, but sometimes I just don’t feel so strong.”

“Remember what I said in LA? It’s okay to feel that way P. It’s okay to feel however you feel. Let yourself breathe sometimes, it’s good for you. Fall down, let things go, just- remember to get back up and hold on again. It’ll get better, I promise.”

“You always say the right things,” Paige says quietly, and then even quieter, she whispers under her breath, “you make it so hard Az.”

Azzi’s not fully sure what that means. She’s not sure she wants to. Instead she tangles her and Paige’s fingers together, ignoring the way it feels a little too right, and lets them fall back into a peaceful quiet.

“So,” Paige begins again, after a couple of minutes, “Zoe didn’t make the trip here?”

I’m holding your hand and you’re thinking about my girlfriend. Maybe you’re a better person than me.

“She can’t just leave all her schoolwork and follow me wherever,” Azzi says, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. It’s true except the part where Zoe had asked if she wanted her there and Azzi hadn’t been able to give her the enthusiastic yes she wanted, starting an unspoken argument that quashed any chance of a nice romantic island getaway for the two of them.

“She did for the Elite 8 last-” Paige bites her tongue.

“How did you-,” Azzi’s brain feels dizzy with confusion, “how could you know that? You left- after the Sweet 16, you- how did you know Zoe was there?”

“I didn’t leave,” Paige keeps her eyes adamantly on the ocean, “the team wanted to stay longer,” that’s a lie, Azzi knows her too well, “and so I stayed and you know me, I love watching hoops so I uh- I watched your game.”

“You were there,” Azzi whispers more to herself than Paige at this point. She’d been so sure she was just hallucinating, her heart trying to trick itself into seeing what it wanted to see, “why didn’t you tell me you were there? Why didn’t you come see me after the game?”

“I did- fuck Azzi- I did-”

“Where? I would’ve seen- I didn’t see-”

“I saw you,” Paige cuts through Azzi’s frantic questioning, her voice heavy with unspoken emotions as she continues to refuse to look at the younger girl, “you and Zoe. Together.”

“Paige-”

“After the game, you were looking for someone in the stands and I- I thought maybe you were looking for your parents but then I saw you- with her- outside the locker room and- it hit me that- that you were looking for her,” Paige spits the last word out as it feels like lava on her tongue.

In the grand scheme of things, maybe Azzi should let Paige keep this misconception, maybe it would make things simpler if she let Paige believe in the idea that there was someone else Azzi sought out when she was struggling. But-

“I thought I saw you,” Azzi breathes out, “I should have been looking for Zoe but-” she has to draw in a breath when Paige whips around, piercing blue eyes that feel like they can see straight into Azzi’s soul, “Paige, I was looking for you-”

The last bit of sound is stolen away from Azzi as Paige’s lips crash onto hers. And it’s so different from summer and that wretched bathroom. Something softer, more gentle, but still desperate and passionate. Time slows down, as Azzi pulls Paige into her lap, hands caressing her waist, mouths still moving against each other with perfect rhythm. They only pull away when air becomes a necessity, resting their forehead against each other, as they breathe in sync.

“You’re so beautiful,” Azzi whispers, moving a strand of hair out the blonde’s face.

The way Paige blushes is everything, “stop.”

“You are,” Azzi insists, pressing a kiss against the corner against the edge of her lips, “you’re perfect P.”

If she goes blind tomorrow, in the next second even, Azzi thinks that would be okay. As long as this, Paige with her soft Azzi smile, looking at her with that sparkle in her eyes, face illuminated by the shine of the stars, is the last thing Azzi sees.

Slowly Paige climbs off of her, stretching out a hand to pull Azzi up.

“You don’t have a roommate right?,” she asks with a soft smirk that transforms into a shy grin when Azzi nods. And this isn’t a version of Paige that Azzi's ever met before, so different from her cocky loud best friend, but she’d like to learn her all the same.

The hotel staff probably think they’re a little drunk as they giggle their way to Azzi’s hotel room. Azzi barely manages to get the door open, before Paige’s lips are all over her again, drifting everywhere from her lips to her neck to her collarbone.

“Off, off, off,” Paige urges, hands pulling away Azzi’s shirt and she can’t help but giggle at the older girl’s impatience. She keeps her eyes firmly on Paige as she unhooks her bra, smirking as her best friend’s eyes glaze over. Paige moves to touch her, and Azzi moves back immediately.

“Nuh huh. I show you mine, you show me yours.”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Paige groans but does as she’s told, discarding her shirt and Azzi’s smirk widens. She moves towards Paige, slowly tracing her tongue down the older girl’s neck.

“Am I?” Azzi whispers, as she backs her best friend onto the bed. Paige’s eyes follow her every movement as Azzi slowly slides down Paige’s pants, and then her underwear. She runs a finger down Paige’s soaked folds, causing the other girl’s body to shiver, “so wet already, for someone so annoying?”

“Fuck y-” Paige cuts herself off with a groan, when Azzi’s fingers find her sensitive clit.

Settling herself in between the older girl's legs, Azzi grazes her teeth against Paige’s left thigh, satisfied when it makes the other girl’s breath hitch, “if I’m so annoying maybe I should go?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige warns breathlessly, head propped up against Azzi’s pillows.

“That’s what I thought,” Azzi smirks, as she peppers kisses up Paige’s thighs, her right thumb lazily flickering against Paige’s clit.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Paige lets out a frustrated whine, “just fuck me already.”

Azzi bites down hard against Paige’s thigh, wanting to leave a mark in the one place no one would ever see it, before looking up at Paige, “whatever you want.”

Paige’s entire body writhes as Azzi fucks her tongue into Paige’s pussy, building pace with every thrust. One hand fists around the sheets, as the other moves to grab at Azzi’s head, trying to guide her in deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck shit Azzi please,” Paige curses, eyes rolling into her skull, “just like that fuck.”

She’s so close, words becoming incoherent noises, thighs beginning to shake, when Azzi pulls her tongue off.

“What the fuck-” Paige almost yells but it turns into a groan when Azzi replaces her tongue with two fingers instead, “shit- FUCK.”

Azzi attaches her now-free lips to Paige’s clit and she can tell it’s too much. Paige’s back arches off the bed as her eyes go hazy. And then Azzi’s above her, fingers still rapidly pumping into Paige, as she places a delicate kiss against her lips.

“Let go baby, I’ve got you,” Azzi whispers into Paige’s ear as the blonde closes her eyes, letting her orgasm wash all over her, “I’ve got you.”

Paige is still for a second, as Azzi slips her fingers out, continuing to press lazy open-mouthed kisses against her best friend’s neck. She squeals when she feels herself being flipped over, back hitting the mattress.

“What was it you said?” Paige asks cheekily, as starts to unbutton Azzi’s jeans, “I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, a laugh escaping her throat. Trust them to be dorks even in a moment like this. And then Paige attaches her lips to Azzi’s clit and the giggles turn into loud desperate moans. When she slips her fingers in, it’s clear Paige remembers exactly how to push Azzi over the edge.

“So fucking perfect,” Paige whispers from between her legs, eyes looking up at a blissed-out Azzi with awe, “you’re so fucking perfect.”

“That’s you,” Azzi manages to get out in between bated breaths, before her own orgasm hits her, and Paige’s name waterfalls out of her lips like a prayer.

There’s no more words after that, only shared looks and soft grins as they make their way into the en-suite bathroom, lazily washing each other between stolen kisses. They fall asleep, wrapped in each other's arms with matching content smiles.

***

Azzi wakes up alone the next morning. There’s no scribbled note, or even a text. In fact there’s really no proof that Paige was ever there to begin with, except for the ghost of Paige’s touch written all over Azzi’s skin. For a second, Azzi sits in bed and stares out her window. There's a thunderstorm brewing outside (it's not peaceful anywhere when it storms). She watches the raindrops slide down one by one and decides that, that’s the only water that’ll fall today because she won’t shed a single tear and she won’t cry and she most definitely won’t sob.

She replies to Zoe’s i miss you text with a me too she doesn’t mean.

And then she gets up and goes on with her day.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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steddieunderdogfics · 12 days ago

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This week’s writer spotlight feature is: @artaxlivs! ArtaxLivs has 21 fics posted to AO3 in the Stranger Things fandom and all of them are in the Steddie tag!

Our anonymous nominator recommends the following works by ArtaxLivs:

Nobody's Baby

Off the Shelf

Even Flowers Have Their Dangers

An Accidental Flogging

There's Something Wrong With Steve

"I really love the ideas and character voices ArtaxLivs has for Steve and Eddie in her fics. She writes canon and AU's that all feel distinct and true to the characters, ranging from angst to fluff and everything in between. There's a little something for everyone in her works, and she's still actively writing new things in the Steddie tag!" -- anonymous

Below the cut, ArtaxLivs answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

I really love a “golden boy” who questions his own existence. Steve’s worldview got rocked in S1 and instead of reacting by running away or digging in his heels and continuing to be a jerk, he reevaluated, allowing himself to relearn how to approach the world. And Eddie is just a gremlin, a force of anarchy who bucks the societal norms but, really, that’s a cover for how vulnerable he feels because he’s gay in a world and time that sneers at the gentle parts of him. He’s terrified but if he’s loud and obnoxious, maybe no one will get close enough to find out. Together, they just make sense. Because Steve is seeing who people are instead of looking at what they present now, he sees what Eddie’s hiding. And instead of hurting him, he wants to support him. And Eddie, despite his brash words about “King Steve,” he just really wants to believe in a hero. No matter what AU they’re in, I try to maintain those core traits for each of them because that’s what I love about them.

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

To read? Oh man, all of them? I’m a slut for variety so I’ll read any trope really. I do love a good soulmate trope though. Especially with unlikely soulmates who just go all in when they find each other - regardless of how they’d felt before the match.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

Found family. Found Family has carried me through the toughest of times. That trope finds it’s way into all of my fics, so much that I forget to tag it most of the time because I don’t really exist without it. I was a young bisexual in a time when we were told “bisexual aren’t real” so even the gay spaces were not always safe. Drag Queens and older gay men saved me from pretending to either be straight or be a lesbian when I was 21 and felt so unaccepted by both sides. We all lived in an apartment building together and they accepted me as is. They loved me and let me be myself. They would hit on the dudes I brought home and gush over the girls. Throughout my adult life, I’ve done my best to be that for all the queer kids who’ve come through my wardrobe room at the theater. Be the family I so desperately needed and was lucky enough to eventually find.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I don’t think I could pick a favorite favorite but I have read and listened to Roll for Initiative by Alchemystique (the podfic by Silverkat1620) an embarrassing amount of times.

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I actually haven’t written a Steddie soulmate fic yet. I had an idea sitting in my google docs for like two years and I’ve currently got just the opening scene. I’m writing it for an event so it’ll get finished and see the light of day in the fall. I’m excited to see where it takes me.

What is your writing process like?

I have an idea and I throw it into a google doc. If it’s a fully formed idea, I’ll just get it all out right away. It’s like a giant wall of “then this, then this, then this” that I then write a semi-cohesive outline for but if it’s just an errant idea, I’ll leave it in the docs untitled and when I stumble upon it again, it will often spark that wall of text and I’ll plan it out. After the wall of “idea,” I give it a title because I like for the fic to gravitate around the title, I like for the reader to get to a point in the fic and have an ah-ha moment where they look at the title and realize that’s where the meaning is. I usually put a few keywords at the top of my google doc that will carry out through the fic, reminders like mood settings I guess? And then I start writing. Usually I’ll pick a song to play before I start working on it each time. To get my brain in the mindspace for that fic.

Do you have any writing quirks?

I only listen to piano instrumental covers of time period correct music while I’m actively writing. So piano covers of 80s music for Steddie.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I prefer to write a fic completely, editing and everything, before I post. The only time I didn’t, it took me a year and a half to finish it and it wasn’t even that long. Apologies to the people who waited for me to finish “There’s Something Wrong With Steve.”

Which fic are you most proud of?

Probably “Even Flowers Have Their Dangers.” I don’t see images in my head, just ideas or knowledge of an object/place etc. so writing out a battle scene with so many moving parts and people was complicated. And sometimes when we have that many people in a scene, we lose the less important characters in the shuffle. In real life, no one stands around in a group without saying anything for hours. That would be weird. In that fic, I had multiple scenes where there were more than five people, one that had eleven people and a ton of action and I feel like I did them all justice. I used DnD minis on a map I’d drawn out of the scene and when I edited the scene days later, I tally marked the minis to make sure I’d referenced everyone enough to keep the flow moving and had them speaking enough that we didn’t forget they were there. I’m really proud of that.

How did you get the idea for There's Something Wrong With Steve?

Actually, my husband was re-watching Lost and the guy who plays John Locke played the stepfather in the 80s movie The Stepfather and for a big chunk of that movie, you’re not sure if he’s actually a bad guy. He is, he’s terrifying. And I just thought about how most of the Steddie monster fics go with DnD lore and it’s Eddie as Kas but what if it was Steve and even Steve didn’t know…And I tried to maintain that balance of is he?/isn’t he? for as long as I could. I also wrote Eddie’s thoughts in a choppy cadence that sort of built and became clearer toward the end so the reader would feel unsure and anxious right up until I went in for the kill. And then when they thought they were safe, I pulled the rug out from under them again.

When writing An Accidental Flogging, what was something you didn’t expect?

The towel. Originally, it was just Eddie slapping Steve’s ass and it was called “An Accidental Spanking.” But it built itself around so much locker room type teasing in the kitchen that it just worked so well to have him use a towel. The whole fic is them kind of falling into kink because they can’t figure out how to admit their feelings and towel snapping always looks like naked jock flirting to me so…

What inspired Even Flowers Have Their Dangers?

The white outfit that El wears through most of S4. It’s such a male director trope and I’m so over it. I’m a costume designer so I spend a lot of time looking at costumes and color choices. It’s such a virginity trope to put the young teenage girl in all white to show her innocence. She’s wearing color at school, and again at the rink but after she hits that girl with the skate and the agents come for her, she’s in white pants, a white thermal and a blue plaid. Because she did hit that girl, so not completely innocent. But unlike earlier seasons where her scuba suit is gray, it’s WHITE this time. Because we, the viewers, are hunting for the REAL monster. The white pants and shirt into the white scuba outfit and back into her white pants and shirt for the trip home - so if we are paying attention, we know that El is innocent. That she didn’t kill everyone in the lab, no matter how they’re setting it up. And that made me think of the song “I know things now” from Into the Woods and how El thinks Henry is nice, but we know he isn’t good because we already know that nice adult men don’t build relationships with little girls. And we know that “nice is different than good” but El, innocent and sequestered in a lab, has never strayed from the path, so she doesn’t know the difference. And then I made the party all wolves and put Henry in “human clothing” to kind of flip our imagine of what constitutes a monster.

What was your favorite part to write from Even Flowers Have Their Dangers?

The scene with Henry wearing “Max.” It was horrifying and I cried through it. I cry everytime I read it. Having the opportunity to write a scene that hurts my own soul is such a rush. I got done with it and I had to go outside and take some deep breaths. Children in mortal danger is kind of triggering for me and everything with Max in this is both traumatic and cathartic. I also love the moments when Joyce accepts and hugs Eddie. Because at the end of s3, after Hop dies, Joyce hugs Will but El is standing there alone. She and Joyce look at each other and Joyce just hugs Will tighter and turns away leaving El to cry alone and that’s bullshit. I would never. No parent would ever do that, leave her to cry alone? No. So anytime I can have Joyce rewrite that moment by hugging one of the kids, I do it. And so many people have commented on it so it makes me really proud to have made them feel that hug too, you know?

How do/did you feel writing Off the Shelf?

Ha, this fic is so…unapologetically raunchy? I guess that’s a good word. I wrote it thinking about all the gay men I’m friends with and what they think is hot, the body parts they focus on, the times they say “that’s hot” when I’m like “oh jesus, my eyes!” And I think I achieved it? Hopefully? That’s the fic that I’ve had the most gay men, trans men, non binary peeps reach out and be like “this one - mmhmm yup.” And damn, that’s so nice to hear.

What was the most difficult part of writing Nobody's Baby?

Staying within the outline of Dirty Dancing and keeping the time period just as nebulous. That movie is costumed like it’s the 60s, the historic events referenced put them in like the 50s and the soundtrack is 80s music. Makes no sense. I tried to let it stretch between the 80s and a modern setting without really setting it in one specific time. But still somehow making a queer relationship something that wasn’t a plot point. Because I didn’t want it to be about that at all.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I really love the bonding that happens between Steve & Mike in “Let Me Be Your Man (I Want to Hold Your Hand)” as Steve is teaching Mike how to make a mixed tape for his secret crush. Who Steve has already figured out is Will. It’s a Steddie fic but it centers around Steve letting Mike know that he’s not alone. And Mike letting his guard down just a little. It has a podfic recorded by Rattlandhum (thirdeye1234) and their voice is gorgeous. It’s the icing on the cake for that fic for me. And I love when Steve tells Robin in “Right From the Start, I Gave You My Heart” that they’re “just two chocolate chip cookies in a world full of oatmeal raisin.” because platonic love is pretty damn beautiful. (That one also has a podfic by the amazing Flowerparrish)

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

I’m currently writing a fic for the Steddie BigBang 2025. And Flowerparrish and I have been brainstorming a Steddie & the Party fic that zer will podfic that’s got some cool dream elements happening. I’ve also decided to finish my “18 Candles” Steddie fic that I’ve been sitting on for far too long that has a really fun Eddie & Robin friendship that I love so much. They get to be weird and awkward together. And Flowerparrish is currently recording a podfic of my “Even Flowers Have Their Dangers” and I’m GIDDY about it.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

Just a very heartfelt thank you. This fandom has been incredibly supportive and fun. I’ve made so many friends - some fellow writers but some people who are just really amazingly supportive readers and cheerleaders. And the entire fandom’s fics are so varied. It’s been a blast not just writing them but also reading other writers fics right alongside everyone else.

Thank you to our author, @artaxlivs, and our nominator! See more of ArtaxLivs's works featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer’s Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#writer's spotlight #writer's wednesday #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steve x eddie #steddie fic recs #steddieunderdogfics

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yanderedrabbles · 12 days ago

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hiii, love ur stuff. Do you have any tips on writing/making it better? Anything I try to write is super short and bland tbh

I'm so flattered that you're asking me anon! Personally, I think writing style can change a lot over time. And bland doesn't necessarily mean bad.

I used to have such a huge issue grasping the idea, but your work doesn't have to be dense with metaphors or paragraphs of prose to be good.

I think a lot of it comes from the prestige of literary writing. The idea that you're not a real writer unless you're being artistic. And to most of us, artistic usually means lots of metaphors, lots of prose, lots of slightly confusing allegories. And God forbid you write to be popular or to cater to mass appeal. In that case, my mind insisted on telling me I wasn't an artist, I was a hack. A sell-out.

What utter bull. A simple, bare-bones writing style is just as appealing as a richer, more descriptive one. Think Hemingway. Notorious for clear cut and direct prose, and he's considered one of the greats.

That being said, here are some of my tips to write longer, more interesting pieces:

Clichés. Oh, the dreaded cliche. Almost unavoidable, because it gets the job done. Says what needs to be said. I thought avoiding clichés like the plague was the best option, but I've since come to appreciate the art of freshening up a cliche. Giving it a unique twist.

The most famous example I can think of is:

She looked like a million bucks tax free.

Two words added onto a tired cliche, and suddenly it's new and fresh and has all sorts of implications.

In fanfic, there are more than a few phrases that get used by just about everyone.

"His eyes darkened. He growled. His grip tightened."

If using those was a crime I'd be serving on death row. But the truth is, they work. They convey the idea. With how often they show up though, I think it's fair that they get spiffed up now and again. Exchange the classics for slight variations.

"His eyes were getting darker by the second. He snarled. His hold was hot iron, and it was cooling fast."

Don't be too fanatic, but whenever a sentence feels a little stale, see what you can change to make it unique.

Voice. Seriously, the secret power behind the best authors. Voice is that undefinable sense of character that makes a piece far more engaging. Examples of fics that use a pretty strong voice are the Hush fic, Yandere Sherriff and Yandere Prison Warden.

When it comes to nailing down voice ask yourself:

What time period am I writing in? Are there phrases or slang that were popular at the time?

How educated is my character? Are they a stickler for grammar or do they speak more casually?

What is my character's background? How does that affect the way they think and speak?

What is my character's attitude towards life? Do they observe everything with a cool, detached mind? Are they jaded or angry? Are they sarcastic or prickly?

An exercise I like doing when it comes to creating a stronger sense of voice is a free flow document. Where I pretend I'm interviewing one of the characters, getting a better sense of who they are. Here's an example of a free-flow doc I did for an upcoming cyberpunk character:

V: How did you grow up? C: Rough. The kind of neighbourhood where you don't look twice at what you see. V: And do you think that's affected you in any way? C: What are you, some kind of head doctor? 'Course it affected me. You'd be pretty kicked up, too, if you saw the shit I did. V: Is that why you're so comfortable with violence? C: Violence. What a shitty fucking word for it. Kind of thing you say when all you've ever seen is the inside of a university. It's not violence, doc. It's surviving. It's living. It's tranqing someone else so you can live to see another day. It's the fucking sticks.

As you can probably tell, this isn't a nice character. He doesn't speak the way a polite man would. And that's voice.

Planning. Now, this one greatly depends on your own preference, but I like to plot out my stories. Usually before or in the middle of the fic. This doesn't have to be intense. Just a few notes jotted down to determine the outcome and the best way to get there. I've found that as I plot I tend to get new ideas, too. Usually leading to a much longer story (cough yandere prison warden cough).

Read the style you want to write. Boring advice, I know. You've heard it already, and you've heard it better. But, the truth is, when you read mindfully, you pick up half a million little tricks. The trick is to read like an editor.

Read over your favourite pieces and ask yourself what makes them so good. Is the characterization? Is it the author's style of prose? What works and what doesn't? After a while, you'll find yourself recognising patterns and implementing them in your own work.

And lastly, remember that your work is your own and that's what your readers love. If your style feels a little bland, experiment with different genres or styles of writing. I promise you, your readers won't mind one bit.

#Val's writing advice

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aboutcustardcreams · 8 months ago

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Masterlist

Oh, hello stranger, you must know I’m an incredibly unreliable writer. I write when I’m inspired, when I have time, and, most often, when I absolutely do not have time.

Agatha all along

The road you take [ Agathario x reader ] idk man, I honestly wanted to be part of Agatha’s journey so here it is…

Until next time

Wake up call / part two

We walk the wind-y road

Time Ticking, Patience Thinning

To a Love that Never Dies

Motherhood

So it’s true, a Door appears

Action and Reaction (1)

Face your fears or.. chicken out?

For love, we gladly pay the price

It’s not that easy

Time. I want more time

I can’t see the end, so I pretend it’s sweet

The Weight of Silence

A day in the life

Doctor who

Hold on to something beautiful [ Missy x reader ] You miss Missy for way too long.

About the beach day [ 13th Doctor x Yasmin Khan x reader ] written after watching the episode Legend of sea Devils so it comes after that. Platonic (?) short and cute.

There can’t be a universe without the Doctor [ 13th Doctor x Yasmin Khan x reader ] honestly the title sums up it rather well. Doc is stubborn, but you and Yaz even more.

She sees right through me [ 13th Doctor x Time Lord reader x Yasmin Khan ] Your encounter with the Doctor, after many years searching for her, doesn't go exactly as planned. But you shouldn't be surprised, considering the unexpected is Time Lords' bread and butter.

Help me hold onto you [13th Doctor x reader & Yasmin Khan x reader (friendship) ] The Doctor takes you and Yaz to Nectoxia, a peculiar planet that serves as burial ground, with the purpose of giving you a harmless fright. However, things don’t go as planned. They never do. And this time, it could cost you dearly. ONGOING

WWTDD: What would the doctor do? [13th Doctor x time lord reader ] After an argument, you storm off the TARDIS in need to clear your head. And it goes well for a while, until you find yourself in quite a predicament and in need of a helping hand.

Broadchurch

People Help the People [ Beth Latimer x reader ] Sometimes it’s nice to be reminded by those you love how much you mean to them. Beth Latimer is natural at that.

#Doctor who #Doctor who imagines #missy doctor who #Missy the master #Michelle Gomez #13th Doctor #thirteenth doctor #Jodie Whittaker #wlw #fluff and angst #self indulgent #Broadchurch #Beth Latimer #agatha all along #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agathario x reader

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hephaestiions · 4 months ago

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'24 retrospective

thank you, @kamaela & @hollyhawthorn for the tag on ruminations from 2024, we're going to pretend i'm not a whole week late to it.

sometime in— march?— i got high and thought— wouldn't it be fantastic if draco and harry did that too? started writing what became almost 7k words of porn with feelings about harry being taken care of, which marked a return to ao3 and my first fic since 2021. win! i posted some shorter, quicker stuff to tumblr, of which i particularly enjoyed writing this auror partners transfer request, about harry, lettuce & embroidery yarn, and grace.

it's been a year of figuring out style & character, what works, what doesn't, what holds weight & water, slips, comes back. which is mostly to say it's been a year of drafts, writing & scrapping, letting things marinate in docs, coming up with several thousand wips & resisting the urge to take down older fics and repost them in a style i agree with more now.

2024 was also the year of getting into reccing, which i've enjoyed far, far more than i expected. my three author reclists for plor, wolf & tacky were my favourite to do, i loved the immersive invite of them. given my need to devour back catalogues of every author i adore, i'm hoping to continue these; we are well and truly blessed with enough writers here to keep me going for a lifetime.

writing (mostly) individual recs for hprecfest was also absolutely glorious. i have so much to say about works that stick with me, and saying it all to get others to go delight in them was brilliantly fulfilling. the process made me write my own love letters to reccing & reccers & the light they are in fandom, which may be my own most cherished post. i don't always have the bandwidth to write or read new stuff, but showing love like this keeps me involved, immersed, and importantly, very happy.

i've read a lot this year & listing everything will unfortunately have us cataloguing the colours of the sky. instead, i'm going to make a list of what i consider my priority tbr of fics & authors, people & works i wanted to get around to this year, couldn't, want to gorge myself on soon.

@garagepaperback wrote 300k words in 9 works this year, and i need to read every one as soon as possible. their style demands savouring & i've saved up so much garagefic for when i have the time to do them justice. @eleadore writes such a deliciously abrasive, petulant drarry dynamic; i'm really, really looking forward to being in A Mood to cut my teeth on their diamonds. (additional shoutout to the remaining reads these two's pile with @yiiiiiiiikes25, reserved for when i need a good smut fix). i read @kamaela's got me started earlier in the year, fell in love with their sharp characters & sharper writing & now everything else they've written, but especially mirror, me is up, up there in needing to be read asap. everything i've read by @sleepstxtic has been fantastic, fantastic, but rush was especially spectacular & i am foaming at the mouth to get to the other two sports fics in the series.

@dodgerkedavra's clear, warm light looks absolutely epic, can't wait to sink my teeth into it (and everything else from dodger's catalogue i haven't read yet). @epitomereally's LA, who am i to love you? has some fantastic tags, a fascinating summary & been on my mfl for an age. this is also maybe-perhaps-potentially the year to work through @mintawasalreadytaken's tit for tat which sits at almost 400k & promises my favourite things (angst & porn), but even if not, it is the year to read the rest of minta's catalogue that i haven't gotten to yet.

& finally, i'm bad at wips, but i'm so very, very excited for @tackytigerfic's first watch of night to finish posting so i can swim around in it.

this is a v small sampling of everything i hope to read this year, i've left out so many wonderful, wonderful authors whom i will end up loving. the goal is to read slower, read steadier, take my time with craft & phrasing, work through catalogues i admire & leave myself space to appreciate with care & specificity.

in the other life of odds and ends and grad school and employment, it was a weird year, kind of a— nothing year? scales weren't tipped too far in either direction, which is different, which demands recalibration, which has left me time & energy in measures i usually don't have. dawn has broken over this fresh swivel around the sun and i'm allowing myself some slivers of tentative, brittle hope. it's new, and i'm putting stock in that being a good thing.

paging everyone i've mentioned above to tell me what you're hoping to do more of in 2025 (fandom/otherwise) if you'd like! cheerleading all of you from here <3

#geets.txt #on 2024

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hayatheauthor · 2 years ago

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A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline

I'll warn you, this is a long one. I kind of took 'comprehensive guide' a little too seriously.

You have a fantastic concept burning at the edges of your imagination, a collection of characters whispering their stories to you, and a world just waiting to be explored. But how do you weave all these elements into a story that grips readers and refuses to let go? The answer lies in effective plot planning.

A well-crafted plot isn't just a sequence of events; it's a carefully orchestrated symphony that takes readers on an unforgettable ride. Whether you're an experienced writer or someone trying to start their first book, here are my personal steps to crafting a compelling storyline with good plot planning.

Step 1: Idea Generation and Conceptualization

Every great story begins with a spark of inspiration. It's that moment when an idea ignites in your mind and beckons you to explore its potential. The journey from a fleeting thought to a fully-fledged concept is an exhilarating one, and it all starts with idea generation and conceptualization.

Techniques for Idea Generation

Mind Mapping

Grab a piece of paper or use a digital tool to create a mind map. Write your central idea in the middle and branch out with related concepts, characters, themes, and settings. Mind mapping can help you visualize the connections and possibilities within your idea.

Bullet journalling

Bullet journalling is my personal favourite way to generate ideas for your WIP. Get a piece of paper or open a Word/Docs document and create three different sections: world, characters, and plot. Now add facts to each of those sections that you've come up with so far.

You can even go a step ahead and create more detailed sections, for example, you could do this for your different characters or different places in your world. Usually, one bullet point leads to the next and once you have an idea of everything you've already established you'll naturally start adding more to it.

Blurting

Talk to someone about your WIP, or pretend that you're talking to someone and write down everything that comes to mind. You can even use AI tools like ChatGPT and ask it to hold a conversation with you about your WIP. Tell it to ask you questions along the way, this will get the wheels turning and even help fill plot holes.

Prompts and Challenges

Explore writing prompts or challenges to spark your creativity. Websites, books, or even random word generators can provide the nudge you need to generate fresh ideas.

Refining Your Concept

Once you have a collection of ideas, it's time to refine and shape them into a cohesive concept.

Identify Themes

What themes or messages do you want to convey through your story? Is it a tale of redemption, the power of friendship, or the consequences of ambition? Pinpointing your core themes will guide your storytelling and also give you a clear image of the end goal.

Find Your Angle

Consider what makes your idea unique. How can you approach a familiar concept from a fresh perspective? For example, if you're doing a classic murder mystery, what makes your book different from others? Take some time to look up titles similar to your WIP and find any repetitive themes/patterns.

Maybe most murder mysteries end with the partner being the killer, or maybe the fantasy books written in the same mythology as your WIP's all involve a war. Knowing what is currently a popular trend in the market can give you a clear idea of where you can be different from comparable titles. This is especially important for genres like horror and romance.

Develop a Premise

Your premise is the foundation of your story. It's the "what if?" question that drives your narrative. For instance, "What if an ordinary high school student discovers they have the ability to control time?" You need to have a solid premise before you even think about writing your story.

Step 2: Character Development and Motivation

Characters are the beating heart of your story, and crafting them with depth and authenticity is key to creating a narrative that truly captivates. Your characters often leave more of a lasting impact on your readers than the plot itself.

Think of it this way: a good plot will get you readers, but memorable characters will get you fans. Some of the largest communities in the book space all run on the readers' fondness for certain characters rather than the story itself. Yes, your story and the way you tell it is very important, but nobody wants to listen to the story of a boring person.

Bringing Characters to Life

Personal Histories

Delve into your characters' pasts. What experiences shaped them into who they are today? A traumatic childhood or a life-changing event can influence their motivations and behaviours. Maybe your antagonist has a soft spot for single parents because their mother was the only person who cared for them. Maybe the love interest seems like a sunshine character because they feel the need to always seem put-together and perfect.

Physical Traits

This might sound obvious enough, after all a character's appearance is the first thing people think of when visualising, however, many authors fail to have a clear image of their character's physical traits which can lead to inconsistent or boring descriptions. Sure, your protagonist can have bushy hair and brown eyes, but what else?

Think about their body type, height, fashion sense, the way they carry themselves, walk, and sound. Do they have a random mole at the back of their neck? Do they always smell like a certain perfume because their dead father gifted it to them? It's important for you to have a clear image of who you're writing.

Strengths and Flaws

Just like real people, characters have strengths and weaknesses. These traits affect their decisions and interactions. A courageous hero might also struggle with recklessness, adding complexity to their personality. It's easy to create 2D characters by using tropes or shallow descriptions 'an all-powerful villain' 'the chosen one who trained their whole life and is perfect', but 3D characters are what will actually catch your readers' attention.

There's a reason why people often love the grey characters, the anti-heroes or anti-villains. Those who have complex personalities that make them seem human. This makes us empathise with the characters, and as a writer, it also helps you think of your characters as real people with flaws and problems.

Motivations: The Why Behind the What

Goals and Desires

What do your characters want? Their goals drive the plot forward. A detective's desire to solve a mystery or a scientist's quest for a groundbreaking discovery sets the narrative in motion. Why is your protagonist doing what they are doing?

You could simply give yourself a generic answer like 'they want to save the people' or 'they're a good person' but this can lead to confusion in the long run. If as the writer you yourself can't understand your character's goals it will get very hard to showcase them to your readers. Try to pick apart each character and genuinely consider why they are the way they are.

Inner Conflicts

Characters often grapple with inner turmoil – the clash between their desires, values, and fears. This inner conflict adds layers of intrigue and reliability. Maybe your protagonist realises the antagonist's qualms with the government are actually valid and suffers from moral conflicts as they contemplate whether or not they are the 'good guy'. Inner conflict adds dimension to your characters which in turn makes it easier for your readers to empathise with them.

Step 3: Outlining the Key Plot Points

Now that you have a clear idea of what you want to write and who you want to write it with, it's time to consider the how. You have a story, but how do you want to tell it? Break down the key plot points that shape your narrative, creating a roadmap that guides your characters through their trials and triumphs.

The Building Blocks of Plot

The Inciting Incident

The spark that ignites your story. It's the moment when your protagonist's world is disrupted, setting them on a path of change. For example, in "The Hunger Games," Katniss Everdeen's sister being chosen for the Games is the inciting incident that propels her into the arena.

This can be a little harder to recognise in genres outside of SFF and horror. For a thriller novel, this moment could be the moment your protagonist uncovers a sketchy detail in their relative's death. In romance, it could be the moment your protagonist is introduced to the love interest.

Turning Points

These are pivotal moments that shift the course of your narrative. They introduce new challenges, reveal secrets, or force characters to make crucial decisions. Think of them as the gears that keep your story machine turning. It's important to have some sort of turning point in your story to keep things interesting.

Maybe the character your protagonist was suspecting throughout the first half of the book ends up having a solid alibi, or a seemingly innocent character suddenly seems sketchy.

The Climax

The peak of tension and conflict. It's the moment your characters face their biggest challenge and must make their ultimate choice. In "The Lord of the Rings," the climactic battle at Mount Doom decides the fate of Middle-earth. In a murder mystery, this can be the moment the real killer is unveiled, or in a rom-com, it could be when the love interest moves to a new city to follow the protagonist.

Falling Action and Resolution

As your story winds down, the falling action ties up loose ends and provides closure. Readers witness the aftermath of the climax, and the characters' arcs find resolution. This is the bit where you make sure you aren't leaving any plot holes behind. Remember that random character your protagonist suspected at the start of the book? What's their alibi, why did they suddenly get out of the picture?

Structuring Plot Points

Introduction of Stakes

Introduce what your characters stand to gain or lose early on. This creates a sense of urgency that propels them forward. What if your protagonist fails to complete their missions? What if the detective never unveils the killer's identity? What if your protagonist doesn't win over the love interest? Show your readers the worst possible outcome early on so they know why they should be rooting for your protagonist.

This doesn't necessarily have to be something big or scary. In Harry Potter, many of us wanted Harry to stay at Hogwarts because his life with the Dursleys was cruel and he deserved happiness. That was a small yet significant stake that made the readers empathetic and silently root for Harry.

Foreshadowing and Setup

Plant seeds of future events throughout your story. Foreshadowing builds anticipation and adds depth, making later plot developments more satisfying. I have written a lot of blogs that either cover or briefly mention foreshadowing so I'm going to keep this point a little short.

Foreshadowing helps your readers slowly piece everything together and have that 'I knew it!' or 'how did I not see this coming?' moment. It might also encourage them to turn back and reread your work to focus on the little hints you left throughout the book. Foreshadowing is especially important in murder mysteries.

Step 4: Subplots and Secondary Storylines

Subplots and secondary storylines are the secret ingredients that transform a good story into an unforgettable masterpiece. They add layers of intrigue, provide character development opportunities, and keep readers eagerly turning pages. If you're confused about what is a subplot and how to create one you can visit my previous blog that focuses on this topic.

The Role of Subplots

Enriching Character Arcs

Subplots allow secondary characters to shine. They can showcase different facets of your characters' personalities, revealing their strengths, weaknesses, growth, and relationships.

Theme Reinforcement

Subplots can explore and reinforce your story's themes from various angles. For instance, a romantic subplot can underscore the theme of love and sacrifice, in turn making your protagonist’s heroic death at the end of the novel seem more impactful. We all know Pepper’s reaction to Tony’s death in End Game made the moment more emotional.

While creating subplots and considering which one might be relevant to your book you should think of how this subplot would impact your end goal and whether it would help emotionally connect with your readers.

Parallel Journeys

Subplots can create parallel journeys that mirror or contrast with the main plot. This dynamic adds depth and resonance to your storytelling. Maybe the antagonist’s assistant has a similar backstory to your protagonist but while the protagonist was rescued by the government they were taken in by the antagonist. As the two geniuses face each other your protagonist can’t help but consider whether they would still be fighting for the ‘good’ side had their roles been switched.

Balancing The Main Plot and Subplots

Interconnectedness

Subplots shouldn't feel disconnected from the main plot. Instead, they should interact and influence each other, creating a harmonious narrative flow. Your subplot could help bring a satisfactory end to a certain arc of your story, or it could sow the roots for the important climactic moment of your book.

Pacing and Tension

Strategically introduce subplots to maintain pacing and tension. They can provide moments of relief or heightened drama, enhancing the overall reading experience.

Character Integration

Ensure that characters involved in subplots maintain relevance to the main plot. Their actions and decisions should contribute to the overarching story, even as they pursue their own paths. You should also think about whether or not your character is overshadowing the protagonist. In Harry Potter there were several characters such as Ginny, Luna and Neville with subplots and backstories of their own, however, they never overshadowed Harry’s tale.

Step 5: Crafting Scenes and Sequences

Welcome to the realm where the magic truly comes to life – crafting scenes that resonate, captivate, and propel your story forward. Scenes are the building blocks of your narrative, each one a window into your characters' world and emotions. They help infuse your story with tension, emotion, and unforgettable moments.

Again, this is a topic I’ve covered separately in another blog so I won’t go into too much detail here.

Scene Structure and Elements

Objective and Conflict

Every scene should have a purpose – a clear objective that drives the characters. Introduce conflict that challenges their goals and motivations, creating tension that keeps readers engaged.

Emotion and Stakes

Characters' emotions are the heartbeats of scenes. Amplify emotions by highlighting what's at stake for the characters. Whether it's a heated argument or a tender moment, emotions draw readers in.

Sequences: Crafting a Flow

Cause and Effect

Scenes connect through cause and effect. Each scene's outcome sets the stage for the next, creating a seamless flow that propels the narrative. A character's choice in one scene can reverberate and shape subsequent events.

Rising Action

Craft sequences with escalating tension. The stakes should intensify, drawing characters deeper into challenges and dilemmas. This creates a sense of anticipation that keeps readers eagerly turning pages.

Step 6: Mapping the Journey: Creating a Visual Plot Outline

Visualising your plot, characters, and world can be very hard sometimes. Let's be honest, words can only do so much and if you don't have a clear idea of what you want to show your readers you can end up going down a path of 'telling' them everything. This can take away from the point of your story and end up boring your readers. If you find it hard to visualise where you're going with your book, here are some tips that can help.

Visual Tools for Plot Planning

Timelines and Flowcharts

Create a timeline that outlines the sequence of major events, from inciting incidents to resolution. Flowcharts visually depict the interconnectedness of plot points, making it easy to track the evolution of your story. You can also cut out or add bits depending on how far along you are. This will also help you keep track of what scene/development should be introduced when and why.

Index Cards or Post-Its

Write down key scenes, plot developments, and character arcs on individual index cards or sticky notes. Arrange and rearrange them on a board or wall to visualize the narrative's flow. You can also do this if you're confused about the climax of your novel by adding different ideas to the post-its and putting them alongside the rest of the book's plot to see what things would look like from a reader's perspective.

Infusing Creativity

Playlists

Curate a playlist that captures the mood and emotions of your story. Music has the power to transport you to the heart of your narrative, helping you channel the right atmosphere while plotting. You can listen to this playlist every time you sit down to write WIP. With time, this will also help you overcome writer’s block since you can put on this playlist every time you struggle to get into the right writing mindset.

Moodboards/Pinterest Boards

Create a visual feast by collecting images, aesthetics, and visuals that embody your story's essence. Platforms like Pinterest allow you to craft moodboards that serve as visual touchstones. I would recommend creating a separate pinboard for every character so you can get a clear idea of their vibe and appearance. You can even refer to these every time you're writing about or from the perspective of a new character.

Step 7: Flexibility and Adaptability

As you embark on your writing journey, remember that stories have a life of their own. Embracing flexibility and adaptability is your compass through uncharted territories.

Allow characters to surprise you, let plots pivot, and themes emerge. Balancing structure with spontaneity ensures a dynamic narrative that resonates deeply. Listen to your characters, explore ethical complexities, and evolve alongside your story.

By staying open to the unexpected, you infuse your writing with authenticity and richness. Your plot outline is a guide, but your characters and themes have the power to shape the course. Embrace the unpredictable, and watch your story flourish beyond your imagination.

I hope this blog on A Step-by-Step Guide to Crafting a Compelling Storyline will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks?

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey!

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brockkboeserr · 2 years ago

Text

one day all my love will come back to me

Spending a mid-degree gap year in the guest bedroom of your best friend who you’ve been in love with for ages seems to be a recipe for disaster until a hook up with a player from a visiting team threatens to change your future forever

pairing: nathan mackinnon x reader; brayden point x reader

warnings: creative liberties taken with the 2021-2022 regular season schedule and the availability/contributions of Brayden Point during the 2022 playoffs, typical angst associated with a love triangle with a hint of unrequited love, sexual themes (not quite smut but more than implied) and the usual (alcohol, swearing, etc.)

word count: 10.9k

a/n: surprise @senditcolton i'm your summer exchange fic writer! i'm so so so sooooo sorry this is late, @wyattjohnston and i were having a hot girl european summer and it's not an excuse but a bit of an explanation. when i saw you had written brayden point twice in your players list, i knew it was time to dust off this fic idea i had last year and do her proper justice. i hope you like it!!! shout out to demi for the many "replace c with C" suggestions on google docs and @thomasschabot for the other suggestions. ok i'll shut up now, enjoy!!

The Avs are up by one with thirty seconds to go and you’re pretty sure you’re going to puke. It’s a good thing everyone is far too focused on the action going on at ice level to question why your gaze keeps bouncing between the good guys and a certain forward on the other team. It’s such a strange feeling—you want with your entire being for your boys to hoist the Cup, but there’s a small part of you that never wants to see the boy on the other team you care for so deeply, so upset. He was right, you both crossed the line past hooking up a long time ago.

“You look hot.”

In any other circumstance, those words from Nate would have your heart going into overdrive. As it stands, your heart is already pumping at a rate you fear is not healthy while you lie on a trampoline with your niece’s sprinkler set up beneath it. For every bitter complaint you’ve ever had about a Canadian winter, the opposing heat waves might just be slightly worse.

“A/C’s broken,” you say like that explains everything.

Nate hums in response like maybe it does before pulling himself up beside you.

Somehow the air around you feels even hotter, precipitation building at your hairline. You fuss for a minute, wiping away the sweat before dramatically slapping your hands down on the trampoline in protest.

Nate ignores you, choosing to instead cheerfully proclaim “This is nice!”

“What do you want?” you ask in response. There are layers to your grumpiness, but for now you can pretend it’s all related to the unbearable heat.

“Can’t a guy visit his best friend?”

You can feel his eyes on you, but you keep yours closed. “Not when it's 34 degrees out and humid as hell and he has to leave his air conditioned mansion to do so.”

“I saw your story and I was coming to invite you to my air conditioned mansion.”

“Is Sidney home?” Your tone is so much more nonchalant than you feel. It doesn’t matter that the aforementioned man went from Nate’s childhood hero to mentor to near-brother; it will never not be weird to have but one degree of separation from the man who’s name is on your town’s welcome sign.

Nate laughs like he can read your mind, but you still don’t glance over at him. You don’t need to, not really. The image of him beside you comes all too easily to your inner mind. His hair’s got a wave from the humidity, his nose tinged red from the hot sun, and his chest golden and chiseled and harlequin romance novel cover-esque—

“You know one day you’re going to have to get used to being around guys who made it to the show. Hell, I'm a guy who made it to the show.”

Finally you turn to look at him and he’s somehow even more beautiful than you’d just imagined. “That’s different Nate. You’re….you.”

He smiles at you and it’s brighter than the damn sun causing you so many problems today. “And Sid’s just Sid. And the guys in Denver are just the guys in Denver.”

His words have your nose scrunching and you promptly go back to laying flat on your back. “Don’t remind me.” There’s silence for a beat or two and then you continue, “Speaking of, are you sure it’s still okay—“

Nate doesn’t let you finish this time. “Yes, I’m sure it’s okay for you to hang around my apartment in Denver while you take a year off from school to figure out what you want to do.”

“Thanks Nate,” you reply and he hums in response. Abruptly you sit up, sliding a little from the slick trampoline surface. “Your A/C offer still standing too?”

He grins this time and you’re damn near blinded. “For you? Always.”

Sidney—Sid waves at you both from his kitchen when you pull up to Nate’s but that’s as far as it goes. Nate makes a joke about banana bread that you don’t quite get, mood souring considerably when you wonder aloud if he thinks Sidney will bring some over.

It’s all forgotten when the cold air hits you as you enter the lake house.

The summer passes by quickly without too much incident—just the nagging of your mother about your future and your own tiptoeing around the feelings you have for your friend.

On one of your and Nate’s last nights before leaving for Denver, your niece pulls him aside and sternly instructs him to bring home the Cup for her.

He laughs, but there’s something in his eye that says he means it when he says he will. That intensity doesn’t waiver, even as his gaze slides toward you. It has you thinking about a future by his side, celebrating those moments with him in a way so much greater than you do now.

The thought doesn’t leave you as you kiss your family goodbye, trying desperately to not let any tears shed at the thought of no longer being a small distance away. Nate’s constant near proximity and the promise of more of it takes away the sting a little, but you fall into your sister’s embrace that little bit more all the same.

Even as you do a final check of your things—two large suitcases, a carry-on and a backpack to house everything you’ll need for the next year—you think about it, of what it would be like to do this every year. What it would be like to pack with the intention of unpacking your things beside Nate’s in his closet. It’s silly, but sometimes you still feel like you’re fifteen years old, realizing you’re in love with your best friend as he goes away to the same hockey school as his idol.

Two flights full of self doubt and Nate sleeping on your shoulder later you’re convinced spending your impromptu gap year at his place is a bad idea. But then he’s smiling and ‘welcome home’-ing you and you step through the door.

Unemployment and a mid-twenties life crisis isn’t so bad from the guest bedroom of a lavish semi-detached in the suburbs of Denver. The bed’s softer than the one in your childhood bedroom. Bigger too. And the closet leading into the attached en-suite has no business being the size it is.

There are downsides of course. You are still unemployed and in the middle of a life crisis. Nathan is woefully unaware of your feelings and likely to never reciprocate. His teammates look at you like they know, though. And there’s the whole banning of any food that brings any modicum of enjoyment that you’re not entirely sure is serious or not.

The teammates that come around are kind to you when you’re around them enough to let them be. A small part of it is the intimidation of them being professional hockey players but they’re good guys and you’ve met many of them before. Really, it’s something more akin to the inherent uncomfortability of your predicament. It’s Nate’s house and you’re free-loading.

Of course he would argue differently if you voiced your thoughts and hang ups but that’s precisely why you don’t.

Nate may have never caught onto your feelings for him, but he’s not an oblivious person. That’s probably how you end up in the family box, being personally invited to brunch with the Better Halves by the best-half-in-charge herself, Mel Landeskog.

You find yourself nodding despite the anxiety of the possibility of making new friends, certain it’s less of an invitation and more of a demand.

She tells you as much, pressing a mimosa into your hand when you arrive at a cute restaurant and a table full of beautiful, predominantly blonde women. If Nate’s teammates were intimidating on a personal level, their wives and girlfriends are a whole other level. Never in your life have you been so surrounded by a group of women so put together—every outfit perfectly on point, every head of hair treated to an expensive blowout, every foundation shade perfectly matched or worse, no makeup needed.

It has you self-conscious, despite having spent ages picking out something to wear and trying to tame your hair into something presentable. The mimosa helps, and so do the compliments from Ashley Kadri. Little by little you open up, and by the end of brunch you have a killer buzz and a dozen new instagram followers and numbers in your phone.

When Nate picks you up, the bubbles have gone to your head. You spend the entire ride back to his place with the back of your head pressed to the passenger side window so that you can grin stupidly at his side profile.

“The girls are great,” you tell him with a silly giggle. His returning smile reeks of satisfaction of a job well done, but you don’t focus on it. “We’re gonna get dinner this week too!”

Although Mel takes you under her wing, it’s Heidy, Cale’s girlfriend who you instantly click with.

She’s every bit as beautiful and kind as the rest of them, but you connect with her on a different level. It’s almost like you’ve known her as long as you’ve known Nate. She shares your love of Taylor Swift and gets your jokes and is more than happy to let you bounce future career plans off her.

You can tell the girls have questions about your relationship with Nate, and truthfully they can get in line behind you. Sometimes, when you’re not careful, it almost feels like you’re not alone in how you feel. Sometimes it feels like you’re high school sweethearts, playing house on the precipice of a greater future.

Nate doesn’t help it himself though. It’s you he calls on long road trips, you he pulls into a giant hug outside the locker room before driving you both home after a game. You who is invited to WAG functions as a connection to him—both informally in a social context and more formally and broadly. Things like charity toy drives and the family box at games. A part of you fears the possibility of playoffs—especially with odds so clearly in the Avs favor—and what it would mean to be so publicly claimed as Nate’s while privately remaining the way you always have been.

It’s Heidy who you confide in. She’s always there to offer her ear, her shoulder, her opinion. And, although she encourages you to share your feelings, she also knows when to back off and let you do it when and if you’re ready.

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready.

With Christmas comes the Better Halves Christmas Tree Auction. It’s Mel’s favorite charity event of the season, she tells you gleefully.

“Every event is her favorite,” Suzanna says behind her back later.

Designated Favorite Human of the Avalanche Children is usually your favorite title, but it means you have one kid hanging off of you when the girls drop the bomb on you.

“So what are you thinking for your WAG tree?”

It’s an innocent enough question, especially when you think it’s aimed at one of the aforementioned WAGs in the family box. Only when there is no response do you look up and realize it’s meant for you instead.

“Sorry, what?”

“Your…Tree,” someone says slowly and you shake your head.

Your tone and words are almost as flustered as you are. “No I heard you. I’m just—What do you—Why are you asking me?”

“Well, Nate said…”

It all comes clear. Yet again, you’re expected to play the part. At great personal cost, mind you. It’s a mindfuck and a half, having to do all the things that you do for a man you love when it doesn’t mean anything.

Your thoughts are invaded with a tempestuous mixture of Nate and your relationship or lack thereof and yet another public acknowledgement.

Truly, you wonder if the others in the box pity you or laugh behind your back.

“C’mon,” Heidy says later, when the final buzzer sounds, cementing another win. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Nate’s,” you correct weakly.

She nods and repeats his name, grabbing your arm and leading you away.

You’re stewing in silence when Nate comes home.

“You okay?” he questions upon finding you in the living room, lit up only by the light filtering in through the large bay window.

The twitch of your eye is the only indication you’ve heard and recognized his words for a long moment. You can practically hear the gears whirring in his head, can feel the moment he’s about to speak again.

Not wanting to give him the opportunity, you ask, “Why?” His brows furrow and his head tits and so you continue. “Why did you say I would do your Better Half tree?”

“It’s for charity…You love charity work.” Nate visibly relaxes and you understand why. He’s not wrong, engaging in charity work has been a big part of why you’re not wallowing in self pity, but this isn’t just simple ‘charity work’ and you tell him as much.

“I love toy drives and helping at the soup kitchen and adoption events at the ASPCA. This is different, this is your WAG tree. It means something. It’s in your name, like I’m—I’m—“ you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“Everything you mentioned you do in my name.” He doesn’t seem to get it, frustrating you further.

“It’s not the same, Nate! All those other things I do as part of the larger group. It’s all facilitated by your team and your teammates ‘Better Halves.’ Their wives and girlfriends. They’ve all made me feel welcome, but I'm not one of them. This implies that I am one of them, but I’m not your girlfriend and certainly not your wife.”

“You basically are.” The phrase has your heart jumping into your throat. Of every daydream or fantasy you’ve ever allowed yourself to slip into, you never dreamed this would be how it all went down—“Without actually being my wife or girlfriend.”

“Right.” Your voice is short and clipped, masking the hurt quickly overtaking you. You won’t cry—you’re stronger than that. So strong in fact, that you lay down a firm boundary. “I won’t do it. Get Sidney to do it or something.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, pausing and then asking, “We’re good, right?”

“Yep.” You feign nonchalance and then wish him a good night.

The pillow holds all your tears and secrets.

The incident sticks with you, despite your many attempts to shake it off. Even Heidy can’t help. She tries anyway.

You’re not his.

But you are. You’re his and you have been for years now. Since he was leaving for school. Maybe even many years before that. Regardless of the true beginning, it doesn’t quite matter. What really matters is this: you’re not sure it will ever have an ending, but you’re almost certain if it does, it won’t be the one you want.

You’re his but he’s not yours.

Part of him is, sure, but you share that part with the other residents of Cole Harbour. The other part with the team and his teammates and their families, with the fans and the haters alike. The part you so desperately want to be yours has belonged to many a woman, but never to you.

It was a lot easier to live in the space between his childhood best friend and everything more when you were separated the majority of the year. A summer chock full of other things to do and focus your attention on to keep the longing at bay and enough distance for the rest of the year to forget how it feels to have him near without really having him.

One of Heidy’s distraction schemes involves hitting up downtown Denver a few nights later.

“But it’s Thursday,” you say when she shows up at Nate’s dressed up like she’s ready to hit the bar.

“I have tomorrow off and you don’t have a job, so,” she replies.

You frown, “Ouch.” She throws a look your way as if to not take it so personally and continues perusing your closet. “I’m not really feeling up to going out tonight.”

“Too damn bad,” she replies. “You can’t just sit here and wallow for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me,” you retort but start to get up anyway.

She smirks and tosses some clothes at you. “Get dressed and do something with your hair. I’ll do your makeup.”

“Where are you guys going all dressed up?” Nate questions when he spots the two of you in the foyer.

“Out.” Heidy is curt, a consequence of her not only being a good friend to you, but also her own awareness of his behavior.

His brows knit together but he soldiers on, “Do you want company?”

“Nope!” She’s much more cheerful now that she’s handed you your coat and bundled herself up. “Don’t wait up!”

Heidy drags you out to Cale’s car, where the man himself sits waiting. You instantly feel bad—between your protesting and actual time spent getting ready, he’d been sitting a while.

“Have you been here the whole time?” you ask as you get in the backseat. He shrugs with a rosy smile as Heidy pushes you in further and takes a seat beside you. After pressing a quick kiss to her boyfriend’s cheek over the center console, of course.

Cale doesn’t stick around after dropping you both off—a wave, a ‘be safe’, and ‘call me when you’re ready to go home’ and he’s gone.

You’re terrible company admittedly, mouth set in a deep frown that doesn’t crack even as you sip your drink. Heidy does most of the talking at first, blabbing away about everything and nothing. Until she sighs, slaps her hand down on the bar top and says, “You need to deal with this. Either you need to resolve things with Nate or you need to get over it, distract yourself with something or someone else.”

You nearly choke on the last of your drink. “Gee, Heidy, could you be any more subtle?”

“I’m worried about you.” She’s so earnest it tugs at your heart.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try. Really.”

She smiles, relaxing into the seat at the bar top.

Just then, the bartender sets another drink in front of you.

“I didn’t order another,” you state politely, attempting to hand back the drink.

The bartender shakes his head, motioning to the table in the corner as he speaks. “From someone at that table.”

It’s a group of athletic men, but only one is looking your way. He’s all intense eyes framed by intense eyebrows, but the look on his face doesn’t match the intensity. It’s…intriguing to say the least. Soft but confident, and definitely interested.

It’s not until one of the other men at the table elbows him that you realize they’re the team playing the Avs tomorrow night.

Quickly you spin back around and whisper to your friend, “Someone from the Tampa Bay Lightning just bought me a drink.”

Her eyes widen and she herself turns around quickly to get a glimpse of your admirer across the bar. You grab at her arm and bring her back to face the bar top.

“Heidy!” you hiss.

“Sorry!” she replies, “What are you going to do?”

You think about it for a second before throwing caution to the wind. Putting on your flirtiest smile, you turn around a lot more gracefully this time. Raising the gifted drink, you tilt it in a ‘Cheers’ motion before wrapping your lips around the straw for a sip. He responds with an identical gesture, although with an amber colored beer bottle instead.

Satisfied, you resume your earlier position while Heidy speaks.

“When I said you needed a distraction that is not what I meant!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s a drink, not a marriage proposal. Relax.”

She does, until you pull her out to the dance floor with eyes only for the man across the bar. Lucky for you—and less lucky for Heidy’s resting heart rate and blood pressure—he’s got eyes for you, too.

It only takes half a song for him to approach and introduce himself. “I’m Brayden.”

You smile and reciprocate, waiting a beat for Heidy to speak too, but she just tilts her nose up. An elbow to her side doesn’t get her speaking and so you introduce her, too.

One of Brayden’s eyebrows raise and you find yourself momentarily mesmerized by the action before quickly explaining, “Big Avalanche fans.”

He nods slowly once, then shrugs. “Maybe I can change that.”

“Doubtful,” she says under her breath, but if you heard it, you imagine Brayden did too.

She doesn’t thaw any, even as the song changes. Nor does she get the hint to take herself elsewhere and so you rather pointedly ask if she can go get you both another round.

Heidy isn’t even able to get out whatever she was ready to grumble before Brayden is offering, pausing to ask what Heidy is drinking. She begrudgingly tells him and he disappears.

“Seriously? You could have any guy here and that’s who you go for?” she asks.

You shrug, “He’s the one I want.”

She softens at your earnest tone. “Okay.”

“Call Cale,” you tell her. “Go curl up on the couch and watch TV together or whatever you would have done if you weren’t worrying about me.”

“I don’t know…”

“Go. I’ll be fine. And I’ll text you if I need you,” you confirm.

She sighs. “I’m waiting for my drink first.”

You laugh and pull her into a side hug. “Love you.”

True to her word, she finishes the drink Brayden brings her—even managing a ‘thank you!’—before slipping off into the crowd and, you imagine, into her boyfriend’s car.

Brayden looks a little concerned at her rapid exit. “Did I do something to make her leave?”

“Besides playing for the wrong team? Nah.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but the concern fades when you wrap your arms around his neck.

It’s all but gone when you press your lips to his.

You dance for another few songs and another drink before your inhibitions are just low enough to drag him in the direction of the bathrooms.

The men’s is empty when you enter, and so you flip the lock on the door and press yourself against him.

He reciprocates, crowding you against the door with his mouth hot on yours.

Your whole body lights up at his touch, coming alive beneath his fingertips. There are no thoughts of Nate or the predicament you’ve found yourself in, just Brayden.

His hands are curved around your jaw, and your leg is wrapped around his waist when he pulls away. “Wait...wait.”

“You don’t want…?” You’re not drunk, just a little bit more sensitive to rejection than you usually would be.

“No that’s—That’s not it at all. I want you, like, really want you.” He kisses you, and as good as his touch feels, being wanted feels that extra bit more. “Not like this. Not here.”

Truthfully, you’ve never been the kind of girl who lets someone hit and quit in a bar bathroom before. Or anywhere really. A part of you that you thought was long buried stirs inside of you and you realize for the first time in a long time you’re feeling something for a man who isn’t your best friend.

Your best friend. Shit. “I have a kind of odd living situation right now, my place isn’t an option.”

“Your parents?”

You bark out a laugh that he immediately covers with his mouth. “No, they’re back in Canada.”

“Your husband? Your boyfriend?” He’s joking, but you can’t help but get the sense there’s an ounce of worry that he’s right. It’s such an inconceivable notion that Nate could ever be either to you that you laugh again.

“No, I just live with a friend who probably won’t be understanding about a strange man in their house.”

Brayden visibly relaxes, pauses, and then says, “I have a hotel room…you’ll have to be quiet though.”

“I can be quiet,” you reply, barely hiding your smirk.

You try your best, really give it your best effort, but no one has ever touched you like he does.

Nate doesn’t cross your mind once.

You sneak out early in the morning, determined to not have a semi-public walk of shame in front of an entire hockey team. It’s almost a success until you run into his captain in the lobby. Feeling your face grow hot, you give him a little nod and escape to the waiting Uber. You can only hope he doesn’t get too much shit, telling him as much using the newest number in your phone.

You’re not nearly as lucky, facing the firing squad that is Nate as you slip into the entryway. It shouldn’t be a surprise to see your best friend awaiting your arrival, if the several messages that popped up when you’d finally opened your phone to send the aforementioned text to Brayden were any indication.

“Where have you been?” he asks and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“Out,” you say, calling back to Heidy’s response last night but he doesn’t accept it as easily coming from you.

“All night?” he continues the interrogation.

“I crashed at Heidy’s last night, what’s with the fifth degree, Dad?”

He looks like he was waiting for this moment as he replies, “No you didn’t, I talked to Cale.”

This time you do roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business, Nate.”

“It is my business if you’re under my roof,” he says, doing his best impression of your father for real this time.

You know it’s not his intention, but your stomach drops all the same. The old feeling of guilt and shame and failure floods your veins, and you can tell he notices.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, “I didn’t mean it like that. I was just worried and you didn’t answer my messages.”

“I know,” you say but the words taste bitter in your mouth. “I’m going to go get some more sleep. See you later.”

He repeats the words back at you, but you’re more focused on the buzzing phone in your pocket.

Safe in Nate’s guest bedroom, you slip into something more comfortable, get beneath the covers and open your messages.

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Got fined

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Probably going to get chirped for a month

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Worth it though

You: I would tell you I’m sorry but I’m not

Bar Guy 💙🤍: Me either

If you thought that was the beginning and the end of Brayden you would be sorely mistaken.

Long distance flirting becomes a long distance hook up becomes him flying you out to see him. Any time you protested the latter, you’d find a non-refundable ticket in your email and a ‘please’ in your text messages.

Fall fades into Winter and Bar Guy 💙🤍 turns to Brayden turns to B 💙. As your feelings for him grow, you find thoughts of Nate as anything other than someone-you-grew-up-with fade.

You come clean about the ‘friend you live with’ being Nathan MacKinnon before the first time you fly down to see him, worried that your lie by omission might be a dealbreaker. Brayden only laughs, he figured Heidy’s hostility was more than just motivated by more than sports team loyalty.

The thing about Brayden is he never makes you feel bad about Nate. He is understanding and gracious, never demanding, never unreasonable. A small part of you sometimes thinks about how if the roles were reversed, you don’t think Nate would be quite the same.

Initially unsupportive and apprehensive, Heidy comes around, although her persistence turns from telling Nate how you feel to telling Nate about Brayden. You don’t do either, and she keeps your secrets.

Nate being selected for the All Star Game in Vegas while Brayden isn’t brings a unique opportunity for a week straight in hot, sunny Florida. The chill of Denver isn’t quite as biting as back home, but you’re excited to escape it all the same.

He doesn’t ask you to join him in Vegas, but you do wonder if he thought he didn’t need to.

It doesn’t matter either way, when an errant high stick in overtime breaks his nose and dashes his All Star dreams.

Your first thought upon seeing him bloody and disoriented on the ice is that there is no way you can go to Florida.

It probably looks much worse than it is, the girls try to reassure you in the box, but you’re not convinced.

Nate’s reassurances later don’t do much either. Not with his face puffy and bruised and some dried blood on his chin.

It’s not until he assures you that his mom and sister will be coming down to Denver since they had the time off anyway that you decide for sure you will go.

The day you leave for the airport, his pathetic form on the couch is almost enough to have you last minute cancelling on Brayden.

Nate all but demands you don’t miss out on his account, asking that you ‘be safe’ and ‘have fun’.

In return you hit him with a ‘thanks Dad’ and ‘take it easy’ despite knowing just by virtue of who he is as a person he will be doing the exact opposite.

Thoughts of Nate, broken and bruised, haunt you the entire journey. They don’t fade until you’re in Brayden’s arms. Even then, it’s a dull ache that you do your best to ignore.

Evidently you don’t do a very good job of hiding it, or maybe Brayden just knows you better than you think, because he catches on before you’ve even reached his place.

“You okay?” he asks, gently squeezing your knee where his hand rests.

Turning to look at his side profile, so earnest and sweet, you don’t even think of lying.

“I’m worried about Nate.”

“I get that,” he says and you wonder if he truly does. “I’m glad you’re here with me though.”

Smiling at him, you are too, and so you try to push down the guilt and focus your attention on the man you’re with.

You check on Nate periodically throughout the week, never getting much more than a thumbs up emoji, but at least you know he’s alive.

Brayden wines and dines and, well, you know the rest of the rhyme.

By the time the week is up, you don’t want to leave. It’s strange how meeting one person can change things so drastically. Before Brayden, you would never have dreamed of spending a week with another man when Nate was injured and possibly may have needed you.

It also puts things into perspective for you.

Really emphasizes how much additional emotional labor you put in—and were expected to—in your relationship with Nate. The lines and boundaries had long since blurred, and it took dedicating your time and energy to another man to see it.

If Nate notices the way you pull back even further when you return, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Falling for Brayden is easy. It’s a gentle float down to the ground, landing among a field of flowers to catch your fall. A stark contrast to the free fall of being pushed from an airplane at 10,000 feet by Nate.

Where Nate’s sharp edges have cut you time and time and time again, Brayden’s curves wrap around you and hold you tight.

When you’re not physically with him, you’re texting and calling, and when you’re not doing that you’re thinking about him.

Neither of you make any move to define the relationship further, but it doesn’t sting like the years of being strung along by Nate did. It’s probably because while no words have been exchanged to that effect, Brayden lets you feel how much he cares for you.

You’re nearly found out late in the regular season.

Something about Tampa has started to feel familiar and safe—you try not to think about exactly why that is—and so, despite the knowledge that the boys are in town, too, you’re not as careful as you should be.

There’s an ice cream spot near Brayden’s that you’ve taken to frequenting. As a consequence, it’s also near the arena.

Because it’s so close, you decide to walk there, teasing him the whole way about how one ice cream cone won’t derail his nutrition plan. He’s arguing back, but you know it’s in vain because his sweet tooth and the lilt of your voice will win in the end.

Your hands naturally brush as a result of your close proximity and you take the opportunity to link your pinkies. He smiles softly and you walk in silence for a minute until he breaks it.

“You really won’t let me give you my jersey?” It’s a question that has come up before, but every time it does you wonder if it’s a little bit more serious of an ask than the last.

“I’d rather die. Maybe if you were a better hockey player,” you tease, jumping back to avoid his grasp.

He gasps playfully, thick eyebrows raising with his wide eyes. “Take that back right now.” He takes a step closer to you but you dodge his advances, sliding to the other side of the bench.

“Sorry baby, you know I bleed blue and maroon. Wouldn’t be caught dead in traitor blue.” Not to mention you’d never ever hear the end of it from the boys if someone saw you in it.

He fakes left and you fall for it, giggling madly as he wraps you up in his arms and scrapes his beard against your cheek. “What about just for me?” he asks, kissing your neck once and then nipping at it with his teeth before pulling back to look into your eyes. “In my bed with nothing else on?”

It’s like the already beautiful temperature rises even higher when he presses his mouth to yours. You give in quickly, pressing onto the tips of your toes to get even closer. It turns dirty quickly, his tongue in your mouth and his fingers buried deep in your hair.

And then a familiar voice calls your name.

You pull from Brayden like you’ve been burnt, a look of pure panic crossing your face as you realize you know the body attached to the voice.

It’s JT and he looks like been standing there long enough to figure out what’s going on.

“JT—“ you start to explain, but pause. There is no easy, simple explanation. There are months and months, hell years and years, of backstory and layers to even get to this point.

“I thought—“ He appears to change his mind, stopping his thought mid sentence and switching to a question. “What’s going on here?”

“Brayden and I are, well, we’re.” It’s a struggle to explain what you are to one of Nate’s teammates when you haven’t had this conversation in full with the man beside you. Finally, you land on “We’re together.”

You don’t look over at Brayden to see his reaction.

“How long?” is the natural follow up.

It’s another tough question, but you decide to go with the first time you met and slept together. “Before Christmas.”

“Does Nate know?” he asks. The wild look in your eyes must give you away because he signs and says your name. “You have to tell him.”

You get that, really you do. But at the same time it’s your business what you do and who you do it with, not Nate’s. At the same time, you know it would be a really shit thing for him to find out through someone who isn’t you.

Beyond that, you’re pretty sure right before playoffs isn’t the right time to have that conversation and you tell JT as much. “I know, I will. After the season I’ll tell everyone.”

JT looks less than convinced.

“You know Nate, it wouldn’t do anyone any good while the season is still going on. Please, you can’t tell him.”

JT might be as aware as you are of who Nate is as a person, and he’s certainly more aware of who Nate is as a hockey player and so he agrees despite his clear hesitance. “Promise me, after the season.”

“I promise.”

When he’s gone, Brayden finally speaks up. “You want to go public with us?”

You worry you’ve said the wrong thing, starting to babble about how you’re sorry the conversation didn’t occur privately first, and how you don’t need to go public if it’s not something he wants to do when he silences you with a kiss.

“I want to tell everyone,” he says earnestly and you kiss him again.

JT thankfully keeps his word.

Nate doesn’t watch any other team in the playoffs.

It makes trying to catch Brayden’s games tough, sneaking out to sports bars, watching games on your phone in Nate’s guest room, even flying out to watch a couple home games during the run.

The only supportive merch you sport is a necklace with his number, and on occasion a little blue and white lacy number under your clothes. You’re not offered a WAG jacket—whether that’s due to Brayden knowing well enough you don’t want to be that public or because your reaction to the style of jacket itself was less than positive.

In the back of your mind you recognize there’s a chance it could come down to the teams of the boys you care for most; one Eastern Conference, one Western Conference.

Selfishly, when the first round between the Bolts and the Leafs goes to seven, part of you hopes for it to end right there. Most of you is glad they push through.

On Colorado’s side of the playoff bracket, they absolutely rip through everyone who stands in their way.

You are offered a jacket with Nate’s name and number in glitter, but you turn it down in favor of a lucky baseball cap, though you do accept an unpersonalized crop from Madison.

Some of the girls decide to travel for the away games. You have to turn them down because there are already tickets with your name on them to see Brayden. There’s no way you can—or would—miss any Avs home games, and so instead you end up being one of a handful of supporters in the likes of Toronto, Miami and New York.

It’s a difficult balancing act as the playoffs progress in both teams’ favor.

And then your worst nightmare comes true. The quest for the Cup comes down to your… whatever Brayden is to you and to Nate and the team you’ve supported since he was drafted and all the other people who have come to feel like family.

Whispering to Brayden in the dark of night before the Finals begin, you tell him, “You know I support you, but…”

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, even though he has no reason to match your tone all alone in his home in Tampa. “I get it. As long as you still like me, you can like them a little bit more.”

You giggle, “It’s got nothing to do with liking you, you dolt.”

“Bolt,” he corrects, and even though you can’t see him you know he’s smiling.

“Oh my God, shut up.” You don’t mean it literally but he’s quiet for a second too long. “No matter what happens I’m proud of you.”

For two people who have never properly defined nor publicized their relationship, it might be too heavy of a moment, but his quiet thank you is laced with emotion.

“Go to bed,” you say after another few beats of silence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The first two games are in Colorado, and the boys take both at home.

“Ain’t over til it’s over,” is both of your boys’ philosophy after the first two.

Nate is positively buzzing, especially after so decisively winning the second, but still cautious—very aware of how quickly a 2-0 lead can turn into the end of the line and empty hands.

Brayden is also cautious, and this isn’t his first or even second rodeo at the Cup final in as many years. You try to kiss it better in a random hallway in the bowels of Ball Arena.

Finally accepting the Better Halves’ invitation to travel to road games, you have a good seat to Tampa taking back some momentum in game three before promptly handing it back to Colorado.

You die and come back to life a dozen times in game four as Brayden and his team hold on.

Game five is to be played back in Tampa, and you spend the night before the game in Brayden’s bed instead of the hotel Nate has paid for. “Good luck,” you whisper against his lips early in the morning before you leave to meet the girls for breakfast.

“You don’t mean that,” he teases, stretching out in such a way that has you considering skipping breakfast—certain teasing and interrogation be damned.

“Good luck to you,” you amend, kissing him once more. “Your team can rot.”

His laughter rings in your ears as you leave.

Mel corners you after breakfast, a familiar offending piece of clothing in her hands. “This could be it,” she explains, offering you the jean jacket.

If it were any year previous, you might have worn it. If you didn’t have Brayden, you might have worn it. If Nate had offered it to you himself alongside a confession, you might have worn it.

None of these things are true, and so you decline. “I don’t like the way it makes me feel.”

Her smile has a twinge of sadness and understanding as she replies, “Okay.”

Sitting alongside the girls in the box with your cropped sweater hiding the 21 necklace around your neck, you’ve never felt more torn.

Brayden’s captain nets one early in the first, and you’re not sure you breathe again until Nate’s powerplay evens the score early in the second. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the box alongside the nervous energy. Midway through the second, Arturri tips it in and Amalie Arena is silent.

It stays like that for the rest of the period until you excuse yourself to grab a drink at intermission. Standing in the long drink line, you spot a little girl in a Point jersey and your stomach twists as you think about how no matter which way this ends, someone you care for will be hurt.

That feeling doesn’t leave as you sit through a scoreless third period. The arena gets loud with Bolts fans throughout, celebrating every blocked shot and turnover. That intensity picks up in the dying seconds of the game as Brayden picks off the puck in the defensive zone.

He rushes up the ice flanked by his linemates, but is momentarily stopped by Cale.

He gets his stick back on the puck and your nails dig into the leather arm of the box seat. Suzanna grabs your hand, assuming it’s worry for her boyfriend and his teammates and you let her think that and hold your hand.

Three seconds.

Two seconds.

He shoots right as the buzzer sounds and Darcy gloves it down like there was never a question of him stopping it.

The entire box explodes in a chorus of cheers—there’s shouting, swearing, crying, laughter and you’re right in the middle of them all. Your boys are Stanley Cup Champions.

Someone grabs you, and then someone else joins in and suddenly you’re in the middle of a dog pile. “They fucking did it!”

You’re so fucking excited, incredibly proud and honestly a little weepy about your favorite people finally getting their hands on their childhood dream. But, a bigger part of the organ in your chest than you want to admit aches for the downturn of Brayden’s head as he skates back to the bench.

An attendant appears and wrangles the rowdy bunch down to the ice. You’ve got Linnea Landeskog in your arms and a giant grin on your face as your feet touch the ice.

“Down please,” she politely states while trying to wriggle out of your grasp. The second she’s down she’s running at her daddy who sweeps her up in his arms.

And then Nate’s on you in a way that you used to long for when you were younger. He’s red and sweaty and out of breath but none of these things stop him from hauling you up into his arms and spinning you until you smack at his chest, demanding to be let down much like Linnea only minutes ago.

He stops spinning but he doesn’t let go, staring up at you with a look he’s never given you before. You’re so caught up in the excitement of it all you barely notice, grabbing his cheeks and shouting in his face, “You fucking did it!”

“We fucking did,” he says like he can’t believe this moment is happening—whether that’s due to you in his arms or the Cup that will now bear his name no one can really say. He kind of looks like he’s about to do something stupid, leaning in ever so slightly, and so you finally succeed at leaving his arms, slipping slightly as you reach the ice once again. Brayden is watching from across the ice, a sad look on his face that you just want to kiss off. You don’t though, just pat Nate on the back once and continue moving, throwing yourself at Cale, then Burky, then Mikko.

It’s a blur of celebrations and photos with the Cup—you even let Linnea convince you to take a photo with her and the Cup, her mom remarking that it looks good on you. When you pull from your photo pose, you give her a questioning look. “A baby and a cup,” she smirks, blatantly looking over at Nate who seems to agree.

You laugh nervously—last year that was all you wanted, the boys to win and Nate to want you in that way. Now? Now you can picture it still, you just picture it with someone else.

Finally, you’re able to sneak away and Brayden has the same idea, telling you to meet him in a closet by the locker room. No words are exchanged as he pulls you in by your hips and kisses you like he needs it to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him and you mean it.

A crinkle forms between his eyes. “No you’re not.”

You kiss him again once, “I’m not sorry the boys won tonight, but I am sorry it was against you.”

“There’s always next year.” It’s far more flippant than you had anticipated, really you thought you’d be dealing with an upset Brayden and that might have broken your heart.

“I thought you’d be more upset.”

“Can’t win ‘em all,” he says and you give him a look to be serious. “So what, we didn’t win the Cup this season. I got you, didn’t I?”

“Fuck off, dont be stupid.” Your cheeks are hot and your eyes are wild.

“I mean it. I’d take you over the Cup nine times out of ten.”

“What about the other one?”

“Need to win another one for us to put our future babies in.”

“Awfully presumptuous for a hook up.”

“This is so much more than a hook up.”

“Yeah,” you admit, sinking deeply into another kiss.

“Besides,” he pauses, “Already got two rings.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Okay I gotta go. Will you come get me later?”

He looks at you like you’re stupid to ask, like he’d go into the pits of hell itself for you without hesitation. “Of course. Now go. Celebrate. I’ll see you later.”

You slip out first, making sure the coast is clear and go find the others. A Stanley Cup Champion hat is placed upon your head and a bottle of champagne in your hand. There’s a celebration in the visitor locker room and then the party moves to a local bar.

Someone shells out the money for a few bottles of vintage Dom Perignon that you indulge in, but mostly you just relish in the happiness of everyone around you. If you’re honest, you spend a fair amount of time avoiding Nate who has a serious look every time you catch him staring.

Shortly before midnight, you slip out of the bar and into Brayden’s waiting car. The bubbly must have gone to your head, because you forgo any verbal greeting in favor of launching yourself over the center console to press your lips to his.

He pulls away and very somberly states, “I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”

Looking down, you spot the Avalanche crop and laugh as you pull it off and toss it in the back. “Better?”

He hums, fingertip tracing the chain around your neck from your clavicle down between your breasts to reveal his number on the pendant. “Much.”

You sink back into another kiss before remembering where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing meanwhile the bar you just left is crawling with people you’re not quite ready to come clean to just yet.

“Take me home, Bray,” you say as you relax back into the passenger seat.

You don’t have the power to bring your lover the Stanley Cup your friends were just drinking out of. All you have to offer is yourself, but he accepts it with as much gratitude as your best friend accepted the Cup earlier.

Later, he looks like he wants to ask you to stay, and you think you look like you want him to.

In the end, it doesn’t matter as you fall asleep next to him and somehow make it back to your hotel room in the morning with no one the wiser.

Nate spends a few more weeks in Denver after the win, celebrating with the guys and riding the high of winning it all. You only spend a couple days and then move out of his house and back into your parents.

You don’t tell him about Brayden, content to let Nate enjoy his successes.

As a consequence, you don’t see much of him in July or August. Even when you’re both home, he’s busy with all his other friends and his family, and you’re busy with your niece and deciding on what to do in the fall. You’ve determined the best course of action is to finish your degree and then apply to a masters program in order to change your career path.

The choice, then, is where to do so. You can stay at home, commute an hour each way into the city—supported by your hometown friends and your family. Or you can make the shift to Denver for real, with your found family and with Nate. Or…

The University of Tampa Bay has an excellent program. You know from your time visiting Brayden through the season that the university is right around the corner from Amalie Arena and Brayden’s. It’s awfully presumptuous, but you find yourself daydreaming about the possibility much like you used to daydream about a future in Denver.

Of course, there’s an entire continent of possibilities, hell an entire world of possibilities, but these are the three most attractive options.

There are many discussions to be had, and choices to be made. You don’t want to do either until you’ve had a chance to speak to Brayden in person, but just as Nate’s had a busy summer, so too has he.

He messages you every morning before and after working out while you’re still asleep. Every conversation eventually devolves into some combination of ‘I miss you’ and ‘when can I see you?’

You do manage to spend a few days with him in the Rockies mid-July that fly by far too quickly. Every time you leave Brayden it gets harder and the implications of it all have your stomach in knots when the thought crosses your mind.

It all comes to a head spectacularly the day before Nate’s day with the Cup. You’re at Nate’s, helping to prepare for the post-parade celebration when you’re called away by his sister. She wants your help deciding on which photos to display—it’s a mixture of past and present alongside an elementary school assignment two decades old wherein Nate declared his future profession would be ‘Stanley Cup Champion.’

You’re smiling, lost in the memories when Nate comes crashing into the room you’re in. There’s an indiscernible look on his face, but it reads somewhere between anger, frustration and hurt. The look on your face betrays your confusion, and it only deepens when you see your phone in his hands.

“What are you doing with my phone?” you ask.

His jaw ticks. “Thought it was mine.”

It doesn’t really do anything for your confusion. If anything, it deepens it. “What’s your problem Nate?”

“This! This is my problem.” He finally cracks, shoving your phone in your face to reveal messages from Brayden—under the contact name of the letter B and a heart—wondering when you plan on making the trip to Calgary to see him. Your stomach drops and your heart feels like it’s at risk of falling right out your chest. It was always going to come out, but especially as you crossed the line between sharing body heat with Brayden and sharing your secrets, hopes and dreams.

That being said, it is a shit way for your relationship to come to light for sure, but you can’t help but feel your friend is overreacting. Sarah is looking between the two of you, panicked and frozen like she doesn’t know what to do.

“I think your mom could use some help in the backyard, Sar,” you say gently, and she gladly takes the opportunity to flee. Once she’s gone, you turn on Nate. “I’m sorry that you found out this way, but you had no right to come in here like that. Poor Sarah looked terrified!”

He looks at you incredulously. Now that his sister is out of ear shot, he appears to have allowed himself to lean into his emotions a little more. “I have no right? What about you? Hooking up with some random guy in Calgary? Is that where you’ve been running off to these past few months?”

You know that this is probably the least important part of his rant, but you feel the need to clarify. “He’s not just some guy, Nate. His name is Brayden. And for the record, no. I wasn’t in Calgary, I was in Tampa.

He looks confused in addition to enraged, and so you put the pieces together for him. “I’ve been seeing Brayden Point.”

“You’ve been sleeping with the enemy?”

“Are you joking?”

This is not your friend Nate. This is some angry being inhabiting the body of your friend Nate.

He doesn’t back down. “It was between us and them in the final, pretty sure that qualifies as the enemy!” He pauses for a second and then continues, “How long have you been sleeping with him? During the final? Were you rooting for him instead?”

“Nate—“

“No, don’t Nate me. I bet you were, I bet you wanted them to win, him to win. I bet you were sitting there in the family box, using tickets I paid for, against me the whole time.”

“That’s not fair!” you try to interject, despite the tiny grain of truth to his words. It would be untrue to say some small part of you wanted Brayden to succeed, but your loyalties have always been with Nate and his team.

“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t trust a thing you said right now. Not after this. Not when you know.”

“Know what?” you question.

“How I feel! About you. And me.” The blurred edges start to come into focus. He’s been acting like a man scorned, because in his eyes he is one.

Unable to form any coherent thought, you repeat yourself from earlier. “Are you joking?”

He’s less angry now, slipping further into the hurt brewing under the surface. “It’s always been us. Since we were kids. And now you’re messing around with some guy on another team. I can't believe you!”

The tears start to pool at your waterline, but you’re too stubborn to let them fall. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You string me along for years and years and years, expecting me to play the part of your girlfriend without being your girlfriend and to wait around for you to figure it out. I am sorry you found out like this, but I’m not sorry about him. I’m not sorry about Brayden.”

He flinches at the sound of Brayden’s name, the anger clouding his eyes even further. “You want him so bad, why don’t you go to him right now?”

“Nate—“ You’re not sure he knows what he’s saying, what the implications of all he’s said really are. What it would mean if you left for Calgary this afternoon. What it would be like if you weren’t there tomorrow to join in his celebrations.

“Go.” When you don’t move he speaks again. “Get out of here.”

He hasn’t raised his fists or even his voice, but you do as he suggests. Calmly, begging the tears not to fall, you walk right out of his house and get in your car and you drive.

Brayden picks up when you call while driving, and there’s a ticket in your inbox before you’ve even made it home.

A short layover in Toronto—and with nothing but the clothes on your back and a small carry- on—later, you’re sinking into Brayden’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head where it’s buried in his chest.

“Thank you,” you say, leaving hundreds of words unspoken in your gratitude.

The kiss he pressed to your lips and the way he says ‘Anything for you’ tells you that he understands.

He’s got his own place in an affluent suburb of the city, and you’re grateful for the fact that you won’t have to see anyone else with your puffy, bloodshot eyes.

The last time you’d cried this hard, it had been over the loss of your childhood dog. Nate had been there then, flying in after a late game to hold you while you cried. Maybe you had misunderstood his feelings for you, missed the signs he thought he had laid out so clearly. Maybe that would have mattered a year ago.

It doesn’t, now.

Not when Brayden’s arms feel like home. His warm gaze feels like the sun. His kiss and his touch feel like heaven on earth. His love feels like everything you’ve ever wanted.

Your world nearly stopped in Nate’s living room, but it resumed spinning here in Brayden’s bedroom.

You’re curled up on his chest while he soothingly runs a hand along your spine when you tell him. “I love you.”

His hand stills on the middle of your back, but you don’t panic. Your mind and heart are clear and in unison. He doesn’t make you wait long, cupping the back of your head and tilting your head back ever so slightly so that your eyes meet.

“Yeah?” he asks like maybe he needs the validation.

“Yeah,” you reply, giving it to him.

The grin on his face might be worth everything you’ve been through.

You squeal as he flips the both of you, ending in a position where his arms bracket either side of your head in order to keep from crushing you with his full weight.

“I love you,” he repeats, kissing every inch of your exposed skin.

Tangling your fingertips in the hair at the nape of his neck, you say it again and again and again. It’s a chant and a ritual, told between sighs and moans and whimpers. He strips you of your clothes, taking you apart piece by piece and then putting them all back together.

It is intimate and sweet as he takes you to the highest peak, hearts and limbs and minds all intertwined. There is no doubt, no insecurity, no hesitation. All of the love you have to give is reflected back at you. You and Brayden are two sides of the same coin, destiny and fate and all the good forces in the world have brought the two of you together.

That’s why when, in the dark of his room later, you say yes when he asks you to move in.

Despite the apparent suddenness, your family is more than supportive of you and Brayden. Though that may be because he charmed the pants off all of them the following week when returning to your childhood bedroom to pack your things.

Your niece is delighted when she learns that Brayden’s “job is hockey!” as she so sweetly declares, requesting he win her a Cup too.

It reminds you of Nate and how you haven’t heard from him. You don’t reach out either.

Your time in Calgary is short, punctuated by the bittersweet news that although many of your credits will transfer over, you’re not able to start college classes at the University of Tampa until the second semester.

“Now you can come with me on all my road games,” Brayden says when you tell him.

“Fat chance.”

Training camp sneaks up on you both and before you know it, you’re making the permanent move into Brayden’s bedroom and his life, publicly this time.

The Tampa WAGs are sweet and welcoming, but you find yourself missing the Colorado Better Halves. That’s probably why you agree to dinner with Heidy the first time in the season that the Avs are in town.

You make plans to meet at a cute spot downtown near the arena.

The minute you spot Nate waiting outside, you start to turn around. Not so much as an Instagram like since the day before his day with the Cup and now he’s at one of your favorite restaurants in Tampa like everything is okay?

“Wait,” he says and for some reason you do, pausing mid turn. “I’m sorry.”

That’s enough to have you turning back around to look him in the eye as you scold him. “Really? I haven’t heard a word from you in months and that’s what you have to say?”

“I know,” he says.

“You were really shitty Nate! You knew how I felt and apparently felt the same way, but you just took advantage of me and my feelings for you for years! And then, you made me feel like trash for falling for someone else.”

“I know,” he says again.

“Can you say literally anything other than I know?” you say exasperatedly.

“I—“ he starts and stops with the look you give him. “I don’t have a good explanation for the first bit. You’re right, I’ve been taking you for granted for a long time. I don’t know, I guess I was just scared to lose you if we ever crossed that line.”

“I get that,” you reply. “Why do you think I never said anything either? I’m less mad about that and more mad about you being a giant asshole about me meeting someone.”

He nods. “I know. I was jealous and hurt and I lashed out and hurt you too. I never meant for it to get like this, but the longer it took for me to reach out and apologize the harder it seemed. I am really sorry, and I’m happy you found someone who treats you the way you deserve.”

It’s a sincere apology and one you’re certain he means. Beyond that, you just miss your best friend and so you throw yourself at him in a big hug. He’s startled, but very quickly wraps his arms around you too.

“Things aren’t magically okay, you really hurt me, but you’re my best friend and I’ve missed you so much. There’s been a million times where something happened and I wanted to tell you about it, but couldn’t.”

“You’re my best friend,” he says.

Nate scores a goal during the second period of the game but it’s not enough for the Avalanche.

Brayden comes home the clear winner to find you curled up in his bed. First he undresses and then he slips into bed beside you.

“Glad you made up with Nate,” he says, tucking his head into the crook of your neck and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Glad you won,” you reply, feeling the way his lips curve in a smile against your neck and knowing he’s about to say something stupid and cringe.

“In more ways than one, baby,” he laughs, caging you in with his arm as you struggle to get away from him and his bad jokes. “In more ways than one.”

Despite the way you playfully try to escape his clutches, the truth is you feel like you’re the real winner.

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