#i can say for certain i did not expect it to be THIS good like?? oh my goodness????

[exhaled-spirals]

« "Oh, I've always sucked at maths!"

I’m getting a little blasé. This must be at least the tenth time I’ve heard that remark today.

Yet this lady has been here at my stall for a good fifteen minutes, standing with a group of other passersby, listening attentively while I describe various geometrical curiosities. That’s how the conversation started.

"But what do you do for a living?" she asked me.

"I’m a mathematician."

"Oh, I've always sucked at maths myself!"

"Really? But you seemed to be interested in what I was just talking about."

"Yes… but that’s not really maths… that was understandable."

I hadn’t heard that one before. Is mathematics, by definition, a discipline that can’t be understood?

It’s the beginning of August, in [...] La Flotte-en-Ré, France. In [the] small summer market, I have a pop-up – there is henna tattooing and afro braids to my right, a mobile-phone accessory stall to my left, and a display of jewels and trinkets of all kinds opposite me. I’ve set up my maths stand in the middle of all this. Holidaymakers stroll peacefully by in the cool of the evening. I particularly like doing maths in unusual places. Where people aren’t expecting it. Where they are not on their guard…

"Can’t wait to tell my parents I did some maths during the holidays!" a high school kid says to me, after stopping by my stall on his way back from the beach.

I do have to catch them unawares. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. This is one of my favourite moments: observing the expression on the faces of people who thought that they had fallen out with maths for good at the instant when I tell them that they have just been doing maths for fifteen minutes. And my stall is always crowded! [...]

No matter how much this amuses me, on balance I find it upsetting. How has it come about that we need to hide from people the fact that they are doing maths before they can take some pleasure in it? Why is the word so frightening? One thing is certain: had I put up a sign above my table proclaiming ‘Mathematics’ as visibly as ‘Jewels and necklaces’, ‘Phones’ or ‘Tattooing’ on the stalls around me, I would not have had a quarter of the same success. People would not have stopped. Perhaps they would even have turned away and averted their gaze.

And yet, the curiosity is there. I observe this every day. Mathematics may scare people, but it also fascinates. Many, who don't like it, would like to like it—or at least to be able to peep at will into its murky mysteries. Many think it is inaccessible. But this is not true. It is perfectly possible to love music without being a musician, or to like to share a nice meal without being a great cook. Then why should you have to be a mathematician, or someone exceptionally clever, in order to be open to hearing about mathematics and to enjoy having your imagination tickled by algebra or geometry? It is not necessary to delve into the technical details in order to understand the great ideas and to be able to marvel at them. »

— Mickaël Launay, It All Adds Up: Humans and Mathematics From Prehistory to Modern Day

[jungkoode]

IMPORTANT PSA.

Hi, my loves.

I don’t know if anyone really noticed, but I’ve been a little quiet these past few days, taking a moment to breathe and reset after a pretty heavy wave of hostility and willful misinterpretations hit Kiki Nation.

I’ll admit it—I tried to explain myself, to clarify, to fix it. But all I really did was give more attention to people who were never here in good faith to begin with. And that’s on me. I won’t be doing that again.

So, moving forward, I won’t be overexplaining or oversharing anymore. The post about how the goal system works has been removed, and from now on, goals and updates are explained briefly in my FAQ. That’s where you can find the info anytime you need it.

I also want to take this chance to make something very clear, louder than ever:

Anyone who engages in cruelty, mocking, pettiness, manipulation, harassment, ableism, or bullying behavior has never been part of Kiki Nation, and they never will be.

Let’s remind ourselves—there was never ‘leaving’ this space for them, because they were never part of it in the first place.

Kiki Nation has never stood for that kind of behavior, and it never will. We are built on kindness, respect, and showing up for each other with love—not drama. Not control. Not cruelty.

And that’s why I’m trusting the real Kiki Nation right now.

I want to briefly address something that’s still lingering—the engagement on FMU Chapter 21 in Wattpad specifically.

As you might have noticed, there was a pretty obvious wave of petty mass unvoting on that chapter after the backlash. It dropped below its original goal, and now it looks like Chapter 22 was posted without ever reaching the milestone we all celebrated together. And it’s sadly misleading a lot of readers.

That’s not what Kiki Nation is about.

We’ve never been the kind of space that lets a few bad-faith players rewrite the narrative or take away from what we built together.

So, I’m asking—if you’re here, if you care, if you still stand with this space—go back to Chapter 21 on Wattpad and re-vote to restore what we actually achieved together.

Why? Because it protects the visibility of the story.

Because it keeps Kiki Nation’s credibility clean.

Because it clarifies Chapter 22 was posted because Chapter 21 did reach 200 votes (under 48h I should say), and it’s at 130 because 70 people unvoted AFTER the new chapter was posted.

And mostly—because it shows that we decide what this space stands for—not the ones who tried to tear it down.

I’ve taken a step back these past few days and had some time to reflect. And honestly? While I’m still disappointed, I also know this was never a loss. It was a cleansing. They were never really part of this space, and now they’re gone. That’s something I’m learning to see as a positive, not a setback.

I also want to admit that I blurred the line a little too much between author and readers, and in doing that, I might have given certain people the wrong idea—that they had the right to lash out, to push expectations, or to control what happens here. That stops now. This space has always been built on mutual respect and appreciation, and that’s exactly how it’s going to stay.

As always, I’ll be updating at my own pace—after goals are met and support is steady across the story. That’s how it’s always worked, and it’s exactly how Kikizens have appreciated it. I’m not changing it to accommodate the few trolls who were never part of Kiki Nation to begin with and are only here in bad faith. FMU 23 will be posted when FMU 21’s goals are restored and FMU 22 reaches its own. (Holding myself back from over explaining/justifying myself here again, so I won’t. That’s all there is to it.)

To protect my mental health, I’ll also be slowing down a bit more until the end of the year. I need to take care of myself and prioritize my life offline, and I trust you’ll understand that pace.

Thank you again, truly, for being here. For sticking around. For showing me what the real Kiki Nation is made of.

We move.

—Kiki

Edit: I have received a bunch of loving anons after this announcement. Just know I have read every single one of them and would love to reply in private but the option is not available, so I’m keeping them in my heart. I’m closing this chapter with a warm fuzzy feeling. Thank you.🩷

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

Hii! I really like your writing and I was wondering if you could do like something along the lines of reader being a suspect of a case he is currently investigating (it doesn't have to be the Kira case) and he keeps her under surveillance, like what he did with Light in the Yotsuba arc. It could like showcase how L and reader have to adapt to certain situations (showering, changing, sleeping ect). Err uhhh yeah! I don't know if that makes any sense. It could be like dairy entries or just third person. Fluff or smutt is a-ok! (Idk if I can request that this is my first time asking on Tumblr) Thank you! :D

sorry this took so long to get to, I liked it so much I made it a little longer!

Warnings: reader is a little handsy, brief oral, PinV

L has noticed (Y/n)'s numerous attempts to get him in bed with her. He can't say he minds.

She's a leading suspect in a...moderately important investigation: an American crime ring, suspected to be responsible for the laundering of millions of dollars, distribution of drugs and weaponry, and the deaths of at least 20 victims.

L was fairly sure that (Y/n)'s father was the head of it all, but he refused to confess. His alibis were frustratingly airtight, and nobody else would budge in their corroboration. Thus, L would detain what was most important to him, his daughter, as both a suspect and collateral for two months. His hope was that he could convince the criminal to confess, either by threatening her incarceration, or finding better evidence when locked up with her.

So, here he was, linked to her by a three-foot chain.

She was less than pleased, clearly, but took it in stride. "Anything to prove dad's innocent," she nodded, teary-eyed and quivering. It was quite convincing, he almost believed it...until he caught the faint scent of onions on her fingers moments later.

He said nothing about his observation, simply clasped one cuff to her hand, and the other to his.

now, he had her seated across from him, in his personal hotel suite. "I can't allow any cellphones or personal devices...you understand, of course. Please hand them over now."

She scoffed and grumbled, tossing over her phone.

He gave her an expectant look.

More grumbling, with the addition of an MP3 player, burner phone, and iPod.

"Your family has no involvement in any criminal activity...but you have a burner phone?"

She smiled. "I use it to call guys I like to hook up with. Can't have dad knowing about that."

"You're an adult. You still have to follow your father's rules of modesty?"

"I mean, I live with him, and he pays for all my stuff, so...gotta follow his rules."

He nods. He didn't believe her story, not completely, but he would accept her answers.

meanwhile, she was having to figure out getting the hell out of here without being caught. This guy was a world-renowned super genius, and she was a barely 20 something living off her dad's crime ring. She was crafty, sure, but not 4D chess level smart, not like him.

So, that raised the question of how to get on his good side, maybe even convince him to let her go. What did she know about him? He was smart...weird looking...dressed like a bum...probably a virgin-

Bingo.

Super genius or not, he was still a fuckless nerd, and she ate fuckless nerds for breakfast. There was a reason she got the chess club to do her homework on a rotating system for all of high school, and it wasn't because she asked nicely.

she smiled coyly, and brought her legs up to curl up on the couch, a...tasteful amount of thigh showing now that her mini-skirt rode up even higher. He didn't look down, his eyes locked on her face. Annoying.

"So...what about stuff like...showering?" Her voice had dropped to a noticeably more intimate tone, slow and careful. Like she was luring him in.

"The shower has an opaque curtain, and the toilet makes a practical chair when the lid is down."

He wants her to sit on the toilet while he showers? He wants to sit on the toilet while she showers? She has to hold back the biggest eye-roll.

"Oh, alright...what about getting dressed?"

"I've acquired a changing screen, for your privacy and mine."

"Kay...so, where do I keep my clothes?"

"In the closet."

"With all of your clothes? What about my...intimates?"

He shrugs. "Use a drawer."

Not even a pause, not so much as a stutter at the mention of her underwear. "Okay. Well. Now what?"

He pauses. "Do you enjoy cake?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) spends the first 24 hours reading or watching over L's shoulder as he works, as well as gorging herself on whatever treats he's eating. She has yet to seduce him, at least not to her knowledge. He doesn't do a ton, just sits there and atrophies for hours upon end as he works. She had to shower that night, and drag him away from his little set up to do so.

"What will you do when I take off my clothes?"

She tries to pull him farther into the bathroom, but he only lifts his limp arm at her tugging, not moving from his place at the doorframe.

"I'll turn around. You have plenty of space to change now."

"I thought you were going to sit on the toilet," she teases, the chains rattling as she pulled with more urgency. He padded forward, and shut the door behind him. His reluctance was a good sign for her, it meant he was nervous.

"I will." He turns around, and she begins to strip. She made a point to drop her clothes from a higher distance, so the fabric would make more sound hitting the floor.

She unclasps her hot pink bra, and accidentally tosses it in his direction. It hits the floor, and slides to the tile beside his feet. "Oops."

L looks down, but doesn't comment or react.

(Y/n) pulls the shower curtain back, and turns on the water. The water heats up quickly, the perfect temperature to make some nice steam. "You can't see me through the mirror, can you?"

He was in the middle of squatting on the toilet, faced to the wall. "Not at all. You're safe to do what you need to."

She bites her lip. He was so boring. "Mm...I don't care if you see me, anyway."

L, once again, makes no reaction. He knew what she was doing. It was quite original, he had to admit he's never been flirted with before, but her acting needed work. It was rather exaggerated, like that of a cheap porno.

Her idle humming played in the background of his thoughts, while he considered the purpose of her playfulness. Did she realize he wouldn't let her out, even if she did manage to seduce him? Or...was this a way of getting information about her father's case? He had to be careful. He glanced to the bra on the floor. Even if she wasn't winning any Oscar's, she was still pretty. Pretty, and with soap that smelled like cupcakes. This might be more difficult than he anticipated...

The curtain rod squealed against the metal hooks as she pushed the fabric to the side. She stepped out, one pedicured foot at a time, and wrapped herself in a towel. "Alright. Your turn."

He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, covered with nothing but thin polyester. "I won't be showering tonight."

She crinkled her nose, and stepped closer. "What do you mean? Do you shower in the mornings?"

"No. Watari has a device made specifically for me to clean with."

"A device? Like...what kind?"

"...like a washing machine."

She cracks a grin, and steps closer. "You should try a real shower. They can be nice, like standing in the rain."

"I have no interest in that."

her gaze travels from his eyes, to his lips, to his chest, and before he knows it she's a hairsbreadth away from him. "Well...if you ever want to learn-" her hand lands gently on his chest, manicured nails against his shirt- "I'd be happy to help you."

He looks down at her. She looks up at him. He carefully plucks her hand from him. "That won't be necessary."

She sighs, and steps to the counter. "Just a suggestion."

He stands there, and watches with boredom as she goes about her nightly routine. So much work. He brushes his teeth while he's there.

When they're both done, she steps away, ready to change into her pajamas.

He has no choice but to follow her. She gathers some clothes from the dresser, and walks to the divider working as a changing room. He has to stand there, and wait for her to finish. The towel gets tossed up on the top of the divider, and within minutes she's slinking out, drapped in a tiny silk slip.

L makes no reaction to her clothing choice.

"I hope this is alright. I usually sleep in the nude."

"It's better than nothing. There are two seperate beds, you can pick whichever one you like the most."

Better than nothing? That's it? "Alright...I want the one closest to the window."

He nods, and guides you to the beds, both set with matching comforters, nightstands, lamps, and pillows. They were less than a foot apart, it wasn't worth it to have two beds in her opinion.

She settles in by the window, and he takes a laptop from his nightstand. He seats himself on one of the pillows, and boots up the device to keep working.

"You're not going to sleep?"

"I don't need to."

That made her next plan slightly harder, but she could deal with it. After about thirty minutes of laying still, the AC cuts on. Hotel ACs always have a big vent by the window.

"L...I'm cold..."

"There are blankets in the closet."

"...It's too dark in here, I can't sleep. Do you think I could-"

"There's a lamp next to you. It has a dimmer, if it's too bright."

"...I can't sleep in new places, could I please lay with you? Just for tonight?"

"I don't see how that would help."

"Please?"

He sighs. "I suppose."

She jumps out of bed, and walks the one step it takes to get to his bed. He scoots over, and as she lays down, the chains settle between them. "Thank you."

He doesn't answer, he just keeps working. He was tough to crack.

She sighs and tosses and turns, but he's patient with her. Eventually, she actually does fall asleep.

And unbeknownst to her, has a sex dream.

At first, L thinks she must be pretending. Pretending to whine and mewl in the back of her throat as he hips shift. But he quickly realizes that's not the case, when he glances over to see her expression. It's a little too realistic for her crummy acting.

He stares for far too long, long enough for his computer to automatically shut off, simply watching her movements. The gentle squeeze of her thighs. The parting of her lips. The soft whimpering. He mindlessly leaned inward. He only snaps out of it when he can feel her breath on his cheek.

With a deep, steeling breath, he powers his computer back on. As he looks to the keys to type in his password, he catches of glimpse of something. That was odd...and a little concerning.

He hasn't had a real boner since he was a teen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the next day goes about as slow as the last, the same routine. When (Y/n) gets up, she doesn't bother changing out of her slip, she'd be staying in anyway. She does, however, take the time to fix her hair. She has a man to catch, after all.

It was so boring, sitting next to him without any phone or music. It made her restless.

"So...is this something you do often? Chain the daughters of your suspects to you?"

"No." He stirs his tea, and takes a sip. "Many have never even seen my face. You should feel privileged."

"Sitting here with nothing to do doesn't feel like a privilege. You don't do anything other than work?"

"I do plenty of other things. I eat, I use the restroom-"

"No but, what about for fun?"

"This is my fun."

She rolls her eyes. "What about when you were younger? When you weren't working?"

"...I've always worked."

"Always???"

"Since I was a child. I've taken small interests in things now and again, but this has been the only thing that's sustained."

"I guess that makes sense. Must be difficult to entertain someone so smart."

He shrugs.

"Well...what about physical stuff? Have you done any of that?"

"I don't follow."

"Like...sex. have you ever had sex?"

A choppy segue. "No. Its purposes don't suit me."

"You've never wanted to try it?"

He takes a fork full of chocolate cake, and stuffs his face with it. "Mn, when I was younger, perhaps. After further investigation it wasn't worth exploring."

"Maybe that's 'cause you've never had the chance."

"I don't think so." He's tired of this conversation, and he'd like to get back to work.

She pouts. "You don't have a TV or anything I can watch?"

She really was a foil to his work. Maybe that was her goal, to annoy him into making no progress. He picks up the landline by the couch. "Please send up a personal television."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now that she was sated with the TV like a toddler, he could work in peace, and the rest of the day went smoothly. It wasn't until the shower that something arose. It went as usual at first, (Y/n) goes first, L sits on the toilet. When she got out, she stared at his back for a moment.

"Are you going to shower tonight?"

"As I said, I don't shower as the average person does." She was right though, he did need one. He hated the feeling of sebum in his hair and on his face. "I'll have to use-"

"Wait." She smiles. "How are you gonna use that thing if we're chained together?"

He paused. He hadn't thought of that. How had he not thought of that?

"My offer still stands," she teased.

"...no. I can do it myself." He stands, and they swap places.

She doesn't sit like he does, meaning she gets to face the curtain. How fun.

L finds showering to be a straightforward process, though not nearly as efficient as his machine. Soap, make bubbles, rinse, do it again. Tedious. By the time he was done, she was thoroughly bored.

Bored, until he stepped out. He had grabbed a towel to wrap around his hips...and that was it.

He was skinny, of course, but there was this sort of muscle underneath...strong core, must be from how he sits...and there was this whispy black happy trail peaking out from above the towel. Dear god.

He saw how she looked at him. He assumed that it was another act...though she must be getting better at it.

The two of them left the bathroom to get dressed, her before him. She put on another silk slip, and he wore...basically the same thing, but with sweatpants instead of jeans.

"Sleeping tonight?"

"I will."

She smiles. "Can I please sleep with you again?"

He wants to say no...he should say no. "Fine."

the two settle in, back to back.

30 minutes later, when she's sure he thinks she's asleep, she rolls onto her other side, nuzzling her face into the back of his neck. Simple, innocent. Can't blame her, she's asleep.

L knows what's happening. He can't say it doesn't feel nice, that it doesn't send tingles up his spine, but it's still a ploy. He won't say anything. No matter what she does, no reaction will only lead to boredom, and eventual sleep on her part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been several more days, and (Y/n) can't help but be pissed. They were settled into bed for the night, her sleeping by him now a habit, and she was silently fuming. Everything she's thrown at him, the dreamy glances, the flirtatious remarks, her lacy underwear: all of it was ineffective. She feared the worst.

It couldn't be.

Was he...gay?

That was the only possible explanation for his disinterest!

"What," he asks lowly.

She's been staring for the past few minutes.

"Are you..."

He waits.

"Are you gay?"

He blinks. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you don't- you're not-" how does she explain this without giving everything away?

"Because I'm not fawning over you?"

He was annoyingly right. "Well- yeah! I mean, look at me!"

"Attraction is subjective."

"Pfft- not when you look like this." She gestures vaguely to her body.

...she was annoyingly right. "Perhaps I am gay."

She gives him a sidelong glance. He didn't sound very convinced of himself. "...no you're not."

"What does it matter, if I am or am not attracted to you? It won't change anything."

"Well, I think you're attractive."

"That's irrelevant."

"I think you are attracted to me. I think you're just trying to cover it all up, because you think I'm a criminal, and you're not supposed to be attracted to criminals. I think you want to fuck m-"

His lips crash onto hers, one of his big hands holding the nape of her neck to keep her against him. It's not very sensual, but it is passionate, incredibly so. When he finally pulls away, she's completely silent. "There. Is that all you needed?"

She stares at him. He stares at her.

She pounces, enrapturing his lips with hot, fervent kisses. He does nothing to stop her. His arm slides up her back, into the dip of the arch as she clambers into his lap.

It's a needy mess as they practically rip the clothes off of each other, first his shirt, then her slip, then his pants.

He leans forward, pressing her against his knees as he devours her neck.

He can feel her hips grinding hungrily against his, the growing amor an air that permeates and arouses.

She hooks two fingers in the band of his boxers. What were we working with?

She yanks them down, and...

Dear. Lord.

Long, veiny, blush pink at the mushroom tip. Oozing semi-translucent pre. That whispy black happy trail, leading to heavy balls.

She tentatively wraps a hand around the length, and with the way his hips involuntarily buck into her grip, craving something tighter and wetter, it's a clear sign of his lack of experience.

Her strokes were slow, teasing, her manicured nails standing out against the pale backdrop of his dick. He didn't moan or squirm, he barely made an expression. But his need was in his eyes. The way he watched her every movement, the drag of her now pre-cum covered hand as it pumped him.

Just as it started to get good, she released him. He didn't look away from his own member, watching as he twitched and oozed. It had been a while since he saw himself like that.

He only looked up when he felt her shift between his fingers, rising on her knees to pull down her panties. She was right in front of his face, the black lace slowly removed to reveal something that smelt obscenely sweet. She looked delicious, like she's plated up just for him. He wondered how...

As she got the panties halfway down her thighs, she felt something slither against her clit, a swirl of pleasure followed by confusion.

Looking down, she realized L had leaned in, and taken a taste of her by sliding his tongue through her folds. "Have you ever done this before?" She had to be sure...he was a little too good at this.

He looked up at her, and brought his hands to her bare hips to hold her still. "No."

With no reaction from her greater than a nod, he decided to test the waters even further. He locked his lips around her clit to give a slow but firm probing of his tongue. At the sound of her moaning, he knew he had done something right.

Meanwhile, as he curiously licked and suckled, she did her best to focus on finally getting her panties off. She had to eventually unsaddle from his lap, to his moderate disappointment, and shove them off her calves onto the floor.

When she got back into his lap, she didn't stand on her knees, so he could no longer taste-test. Thankfully, she was more than happy to kiss him sloppy as a replacement. He can barely focus with how her hand comes to adjust him, or how his tip slowly presses into the heat of her wet cunt.

She wastes no time taking him all the way in, the stretch maddeningly perfect, the way he brushes against her cervix nothing less than addicting.

"Mn...L," she gasps, setting a ruthless, needy pace that has him clutching her hips, the chain between them rattling.

The bounce of her tits, the heat of her skin, the rounded sounds of her moans: it was thoughtlessly addicting, carnal and needy in a way his other past times weren't.

He could get used to this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up the next morning, sore and disoriented. She barely knew up from down. Probably because she was laying upside-down.

L might be the best she's ever had...and God, was he resilient. Round after round after round, like it was nothing. She glanced to the spot beside her. He was curled up, sound asleep. Sort of...cute.

If he weren't the detective out to get her father, she might consider a relationship with him.

She scanned his face, serene and softly snoring, hair still stuck to his forehead with a light sweat.

they did all of that in one night.

How much could they get done in two months?

[thestargayzingetherian]

Five Years Since Catradora Kissed.

Five years ago on this day, a certain ship from kids cartoon that I love named Catradora became canon and kissed and saved their whole goddamn universe. And I don't think anything in any peice of queer media has hit me the same way since then. It still fills me with warmth and happiness just as it did all those years ago.

Catradora isn't just two girls from this really well written show that got together at the end. It's a testament to what stories in our modern age can be capable of doing, the stories they are capable of telling.

Yes, that has come with some caveats, how the creators of these stories are treated like dogshit by the powers that be, as well as 'certain' parts of their audience, not to mention the corporations owning these stories force their queerness into their rainbow capitalisc assimilationist horsecrap. But even still... just seeing how Catradora makes other people feel, how other people have been able to discover themselves because of them tells me that they have a power that no corporate suit will ever understand.

Catra is literally my transition goals for instance and I see so many people identify themselves as an "Adora" or a "Catra" kinnie. Their stories have helped people feel seen and be okay with themselves in a way I haven't seen so openly possible for a long time.

As for myself... Catradora has been there for me for every rough spot I've had the last few years. That no matter what, they give me some comfort. I've seen a lot of drama and bs in the She-Ra fandom, the likes of which I know drove some people away... but I am still here, because my love for these two dorks will always be there. If everyone in the Catradora fandom was to just give up and go to another fandom somewhere else, I would still be here. I would literally be the only Catradora girl alive if that were possible.

I know that in my personal expereince that I've made a lot of mistakes in my time in the fandom. Since I've been off my main social media places a lot the last few months, it's given me a time to think on how toxic and cynical I could be at times, how sometimes I'd make terrible mistakes that would make some people uncomfortable or how toxic some She-Ra fandom spaces were. This is not a callout post by the way, I don't do that kind of thing.

I don't expect everyone to forgive me for some of the things I've done in the past or things I've said. As much as I would want nothing more than to make ammends for anything I've said or done that's warranted any reputation I might have, I realise I can't force people to change. Adora didn't force Catra to change after all, she did it of her own volition and Adora's freinds likewise accepted Catra because they wanted to, not because Catra forced them to.

But I will say this... I am genuinely sorry for everything. For any conversations or ideas I might have worded badly that made people uncomfortable, for going on giant long cynical rants and vents because I was in a bad place, for all of that. I am truly sorry and I hope that I can at least be friends with some of you again.

And while I was only an observer for a lot of the other She-Ra fandom drama, I am sorry to everyone who left the fandom because of that too. I am so goddamn sorry that a bunch of sometimes justified internet drama and arguements caused you to no longer enjoy a beautiful series like She-Ra. I am sorry people did racist shit to Catra that made POC in the fandom deeply uncomfortable, I am sorry that so many people rallied behind good ships like Glimmadora and Entrapdak to harass Catradora stans because of the internet media ilteracy that trained them to hate Catra. I am sorry that these last five years haven't exactly been the best for a lot of you and I know that I alone can't exactly do much to fix that.

But what am I going to do? I'm going to try and keep being postive and making things that I at least hope make someone happy, that put a smile on someone's face. I have over 200 fics about Catradora alone posted on AO3 and probably much, much more planned in the future. Heck, the day this goes up, I'll be FINALLY properly making a start on the big post-canon She-Ra series I've always wanted to write.

I want to try and be a beacon of hope and positivty for anyone who visits my pages. I was told by I think @catras-breakup-song and @witch-apologist that I have somewhat of a repuation for being a nice blog that shows up in people's feeds on here and I hope I can still be that for another five years.

Catradora are in a way... an inspiration to me. Creatively, by writing tons of stories about them. And for their happiness giving me such hope on the days I feel so dark.

So here's to the next five, hell, next TEN years, because hey, if Korrasami can keep people going for ten years, Catradora most certainly can!

May Catradora and everything about She-Ra keep you happy for a good long time, my friends. I hope to see some of you again soon.

[alicelillianshaw]

Alice thinks about, when she's getting ready for bed tonight, plunging her phone into some pool of water simply out of spite.

Email only!

She can only be reached now by email only!

As fucking wonderful that would feel — a big middle finger — Alice cannot, unfortunately, indulge herself in this.

But she can send Ronald bullshit. An outline of things he expects to see; tailor-made, so he'll get off her back, allow Alice to soak up the last days of this trip.

She wants— needs — New Mexico to be perfect. Alice wonders what it would feel like to kiss Jack under that endless sky. Hopes to God she'll get to.

Maybe she can even read more of her writing to Jack there; there was something like a poem sitting in her drafts, and Alice thinks about polishing, like a stone, crafting it into something worthy of the man standing before her.

Alice didn't even compose a lot of poetry! Which it makes it all the more important for her to show Jack the kinds of things he inspired in her.

'Well. Whatever it is, I hope you don’t bring up my card collection. And the magic tricks. Can’t have people thinking I’m some nerd.'

Her lips twitch.

"I haven't even seen your magic tricks yet. I can't even report on if they're any good..."

Oh, yeah. Yet another thing to love about him. Alice hasn't seen him so much as produce a dove, vanish a coin, but she already knows that she's charmed— she's dying to see his vintage cards as well.

Alice needs to corner him about it before they leave for New Mexico.

"Besides. Maybe I don't have a right to say it, but there are some things I wanna be selfish on. And don't wanna share."

A beat.

"Not all of it," she clarifies. "But some things."

It wasn't as if Alice wasn't going to share all the things that made Jack great; she wanted, no, needed to see the kind of person Jack was. And how kindly he treated her, how he stoked feelings in Alice that felt fucking novel.

But certain things ... Alice felt covetous over. Like a bird, hoarding the bright objects another had brought just for her. Did the world even deserve Jack? If they weren't really going to see him?

Alice would just have to right extra well.

Already, Jack felt more relieved when Alice promised to send her editor something. Anything. Breadcrumbs. As long as her job wasn’t on the line, as long as Ron was happy — even though he didn’t fucking deserve it — then Jack felt better.

Still, there was a little bit of residual guilt. He liked Alice. He more-than-liked Alice. He wanted to spend time with her, and he didn’t want to feel bad about it. But Jack couldn’t control his impulses — not even for a few days — not even long enough for her to provide Ron with a rough draft.

Jack had always struggled with that. His impulsivity and bad decisions controlled his life. Why couldn’t he just be different? Why couldn’t he be patient? Why did he feel like he was entitled to everything in life?

Jack sometimes imagined that somewhere in his parents’ basement, there was an old, decrepit portrait of Jack, deteriorating more with each bad decision he made — like Dorian Gray. Jack was vain and selfish and had committed his fair share of sins over the years. Would he ever find absolution, or would it only come in death, like it did for Dorian? Did he even care about absolution?

Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes he just wanted to keep living the way that he was.

"I always try to write true to what I experience. And feel. I just think a straight, facts-heavy political piece would feel … disingenuous." 

Jack wasn’t sure what to do with that information. For now, he simply processed it. Not a political piece then? What would she write about?

Part of him was afraid of asking for clarification — not because he feared it would be bad, but because �� well. Jack really didn’t think he deserved to be written about in a public way like that. People might think that he’d paid her off to write whatever she wrote, or they’d call it a strategic PR move.

Jack would find some way to mess all of this up, and he was scared of Alice being caught in the crossfire.

“Well. Whatever it is, I hope you don’t bring up my card collection. And the magic tricks. Can’t have people thinking I’m some nerd.”

[dioslesbianwife]

Hi! I have been reading almost all your posts, I think? And I really really love how you write all of this! So, if possible, I have a request for the reader having 3 stands and getting shot tree times by the arrow. Even Enya wasn't sure of her survival, and one of her stand is attack, the other was defence, and the last is healing, but if she used all three stands, she unconscious for three days that's why she'll only use one or two at a time

(There's a lot more details in all three stands, but I'll give this much for now)

And please take your time. I can wait and thank you so much!!! And have a great day

hiii, i wasn't sure if you wanted certain characters' reactions but since u mentioned Enya and the stand arrow I'm going with part 3 characters but you can totally message me or comment if u wanted smth different instead- anywho thank u so much for being patient and ty for requesting and hope u enjoy <33 (also have a great day/night too!)

You were shot three times by the Stand Arrow, something not even Enya thought you could survive. But somehow, you did. The result: you now have three separate Stands - one for attack, one for defense, and one for healing.

The catch? If you use all three at once, you're unconscious for three whole days. You typically use just one or two at a time to avoid the cost.

DIO

“Three Stands... Three Arrows... and you survived.”

Completely obsessed. You're a miracle, a perfect example of divine power.

Wants you on his side immediately. May even offer you a place at his side as some twisted recognition of your power.

“You were born to be above others. Don’t squander it being a hero.”

If you reject him and collapse after using all three? He watches your sleeping body, murmuring to Enya about your potential.

Jotaro Kujo

“Tch. Of course you’d pull something insane like that.”

He’s lowkey impressed. He doesn’t show it much, but he watches your fights closely, analyzing how you shift between the Stands.

If he sees you trying to overexert yourself in battle: “Don’t. We’ve got this. Don’t pass out on us now.”

He takes it personally if you use all three to protect the group and then collapse. Will sit by your bed for three days and scowl at anyone who tries to make noise.

Joseph Joestar

“THREE Stands!? GOOD LORD, that’s... that’s amazing! Also absolutely bonkers, but amazing!”

He nerds out. Tries to research you like some kind of walking Stand anomaly.

Says you were blessed by the goddess of luck to even survive three arrow hits. He’s a mix of fascinated and slightly worried.

“You’re like a Swiss army knife! Wait- don’t pass out! Damn it!”

Polnareff

“Mon dieu... you’re like three warriors in one body!”

Thinks your ability is absolutely cool. Trains with you constantly.

Gets reckless during team battles thinking you can “cover everything” and then feels guilty when you collapse.

Will 100% volunteer to carry you bridal style while dramatically sobbing over your noble sacrifice.

Avdol

“That kind of power comes with a heavy cost. You’re incredibly strong, but promise me- don’t treat yourself like a weapon.”

Very calm and wise about it. Helps you develop strategies to only use what’s necessary.

Works with you to develop signals during fights so the team knows which Stand you’re using and what to expect.

He’s the one who makes sure you’re cared for when you’re unconscious- fresh water, cooled forehead, incense burning nearby.

Kakyoin

“Fascinating... It’s like your soul split itself three ways to survive.”

He’s the strategist. Will absolutely build battle plans around your abilities.

Gets super anxious when he sees you use all three. “No- don’t- she’s going to- !” and then you’re out cold.

Waits beside your bed reading or doodling until you wake up, then casually says, “You scared us again. Don’t do that.”

[starseneyes]

On Fandom and Shipping

Look, I've not said anything on the whole outcome of last night's 9-1-1 partially because I don't really go here, and partially because I know everyone's emotions are all over the place.

But, just a gentle reminder—the actors don't control the narrative. Yes, there are times that actors can influence it or a Showrunner gives them voice.

The actors went out and did a Press Tour and promised nothing. I mean, nothing. Yes, their natural chemistry was on fire. Yes, certain networks chose to edit pre-recorded interviews in a way that got fans excited and hopeful.

And hope is a dangerous thing when it comes to shipping.

But before I get into all that—below the "read more" cut—let me say this:

Please don't go after the actors.

Don't leave them rude comments. Don't threaten them. They are literally employees doing their job and they promised nothing.

Is their natural chemistry undeniable and sizzling? God, yes. Probably part of why they've been separated in a lot of promotion the past year or so. But they likely had little say in their pairing up for this press push and they handled it as best they could, I think.

Yes, the Press was promoting Buddie in a way that I think we all had to wonder—bait or tease? And there was a healthy dose of skepticism from the fandom, but also a lot of hope.

I've been in fandom forever. I'm old. My first ships were Mulder/Scully and Janeway/Chakotay. I know Ship disappointment and hurt.

And, yes, a different scenario in that we're also talking about the possibility of a MLM romantic pairing that is too often underrepresented on television at a time that LGBTQ+ rights are under attack in the United States.

So, it was nice to surrender skepticism to hope when the signs seemed to be pointing toward something concrete based on the promotion and press.

And, honestly, I love this fandom for its many interpretations of "canon" so "concrete" could mean a million things.

Back in my day, a kiss wasn't even enough. Y'all, if you watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, Troi and Riker are madly in love in one episode and the next he's off-ship flirting with some alien like a lonely bachelor whose only companion has been his hand for too long.

But this fandom seems to say, "Feeling realization? Sure!" "One sided pining, fine!" and so many other variations. The season finale was a big ball of nothing in terms of Buddie, which can feel like whiplash after the feast of 8x17.

I get disappointment. But, please, leave Oliver Stark and Ryan Guzman alone.

Yes, somewhere TPTB decided they needed to pair them up for some interviews—the Thirst Tweets, the Spilling the ETea. Their chemistry is electric. Some people just have that. They do. And that fed into the hope.

But, again, they're doing their jobs. Press is part of the job. And neither is in the mood to lose their job right about now.

Hollywood is functioning at a far smaller capacity than it used to. Even before the fires that plagued L.A. this winter, and the excuse of the Strikes that the Studios have used to shrink show-orders and move production overseas for slightly wider profit margins, the industry has been constricting, somewhat.

These actors are happy to have jobs and don't want to lose them, so they do the work. But they both did their best in their answers to manage expectations while on the red carpet—while trying not to give anything away.

The most out-of-pocket bits are just them being them and they didn't coordinate those shoots. Their reps did because some higher up thought it would be a good idea to set it up.

And, y'all, I'm gonna keep that Thirst Tweets video in my rotations for bad days because it just makes me laugh and sometimes I need to laugh at the absurdity of my life.

So, loves, please don't leave death threats and angry messages and all sorts of attacks on the pages of two people doing their jobs who tried to manage expectations while oozing natural chemistry.

Yes, it felt like something shifted with the promotion and open discussion of Buddie. Maybe they're setting the groundwork for next Season. I have utterly no idea.

And please don't misconstrue this as me telling anyone how to feel!

You can feel hurt. You can feel frustrated. You can feel baited. Absolutely!

All I'm asking is that in our collective hurt we don't take those frustrations out on the wrong person/people.

[minimumwage-employee]

confessions

[sonknuxadow]

i genuinely dont get how so many people are uncritically excited for The Movie and have no issue with anything going on here i feel like im losing my mind a little bit . the trailers did not look good to me at all is everyone excited about it posting from an alternate dimension or something what are people seeing in this movie that im not .

[johndonneswife]

someone really should be talking about how difficult it is to plan a wedding - a gay wedding - when both of your families fucking suck

[fadewalking]

I did it. I finally beat this game.

[abstractlesbian]

Find someone slightly annoying but in really small harmless ways so I decide none of the behaviours are worth bringing up with them → realizing: hey, Im also annoying! solidarity! → realizing we have a lot in common and starting to bond → finding out other people find this person annoying and are vocal about it behind their back → finding out this person has ADHD like me that's (at least one reason) why we have all these traits in common → fear.

[anonyanonymouse]

🙈

[tsuutarr]

Rich! Yandere x Chill! Reader

Work is a drag – your supervisor expects mountains from you while allowing himself to pick pebbles. He expects you to be there before him and leave after him even though he allows himself to arrive late and leave on time. He expects you to respond to every email and ask questions but ignores emails sent his way. He condescendingly laughs at you and gets annoyed at you making mistakes even though he’s made plenty himself.

In conclusion, you’re about to lose it. Go absolutely bonkers.

Still, you gotta earn money somehow, so…

You really have no choice but to continue onwards.

But seriously, who thought a cycle of work and work and more work was a good idea? You have a few choice words for them. Especially since you’re forced to stay longer than you want to because your stupid supervisor decided to give you work at the last minute, two minutes before you clock out.

By the time you arrive home, you’re dead tired, absolutely unable to keep your eyes open. You tell yourself that you need to get changed, eat dinner, brush your teeth, catch up on your weekly show… but your body is too tired to obey any of that, so it’s lulled into a long, dreamless slumber.

When you come to, you wake up on a gorgeous bed in a gorgeous room. You’re disoriented, absolutely positive that you’re dreaming. But you don’t wake up even after pinching yourself so… this must be real?

Your thoughts are interrupted as the doors to the room open, showcasing a handsome man. You’re pretty sure you’ve seen him on the news somewhere. Probably. Anyway, the point is that he’s handsome.

“Are you feeling all right, Darling?” he asks, voice velvety smooth and deep like dark chocolate.

“I guess?” you say, feeling surprisingly calm. He blinks at you.

“Ah… are you not going to ask where you are…?”

“Oh, right.” You nod. “Where am I?”

“You’re at one of my mansions,” he responds, smoothing out his dress shirt. “I’ve selected the best one, just for you.”

“Oh wow.” Flashes of your dingy one bedroom apartment flash through your head. “That’s great.”

“And of course, you’ll have everything provided for you. If you need anything, just tell me – I can get you everything you desire.”

“That’s amazing,” you respond. “I’m in.”

“Wha–” he looks at you, shocked. “I knew you were in dire financial straits but… aren’t you going to be wary of me, Dear? I mean, I kidnapped you?”

“My guy, the economy is awful, I hate my job, and I really just want to enjoy life for once. I am not complaining.” Shrugging your shoulders, your gaze remains steady on him. “Besides, you’re easy on the eyes.”

A bright red blush splatters itself across his cheeks, forcing him to clear his throat. “W–well, I’m pleased that my appearance is desirable to you.”

“Yup,” you reply, before looking at him curiously. “So like… did you stalk me or something? Put trackers on me?”

“Wha–”

“Well, it kinda seems like you’ve been after me for a while, I guess. Sorry if I’m wrong?”

“Well, no, you’re not… incorrect. But does that not bother you?”

“I mean, social media already has all my info anyway, so…” you hum thoughtfully. “Hm. Anyway. Does kidnapping me mean that you won’t let me go out again? A lot of stories have the guy locking their love interest up.”

He blinks. “I… suppose so…?”

“I don’t entirely mind, but I feel like I’ll probably go nuts if I’m not allowed to go out at all. Can’t we compromise? Like… you can have your trackers on me or have someone follow me around. Actually, why don’t you come along?”

He blinks. “Pardon?”

“I mean, it’s a fair trade, isn’t it? I have friends and family that I gotta see so I don’t go insane, but like, I don’t mind spending most of my time here. And if I do go out, you can just keep track of that. Plus it’s not like I have money or power to actually run or something anyway.” You nod, certain.

“You… you’re certainly rather… receptive to this whole situation.”

“Again, the economy is trash and you’re hot.”

He clears his throat, looking embarrassed. “W–well, it isn’t the worst idea in the world, I suppose. However, the world at large is quite dangerous. You can’t fault me for wanting to keep you locked up. It’s the best way to keep you safe–”

“Oh, I know!” you snap your fingers. “Let’s get married.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I mean, that way you’ll legally be my family. Then you can be with me ‘til death do us apart. Or something.” Satisfied, you nod. “Good idea, don’t you think?”

Gears whir inside his head as he looks at you, completely flabbergasted by your proposal. He’s happy that you seem satisfied with the situation and want to marry him but… but…

“Good idea indeed,” he agrees, fully abandoning any notion of common sense (not that he had much to begin with). 

Your willing acceptance of your situation wasn’t what he was expecting, but… who is he to complain?

It’s working in his favor, after all.

[felassan]

David Gaider: "If I really dig into my empathy, I can kinda see the thinking here. Like, let's say you don't actually know much about games. You're in a big office with a bunch of other execs who also don't know much about games. What are they all saying? "Live games do big numbers!" "Action games are hot!" Your natural response? "We should make more action games, and all our games should have live service!" Cha-ching, right? Then some uppity devs spoil your buzz by saying "that doesn't apply equally to all games" or "we have an established IP with an audience that has certain expectations". You frown. You go look at their sales. Good, sure, but not as spectacular as live service and action games! Profit's great, but what's the point if you're not #1 in the charts? If you're not making headlines? If the devs can't make it work, this is THEIR failure. This, after all, is the future of gaming! Eventually, you're going to ask yourself why we (the company) even bother with those other games. Like single player games. It's a question you've asked aloud before. The fans bristle, but you're not here to supply every audience what they want. You're here to make money and increase share value. Maybe I'm being unkind. There are certainly all sorts of lessons a company could learn from a game like Veilguard (I still haven't played it, so I'm going off what other people have said), but "maybe it should have been live service" being the takeaway seems a bit short-sighted and self-serving. Not that there's any shortage of that, when it comes to deciding why a game doesn't do well. For the anti-woke crowd, for instance, there are woke games that do well and woke games that do poorly and only the ones that did poorly did so *because* they were woke. Says more about them than the game. My advice to EA (not that they care): you have an IP that a lot of people love. Deeply. At its height, it sold well enough to make you happy, right? Look at what it did best at the point where it sold the most. Follow Larian's lead and double down on that. The audience is still there. And waiting. ❤️" [source thread]

--

User: "Maybe they can sell the IP to Larian. Or someone else who would treat it respectfully." David Gaider: "I suspect Larian is, smartly, done with working on third-party IP. You do all that work, and the IP overlords do little more than dictate the minutiae and make your life difficult and then you have to cut them a huge slice of the proceeds too? Not a lot of studios are going to bite THAT hook. [source] I know you said SELL the IP, but there's no way EA will relinquish its hold on an IP that could potentially do big numbers. In their ideal world, a studio takes it on, does all the work, and they rake in the cash. Giving up that kind of potential would require BIG money... and who would buy it?" [source]

[bucketbueckers]

SUPERSTAR

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: party!p being drunk and clingy and a maybe a little annoying, fluff without plot, the fuck ass net, language, the authors love language is physical touch and you can really tell

wc: 3.0k

synopsis: Paige Bueckers is a lightweight. Knowing that, you really shouldn’t have been all too surprised by the post-win afterparty.

notes: obligatory post natty fic?? i say yes! cooking one up for azzi too, idk when it will get posted but expect it soon. i dont care how much homework i have to procrastinate. side note, watching them play live was such a surreal experience, i'm still thinking about it and there are so many emotions that i can't put into words. they deserved this win so bad and i love my team so much 😩 i also wrote the second half of this while watching the men’s natty and all i have to say is im a misandrist and go huskies! as always i hope y'all enjoy 🫶

You liked to think that you were an expert in a few niche categories.

The first is basketball. You grew up listening to the reverb of the bounce echoing in the gym. You learned how to dribble before you learned how to multiply. More often than not, you could usually tell when a shot was going into the net as soon as it left your hands. This is all to say you were pretty decent at basketball, although you’re sure that dropping a modest fourteen points in the national championship match and taking home the trophy makes you a little more than decent at ball.

Basketball aside, you weren’t lacking in the skills department. KK jokes that you and Carol share the title as the moms of the group since you’re so good at conflict resolution – although you prefer the term “trying to keep everyone alive.” More often than not, you’ll find Morgan standing at your door with a bag of groceries in hand, a wide smile on her lips in hopes that you’ll cook her dinner because, according to her, you just make the best carbonara she’s ever had. You’ve never been good at saying no to Morgan – she was yours and Aubrey’s shared freshman and after her surgery, you’ve made a point of spending as much time with her as possible because you can tell she’s not having an easy time with watching everyone play while she’s on the sidelines.

The one thing that you’re certain you’re an expert in is Paige Bueckers. You know her inside and out and on and off the court. The two of you started as rivals in high school, although your friendship truly blossomed during AAU competitions and Team USA where you had to play together. The distance and the competition kept the both of you from being anything more than friends, but when the both of you committed to UConn without the other knowing, Paige asked you out after the first summer practice and you were sure that you were a goner when she ran into a pole trying to spin a ball on her finger in an attempt to impress you. You grew up together, saw the best and the worst parts that came with dating an athlete, and stuck it through until the end – you even used your COVID eligibility to stay one extra year with her. Whether the universe wanted it or not, the two of you were going to win a natty together, damn it; and win it you did.

Which leads you to where you are now. You’re an expert in Paige Bueckers. There’s not a single thing you don’t know about her, just like there’s not a single thing she doesn’t know about you. That’s why you knew you were doomed when, during the group picture, she exclaimed “We get a parade! And we get to get drunk!” The thing about Paige is that she’s a D1 clinger when she’s plastered. She’s loud and annoyingly charming and honestly, you’re so in love with her that you’re not bothered by it. You’d hold her hair back while she vomited for the rest of your life as long as it meant the two of you were together for it. You just knew she’d be inconsolable and grumpy in the morning when she’s hungover, but after five years of blood, sweat, tears, surgery, rehab, and hardwork, your girlfriend has just won a national championship, so if she wants to get a little plastered and sing at the top of her lungs, then you have no real reason to do anything but ensure she gets back to your room safely.

A few minutes after the conclusion of the net cutting ceremony, you’re taking a few more photos with the trophy in your hands, your hat tucked neatly over your head when Paige comes over. The photographer leaves you two be as Paige reaches for the brim of your hat, turning it backwards to match hers. She’s got that soft, mischievous, slightly wide-eyed look on her face as she looks at you and you can’t help but melt at it. You can tell from her expression that it hasn’t fully set in that she’s won a natty, but you know it’ll hit her later.

“You want something or are you just here to annoy me?” you ask teasingly, handing the trophy off to Ice, who’s taking selfies. You reach out to adjust the net around Paige’s neck as she responds.

“What, I can’t come say hi to my girl?” she goads, the look on her face far too pleased. One of the other things you knew about Paige Bueckers after so many years together was that she loves attention. Specifically, from you, and you can tell that she loves how easily you handed off the trophy to focus fully on her.

“Hello,” you deadpan, which just makes her smirk.

“I ever tell you how proud I am of you?” she asks, shocking you slightly, and heat rises to your cheeks as you try to process the sudden praise.

You blink, rolling your eyes slightly, but the fond smile on your face gives you away. Your girlfriend curls her arm over your shoulders as she leads you through the crowd towards the tunnel. “C’mon, P. I should be saying that to you.”

“Nah,” she disagrees. “You brought us back in the second quarter with those threes.”

You shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “I did see Coach Staley crashing out when I was getting back on defense.” That makes Paige laugh a little, pulling you flush into her. “I’m serious, though. I’m proud of you, you know?” The two of you slow to a stop once you’re safely away from the cameras and the onlookers, so you turn towards her, resting your hands on her chest and threading your fingers through the net around her neck. “You just…you don’t know how special you are. As a person, a player, a teammate. You’ve been the heart and soul of this team, Paige. You’re here now. And you did it.” You give a teasing tug to the net, watching the affectionate smile spread across her lips, the tears pooling at her waterline again. “You deserve every bit of this.”

“We can be proud of each other,” she suggests. “But I’m definitely prouder than you.”

“You’re full of shit,” you say fondly, patting her cheek. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I really am,” she agrees, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, one that makes you smile, and one that lasts not nearly long enough because KK walks by and gags dramatically. You raise a middle finger to her as she cackles. Paige laughs against you, too, wrapping her arms around your waist and sinking into your embrace instead. You rub her back, feeling her relax against you, and you kiss her head over the hat.

“I don’t suppose this means you’re gonna behave tonight?” you ask jokingly, already knowing that Party P will be in full effect.

She scoffs like you’ve just said something egregious. “I’m always on my best behavior,” she declares, and all you can truly do is smile and roll your eyes. You know.

The moment Paige finds the ping-pong table, you know it’s wraps.

She’s only a few shots in, but Paige Bueckers is a lightweight. You learned that much when you were both freshmen and you convinced one of the upperclassmen on the team to buy you drinks at Ted’s. Paige was laid out in the bathroom by 10pm and the two of you went home early. You spent the better part of the morning after tending to her hangover, but you’d told her to slow down, so everytime she whined that her head hurt you simply said, “I told you so” (although you felt bad enough for her that you rubbed her back for a few hours until the ache subsided).

Paige is playing one on one with Sarah – mind you, she’s still wearing that fuck ass net, but it’s a little endearing by this point. It reminds you of a little kid who can’t go anywhere without their emotional support blanket. Somehow, you’ve been roped in to being the referee, and as much as you tried to argue that ping-pong didn’t really need a referee, Paige was already inching into that clingy state of being drunk, so she’d just pulled you along and planted a wet, obnoxious kiss to your cheek as she steadied her paddle, unmistakable confidence in her expression.

At first, it’s tame. You watch the ball bounce back and forth between the two of them, still nursing a drink of your own. You alternate between saying Point, Sarah, or Point, Paige. Sarah, in typical Sarah fashion, hardly reacts, although Paige is either crashing out or celebrating every point like it’s another natty win. You weren’t too sure where she got the whole “nonchalant final boss” thing from, but it definitely was not true.

A few rounds later, a small crowd has formed, and she takes a breather to sidle up next to you. She wraps an arm around your waist and leans into you, taking a sip from your drink (much to your amusement), her expression is unbearably blissed out. Paige has a soft look on her face, her eyes a little hooded, but beyond the clear drunkenness, you can see a whole lot of love reflected in her eyes, an appreciation for tonight’s win. “You having fun, baby?” you ask her, a grin on your face.

She hums, tightening her grip, uncaring of the way Ice and KK are laughing at her. Paige pulls back suddenly, concern and slight guilt on her face. “Are you?” she echoes, like it would physically pain her if you weren’t enjoying your night. Knowing her, it probably would.

You laugh a little, rubbing your hand down her back, adjusting the cap on her head because it’s about to fall off from all of the bouncing around she’s done. “I am, don’t worry,” you say honestly.

“Good,” she murmurs, kissing you soundly. Without another word, she extracts herself from your grip and gears up for the next few rounds of ping pong with Sarah. She catches your eye and winks. “This one’s for you, baby,” she promises.

The serve immediately sails out of bounds. You try not to laugh too hard when you say, “Point, Sarah.”

“Shit,” Paige states.

“I think you’re supposed to keep the ball in bounds,” Sarah says helpfully.

“I got distracted,” Paige argues. “Didn’t count. 0-0.”

“It’s 1-0 for Sarah,” you call out, taking your job very seriously. You ignore the pout Paige sends your way, as if a pretty face would make you give up your refereeing integrity. It won’t.

Paige and Sarah take turns hitting the ping pong ball. You stay focused, although Paige’s expression endlessly amuses you. Her brows are furrowed, concentrated as she follows the ball, her movements strangely coordinated and precise for someone who’s a few shots in. Then, Ice announces she’s on live, which distracts Sarah, and Paige scores an easy point on her. Immediately, she launches into a celebration, chanting something that sounds like “Little Rah.” You and Sarah exchange a glance. A smile spreads across your face as you announce, “Foul on Paige. Unsportsmanlike conduct. Point, Sarah.”

Paige spins on her heel immediately. “Bruh, what?” she exclaims. “How was that unsportsmanlike? Since when does ping pong even have foul calls?”

“Careful, Lil Paigey,” Sarah says somberly, although her lips twitch like she’s trying to hold back a smile. “Arguing with the ref can get you a tech. Just ask DT.”

“Bruh,” Paige says again, looking at you pleadingly, like you can take away the egregious foul call you just made on your girlfriend. “Babe, come on. You know this is bull–” you raise a brow at her and she falters, “–crap. Bullcrap.”

You grin when you say, “2-0, Sarah.”

Paige stares at you like you’ve just betrayed her. You can tell she’s not actually upset, but she’s competitive more than anything. She takes a deep breath and reaches for her paddle again.

For the rest of your round, you do your best to throw Paige off her game, ranging from rolling up your sleeve as you pretend to inspect your conveniently flexed bicep or making increasingly more bullshit calls. You award Sarah a point for having a double double in the natty and subtract one point from Paige’s total because she had one turnover (you ignore her when she points out that Sarah had two turnovers, like that’s any of your business).

Finally, you call it at 15-9 in Sarah’s favor because you can tell the drinks are catching up to Paige. It’s already well past midnight and your flight back to Storrs tomorrow morning is early and you know Paige is going to have a rough morning. She pouts when you tell her that you’re taking her back to the room, but she knows it’s for the best so she makes her rounds, hugging everyone in the room and refuses to part with the net when KK reaches for it. Paige tangles your fingers together, not letting a single inch of space separate the two of you as she rambles on about how you and Sarah were most definitely cheating (you were).

When you make it back to the hotel room, you guide Paige into the bathroom, squeezing toothpaste onto her brush and pulling her hair tie out while she cleans her teeth. “I’mma be so sick tomorrow,” she complains, spitting, and scrubbing again as you reach for your toothbrush.

“That’s why you’re gonna take some medicine before you sleep,” you tell her. “And in the morning. And I’ll get you some coffee.”

“You’re the best,” she whispers, rinsing her mouth out. She stands behind you and wraps her arms around your waist, burying her head in your neck. Her breath tickles your skin as she tries to melt into you. She behaves like she’d die if she wasn’t under your skin, but you love your clingy girl just the same. “I’on know what I’d do without you. Like, for real. I wouldn’t be here without you, y’know that?”

“You’d still be here. Just a little less house trained, I think,” you promise her. Paige laughs against your skin, amused, as if she knew that’s what you would say. “But I’m glad you didn’t have to do it alone.” That makes her soften, her hands trailing under your shirt to brush against your skin. “You never have to do it alone as long as I’m here.”

“I know,” she says, kissing your neck tenderly. She squeezes you around your waist, then releases you, her gaze a little sleepy and hazy.

You offer her a grin, reaching for her hand. “Let’s get you to bed, superstar.” She nods and trails behind you. You flick on the lamp as she gets settled into bed. Paige tugs meaningfully at the net around her neck and you laugh, shaking her head. “You’ll choke and die in your sleep,” you deadpan. “I’d really like it if my girlfriend made it through the night.”

Paige juts out her bottom lip, grumbling under her breath as you pull the net off, draping it over the desk chair. You take the hat from her and set it on the nightstand, brushing your fingers through her hair as her eyes slip shut in relaxation. Before she can get too comfortable, you pass her a water bottle and the tylenol, which she takes without complaint.

Once she’s finally settled, you crawl into bed next to her. She wastes no time before wrapping you up, drawing you into her body and tucking her face into the crook of your neck and breathing soundly. You’d thought it would take some time before Paige would realize that she just won a natty, but now, it’s sinking in for you. You’re a national champion. So is your girlfriend. You’ve accomplished the very goal that you came back to UConn to seek out. You’re overcome with this heavy feeling of peace, gratitude, an overwhelming amount of love and admiration for the woman who put the team on her back when she needed to, who took a step back to let her team do their thing when needed to. Most of all, you’re overcome with a feeling of belonging, the feeling that you’re right where you’re supposed to be, wrapped in Paige’s arms like you’re more important to her than the trophy.

You think she’s fallen asleep until she murmurs, still slightly in awe, “We did it.” Her hand tightens around the fabric of your shirt, her voice exhausted and dripping with something that sounds like accomplishment.

Your fingers brush her knuckles, a smile of your own spreading across your face as you agree, “We did.”

You can feel the smile she presses against your skin, the subsequent kiss that follows. “I love you,” she murmurs. “Thank you for doing this with me.”

You don’t think you could be anywhere else. You lift her hand to your lips, kissing her knuckles, and she squeezes you one more time as you whisper, “I love you, too.”

When the two of you wake up that morning, you have her coffee ready and you make sure she takes her medicine to keep the headache away. And when she looks at you hopefully, holding up the net and the hat, you really don’t have it in you to protest.

You place the net around her neck again and you tuck the wisps of her hair under her hat, pressing your lips to hers, and she hugs you tightly with an emotion that feels a hell of a lot like relief. You know she’s relieved for a lot of reasons, but the top reason stems from a deep thankfulness that the both of you were able to win the national championship together, just as you’d spent years dreaming about.

Paige grins at you again, her expression adoring, and you know that what the two of you have is worth a whole lot more than the trophy you’ll be transporting to Storrs.