#i'm on chapter 6 for reference
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lakevalorr · 5 months ago
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I just got into this fic not even four days ago, and it already feels like I'm getting subliminal messaging telling me to go finish reading.
Banger art though, as always
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commission for @queenychu of a scene from their fic the things we do for gym access! 💪💥
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frobby · 1 year ago
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Nothing is stronger than the bond between a girl and a piece of media they brushed off 10 years ago that they now realized is the greatest thing ever made
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fountainpenguin · 7 months ago
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Extremely funny to me that PiglinMyNose's character journey is "Death game with SnifferMyFeet" followed by "Eating pancakes in Decked Out 2" followed by "Tagging after Joel in Hermitcraft Season 10" followed by "Recording murder mystery skits."
Every time NameMC gives us a new PiglinMyNose skin, I just imagine he's busy with his acting work and SnifferMyFeet is sitting in an empty auditorium with a big sign that says '10' and he's like "WOO-HOO! Yeah! I know him!"
He would probably do this if Joel's intro skits were a live theater performance too. And he'd be dragged out by other Hermits while kicking and yelling.
Later you find out he's sprawled atop the concessions bar just idly kicking his feet and waiting for the show to finish. He misses his friend.
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active-mind-15 · 3 months ago
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Just spent several minutes agonizing over the timeline of Accidental Siblings and tweaked parts of my fic yet again to match the canonical timeline better
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maddymoreau · 1 year ago
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Euphoric Brothers posted this on Youtube:
Did you get his warning?
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captainkurosolaire · 2 years ago
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Perish.
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Dark, null, coldness… Familiarity set, was this his beyond?   …Nay, it felt like the ocean's depths.   Communion from an unseen fathom called out to his submersion. Do you know how a soul becomes fragmented?       When it gives away, pieces of themselves carelessly. You have wronged six, My Captain.           Not counting the surface who needs you Whole. Boy of Dream             Beast left Tameless,                                            Grim Shadow’s without Guiding Light                                                             Savage devoid Solace,                                                                            Power left Satisfied                                                                               …And a door left turn. Six wronged, heinously left in absence. Judgment demands, you navigate these lost fragments into reunion, Stands you’ve conjured this colorless realm, by such turmoil, everything becomes unclear. Water left unnatural.       Skies upside down.               Loved memories, all scattered. Chaos to disarray is your trade, Being overly lawless can lead to Insanity. "You are not Alone."                    "I am Perish." "I’ve accompanied you awhile now, meeting the same ordeals.           "Anguished, I hurt."               "Your emotions serve my own." The Seeker paused, gasping and shaking trying to absorb his rational sense. “Ye b’ my spirit-guide that butterfly? …Why do you still elude me?”  Silence befell a spell. Feminine mystical chimed, “I do not. You’ve made yourself blind, sinking into obscurity. As I said, you’ve forged this terrible gray. Abandon everything and Search. When you merely question, it forms a maze tormented for misery.”
Wretched and troublesome the sailor split calmed his astral essence, a flashing memory of recent transpired, Judas preaching a helpful suggestion before fallout, <“If you took a second and THOUGHT instead of allowing your emotions to think for you. That is your worst design, always has been.”> Baffled by his guiding truth, unconventionally these were a wind. Phenomenon the butterfly essence further elaborated, “You’re beginning to understand and as so, you can now perceive what’s real.” Golden eyes pried open to see a fellowmen. “...You’re me…” With a peer to a ravine reflection, “I am you. A singular part. Five others reside amongst us.” Overwhelmed by devastating sorrow, Captain dropped to repenting knees onto a solid-layer within the water’s depths of phantom nonsense. Tears scattering themselves how the guilty, feel, “How did I fuck up this bad?! I thought, I really got rid of my doubts and quelled them last time, I saw that Undesirable side of me… That inferior side, ‘Un’, I was drawn t’ lash against!” He felt unbridled internal pain within himself that she had suffered. Entire senses were becoming aware of this formless realm. She swam up with stride, before kicking him in his unbecoming sorrow, sending him reeling back from tremendous power. “Enough! You cannot allow pity here! Man yourself together! You’ve answered without realizing. You struck against a side you believed, lesser? However, by doing so you forced a new side of that to be created. An endless cycle, when you defeat a dementor of doubt, another will arise in replacement even more foul. THIS is uncontrollable, you’re attempting to alter nature, beyond yourself. You have taken in a dangerous soul-crystal thought lost out of necessity to survive, but that magick inside yourself warps the fabric of existence, in your situation it’s been internalized, whatever perceives, BECOMES. This is not like ordinary dreams or nightmares, it will follow you even outside and continuously haunt you with misfortune… Noble told you once, that Order is necessary for Reality.” Captain’s memory instantly rushed, Shiro’s own imparted intelligible insight, these former connections… Resurfacing in a place known for suppression, repression, drowning. “...Then.” Preventing himself from an actual quizzical tone, adapting to his environment. “I have t’ acquire balance to manage this place.” Finding words previously that were obviously ominous, now became trivial.
“Correct, now you’re turning on! You cannot shape anymore, you’ve given all your power, dream, alongside importance's anchored to burial, even from your own. Though, you may recuperate and establish color again, Free yourself to mend like you were on the path to doing-before this Tumultuous Year Began, you made a crucial error by removing trust for yourself for any moment at-all, you gave a specter here that dominion. — Lies are scary, you’ve committed so easily. Before they were uttered, you had to register them here in this dangerous place... Telling worried loved ones, you’d stay, yet, improperly forgetting those branding pain and selfishly abandoning proper mistakes, you instead acted overly callous. For a sinner, this place is deserving, befitting perhaps. Although what’s only clipped, can fly again. – As you heard by the loud Hellsguard with his trembling sorrow.” Continuing to try educating how this wondrous place functioned, psyche incomprehensible to measure. “...Aye, right. Gark said, I deserved to be alone, wait no, Perish…’” Upon that exchange, her namesake was given dawn. Anything said from outside that weighed against his compassion, drew haunting creation from this inner reside. A foolish hardass lacking control. The Hellsguard seemed overly enraged but why does one get that way at-all? When a soul is mourning! It confesses itself almost spontaneously. There was no mistake, Gark felt strongly moved. And Captain never explained himself beforehand why he was disbanding, not everyone was like Zieton who can just magically perceive his intent… Damn it. Some, Captain… “Perish, please navigate me. I want to… No, us t’ b’ complete, I WANT TO HEAL!” A powerful declaration brought a shake throughout the mystique stratum.   Breaking a coy smile, “My pleasure is yours... Your first-fragment to recover is the Boy who became Dreamless, as the Child grew older and began suffering countless loss, or time-ushered passed, he began distancing himself from his initial ambition which left him within a fog. Find and locate this answer..” She looked above. “Our time must be cut short, your advisory on the plane is approaching. I will distract him momentarily! Wake up, utmost haste the serum on your last desperation, should be taking effect otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. Our next encounter will occur after you speak to your Father, about who your Mother really was and only then, will you figure out how to walk here again.” She dissipated into the spiritual realm as bubbles formed, and popped on his visage in departure. Remembrance came.
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♫Butterfly♫ - Reference - Last Chapter
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tardis--dreams · 2 years ago
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4 out of 12 pages are references. That's about half of the references i will end up using. So. 8 pages of references mean i only have 30 pages not 40. Help¿?
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ruvviks · 6 months ago
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i missed cyberpunk so fucking much i'm glad my brain decided to circle back to it. fresh new gang to focus on AND it's giving me motivation to work on some fics i've been meaning to write
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pureconancommentary · 6 months ago
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Don't mind me, I'm just always curious about the layouts of rooms we're privy to in manga. And it's impressive how none of this goes together. Also that door hasn't managed to figure out which way it wants to open. Chapter 2, opens to the left coming in. The times Conan's entered, it opens to the right. And then flips the other way. Conansistency! -jazz hands-
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the-nameless-ramekin · 1 year ago
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🤧🤧🤧 THIS IS EVERYTHING TO ME 
genuinely at a loss for words and pumping my brain for actually coherent English things to say JAHSJKHKH so there's just brain dumping in the tags 👇
Tumblr can't deal with all of my tags RIP so here's more things I included that got thanos snapped:
this has had more cultural impact than the renaissance. not even my partner on our wedding day could move me to this degree.
not me not realising your two accounts were the same person LMAO 🤡
genuinely am so overwhelmed by the sheer prowess, beauty, intricacy of this masterpiece. bias aside (being my story and also my existing love for your art) it's just objectively the most visually stunning thing I've ever seen
I will blast my current story with copious amounts of leorook in honour of you
how tf did it take me an hour to type everything out + wrangle Tumblr
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i drew a thing for this beautiful fanfic by @the-nameless-ramekin >:3c i 100% recommend this fic for people who enjoy crying (and beautiful writing in general!!) anyway hey rame...it's ao3 user bachstreetsolo o(-( i love your writing (i cried!!)
keep reading for rambles and alt images 🌟
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fun little detail (kind of) - i gave each character clothes in a hue close to their partner's hair colour...vil's was a bit hard to work in but she has a bit of white in her hat. also sorry for having the opposite of same face syndrome
honestly i think this might be the most detailed piece i've done? even my rook birthday art wasn't this intense omg. i aim to do more detailed pieces in the future 💥 i can't keep doing flat backgrounds forever...i'll keep improving 🔥 and seriously read the fic it's crazy good
#THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY BEAUTIFUL DETAILED AND THOUGHTFUL I DON'T DESERVE THIS#firstly your art is absolutely astounding holy shit#good god#the composition? use of perspective? colour?? lighting?? sense of space??#IF I WASN'T LYING DOWN UPON MY FIRST VIEWING OF THIS MASTERPIECE I WOULD'VE KEELED ONTO THE FLOOR BTW#I AM OBSESSED WITH ALL THE FINER DETAILS like their clothes being their partners' hair colour YOUR BRAIN#also ace's camera and the little heart ❤️#VIL'S INCOGNITO OUTFIT (although partially obscured)!!!!#AND ALSO?? THE FOREST IN THE BACKGROUND AND THE LIBRARY SHATTERING#IDK IF THIS WAS LIKE SPECIFICALLY PLANNED BUT HOW IN THE BACK MURAL THE 6 ANGELS ARE CLOSED OFF AND EXCLUDING THE 4 THAT FELL#WAIT ALSO. ROOK TURNING BACK BC HE'S THE ONLY ONE THAT RECOGNISES LEONA#did I mention how beautiful and immaculate your art is. yes I have but I'm gonna do it again#UGH THIS IS FLAWLESS AND IT'S REARRANGING MY BRAIN#also leorook holds head in hands oh my lord#I'M LOSING MY MIND THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY GORGEOUS AND I AM BEYOND GRATEFUL FOR THE TIME AND EFFORT YOU HAVE PUT INTO THIS#I'll give you my firstborn#my credit card info even#okay now it's time for obligatory feelings rant#frankly it is surreal seeing something related to one's story without being the person creating it it's like an out of body experience /pos#wow I have a degree in incoherency ANYWAY#this had me reminiscing#crying#I'll never forget this as long as I live. also I want it on my gravestone.#OKAY SUMMARY TIME#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PUTTING SO MUCH TIME LOVE AND EFFORT INTO THIS. IT IS INCOMPREHENSIBLY AMAZING.#to think that somebody appreciates your work enough to put in so many incredible intricate references and details#and devote their time and energy into producing something so gorgeous HAS ME ON THE FLOOR. CRYING.#(warning it’s Publicly Getting Vulnerable Hours™) but anyway I don’t usually think very highly of my writing#(especially tfac in particular because it took so long and I was pretty much a different person writing chapter 1 vs chapter 20)#so this destroyed me emotionally
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sparkles-oflight · 1 year ago
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oh my god wait you also may want to change these on every post too 😭
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I'M ALSO WORKING ON THAT!
I'm just busy rn 😅
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copperbadge · 10 months ago
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I'm getting depressingly good at identifying the formula for Pop Academic Books About ADHD.
Regardless of their philosophy it pretty much goes like this:
1. Emotionally sensitive essay about the struggle of ADHD and the author's personal experience with it as both a person with ADHD and a healthcare professional.
2. Either during or directly following this, a lightly explicated catalogue of symptoms, illustrated by anecdotes from patient case studies. Optional: frequent, heavy use of metaphor to explain ADHD-driven behavior.
3. Several chapters follow, each dedicated to a symptom; these have a mini-formula of their own. They open with a patient case study, discuss the highly relatable aspects of the specific symptom or behavior, then offer some lightweight examples of a treatment for the symptom, usually accompanied by follow up results from the earlier case studies.
4. Somewhere around halfway-to-two-thirds through the book, the author introduces the more in-depth explication of the treatment system (often their own homebrew) they are advocating. These are generally both personally-driven (as opposed to suggested cultural changes, which makes sense given these books' target audience, more on this later) and composed of an elaborate system of either behavior alteration or mental reframing. Whether this system is actually implementable by the average reader varies wildly.
5. A brief optional section on how to make use of ADHD as a tool (usually referring to ADHD or some of its symptoms as a superpower at least once). Sometimes this section restates the importance of using the systems from part 4 to harness that superpower. Frequently, if present, it feels like an afterthought.
6. Summation and list of further resources, often including other books which follow this formula.
I know I'm being a little sarcastic, but realistically there's nothing inherently wrong about the formula, like in itself it's not a red flag. It's just hilariously recognizable once you've noticed it.
It makes sense that these books advocate for the Reader With ADHD undertaking personal responsibility for their treatment, since these are in the tradition of self-help publishing. They're aimed at people who are already interested in doing their own research on their disability and possible ways to handle it. It's not really fair to ask them to be policy manuals, but I do find it interesting that even books which advocate stuff like volunteering (for whatever reason, usually to do with socialization issues and isolation, often DBT-adjacent) never suggest disability activism either generally or with an ADHD-specific bent.
None of these books suggest that perhaps life with ADHD could be made easier with increased accommodations or ease of medication access, and that it might be in a person's best interest to engage in political advocacy surrounding these and other disability-related issues. Or that activism related to ADHD might help to give someone with ADHD a stronger sense of ownership of their unique neurology. Or that if you have ADHD the idea of activism or even medical self-advocacy is crushingly stressful, and ways that stress might be dealt with.
It does make me want to write one of my own. "The Deviant Chaos Guide To Being A Miscreant With ADHD". Includes chapters on how to get an actual accurate assessment, tips for managing a prescription for a controlled substance, medical and psychiatric self-advocacy for people who are conditioned against confrontation, When To Lie About Being Neurodivergent, policy suggestions for ADHD-related legislation, tips for activism while executively dysfunked, and to close the book a biting satire of the pop media idea of self-care. ("Feeling sad? Make yourself a nice pot of chicken soup from scratch and you'll feel better in no time. Stay tuned after this rambling personal essay for the most mediocre chicken soup recipe you've ever seen!" "Have you considered planning and executing an overly elaborate criminal heist as a way to meet people and stay busy?")
Every case study or personal anecdote in the book will have a different name and demographics attached but will also make it obvious that they are all really just me, in the prose equivalent of a cheap wig, writing about my life. "Kelly, age seven, says she struggles to stay organized using the systems neurotypical children might find easy. I had to design my own accounting spreadsheet in order to make sure I always have enough in checking to cover the mortgage, she told me, fidgeting with the pop socket on her smartphone."
I feel a little bad making fun, because these books are often the best resource people can get (in itself concerning). It's like how despite my dislike of AA, I don't dunk on it in public because I don't want to offer people an excuse not to seek help. It feels like punching down to criticize these books, even though it's a swing at an industry that is mainly, it seems, here to profit from me. But one does get tired of skimming the hype for the real content only to find the real content isn't that useful either.
Les (not his real name) was diagnosed at the age of 236. Charming, well-read, and wealthy, he still spent much of his afterlife feeling deeply inadequate about his perceived shortcomings. "Vampire culture doesn't really acknowledge ADHD as a condition," he says. "My sire wouldn't understand, even though he probably has it as well. You should see the number of coffins containing the soil of his homeland that he's left lying forgotten all over Europe." A late diagnosis validated his feelings of difference, but on its own can't help when he hyperfocuses on seducing mortals who cross his path and forgets to get home before sunrise. "I have stock in sunburn gel companies," he jokes.
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nefastnefertiti · 24 days ago
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WHY CHAPTER 431 OF MY HERO ACADEMIA SCREAMS CENSORSHIP
First let's start by the "afterword", the note Horikoshi left after 430 and before the extras, chapter 431.
Original japanese for those who understand.
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The best traslation I found and most people are agreeing with.
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Key sentences are:
1.The real final chapter is 429, 430 is more like a curtain call.
2. PS: For chapter 431, I turn off the cameras and free the characters from their dramas.
This note being left after 430 and before the extras is so important. . The clarification of "the real final chapter is 429" and 430 is the curtain call is screaming: the show has ended here. This is further stated by "i turn the cameras off" by the man who use to refer himself as the camera man, I leave you with an example.
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(They're talking about Vol 37 cover)
And back to point number 2: "and free the characters from their dramas", which could perfectly be understood as "the characters are no longer tied to their previous plots and drama" no longer connected to the main story.
It may seem like a reach until here, we're just trying to convince ourselves that's not canon, right? They´re delusions, right?
The problem is how far away everything about 431 antagonizes the whole story, the characters doesn't feel like themselves, they even regress back all their development, the drawing style looks totally different and there are many irregularities that call for our attention.
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Dabi, 431 and by Horikoshi
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Toga and Ochaco in 431:
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Toga and Ochaco by Horikoshi:
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All Might's signature for Katsuki (Horikoshi would never mess this up):
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Kirishima with 6 fingers lol, Horikoshi loves drawing hands, he would never.
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Katsuki's odd teeth what the fuck. (His hand looks good to me)
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Ochaco and Shoto just look, weird. It's clearly not Horikoshi's art style.
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And this awful background (center) was the main giveaway.
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Horikoshi's backgrounds are so professional:
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At this point I'm getting tired since the difference is astounding, don't believe me, just check the manga.
I don't think Horikoshi would've allowed those mistakes had he have a role in the making, maybe he did, there's no saying about that, but clearly if he did his involvement was very low.
Character's development wise now.
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Seriously? "Deku"? And Katsuki complaining for picking him up. He cried his eyes out when Izuku lost his quirk and now he's back at season 1?
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Izuku would never in a million years turn down that offer. And if he did, it would never be like this, so devoid of emotion and empathy.
430 showed us an Izuku aiming for his dreams again and at 431 this Izuku ¿? It's okay with being a teacher? Ok. And if that's not the problem, why he outright rejects Katsuki out of nowhere? When their rivalry was one of the main points of the plots for 430 chapters and now just um over? Without justification? Ok.
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Ok.
Now specifically about that ship canonization and bkdk.
Horikoshi has been doing this for 10 years. The choices he took the whole manga were incredibly intentional, all those romantic tropes given to bkdk, his interviews, all stand in direct opposition to what happened in this last chapter.
I, myself, don't know much about Jump but what I've heard is they end lot of shonens with the same heterosexual formula. I don't think all of this is a coincidence.
Something really important that needs to be adressed to is what happened back in June (I think), when suddenly MHA announced it was ending in 5 chapters could've something to do with this. The manga was suddenly rushed to its ends with unsatisfying resolutions and as if that was not enough, one month later (at most) the same happened to JJK and all of this came accompanied by a switch of one of the heads of Jump.
About 431 again though.
I was just thinking what would I do if I was pressured to write something that ruins the biggest project of my life and goes against everything I was hoping for? Refuse. Tell them to write it themselves. If I can't do anything to stop it and it'll be there, alright, but I WON'T DO IT.
And I think this could be Horikoshi's case.
I've never seen a shonen manga come so close to implying his male protagonist and his male deuteragonist are in love before. Yes, it was not EXPLICIT but it was so fucking clear if you knew how to read, all the way up to 430. All those cliches tropes he gave them, he knew, we know.
I thought I'll die trying to explaineverything that seems wrong with this with nothing to back me up but the fact that he added that note is clear for me. I'm surprised they allowed him to publish it, I thought we wouldn't even have that.
PS:
It's interesting this being posted the same day 431 comes out. Also "heroaca is pretty dark, huh?"
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I'll not go into this anyways because it's kind of a reach but the conclusion is: I think it's a "soft" censorship and Horikoshi did his best to relay his message given what he had.
Thanks for reading!
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punkshort · 1 month ago
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Evergreen | Chapter One: Denial
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader
Chapter Summary: Tommy encourages Joel to join bereavement group counseling, where he meets you. You connect over a similar loss and the common thread of loneliness, leading to something unexpected for you both.
Chapter Warnings: grief, angst, mentions of OC deaths, mild references to: suicide, self harm, drug use (none by reader or Joel), language, panic/anxiety attack (Joel), Joel POV
WC: 8.8K
A/N: I've been working on this goddamn series since May. Sorry it's taken me so long to get around to it but I am committing to a posting schedule now that it is almost complete and I appreciate you all for being so patient. Hope you enjoy tons of fluff and softness and angst.
Series Masterlist
Joel's hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared blankly at the faded brick building connected to the small, run down parking lot. He watched as the clock ticked down to six in the evening, and with each passing minute a new car parked nearby or someone walked through the double doors. He wasn't sure what he expected, but he was surprised to see people of all ages streaming inside.
Then he saw a young woman with two children, one in each hand, neither of which could have been over seven years old, walk inside with watery eyes and he dropped his gaze to his lap in shame.
Mia had been gone for nearly ten years. He had no business being there. His grief wasn't fresh. Over the years, he's learned to cope with it, to live alongside it. The people who were there that night needed the support.
Joel didn't need support. He was just lonely.
He reached for his key, still dangling in the ignition, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he patted down the front of his jeans until he located his phone, then lifted his hips off the worn seat with a grunt so he could fish it out.
"Yeah?"
"You better not be thinkin' 'bout leavin'."
Joel swiveled around in alarm, searching the parking lot for his brother's truck, but all he saw were the last few stragglers hurriedly walking up to the front doors, the anguish practically weighing them down as they moved.
"You watchin' me now?"
Tommy chuckled on the other end.
"Nah, I'm at home. I just know you."
Joel rolled his eyes as the clock ticked to 6:01 on the dash.
"This is stupid, Tommy."
"It ain't stupid. It's been almost ten years and you've never looked twice at another woman. You can tell me you've moved on or that you're fine, but I'm not buying your bullshit," Tommy said sternly on the other end. "I don't think you ever gave yourself a chance to process what happened and it's important you do that. For your mental health and all that."
"Maria tell you to say that?" Joel scoffed, but still unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door.
"Maybe. Don't matter who said it, it's true."
"Fine. I'm walkin' in now, I'll call you later," Joel said, then hung up without waiting for a reply.
The building wasn't very big. From the lobby, Joel could hear a male's voice making what sounded like brief introductions as he strolled quickly down the hall. He rested his hand on the push bar and took a deep breath. Right as he was about to enter, he heard someone else's light footsteps jogging up behind him. He turned around as you approached, a little breathless and with a guilty smile.
"Oh, good, I'm not the only one who's late," you said, nodding towards the door.
"Uh, yeah," Joel said, clearing his throat softly, "we can share the heat," he joked, opening the door and stepping aside so you could walk through first. You shot him a grateful look and mouthed thank you before entering the room.
The group all turned their heads at the disruption, as expected, but the counselor waved them in with a warm smile.
"Welcome! Have a seat, we were just getting started."
Joel found the first empty chair he could, in the very last row closest to the door. You glanced around the room before sliding into the same row as him, just a few seats down.
"As I was saying, welcome to the grief and loss support group. I'm Dr. Harris, but please feel free to call me Ryan."
Ryan was young. Definitely under forty. Something about that irked Joel. He imagined this man going to school to learn how to be caring, how to listen and say all the right words at the right time so he could make a decent paycheck and call himself doctor while he went home to his wife and picket fence and his patients went home with a gaping hole in their hearts.
"There is no wrong way to grieve," Ryan was saying from the podium with a practiced look of solemnity. "All of you are here for different reasons. And while you may look around here and think nobody else could possibly understand what you are feeling, I am here to tell you that you are simply wrong." Ryan took a moment to let his words settle over the group before continuing. "We have all lost somebody in our lives. That is the common thread that weaves us all together. And I'm here to tell you to use it." Ryan clenched his fists for emphasis and Joel had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "Lean on each other. Listen to one another. This is a safe space. Nobody will judge you here, no matter what you may think, everybody in this room is here for the same reason."
After what felt like an eternity, Ryan invited the people in the room to approach the podium to speak, no longer than ten minutes, he had said, reminding everyone that their time was limited and they always could speak again at the next meeting.
One by one, people trickled up to the front of the room. First it was an elderly woman who explained with tears in her eyes that her husband of forty years passed away a month ago.
"It sounds silly," she sniffled, "but it feels like I'm... untethered. Like I lost my connection to this world when he left and I'm scared I might just... float away."
Next was a man around Joel's age who visibly struggled to hold back his tears about his late sister.
"I just keep reminding myself I didn't cause it, I can't control it, can't undo it. I'm really mad at myself for not paying attention to the warning signs. She was struggling, y'know?" His glassy eyes addressed the group briefly before he cast his gaze back down. "The best thing I can do is try to rebuild. Don't let the anguish fester. Don't let it consume me. Because she wouldn't want that."
After that, a girl no older than twenty, arms and neck covered in tattoos walked to the front. "She was my best friend since we were eight. And I know it's my fault, I know it is," she choked out, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I gave her her first hit. I could see she was falling too deep into it and I didn't try to help her, I was too focused on my own shit and not seeing what was right in front of me. To this day, I can't look her mom in the eye-" the girl hung her head and took a moment to gather herself. Chairs squeaked as the group patiently waited for her to continue. "But I'm clean and sober almost six months now," she said with a watery smile. A small round of applause broke out amongst the group and she nodded her thanks. "I'm thinking about going to school for social work. Maybe I can honor her memory in some way."
Out of the corner of his eye he saw you cross and uncross your legs nervously but made no move to walk to the front.
Same as him.
When the clock on the wall ticked closer to seven, Ryan addressed the group one final time.
"I'll stick around in case anybody wants to have a talk after group. Just a reminder that I'm only here once a week, but my esteemed colleague, Grace, runs another group on Tuesdays, so please feel free to stop by one or both. I also left some cards in the back next to the coffee. My information is on there if you would like a one on one appointment and on the back is the crisis hotline. Please take one, you never know when you may need it."
The room collectively seemed to stand, a murmur rippling through the group as people began to softly speak again, reaching out to neighbors, either introducing themselves or catching up from the last session. Joel scratched at his chin and looked around the room as people continued to filter around. Some paired off to grab coffee, some went to talk to Ryan, but Joel just stood there. All alone.
He took a deep breath and headed for the back, then lingered at the small stack of business cards Ryan had mentioned. He picked one up and flipped it over, studying it, when he heard a soft voice behind him.
"Excuse me," you said, and he swiveled around in surprise.
"Oh, sorry," he replied, stepping to the side so you could reach the coffee. He pretended to look at the card but watched as you filled up a cup. He waited for you to add cream or sugar but you didn't. You lifted the cup to your lips and took a tentative sip before recoiling at the heat and doing it again.
"That, uh, any good?"
Your eyes locked onto his and you shrugged. "'Bout what you'd expect."
He smiled and looked around the room, fidgeting with the edge of the card before sliding it into his pocket. "This your first session, too?"
You shook your head and stepped aside, a little closer to him, so others could get to the coffee. "I've been coming here almost two months."
That surprised Joel. Based on the way the rest of the group seemed familiar with each other, he had suspected the two of you were both new.
"Two months? Wow," Joel said, "how's it workin' out for you, if you don't mind my askin'?"
You sighed and gave him a little smile.
"Some days are better than others. But I figure it doesn't hurt, so..." you trailed off and crossed your arms, your fingertips tapping against the paper cup. "My mom begged me to come, so I did. I think it makes her believe she's helping in some way by pushing it and I grew tired of feeling like an emotional burden."
Joel frowned. "I'm sure that ain't true. No parent thinks their kid is an emotional burden."
You chuckled and drained the rest of your cup. "You'd be surprised." You tossed the cup into the trash before giving him a brighter smile. Although expressing your emotions was the entire reason you were there, you still felt uncomfortable doing it. "So this was your first time? What did you think?"
"Jury's still out," Joel replied honestly. "Promised my brother I would give it a try, same as you. My daughter just went off to college last month and I think he and his wife are worried 'bout me bein' all alone for the first time in, well... forever, I suppose." His lips pursed in thought for a moment. "Feels kinda like I don't belong here. My wife passed almost ten years ago. I've learned to live with it by now. It ain't as raw as all that-" he gestured up to the podium, referencing all the individuals who poured their hearts out for the past hour. Then he realized he was rambling and chuckled. "Sorry. Can't seem to shut up." He looked at you sheepishly and you smiled back.
"That's good. That's what you're supposed to do here," you assured him, then took a deep breath. "I lost my fiancé a year ago, so I can relate... kind of."
"I'm sorry," he said, furrowing his brow and examining your face. "You're so young, you shouldn't know what that feels like at your age."
"Not that young. I'm thirty-one," you joked. He laughed and rubbed his chin.
"Well I got twenty years on you, seems pretty young to me."
"You're fifty-one?" you asked, and he nodded. "You look good, I wouldn't have guessed a day over..." you trailed off as you studied his face and he grinned.
"Go ahead, be honest."
"Forty-three," you decided, and Joel laughed. When was the last time he felt this lighthearted?
"Well that's the nicest thing I've heard all week," he replied. The room began to thin out and you shifted your weight.
"Well, I guess I should get going," you told him, almost sounding regretful. Then you pinched your eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Joel," he said, sticking an arm out to shake your hand. You gave him a warm smile before telling him your name, your hand getting dwarfed by his thick, rough fingers.
"Will I see you next week, Joel?"
"Yeah," he replied, walking out with you and holding open the door. "I'll give it another chance."
"Good. I mean, you know, I'm glad you're giving it another chance," you found yourself inexplicably stumbling over your words and before your face began to heat up you veered off towards your car with a quick wave.
Joel's eyes trailed after you for a minute before he opened the door to his truck and climbed inside. He absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against his lower lip, lost in thought while he stared straight ahead at the emptying parking lot. Then you drove by in a higher end white SUV and he watched as you took a right turn out of the lot and disappeared down the road. He sighed and started his truck, realizing he was one of the last cars in the lot, and decided to stop at a fast food drive thru on the way home.
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"Uncle Tommy told me you went to a grief support group the other day, how did it go?" Sarah asked him over FaceTime. He pushed the lever on his recliner and leaned back into the chair with a grunt.
"S'alright," he mumbled.
"Did you share anything?"
"No."
"Well, why not?"
"'Cause, baby girl, these people just lost someone close to 'em. I can't get up there and talk 'bout your mama, it's been so long-"
"That doesn't matter," she said, interrupting him. He could hear other kids in the background laughing but she remained focused on her screen. "I don't think you've ever really processed Mom's death and it's important to me that you try. I worry about you, old man," she teased, and Joel grinned.
"No need to worry 'bout me, I'm stayin' busy."
"Yeah, doing what? And don't tell me you're eating frozen meals and watching baseball because it'll break my heart."
Joel's eyes drifted to the empty plastic tray on the coffee table.
"No," he said gruffly. "Ain't baseball season. I'm watchin' basketball."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Dad," she whined, "what about your friends? The guys from work?"
He didn't have the heart to tell her they were busy with their families, with their wives, so he lied.
"Yeah, I'm gonna get together with Jimmy later this week. Gonna shoot some pool."
"That sounds great!" Sarah exclaimed, her face instantly brightening. Her eyes snapped up to someone behind her phone and she grinned, holding up one finger, then looked back at him. "Listen, Dad, I gotta run. I promised a few friends I would go to the football game with them."
"Oh, so you'll watch football with your friends and not me?" he teased, and she giggled. "Alright then, text me when you get back home safe."
"I will. I love you."
No matter how many times he heard it, those words always warmed his heart.
"Love you too, baby girl."
The call ended and he set his phone down with a sigh. Sarah was right. He couldn't waste away in his house all alone, waiting for her to come home to visit or for Tommy and Maria to come by for dinner. He needed to get a hobby. He glanced outside then looked at the time before turning off the television and pushing himself out of his recliner with a groan. He shuffled down the hall to his bedroom to change out of his old sweatpants and ratty tshirt, then snatched his keys off the kitchen counter and headed out to the driveway.
He drove aimlessly through town, his window down with his arm hanging out, soaking up the sun's rays. Kids were playing on the sidewalks and people were walking their dogs or pushing strollers. Everyone just seemed so... happy. Content.
Maybe he should get a dog.
Maybe he should start with a fish, first.
He jumped on the highway and cruised with one hand on the steering wheel. Hank Williams crooned from the radio and Joel took a deep, relaxing breath. He was coming up on the exit for the mall. Sarah loved dragging him to the mall. A smile played on his lips and he figured why not.
He veered off the highway and slowed when he approached the red light, the mall parking lot straight ahead. It didn't look terribly busy. With the weather as nice as it was, he imagined most people would be spending their time outside.
Joel found a good spot right out front. He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked inside through the Macy's. A blast of freezing cold air conditioning hit him like a ton of bricks, cooling the sweat that was collecting on the back of his neck. He managed to make his way through the maze of the department store and entered the mall itself. There were a few groups of girls around Sarah's age giggling and carrying shopping bags and the random couple here or there walking into William Sonoma or Brookstone.
When he passed by the food court, he saw a few solitary older men sipping coffee and reading the paper or people watching. Joel huffed under his breath, wondering who on earth would come to the mall just to read a paper until he realized he was no better.
Was he going to become just like them one day? Would he come to the mall to nurse a coffee just so he wouldn't feel so alone? The thought had his throat closing up.
He paused and leaned against a railing overlooking the bottom floor of the mall, pretending to be looking for someone when in reality he was struggling to breathe. His heart was fluttering too fast in his chest and his vision was narrowing.
"Shit," he whispered to himself, rubbing his eyes and trying to focus on taking deep breaths. It was like reality crashed down around him all at once: Sarah was moved out of the house. Tommy was happily married. And Joel was going to die all alone.
He gasped and blinked, trying to clear his head and mentally talk himself down, but it was no use. He leaned forward a bit to rest his forehead on the cool, stainless steel railing but his knees began to buckle. Just when he thought he would need to stop someone and beg them to call an ambulance, he heard someone say his name, temporarily snapping him out of his daze.
"Are you okay?" you asked, the smile slipping from your face when you noticed how flush he looked. He could only manage to shake his head. Without hesitating, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him stand, then glanced around. Spotting an empty bench, you led him over and helped him sit. You rubbed your palm over his upper back soothingly and sat next to him, reminding him to breathe deeply until his vision cleared and he felt his strength return.
"Christ," he mumbled. He sat up and leaned back so the back of his head rested on the bench and stretched his long legs out. "Thank you," he added, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.
"No problem," you said, "is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Or, no. I don't know," he sighed, dropping his hand from his face. "I think it just hit me all at once."
You slid over on the bench to give him more room. "What hit you all at once?"
"That my little girl is growin' up and -" he stopped himself, the words and I'm all alone getting trapped in his throat. "And I just miss her, is all."
You slowly nodded and glanced around the mall. "What does she like?"
He smiled. "Clothes. Music. Makeup. Books."
"What kind of books?"
"The fantasy kind. Y'know, like Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter."
A huge grin spread across your face. "Follow me, I have an idea," you said, standing up and looking down at him before you realized you might have overstepped. "I mean, unless you're-"
"No, let's go," he replied, standing up and stretching out an arm for you to lead the way. He fell in step next to you as you led him down towards the other end of the mall and after a few minutes, he realized where you were leading him.
"The bookstore?"
"Yep," you said cheerily, shooting him a playful grin. "Trust me."
And he did.
"There's some really incredible series out there right now. Why don't we pick one out, you can read it and share it with her so you guys have something to do together from a distance? Do you know if she's read The Word of the Heir? That's by an incredibly talented author who actually got the idea when she was only seven years old," you told him excitedly, leading him deep into the bookstore, dodging tables and displays until you made it to the fantasy section. Joel slowed down and looked around, his panic attack slipping further and further from his mind.
"Uh, I ain't sure," he replied as you held up the book. You tucked it under your arm and began to look again.
"How about Empire of Kings? I haven't read that one but the author is relatively new and I've heard he's an extremely talented storyteller."
Joel shrugged, again unsure what Sarah may or may not have read. All of the titles sounded so foreign to him until his eyes landed on the spine of a thick, hardcover book.
"Oh, this one sounds familiar," he said, plucking it from the shelf. "The Crimson Stone. I think she wanted to read this but I don't think she ever finished it. It's a series-"
"Yeah, I know that one," you told him quietly. He glanced down at the book again and read the author's name.
"Daniel Davis, ain't this the guy who died in that bad wreck downtown?" Joel mumbled as he flipped the book over in his hands to read the back. You nodded. "Maybe I'll get this one."
"Don't waste your money, I can give it to you for free," you said, gently taking it from his hands. You ran your palm distractedly over the cover before flipping it open and looking at the tiny black and white photo of the author on the inside jacket. "This was my fiancé," you added, your voice thick. Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Shit," he mumbled. "I-I'm sorry, his name just sounded familiar, I remember it from the paper..." he trailed off, floundering for what to say to comfort you. Why couldn't he fucking think?
"It's okay," you told him, waving him off, but the guilt still laid heavy in his chest. "There's no way you would have known." You slowly closed the book, giving the picture one more glance, and handed it back to him. "But really, if you want to read them I have tons of copies just sitting around. He had a few other books outside of this series, as well, if you guys wanted them."
Joel's eyebrows knit together. "I don't wanna take your books. They gotta have sentimental value or somethin'."
"No, seriously, I have boxes of them just sitting there. He was in the middle of signing copies for readings he was supposed to do before-" you stopped yourself and cleared your throat. "Anyway. I can bring them to group next week or you can come by the house and look through them yourself if you like."
Joel nodded and nervously chewed the inside of his cheek. "Do you wanna talk 'bout it?"
You looked up at him then, all wide eyed and filled with so much sadness that it made his chest ache. No one so young and pretty should have to go through so much pain. Your eyes drifted over his face for a moment, quietly studying him before responding. "Yeah. I kind of do."
Joel looked over his shoulder and spotted the café across from the bookstore. "You wanna get a coffee and find a quiet bench or somethin'?"
"That sounds nice," you replied, so he put the books back on the shelf and walked out into the mall. He spotted a bench near an empty storefront and he told you to go have a seat with the promise of bringing you back something to drink. There wasn't a line at the counter. He couldn't imagine many people wanted coffee that late in the day, so it only took a few minutes before the barista slid the two cups of black coffee across the counter and he met you back at the bench.
"Black, right?"
You smiled and gingerly took the cup. "Yeah, how did you know?"
"From group the other day," he replied, then sat down with a grunt. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, each of you letting your coffees cool before you spoke.
"I usually don't talk about it. Every week I tell myself I'm gonna go up to that podium and pour my heart out and every week I chicken out."
Joel didn't say a word. He learned early on with Sarah when she was upset, she just wanted someone to listen to her. So that's exactly what he did. He sipped his coffee and just listened. And before you even realized it, you were telling him everything.
You began by telling him Daniel was from Austin but you met in Portland, where you grew up. For a while, the two of you tried doing a long-distance relationship, but once you were finished with school you took him up on the offer to move in with him in Texas. Shortly thereafter, he proposed and you had spent the last year of his life planning your dream wedding. The night of the accident, you had been touring a venue an hour outside the city. It was dark when you finished up and drove back home.
Daniel didn't do anything wrong. You insisted Joel knew that first.
A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel and ran a light, completely crushing the driver's side and killing Daniel instantly. Somehow, you had only come out of the accident with a small concussion and a badly bruised chest from the seatbelt.
"Jesus," Joel muttered when you exhaled a shaky breath. "I'm sorry, darlin'. That's some fucked up shit." His eyes widened and he straightened up in his seat. "Shit, sorry for cursin'... twice." He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably and a slow smile spread across your face. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you burst out laughing.
"Thank you," you said in between giggles. He grinned, confused but happy you were laughing and not crying. "I needed that. And you're right, it was some fucked up shit."
Joel chuckled and took a sip from his coffee. He heard his phone ring so he pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen before silencing the call and putting his phone away.
"You can take it," you said, wiping a stray tear from your eye and jutting your chin towards his phone.
"Just my brother. I'll call him back later."
"Ah, the infamous brother that made you go to group?"
"The very same."
"Younger or older?"
"Younger, but the way he bosses me 'round you'd never know it," Joel said with a grin.
"He's probably just looking out for you."
"He knows I'm feelin' especially lonely without Sarah. Sarah's my daughter, by the way," he said, pulling his phone out and showing you his lock screen: it was a selfie of him and Sarah on the beach, Joel looked red as a lobster and Sarah's hair looked tangled from the wind but there was no denying the happiness in both their eyes.
"She's beautiful," you said warmly. He smiled and put his phone away.
"Got that from her mama."
"I don't know, I see a little bit of you in her smile," you teased, bumping up against his shoulder playfully. He rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
"What I'm tryin' to say is, I can relate a bit to what you're goin' through. Y'know, losin' a partner and feelin' like you got no one left," he said. You took a deep breath.
"Yeah, sounds like you do."
Joel nervously picked at his jeans, trying to figure out the right way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like an old creep, but before he could open his mouth, you spoke first.
"Maybe we can hang out together and keep each other company?" you offered. He turned his head and grinned.
"I was 'bout to suggest the same thing."
"Really?" you asked, looking as relieved as he felt. He nodded.
"Sounds like we both could use a friend."
Something in your expression shifted. It was too quick. He couldn't pinpoint it but whatever it was disappeared, leaving behind a genuine smile.
"I would really like that, Joel."
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"What the hell? You couldn't call me back yesterday?" Tommy scolded when he marched into the small, messy office the following morning. Joel glanced up from behind his desk; papers, a calculator and a pencil scattered about in front of him. He took his reading glasses off with a sigh, abandoning his work. He hated doing the administrative part of his job. He always preferred to be on site or meeting with clients.
"I was busy."
"Busy?" Tommy repeated before collapsing in the worn out chair across from him.
"Yeah, busy. I was... with a friend," Joel mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant but Tommy's ears perked up.
"A friend? Who?"
Joel shrugged. "Someone I met at that group you made me go to."
Tommy's eyes lit up. "Hey, that's great. See? I knew it'd be good for you. What's his name?"
Joel pursed his lips before softly saying your name and Tommy raised an eyebrow.
"A woman? That's even better, Joel."
"It ain't like that-"
"'Course not," Tommy said, "I'm just sayin' it's a step in the right direction."
"She's too young," Joel said defensively, giving Tommy pause.
"Okay..."
"We're just friends. She ain't from 'round here, ain't got anyone in Texas."
Tommy frowned as he watched Joel shift uncomfortably in his chair, wondering what made his brother get so sensitive, so he chose to tread lightly.
"So you're keepin' each other company. That's nice."
"Yeah," Joel said, standing up with a grunt and rubbing his lower back before he snatched his coat from the wall. "Ready to go?"
"Sure," Tommy said, standing to follow Joel out of the office. While he locked the door behind him, Tommy couldn't help but ask, "How young is too young?"
"Thirty-one," Joel replied, fishing the keys out of his pocket.
Tommy shrugged, falling in step next to his brother as they walked towards the parking lot. "Sounds like an adult to me," he muttered, but Joel chose to ignore it. "When are you seein' her again?"
"End of the week," Joel replied before climbing into the truck.
"Friday?"
"Yeah, after work. We were gonna order some dinner and look through some books she's tryin' to get rid of."
The corner of Tommy's mouth twitched. "So, like a date?"
"It ain't a date," Joel said firmly, his jaw set as he pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive in the direction of the first worksite. "She's mourin' the loss of her husband, it's not a date."
"Husband?" Tommy repeated, then Joel shook his head, growing flustered.
"Fiancé. Not husband."
"When did he pass?"
Joel thought back to what you told him the night you first met. "A year ago."
Tommy hummed and looked out the window, tapping his fingers against the car door in rhythm with the beat from the radio. Joel side eyed him while they sat in silence for a few minutes before he rolled his eyes and sighed. "What?" Joel asked with an edge to his voice.
"A year's a long time, is all."
"She's in grief therapy, Tommy. She's in pain and tryin' to come to terms with it. Quit makin' it sound like somethin' it ain't."
"Just 'cause she's in grief therapy don't mean she ain't ready to move on-"
"Goddamnit, this is the last time I tell you anythin'," Joel grumbled as he made a left hand turn. Tommy hid a smile behind his hand and looked out the window.
"Alright, no need to get all defensive on me now."
Joel opened his mouth to argue but quickly snapped it shut. The more he pushed back just gave Tommy more ammunition. Besides, he knew the truth. You were looking for a friend, someone who could relate to what you were going through. There was absolutely no way you were interested in a man twenty years older than you. The thought was so absurd it almost made him laugh. You were young and beautiful and charming and you had your whole life ahead of you.
No, surely Tommy was wrong.
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When Joel pulled up to your house, his eight year old truck the noisiest thing on the whole block, he let out a low whistle and threw it into park, deciding at the last second to keep his car on the street for fear of leaving an oil stain or something on your pristine concrete driveway. He sat in his truck for a moment, taking in the monumental Victorian house before him. He recognized it from his youth, but back then the siding was chipped and the windows were foggy, in desperate need of replacing. He always admired houses like yours and part of his heart broke whenever he saw one fall into such a state of disrepair that it was beyond saving, but not yours. No, at some point in the past ten years, the house was upgraded but managed to maintain the original charm.
There was fresh siding and new windows installed, the insides framed in what looked like delicate lace curtains, complimenting the style of the house. The roof looked like it had been replaced and the front door looked new, but the original architecture remained. He could easily tell whoever bought the house took great care with it, and the contractor in him breathed a sigh of relief that it didn't fall into the wrong hands, or god forbid, a flipper.
When he walked up your driveway towards the small stone path that led to your front door, he slowed to look at the garden that flourished in front of the wraparound porch. It was a beautiful mix of wildflowers and hedges, and while wildflowers had a tendency to look messy and unkept, you somehow managed to make it look neat and well put together. Fat, fuzzy bumblebees bounced drunkenly from flower to flower and as he climbed the wooden steps, a hummingbird buzzed past his ear, spooked by his presence.
He pressed the button to your doorbell, noting you chose not to install one of those camera doorbells and for some reason, that bothered him. Normally he wasn't a huge fan of technology, but you were all alone in this big house. You needed to be safe, to be careful. Your house was in a nice neighborhood, but that didn't necessarily mean anything.
The door swung open and you greeted him barefoot with a warm smile before stepping aside to let him in. You were wearing a loose tshirt that hung off one shoulder and he chastised himself when his eyes traveled down your tight fitting jeans to your ass as he followed you into your home.
He shrugged his reaction off to just typical male instinct and forced his focus onto the lovely foyer surrounding him as he slid off his boots. Polished cherry wainscoting lined the walls and his eyes widened when he noticed the small tiles in the shape of little octagons below his feet.
"Is this original?" he asked you in disbelief as he pointed to the ground. Your gaze followed his finger and you nodded.
"We tried to keep everything original, if we could," you explained.
"Wow," he breathed as he stepped forward into the hallway, his eyes unable to keep up with how fast his brain was operating. His gaze slid over the original hardwood floors of the hallway, fresh wallpaper, and wide, polished staircase with a plush carpet installed in the center of the steps. Much to his delight, you chose to furnish the house to match the style, as well. Antique fixtures hung from the ceiling and a real wood table was pushed against the wall. A small lamp sat on top with a stained glass Tiffany shade, and next to it was a pile of mail and a framed photograph he tried not to examine too closely out of respect.
"This way," you said over your shoulder, and he followed you blindly deeper into the house. You pushed open a swinging door that led into your kitchen, and for the first time since arriving, his nose was the first of his senses to respond instead of his eyes.
It smelled absolutely heavenly. He had no idea what you were cooking but his mouth instantly watered at the smell of garlic and salt and some kind of meat.
He swallowed and hoped his stomach wouldn't growl and embarrass him.
"Thought we were gonna order somethin'?" he asked as he watched you hurry over to the stove to stir something.
"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I felt like cooking," you replied without looking. He glanced around the room, noticing you chose to update the counters and cabinets to look more modern, but kept the original flooring.
"Mind? Are you kiddin' me? Haven't had anythin' decent to eat since Sarah left for college."
Memories of fast food drive thrus and frozen dinners flashed before his eyes as he watched you turn off the burners on the stove. You opened a cupboard and stretched on your tiptoes to reach a bowl, the hem of your shirt riding up ever so slightly and revealing a small sliver of skin on your back and suddenly, his mouth was watering for an entirely different reason.
Stop it.
"Need some help?" he offered, and you fell back onto the flats of your feet, shooting him a nod and smile. He didn't mean to, but he reached up from behind you for the serving bowl, his front brushing gently against your back, and your shoulders tensed. Shit.
"Sorry, here ya go," he said, handing you the bowl and immediately giving you some space, not catching the glimmer of disappointment in your eyes.
"Thank you," you murmured shyly. He watched you spoon vegetables into the bowl for a moment, grabbing random jars of seasoning and sprinkling them on top before stirring it up, and he finally remembered his manners.
"Can I help?"
"No, no, I got it," you insisted, waving him toward a door on the other side of the kitchen. "Go sit down, I'll be right out."
He wandered over to the propped open door and entered your dining room. Pausing for a moment, he admired the chandelier above the table that looked old but the brass had been polished and the crystals cleaned. The drop ceiling was even remarkable: squares of textured patterns that repeated across the whole room, adding a whole other layer of elegance to the already impressive first floor. His eyes drifted to the dark wood table, where two spots were already set across from each other. He pulled out a chair and sat down, shifting his weight a bit and noting the chairs must have been recently reupholstered based on how firm the cushion was underneath him. You breezed in after him, hardly giving him enough time to take in the elaborate fireplace and mantle at the end of the room, and began to set down plates of food. His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw fresh, fried chicken and whipped mashed potatoes.
"You didn't have to go through all the trouble," he assured you, but you smirked at the way he stared at the chicken, the aroma from the breading overpowering his senses.
"It wasn't any trouble, I like to cook," you replied, disappearing into the kitchen to grab the vegetables and a basket of fresh rolls before finally joining him at the table.
Joel spread the cloth napkin over his lap, using every ounce of self control to stop himself from devouring everything in sight. He glanced up at you and you grinned.
"Go ahead, help yourself."
You watched with a small smile on your face as he loaded up his plate, then played with your own food until he took his first bite of chicken. He froze, his mouth full, and stared at you in awe before he dropped the chicken leg on his plate and leaned back, a deep, appreciative moan rumbling from his chest, making your thighs squeeze together under the table.
"Goddamn," he said once he swallowed. "That's the best fried chicken I've ever had in my entire life, darlin'."
You giggled and finally took a dainty bite of your own before nodding in agreement. "It's not bad."
Joel scoffed and took another bite. "Don't sell yourself short, now. I know what I'm talkin' 'bout. What'd you put in this?"
He listened, completely enraptured, as you explained how you soaked the chicken in buttermilk the day before and all of the seasonings you used in the breading.
"Oh! I almost forgot the lemonade," you said, standing back up and rushing into the kitchen, returning with two cold glasses and setting them down on the placemats. He nodded his thanks, mouth still full, and you giggled again.
You were already planning on packing up all the leftovers so he could take it home, but you still encouraged him to have as much as he wanted while it was warm and fresh.
"Did you make the rolls, too?" he asked after he took a bite.
You laughed and shook your head. "No, I'm not that good. I bought them this morning from a local bakery I like around the corner."
You had finished your meal long before he did, watching with your chin in your palm as he went back for seconds, reveling in the noises and compliments he made with practically each bite.
"Here, have some more," you told him, nudging the plate of chicken in his direction, but he leaned back in the chair and shook his head. "I can't, but everythin' was delicious. Thank you."
"You're welcome. I'm thrilled to cook for someone again," you replied with a sad smile before standing up and picking up your plate. He immediately stood and began to collect the rest, but you waved him back down.
"Sit, sit, I still have dessert," you told him, and based on the way he looked at you in that moment you would have put money down that he could be knocked over with a feather.
"Oh, darlin', you did too much," he replied, immediately flooding with guilt that he didn't even bring wine or flowers.
"Stop! I told you, I like doing it and I never get a chance to anymore, so please, sit down and I'll be right back."
Begrudgingly, he did as he was told and, while listening to you in the kitchen, peered out the back window at the meticulously kept grounds. Your house, like you, was absolutely beautiful. It felt like stumbling across an oasis in the middle of the desert.
You reappeared in the dining room with a bowl of diced, sugared strawberries and a plate of warm biscuits. He watched in stunned silence as you fixed him a plate, spooning the strawberries on top of a fresh shortcake, but told him to wait a moment before hurrying back into the kitchen and returning with a small bowl of homemade whipped cream.
Joel thought he died and went to heaven.
He could tell you didn't want to hear him complain that it was too much, so instead he lavished your baking with praise and thanks, both of which seemed to make your eyes shine bright and your lips remain curled into a smile the whole time.
"You're taking the leftovers home, too," you warned him once you finally allowed him to help bring things back into the kitchen. You were packing everything up nice and neat in matching Tupperware containers and stacking everything into a paper bag. As much as he wanted to decline, he really wanted your leftovers more, so he continued to thank you as he began to wash the dishes in your farmhouse sink. You had tried to fight him on it, but he finally wore you down and won. Stubborn little thing, he thought.
After dinner was cleaned up, you led him back down the hall and up the wide staircase, explaining that the books were all housed in a den at the top of the stairs, but when you opened the door to the room, den seemed like too small a word for it.
It was gorgeous, plain and simple. The cherry wainscoting continued in this room with a dark green wallpaper to accent the wood. All along the wall were antique sconces lighting up floor to ceiling bookcases stuffed full of literature. On the back wall was a large, heavy looking desk with a wingback velvet chair. The desk itself had books and papers scattered about, as if someone were in the middle of something and was rudely interrupted, but based on the layer of dust, he had to imagine nobody had sat there in some time.
And then it hit him: this was your fiancé's office.
A laptop sat open and turned off on the corner of the desk, along with a dusty printer behind the chair on the carpeted floor. He noticed what had to have been manuscripts of some kind based on the lack of coverings on the bound papers piling up next to the printer.
He was an author. This is where he worked.
That was when Joel realized you had been suspiciously quiet. He turned towards you, his eyes scanning your face, studying it. Your arms were wrapped around your middle as you stared blankly at the desk.
"We don't gotta do this today," he said softly, snapping you out of your reverie.
"No, it's okay," you replied, your voice so small it nearly broke his heart. You turned and walked toward the corner of the room, opposite the desk, where a small couch and coffee table sat. A few cardboard boxes were stacked nearby, two of which remained unopened, one recklessly torn into. You started with that one.
"Here," you said, pulling out a few books and handing them out. He stepped forward and took them, looking down at the covers and the beautiful artwork that adorned them. "These are the first trilogy, you should probably read them first before the next. They're different stories but they inevitably weave together so it'll make more sense if you-" you paused, your voice getting caught in your throat, and that's when he realized you had been fighting back tears.
"Hey, it's okay," he told you gently, putting the books down on the coffee table and carefully touching your shoulder, urging you to sit on the couch. After a moment's hesitation, you did, and he sat beside you. "This was too fast. I'll leave these here and maybe one day, when you're feelin' up to it, we can try again."
You looked up at him, eyes watering, and shook your head.
"No, take these now. I have more, I have tons, actually," you said, nodding towards the unopened boxes. "I just haven't come in here since he died and I didn't think it would be this hard." You wiped furiously at your cheeks, trying to hide your anguish.
Joel's heart thundered in his chest. He rubbed your back, trying to offer you a glimmer of comfort while he glanced around the room. "Maybe it was too soon," he offered again.
"No, it's been a year, Joel. I needed to do this." You took a deep breath and gave him a shaky smile. "Thank you. I know this is probably more than you expected-"
"Nah, hey, none of that, now," he cooed, mindlessly petting your hair. "If you needed someone to be here for this, I'm glad you picked me, okay?"
You sniffled and nodded, quietly thanking him again before taking another deep breath and exhaling with a nervous laugh as you looked around the room with him.
"Can I ask you something?"
"'Course," he replied.
"How long did it take for you to move on after your wife passed?"
He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought about it, his fingers still playing with the ends of your soft hair as he slowly rubbed your back. "Well, hard to say. She was sick for a long time so I think I had time to come to terms with it before she died, y'know?" You nodded and listened to him, hanging on his every word and inadvertently leaning into his gentle touch. "Then I had Sarah to worry 'bout and, I don't know, time just... passed me by." He chuckled dryly for a moment before continuing. "My brother thinks I never got over it, Sarah thinks I never processed it, but they only think that 'cause I never dated anyone else."
Your eyes widened in surprise at his confession.
"Never?"
He shook his head and gave you a lopsided grin. "Been busy, I guess."
"But aren't you... lonely?"
He sucked in a sharp breath and cast his gaze to the floor. How did you manage to see right through him so quickly? Was it the common ground or something else?
"Wasn't too bad til Sarah left," he admitted, "but now... yeah. Yeah, it's lonely."
You scanned his face, watching the flicker of sadness in his eyes he tried to hide from you, and you inched a bit closer.
"I'm glad we found each other, Joel," you whispered. His eyes found yours again and he smiled.
"Me, too, sweetheart."
Then, without giving it another thought, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips. It was so tender and soft it felt like he was on the bus in fifth grade and Christine Murphy was giving him his fist kiss all over again while kids in nearby seats teased them with sing-song voices.
You pulled back and looked into his eyes, searching for any hesitation but all you must have seen was confusion because you leaned forward again, kissing him with a little more emotion, your small hand coming up to cup his greying, prickly jaw. You tasted like strawberries and lemonade and you smelled like vanilla and it was making every neuron in his brain fire all at the same time, to the point where his body had no idea what to do but remain frozen.
It was when your tongue first slipped past your lips and flicked nervously over the seam of his mouth that he finally came crashing down to earth. He sat back, breaking the kiss and holding you by the shoulders, staring deeply into your eyes. You were both panting slightly, probably from the excitement and adrenaline, as he tried to figure out what to say, what to do. You were in a fragile state, he decided. You made a mistake, the moment got away from you both and it didn't mean anything. It couldn't mean anything. You were too young and sweet and beautiful. You didn't really want anything to do with an old man like him. He just happened to be there when you were vulnerable and that was all.
The words never came. He couldn't form a coherent sentence. As the seconds dragged on, your face began to fall and embarrassment flooded your chest, the atmosphere in the room suddenly so thick that it was difficult to breathe. You cleared your throat and leaned back, his hands falling from your shoulders, and then you were the first to speak.
"Oh, no."
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gotham-daydreams · 1 year ago
Text
Not [ ]
A platonic Yandere Batfam series.
(I need a better name for this series-)
[General Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, No one is having a good time, Angst, Usual Yandere Tendencies]
Chapters
Chapter 1 (Not Tonight)
Chapter 2 (Not Here)
Chapter 3 (Not Now) [1] [2] [Teaser/Sneak Peak] [Teaser 2]
Chapter 4 (in the works...)
Chapter 5 (coming soon)
Chapter 6 (coming... eventually)
Asks
How do Damian, Babs, and Steph become Yandere for the reader (with more details on Tim)
Further Reiterating on How They Turn
How did the Reader Get Adopted
(Before Chap. 3) How Will the BatFam Find the Reader, How Would The Reader Do In One-On-One Fights With the BatFam, and How Would A Kidnapping Go (a non-canon one)
Damian is the Most Forgivable
What Would Happen if the Reader Wasn't In Gotham?
Is it Possible for a Villian to Become Obsessed with the Reader Like the Batfam
(Before Chap. 3) Discussion on How Y/n Feels
Ruining the Batfam's Reputation By Shitting On Them in an Interview with Louis Lane
(Winning Over Louis Means That Clark Kent's Seal of Approval is Removed)
The Reader and Batfam Sitting Down to Talk About Their Issues, but Harley Quinn is Their Therapist
Alfred is Kind Of the Mastermind
(He's just too good.)
(How far has he gone.)
(Why didn't he do anything before the reader left.)
([Generally] What would happen if the Reader saw/referred to Alfred as their Dad/something similar to that.)
What is Reader's Age
(Before Chap. 4) Would the Roomate Help the Reader?
Would The Roomate Help + Do They Know Batfam's Identities?
Some Members of the Batfam Being Able to Play Instruments with the Reader
(Before Chap. 4) Batfam Trying to Manipulate Reader Into Coming Back Home On Their Own
What if Reader wasn't a Overachiever
What Would Happen if Reader Snapped, and the Batfam Found Out About Their Life Much Sooner
(Before Chap. 4) How Resistant Would Reader Be to Getting Kidnapped, and Would They Try to Escape
How Would the Batfam React to Reader Going Insane
How Would the Batfam React if the Reader Escaped and Went Off the Radar for a Few Weeks, and Would They Actually Be Able to Achieve This?
If the Reader Tried to Give Being a Vigilante a Try, but Their First Attempt Goes Wrong
How Would the Batfam Celebrate the Reader's Birthday When They're Kidnapped
Has the Reader Made a Song for Batman
What if Someone Else Confronted the Reader?
What if Alfred went instead of Dick?
Does the Batfam turn purely because of their guilt?
Fanart
Silly Doodles
Alfred: ah, surely my plan couldn't have gone horribly wrong. Oh, Master Dick? Are you okay? You look dreadful. Dick:
Batfam: *Scheming* Reader: Alfred, come pick me up I'm scared-
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imaginespazzi · 17 days ago
Text
Part 12: Fleeting Moments Of Forever
Tumblr media
Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11
I let my guard down and you pulled the rug (I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved)
(In which a depressed by recent events author spreads her depression)
Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd
Themes: Angst, Fluff if you squint really hard, Hurt with a little bit of comfort if you squint really hard again (basically just squint you guys!)
Words: 12.3K
TW: Swearing (as per usual), a man (ew), brief reference to parental abandonment
A/N: Good morning/night my lovelies <3 Not quite sure what to say when it's one in the morning and I'm slightly delirious but I'm only a couple of hours late with this. There's a lot going on in this chapter and I'm sure I will once again be spammed with asks calling me evil, but remember lovelies, it's for the plot! I will be editing this chapter at some point tomorrow because I just really don't have the energy to edit but I wanted to get this out for you guys by tonight. So if you're reading tonight and see mistakes, please feel free to point them out and I'll fix them. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see in the future. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves!
May 2033
~ A few minutes ago ~
Azzi feels like shit as she runs up the stairs behind her daughter. She feels like a shit mother, she feels like a shit sister-in-law-sort-of-kinda-thing and most of all she feels like a shit ex-girlfriend-turned-complicated-current-situationship-or-whatever. And saying those complicated relationship titles in her head only makes her feel worse. Because really it should’ve been so simple; it had been so simple. And Azzi had chosen to make everything complicated and difficult instead. 
Drew’s words had been like a shot going down wrong, an accusation she knew she deserved but one that stung all the same. Paige’s silence -the fact that she hadn’t been able to give Azzi the assurance that she’d forgiven her- had been like the terrible chaser after that only made her feel more nauseous. And the after effects of it had been Azzi exploding all her feelings on her baby girl who’d just wanted some damn soda.
Letting the guilt fester, Azzi pushes open the door to Paige’s bedroom to find Stephie cuddled up against lavender pillows, one of Paige’s few hoodies that hadn’t made it to the Fudd household draped around her tiny little body. Azzi’s heart constricts at the sound of her daughter’s hiccoughs, tightening even more when she notices the wet patch Stephie’s tears have created against the pillow. 
“Stephie-bean,” she says softly as she climbs onto the bed, reaching out to brush a hand across the little girl’s curled up frame. 
“Go away Mama. I’m mad at you,” Stephie’s petulant reply is immediate as she shrugs off Azzi’s hand, furling away further into herself. 
“I know sweetheart-”
“You yelled at me,” Stephie continues, trying to keep her voice as firm as a five-year old’s can be but it’s too many emotions for such a little soul and Azzi can hear the telltale sign of a fresh new set of tears just waiting to fall. 
She tries again, gently pulling Stephie’s back against her chest and this time, there’s little resistance as the little girl goes easily into her mother’s arms. Azzi tightens her arms around Stephie’s waist, pressing a litany of featherlight kisses into her hair in between apologies, “I’m sorry. Mama’s so sorry sweetheart. I shouldn’t’ve yelled like that baby-”
“No you shouldn’t’ve,” Stephie says matter-of-factly, as she turns her body around to face her mother’s and Azzi’s hands instinctively move to wipe away the tears tracks on her face, “you were so loud. I don’t like when you yell.”
“I know bean,” Azzi says, the tight grip of remorse squeezing her heart harder at the melancholy in her daughter’s words, “but Stephie baby you know soda’s bad for you-”
“But it’s Friday Mama and I only wanted a little,” the little girl whines immediately, “I swear Mama I would’ve only had a little bit and then I would brushed my teeth so hard and they’d be sparkling white like this,” she pulls her cheeks wide open so she can bare her pearly white teeth at her mother, “see!”
And despite that heavy pit in her stomach, Azzi can’t help the slight peal of laughter that rumbles throughout her and elicits a matching grin from her daughter. She ruffles the little girl’s hair before pulling her flush against herself, Stephie’s head burrowing itself into the crook of her neck and for the first time tonight, Azzi finally feels like she can breathe again. Because at the end of the day, what matters most is the child wrapped securely in her arms and as long as she has Stephie, Azzi thinks, no matter what, she’ll find a way to survive. For Stephie. 
Something soft and fluffy brushes against her skin and Azzi reluctantly unfocuses from Stephie to find that the arm of the hoodie that had previously been draped over her daughter’s body, is now wrapped around both of them. Paige’s hoodie. She stares at the material, eyes blinking back tears as that wretched feeling of something’s missing whirls around her. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling; this secret craving that Azzi had often found herself hiding away from when she and Stephie were alone. A craving to have Paige there too, a craving for the two of them to be cradled in the blonde’s strong arms, a craving for this almost perfect picture to be complete. And now that she’s had a taste of what it’s like to have that - these past few weeks having felt like a tester of what it could be like to live in a dream that Azzi had thought she was no longer allowed to dream- Azzi wants nothing more than for it to be permanent. 
Another wave of guilt crashes against her as her mind flickers back to the bitter note she’d ended the conversation down stairs on. The stinging emphasis she’d placed on my daughter echoes loudly in her ears and even though Azzi knows that technically she hadn’t said anything untrue, the image of Paige’s face falling -the sparkle in her eyes dimming at the reality of the younger woman’s words- makes Azzi’s heart stutter with regret. There’s a part of her that thinks it’s all happening too fast, a part of her that’s in a constant duel with the rest of herself that’s ready to call Stephie theirs. And she knows it’s only been a couple of weeks -knows that it’s a little insane to have already carved out a place for forever on a shelf that’s plagued with uncertainties- but the truth is that there’s always been an unfilled space in Azzi and Stephie’s world that’s just been waiting for Paige to step in and claim it. It’s always been hers; they’ve always been hers. 
“Mama,” Stephie’s quiet voice mumbles against her chest and Azzi distractedly hums in return, “why does Miss Buecks have to learn to say no to me?”
“Because she likes to say yes a little too much and she definitely likes to say yes to you but if she keeps saying yes all the time, she’s gonna spoil you. Well more than you already are that is,” Azzi teases goodnaturedly, tugging at Stephie’s nose. 
The little girl pouts loudly before indignantly refuting her mother’s statement, “I am not spoiled. I’m a good girl. A very good girl. A very, very, very, very, very-”
‘Okay, okay, okay,” Azzi says, hushing the little girl with a slight laugh before she can continue to repeat herself, “you’re my very good girl who’s just a little bit spoiled.”
“Maybe a little bit,” Stephie admits, scrunching her nose, “but how come you never make Aunty Leen or Aunty J or Aunty Tessie or any of your other teammates say no to me?”
“Because-well,” Azzi struggles to find the words, “Miss Buecks is- she’s just- it’s different and she’s around a lot more,” she’s around all the time, “and so she’s gotta learn to say no to you sometimes.”
“Like Pops had to learn to say no to me if he wanted to keep helping Nana babysit?” Stephie asks earnestly and Azzi laughs at the reminder of how she and Katie had basically had to force Tim into learning how to say no to his persuasive granddaughter. 
“Yeah something like that,” she says with an amused grin. 
“So Miss Buecks is like-” Stephie pauses, hesitating slightly before a soft smile -one that bears an uncanny resemblance to the one her mother sometimes has when thinking of the same woman- appears on her face, “she’s like family?”
Azzi’s breath hitches in her throat; the delicate mix of sincerity and innocence in her daughter’s voice makes her pause. Because Stephie says it like it’s the most simple yet most important truth in the word, that’s it’s common knowledge she’s known all her life. Paige is family. 
“Yeah,” the brunette breathes out finally, the edges of her lips slightly upturning into a grin that matches her daughter’s, “I guess she is.”
Stephie nods quietly as she mulls over her mother’s answer and Azzi can practically see the cogs turning in her brain before her daughter’s dark brown thoughtful eyes look back up at her, “so does that mean we can keep Miss Buecks forever?”
“I-’
“I mean cause you said she’s family right?” Stephie babbles on, ignoring the way Azzi’s eyes have widened considerably, “and family- family is forever right Mama? That’s what they say? So- so if Miss Buecks is family that means she has to stay forever? We get to keep her forever?”
Azzi blinks rapidly at the onslaught of words falling from her daughter’s lips. Stephie makes it sound so simple; she makes a forever with the three of them sound like a given, like something that’s meant to be. And it makes her think of that night eight years ago, when Paige had made it sound just as simple. 
Be mine forever. 
It was Azzi who had made it complicated; obsolete even. 
But, she thinks, she won’t this time. As she looks back down at her daughter, the hopeful smile on Stephie’s face as she awaits Azzi’s answer, feels a little bit like fate is giving her another chance; a clear sky to re-write her own destiny in the stars. This time, with Paige. 
“Do you- do you want that,” Azzi asks slowly, “do you want to keep Miss Buecks forever?”
If possible Stephie’s smile grows even larger as she gives her mother what can only be described as a ‘duh’ look, “of course Mama. I want Miss Buecks forever and ever and ever. You want that too don’t you Mama?”
Azzi pauses for a second, letting herself be immersed in the idea. 
“Yeah,” she says softly, her eyes suddenly misty. And she knows that there’s still so much left unresolved, that tonight had revealed a chiasm of problems they’d have to still build a bridge over to get back to each other. But for a chance at a forever Azzi had thought she’d long forsaken, Azzi’s willing to try, “yeah I think I’d like to keep Miss Buecks forever too.”
The squeal Stephie lets out practically bounces off the walls in tandem with the little girl springing off the bed and Azzi laughs as her daughter wraps her small hands around her mother’s much larger ones, trying to tug her along. 
“Stephie wait sweetheart, what are you doing? Where are you going?”
Stephie sighs impatiently, “we’re going to Miss Buecks, Mama. We can’t just make this decision without her,” she continues matter-of-factly, “we have to tell her.”
“Tell her what Stephie?” Azzi laughs as she finally lets her daughter pull her off the bed and start dragging her out the door. 
“We have to tell her that she’s family and we have to tell her that we want to keep her forever.”
***
They’re about halfway down the stairs when Azzi begins to hear the whispered hissing of an argument between Paige and Drew going on in the kitchen and she feels dread wrap itself around her whole body. It doesn’t take a genius to gauge that it’s likely about her -more specifically about her and Paige’s relationship- and suddenly it feels like something dark has been cast all over her, stomping out the brightness that she’d felt just mere moments ago. 
Azzi hesitates on the last few steps, causing Stephie to impatiently look up at her as she contemplates whether or not to interrupt whatever altercation is going on in the kitchen. For as long as she’d known them, Paige and Drew had never seriously fought but then again, when Azzi had known them, Drew had been a child; a kid who would never have doubted his sister's decision, or Azzi’s for that matter. But the man that had walked into their lives tonight is one that had been witness -perhaps even a victim- to all the terrible decisions the two of them had made in the last eight years. It’s only natural, Azzi thinks, that he’d be wary of their relationship. He’d seen the burn marks that their relationship catching on fire had left on his sister’s skin and it was only natural that he’d blame the woman who’d held the matches. 
“Mama,” Stephie presses as she tugs at Azzi’s hand, “come on,” she whines, “I wanna see Miss Buecks.”
“Steph-” Azzi tries to say, her instincts going haywire when she hears Paige’s voice more clearly now -stop it Drew- but then Stephie pulls hard and she’s practically tripping down the rest of the stairs, trying to keep balance as the little girl holding her hand continues to drag her towards the kitchen. 
They’re still speaking too quietly for Azzi to pick up exactly what they’re saying but there’s a resigned urgency in Drew’s voice and a fearful sadness in Paige’s that makes bile rise at the back of her throat and suddenly Azzi’s very sure that whatever this conversation is, she really doesn’t want to hear it. But her feet keep moving, letting Stephie lead the way as the claws of it takes a second for everything to fall apart sink into her heart. 
“-there’s a reason you only wanted to be here for this season,” Azzi hears Drew say as they finally reach the kitchen door and she forces Stephie to a halt. Every part of her is screaming to take her daughter and turn away, to not listen to wherever this conversation she clearly wasn’t meant to hear is going.
“I know,” Paige whispers and Azzi’s heart stutters as she takes in the blonde’s red-rimmed eyes as she leans against the table, “I know.”
Azzi opens her mouth, ready to alert the brother-sister duo of their presence but before she can say anything, Drew’s speaking again and as the words roll out of his mouth, Azzi feels her blood run cold. 
“Stick to the plan Paige. Let the Liberty be the end goal. You’ll be in New York by the end of October.”
The plan. Liberty. New York. October. 
The words run around in a frenzy through Azzi’s brain creating a mixture of confusion battling with the sense of an unwanted realization that makes her feel dizzy. It’s like someone pricking a needle against the bubble of forever she’d just let herself believe in and there’s a loud pop echoing in her head. The noise hurts. Azzi had known Paige’s contract with GSV was only for a year; she’d even considered -perhaps even expected- that when Paige had signed it, she probably wasn’t planning on staying forever. 
But that was then. 
Surely things would be different now. 
“Miss Buecks,” Azzi’s dragged out of the cacophony of her mind by the sound of her daughter speaking. Stephie’s voice is wracked with fragility as she clings tightly onto her mother’s hand, her face morphed into a combination of betrayal and please tell me i’m wrong as she looks at Paige, whose face has gone ashen at the sight of the two of them standing by the doorway, “you’re moving to New York?”
“Stephie,” Paige whispers, eyes brimming with tears as she falls to her knees in front of the little girl, hand moving to grip her her shoulders, “sweetheart I-”
“Miss Buecks,” Stephie says again, her usually boisterous tone replaced by a meek, desperate one, “are you going to New York? Are you- are you,” her voice breaks and the next words come out in a barely there whisper, “are you leaving us?”
Say no, Azzi thinks, please say no, say you aren’t leaving, promise you’d never leave. But as she watches Paige open and close her mouth, choking on air as she tries to give an answer, she knows it’s wishful thinking, knows that it’s a promise Paige isn’t going to make. 
“Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s voice is shaking, holding back her tears as tight as she’s holding onto the hope that Paige will give her the answer she wants- the answer she needs, “are you leaving us?”
“I-” Paige bites her lip, hands running up and down Stephie’s shoulder and arms, almost like she’s trying to memorize what it feels like to be able to touch her, almost like, she’s not sure when she'll get the chance to have her this close again again, “I don’t- I don’t know sweetheart I-” 
It’s the wrong answer and Azzi closes her eyes as Paige cuts herself off with a small gasp of air when Stephie rips herself out of the blonde's grasp
“No,” the little girl says harshly, pushing herself behind her mothers legs. 
“Stephie-bean,” Paige says helplessly, looking from the little girl to Azzi. 
“No, no, no, no,” Stephie says; each no is louder than the last, “how you don’t know? You’re an ‘dult. ‘Dults are big. They know everything so how you don't know Miss Buecks?”
“It’s not that simple bean-” Paige tries to say, her hands outstretched towards the little girl, fingers clenching and unclenching like they don’t know how to be still unless they’re clasping onto her. 
“It is,” Stephie yells, “are you leaving us or not? Yes or no Miss Buecks?”
“I-” the blonde splutters, still unsure of what to say. 
“Stephie,” it’s Azzi who cuts Paige off this time, opening her eyes as she bends down in front of her daughter, pulling the little girl into a hug, “baby it’s okay. It’s going to be okay-”
“No it’s not,” Stephie screams as she wrangles herself out of her mother’s grip, the force of it causing Azzi to stumble backwards and something like if you’re going to hold me, hold me forever catches in her throat when Paige instinctively reaches out an arm to wrap around the her waist to keep her steady. The contact makes Azzi shiver and she has to fight the urge to let her shoulders relax, the urge to let herself melt into the warmth that Paige has always exuded.  They stare at each other for a second, Azzi trying to drown herself in the ocean blue of the blonde’s eyes as Paige tries to find some semblance of stability to hold onto in the brunette’s earthy ones. 
“Azzi,” Paige breathes out, that one syllable coated in layers of emotions that Azzi thinks she’d be willing to spend an eternity peeling through if it would bring her one step closer to keeping the woman in front of her from leaving, from going to fucking New York. 
“Mama I wanna go home,” Stephie’s adamant voice pierces through the silence and Azzi tears her gaze away from Paige -but not before she can catch a brief glance of the older woman’s face contorting in pain- to look up at her daughter's cloudy face. 
“Stephie-bean,” Paige speaks before Azzi can, heartbreak laced in her tone as she practically pleads with the little girl, “sweetheart please-”
“You promised you’d try to stay” Stephie bursts out, big fat tears cascading down her small face, “do you even rem-ber? At Nana and Pops’s house when I was scared you left you promised you’d try. But you’re not- you’re not even trying to stay Miss Buecks,” the little girl accuses, “you- you- you lied to me Miss Buecks.”
“I didn’t Stephie- I didn’t lie-” Paige tries to explain between her own tears and they’re still pressed so close together that Azzi can feel every shake of the older woman’s body against her own, “I didn’t lie sweetheart. I’m still- I’m still trying-”
“You’re not-”
“I am. I am Stephie. It’s just-” Paige’s eyes flicker towards Azzi who flinches at the unspoken implication, “it’s complicated.”
“Then un-comp-icate it,” Stephie stomps her feet petulantly before a series of heavy sobs wracked her tiny body and she heaves loudly, clutching at her chest. 
Concern floods through Azzi’s veins as she shuffles towards her daughter, still on her knees and Paige follows her lead, the two of them inching closer, “Stephie-”
Something shifts as Stephie looks at the two of them through tear-stained eyelashes; the anger and fight slowly dissolving into the air. And then, if possible, her face crumples even more before she’s falling into Paige’s lap, one arm tightly wrapping around the blonde’s neck as her other hand reaches out to grab onto Azzi’s bicep, binding the three of them together in a mess of limbs on the cold kitchen floor. 
“Please don’t go Miss Buecks,” Stephie wails as Paige clutches the little girl firmly against her chest, her hands brushing through her dark curls as she tries to comfort her, “please, please, please Miss Buecks I don’t want you to go. Don’t go to New York. Please don’t go. Please stay- stay with me and Mama forever. Please Miss Buecks.”
“Stephie-”
“Please don’t leave us Miss Buecks,” Stephie cries, her breathing unnaturally heavy as she shakes in Paige’s arms and Azzi reaches out a hand to soothe her back, trying and failing to keep her own tears at bay. Azzi’s chest tightens as Stephie continues to babble, begging Paige to stay as the blonde continues to hold her, droplets of water streaming down her face as she gently rocks the little girl back and forth. Because despite the way Paige has practically melded Stephie’s little body into her own, Azzi can see the way that the older woman still can’t seem to say the words that the little girl wants to hear, can’t seem to bring herself to guarantee forever. And it feels like the threads of the dream she’d just started weaving, are slipping out of her fingertips. 
Azzi doesn’t know how long they sit there -Stephie still pleading in Paige’s arms and Azzi stroking her back- but eventually her daughter’s words begin to turn into nonsense, her breathing slowly evening out until there’s nothing but silence; the gravity of her emotions having lulled her to sleep. The silence is deafening as Azzi tries to figure out what exactly she should do next, take her daughter and run or succumb to that part of herself that wants to follow Stephie’s lead and beg Paige to never leave them. She still doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, what sort of plan Paige has about moving to New York and if she’s honest with herself, there’s a part of her that doesn’t want to know; a part of her that wants to go back to ignorant bliss they’d been living in for the last few weeks. But as she stares at the dried tear tracks staining her daughter’s face -that familiar guilt of all we do is hurt the people around us reverberating between her and Paige- Azzi knows there’s no going back. 
“We should talk,” Paige says finally, her voice small as she looks at Azzi, “please.”
Azzi swallows as she wipes at her tears, ignoring the way Paige’s eyes trace her fingers, like they wish it was her brushing them away instead. She ignores the part of heart that wants that too, wants Paige’s comfort, just wants Paige. 
“Yeah, yeah I guess we should,” she says finally, “but um- I should- um,” she gestures towards Stephie’s sleeping body, “should uh- probably put her to bed first.”
“Right- yeah- yeah of course,” Paige nods awkwardly as Azzi reaches to pry Stephie off of her. 
The little girl lets out a low sleepy whine, her hands tightening around Paige’s neck, “no Miss Buecks don’t let me go.”
“Stephie,” Azzi’s heart breaks at the fear etched on her daughter’s face, despite being fast asleep, at the idea of being taken away from her Miss Buecks. 
“I’ve got you sweetheart,” Paige whispers softly against the little girl’s hair before looking back at Azzi, her eyes swimming with guilt, “I can- I can take her upstairs.”
A part of Azzi wants to say no, wants to start taking out stitches in the places where Stephie and Paige have already sewn themselves together. There’s a part of her that regrets having ever given them the needle in the first place, a part of her that wishes she’d never let her daughter get so attached, when there were so many uncertainties about the strength of the thread between them. 
But instead she says, “fine,” as she follows Paige up the stairs, heart constricting at the softness with which the other woman holds her little girl. 
“Put her in one of the guest rooms,” Azzi calls out quietly when Paigs starts to turn into her own room. 
The blonde stops in her tracks, turning around to face Azzi and she has to look away when she sees the stricken expression on Paige’s face. They were meant to be having a sleepover. The night was supposed to end with the three of them curled in Paige’s bed, supposedly watching some random movie but in actuality, Stephie would have dosed off in the middle of it and Paige and Azzi, with their hands entwined over the little girl’s body, would have spent the rest of it talking about everything and nothing. That’s how it was meant to go; it was meant to have been just another night like any of the other ones they’d spent together the last couple of weeks. But now that normalcy seems like an out of reach fairytale. 
“Az-” Paige tries to argue but there isn’t much fight in it and just the slight defeated shake of Azzi’s head is enough to have the older woman biting her lip and doing as she’s asked.
Azzi hangs back by the doorway as Paige gently places Stephie down on the bed, pulling up the moss green covers over the little girl’s body. It feels wrong, Azzi thinks, as her mind drifts back to a few moments ago when Stephie had been cuddled in Paige’s purple bedsheets; that had felt right, like a place her daughter could truly belong. She shuffles her feet nervously as she watches Paige caress Stephie’s cheeks before pressing her lips against the little girl’s forehead. 
“I love you Miss Buecks,” Azzi hears Stephie mutter and she digs her fingernails into her palms. 
Paige lets out a quiet whimper, shuddering slightly as she echoes the words back, “I love you more Stephie-bean.”
That should be enough, Azzi thinks, it should be enough that Stephie loves Paige and Paige loves Stephie to keep them together. And it’s not fair that it isn’t but if there’s anyone that knows that sometimes love isn’t quite enough to keep two people together, it’s Azzi. There’s too much there, too much history and she’d been naive to think the past wouldn’t cast a dark shadow on her present. 
The walk back downstairs feels like it takes an eternity; like they’re climbing back down from a tall mountain. Azzi walks ahead of Paige and she can feel the blonde’s gaze lingering on her back, can practically feel the tension vibrating off of her body at the prospect of the talk they’re about to have. Drew stands at the bottom of the stairs, nervously pacing with his hands stuffed in his pocket. His eyes move up to meet Azzi’s when she finally reaches the last step and he looks a lot like the little boy who’d once accidentally spilled a glass of water all over one of her favorite books. He has that same guilty look he’d had back then when he’d apologized profusely, swearing he’d save up all his pocket money just to buy her another one.
“I’m sorry,” Drew says in a rush, “I didn’t know you guys were coming back down and I didn’t know Stephie was gonna hear that-any of that. I swear Azzi- you know I wouldn’t have said any of that shit if I knew she was gonna hear-”
“It’s fine Drew,” Azzi reassures him, hesitating slightly before reaching out a hand to gently pat his cheek and she’s relieved when he doesn’t immediately back away, “I know you didn’t mean to.”
Drew lets out a small sigh of relief, “okay good cause I really didn’t. I uh-” his gaze flutters between Paige and Azzi, “I’ll um- I’ll let you guys talk now,” he pauses in front of Paige, who looks about as miserable as Azzi feels, “love you no matter what Paigey,” he whispers before giving her a quick peck on her forehead and squeezing her shoulder. 
And then it’s just the two of them and the heavy burden of everything they can no longer ignore. 
***
April 2027
Azzi grips the armrest tightly, her eyes screwed shut as the plane shakes rapidly while preparing to land. For someone who’s pretty-well travelled and has dealt with her fair share of turbulent plane rides, Azzi still finds herself going ridgid every time an aircraft she’s on starts getting a little too bumpy. She can practically hear Paige’s teasing voice -even after all this time- calling her a big baby but the blonde would have laced their fingers together anyway, distracted her with some random story and she’d have held on to her hand -no matter how sweaty- until the plane stopped moving. 
God, Azzi misses her so fucking much. 
But hopefully she won’t have to for much longer. Azzi’s not quite sure what’ll happen after she lands in Dallas, hasn’t -in a very un-Azzi-like step- even really practiced what she wants to say. But, and she knows it’s a little dramatic but she thinks she can probably come up with a mix of apologizing, begging for forgiveness and declaring her undying love that would atleast get Paige to consider giving her another chance. 
There’s this hollow ache in her chest that hasn’t gone away for the last two years. And Azzi had tried to ignore it, had tried to shift her focus to everything else -everything good- that was happening in her life. But even after she’d had an All-American last season at UConn, even after she’d let that team to a back-to-back national championship, even after she’d been the first pick of the 2026 draft to GSV, even after she’d won rookie of the year, there was a still lingering pain -a deep rooted sense of something she’d lost- etched through her whole body. The thing is that Azzi knows she can survive -can even succeed- without Paige- but she doesn’t want to. Not anymore. 
The decision was a long-time coming, the inevitable leap of faith to chase after what she wanted most in the world. But it had all clicked into place at the most mundane of times. She’d been at the park on her regular morning run and she’d seen a family -two women who’d looked at each other like they’d stop breathing if they looked away and their beautiful baby girl who was happily swinging in between them- and suddenly everything else had felt so insignificant in comparison. She’d been forced to admit the truth she’d been trying so hard to run away from. That was the future Azzi wanted -perhaps not immediately but eventually- and she wanted it with Paige. 
Azzi hadn’t let herself overthink it, knowing that if she gave herself enough time, she’d more than likely talk herself out of it. Instead, she’d booked the tickets from San Francisco to Dallas in a rush and then called Ice -the newly anointed Dallas Wing rookie- and it hadn’t taken much to convince her former teammate - who’d all but squealed at the idea of her ‘parents getting back together’- to pick her up from the airport and drive her straight to Paige’s. 
“She’s gonna be so happy,” Ice had assured her, “I mean I’ve only been here like a week but I know for sure she misses you Az. Oh my god this is so exciting,” and Azzi had laughed as she’d listened to the sound of her friend giddily clapping, “I’m so excited for the two of you. You belong together.”
A serene smile crosses Azzi’s face, and she knows it must look a little ridiculous just smiling to herself like this, but all she can think about is that she’d be with Paige soon. And she’s not naive enough to think that everything would miraculously be okay; she knows just how deeply her rejection must have pierced into Paige’s soul. But if the other woman gives her the chance, Azzi’s ready to spend an eternity making it up to her. 
She sucks in a deep breath as the wheels of the plane collide with the runway, her eyes crinkling slightly as she realizes the weather app had lied to her and instead of the ambient evening she’d expected, it’s torrential downpour outside. In hindsight, maybe that should have been her first sign. But for now, Azzi smiles at the raindrops trickling down the window, clichéd memories of kissing in the rain -”baby come on, it's romantic, who cares if we get sick”- flooding her brain. 
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Dallas Fort Worth International Airport. The time outside is currently 7 pm in the evening. We hope you had a good flight and on behalf of Delta Airlines, we wish you a pleasant stay,” the pilot’s voice croons throughout the speakers as Azzi fidgets with her necklace, her last Christmas gift from Paige. 
Just a little while longer baby. I’m coming to you. Forever. 
***
The nerves she’d kept at bay hit Azzi all at once as soon as she climbs into Ice’s car; the thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong barrage into her mind as she watches the windshield wipers furiously fight against the rain. What if Paige doesn’t wanna see her? What if Paige isn’t willing to give her another chance? What if Paige hates her? 
“Dude,” Ice groans, briefly looking away from the road to flick Azzi’s arm, “I can literally hear you thinking. Chill the fuck out!”
“I’m trying,” Azzi whines, leaning her head against the cool window, “Fuck, Ice what if this is the dumbest shit I’ve ever done in my life? What if she sees me and is like ‘what the fuck are you doing here,’ what if she tells me go home? Oh my god Ice why the fuck did you let me do this?”
“Let you?” Ice splutters indignantly, “oh no no no. You are not putting this on me. You didn’t even let me say anything when you called. It was literally ‘hey Ice, I’m coming to Dallas, make sure you pick me up in 6 hours okay thanks’ and next thing I know you’re in Dallas,” the younger girl mimics the phone-call as Azzi continues to groan. 
“This is why I leave the spontaneous shit up to Paige,” she says, stressfully rubbing her face. 
“Yeah but-” Ice gives her a lopsided grin, her tone softening considerably, “she’s gonna love that you did this for her Az. Trust me dude- the two of you- you’re meant to be. Everyone’s always known that. She’s gonna be so fucking happy to see you.”
“Thank Icey,” Azzi says softly, dragging in another deep breath, “I needed to hear that.”
“Any time Az, any time,” Ice reaches over to squeeze her hand and Azzi finally lets herself relax into her seat. 
The rest of the car ride consists of reminiscing their time at UConn -it’s strange to think that they’re both alums now- and Ice telling Azzi stories about her move from Connecticut to Texas. Anticipation builds in Azzi’s stomach as she glances at the GSP, eyes fixating on the ‘3 minutes till your destination’ bubble on the bottom left corner. 
Her destination. 
Azzi thinks no matter how much she’d tried to fight, no matter how much she’d tried to turn and walk the other way, all roads were always meant to lead here. Paige was always meant to be her final destination. She’s not one for fairytales, doesn’t think life began with once upon a time, but as Ice’s car comes to halt opposite the blonde’s apartment, Azzi hopes that her life has a happily ever after where she and Paige get to write the ending of their stories together. 
“We’re here,” Ice says slowly, smiling ear to ear as she turns towards Azzi, “go get your girl.”
“Okay, okay-” Azzi whispers to herself, “you’ve got this Azzi. Just fall to your knees and tell her you’re sorry and that you love her,” she shoves Ice when the younger girl snorts at her little pep talk and then breathes in deeply, “it’s gonna be okay. I’ve got this. I’ve got this!”
“You’ve got this,” Ice affirms, forever a supportive child.
Taking one more breath, Azzi’s just about to step outside, when she sees her. Paige is walking, almost running towards her apartment. Despite the rain, in typical Paige-fashion, the blonde doesn’t have an umbrella. Strands of wet hair are plastered against her forehead and little droplets of rain cascade down her face and neck. Her shirt sticks to her body so that Azzi can see the definition of her abs and the younger woman would love to take a moment to appreciate just how fucking hot Paige looks but instead, her eyes follow the bulge of the blonde’s biceps down to where her hands are interlocked with someone else’s. Someone else who’s not Azzi. 
She gasps for air but she swears it’s carbon dioxide that settles in her lungs instead because god, does it burn. 
Paige is laughing, eyes twinkling as she and a beautiful woman -a beautiful woman who isn’t Azzi- race to get out of the rain. She hears Ice curse behind her, sounding just as confused as she feels as the two of them watch the scene unfold in front of them, watching Paige and the woman come to halt right in front of the blonde’s apartment building. 
“Az maybe we should-”
“Who is that?” Azzi cuts Ice off, her eyes still transfixed on the two smiling women. 
Ice sighs, “her name’s Olivia. She’s a reporter for the Dallas Morning News-”
“And who is she to Paige?” Azzi asks bitterly, as if she doesn’t know the answer, as if the way Paige is wrapping an arm around that woman’s waist isn’t enough of an answer in itself. 
“I don’t know. Azzi I swear I didn’t know she had a-” Ice hesitates, “she hasn’t told me anything about another woman. 
Azzi doesn’t say anything, hand tightly gripping the car door she hadn’t even had a chance to open as she watches Paige brush a loose strand of hair out of the woman’s face. 
The tip of the dagger pierces against her heart. 
The woman smiles at Paige as she wraps her arms around the blonde’s neck and now they’re pressed flush against each other, barely any space between them. 
The dagger digs deeper. 
Paige caresses the woman’s cheeks. 
The dagger twists. 
It happens in slow motion; Paige moving ever so slowly as she presses her lips against the woman’s. 
And the dagger lodges itself somewhere so deep inside Azzi, she thinks it might be permanently entrenched inside her soul. 
It’s funny, Azzi thinks as she watches the two women break apart -their hands intertwining again as they start walking into the apartment- anyone else watching this scene would perhaps think of it as something straight out of a romantic comedy. But to Azzi, it feels like the climax scene of a tragedy. 
“Can you take me back to the airport?” she says slowly, still watching Paige’s retreating back. 
“What- no Azzi I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ice disagrees immediately, “c’mon we’ll go back to my place and I swear I have some good vodka left over from my housewarming party-”
“Ice please,” Azzi begs, her voice hoarse, “I just wanna go home. Please.”
“Okay, okay. Whatever you say Azzi,” Ice concedes softly, already starting to pull away from the curb.
“You can’t tell her about this, you know that right?” 
“Az-”
“No Ice. She’s moved on and she’s allowed to move on,” the words feel like thorns on the tip of her tongue, “she looks happy. I won’t ruin that. You can’t tell her. You can’t ever tell her.”
“Fine,” Ice nods reluctantly, “I won’t say anything.”
Azzi allows herself one more look back at the apartment, allows herself one more second to dream of Paige running back outside, spotting her and telling her that all of this is just one big misunderstanding, telling her that she hasn’t found someone else, telling her that she’s still Azzi’s. But dreams aren’t reality. No, reality is the fact that Paige looked happy, looked happy with someone that wasn’t Azzi. And even if that damn fucking dagger -sharpened with the image of Paige and someone else- is making her bleed out, Azzi thinks that her heart will still a find way to keep beating, as long as she knows that Paige is happy. 
*** 
The almost two thousand dollar last-minute flight back to San Francisco passes by in a blur. Azzi feels like she’s sleep-walking as she gets into the uber, pressing play on a voice message Ice had left her from after she’d gotten on the plane. 
“Azzi please text or call me as soon as you land. I’m really worried about you dude. I’m so fucking sorry. I had no idea. I texted Adam after -he’s a team manager that’s really close with Paige- and I guess she and Olivia have been dating since the end of the season last year but Paige is keeping it highkey on the DL like the team barely knows and I swear Az- I didn’t know. Fuck please don’t do anything stupid Azzi. Text me as soon as you hear this and then just- just go home and sleep and call me tomorrow morning. I love you Az, I’m so fucking sorry.”
Since the end of the season, Azzi thinks slowly, her brain still a fuddled mess. That meant that Paige had been with someone for almost eight months. And Azzi knows she has no right to feel this hurt, let alone feel that tiny spark of betrayal that’s lingering underneath it. She’s the one that had let go; it’s only natural that Paige would eventually find someone else to hold on to. 
“Where to Miss?” the uber driver asks as Azzi’s typing out a short ‘landed’ text to Ice. 
It’s almost two in the morning and sleep prickles against Azzi’s eyes, her body feeling barely functional but the urge to just forget is stronger than the wave of tiredness washing over her body. And so she ignores every good instinct she has and instead of giving the cab drive her home address, Azzi tells him to drive to the nearest bar instead. 
It’s a heat-of-the-moment decision -taken as sordid images of Paige wrapped around another woman cloud her ability to think- and she doesn’t know it’s about to change the trajectory of her whole life.
***
May 2033 
The silence in the living room is deafening as Paige and Azzi find themselves sitting on opposite sides of the sofa. Azzi’s fingers tap against her thighs; resisting the impulse to reach over and touch the other girl, comfort her and be comforted in return. This night has felt like one of the longest in her life, all the hits falling like dominoes with the two of them at the end of the line. And perhaps it’s the way she’s starting to feel the bruises now as she absorbs everything that’s happened tonight that has her thinking fuck it and turning to Paige with a pleading look on her face. 
“Can you just-” Azzi hesitates as she scooches just slightly closer to the other woman who regards the movement with wide eyes, “I know- I know we have to talk and we will but I just- it’s been a long night and I’m just so fucking tired and I just- I miss you-” she says and she’s not sure how it’s possible when Paige has been here the whole night but it’s the truth, “and I just- can you just hold me? Please?”
Paige is so still that for a moment Azzi thinks maybe she’s asked for too much but then the older woman is moving -so fast like she’s scared the brunette will change her mind- and Azzi feels herself being lifted sideways onto Paige’s lap. The blonde’s grip is iron tight as Azzi buries her head into the crevice of her neck, breathing in the smell of all things Paige. She reaches her hand out gently, placing it against the older woman’s chest, trying to stabilize the two of them to the steady beat of Paige’s heart as the other woman rubs her hand up and down Azzi’s back. They stay like that for god knows how long and Azzi wishes she could just keep them like this forever, in each other’s arms. 
But they need to talk. 
And Azzi reluctantly untangles herself Paige, closing her eyes when the blonde lets out a soft whimper. She doesn’t move all the way to the other end of the sofa this time; choosing instead to sit right next to Paige with their legs pressed togethers and it’s not nearly enough -too little when all she wants is to be consumed by Paige-  but at least it’s something. 
“I was going to tell you tonight,” Paige starts slowly, “you remember in the car when I said I would explain the whole Angie thing to you, well that- that’s part of this whole mess.”
Azzi furrows her eyebrows, “Angie? What does- what does she have to do with this?”
“I’ll get there okay- just- just let me start from the beginning,” Paige says nervously, “just listen okay.”
Biting her lip, Azzi nods, signaling for the older woman to continue. 
“I didn’t want to come to GSV-”
“Because of me?”
Paige sighs, “yes. It- it just- it felt like such a bad idea at the time. You broke my heart Az,” she shoots Azzi an apologetic look when she flinches at the bluntness of it, “and coming here- being around you- I was scared it was gonna be a reminder of that all the time. Every time I’ve seen you these last couple of years Az- it’s hurt. And I just didn’t- I couldn’t live with that every day.”
It’s not something Azzi wants to here but she understands it; she’d felt the exact same way when Colleen had first told her about GSV being interested in Paige. 
“But more than anything,” Paige continues, “I was scared that coming here meant giving you a chance to do it again. Because the two of us being together for more than just a fleeting moment- well it felt inevitable that something would happen and I was just so scared that it would be something bad. And so I fought Talia every step of the way until she forced me to come here and I met Stephie,” a soft smile flitters across the blonde’s face, “and she just- she said I’d look good in purple.”
Azzi laughs, “and that’s all it took huh?”
“You know me. A little bit of flattery will get you everywhere,” Paige grins, “but it wasn’t just her,” she nudges Azzi, “it was you. I was so sure you were gonna tell me to turn it down, tell me that there was no way this was gonna work. But you didn’t. You’re always surprising me I guess. Baby you said you wanted me on your team and that was it for me. No matter how much I said I needed time to think or whatever, as soon as you asked me to come here, I knew I was a Valkyrie.”
“I lied to Colleen that it was for the team,” Azzi admits, “think I even lied to myself about it that I wanted you here to help us win a championship. And yeah maybe that was a little bit of it but I just-” she looks down shyly at her lap, “I just wanted you. Here. With me.”
They’re quiet for a little bit, letting their confession dangle in the air until Azzi breaks it, her mind back to focusing on the revelation from before, “I don’t get it then Paige- what was Drew talking about then? What is this whole plan thing with the Liberty? Being in New York by October? I know your contract is for a year but I just-” she shrugs, “I just assumed you were gonna renew with us so where- where does New York even come into play in all of this? I’m just- I’m just so confused.”
Paige chews at her bottom lip and fidgets with her fingers, two tell-tale signs of her nerves as she keep her gaze firmly away from meeting Azzi’s, “I guess- I guess all my fighting against GSV got through to Talia and after I’d made up my mind to sign with the Valkyries, she- she figured out a verbal deal with the Liberty. They didn’t- they didn’t have the money for me this year but next year with Sabrina retiring- next year they will and GSV knew they were gonna get Angie to be their point guard of the future and it all just- it all made sense. I’d stay here for a year, mentor Angie so she could be my replacement for next year and then I’d-” 
“Then you’d leave,” Azzi says bitterly and this time it’s Paige who flinches, “but you said- you said Stephie and I convinced you to come here- so- so what? We only convinced you to come for a year?” she asks, her tone sharper than she intended it to be. 
“No it wasn’t- it wasn’t like that,” Paige tries to justify, “I just- it scared me how easy it was for me to be convinced. It was one moment with Stephie- one moment with you- and I was ready to make a decision for my future based just off of those two little moments. Do you know how scary that is? And I knew- I knew that coming here- being around the two of you would just- it would make me fall so fucking fast -and it has- and I was just so scared that I’d get my heart broken again and I just- I needed an escape plan.”
“You needed an excuse to leave us,” Azzi says venomously. 
“That’s not fair Azzi,” Paige says quietly, “you have to understand how afraid I was of history repeat itself Az,” she reaches for the younger woman’s hand, enveloping it between her own, “when I lost you the first time, I was so fucking broken and it took me so long to fix myself- I- I don’t even know if I did ever fully fix me. You can’t blame me for being scared of having to go through it again.”
Azzi’s quiet for a second before she finally lets out a sigh because Paige is right and she can’t- she won’t hold whatever decision the other woman had made before they’d found their way back to each other, against her. 
“Okay. Okay. I- I get it. I get why you were scared. I get why you had a whole backup plan and-,” she grins teasingly at the blonde, “and now I also get why you were such a bitch to Angie.”
Paige laughs a little, pressing her forehead against Azzi’s and closing her eyes, letting themselves melt into a comfortable silence as they bask in each other’s presence and for a moment’s Azzi feels floaty and free until Drew’s words replay themselves inside her head. 
“Paige,” she says slowly, earning a little hum of acknowledgement from the other woman, “it’s over now though right? The deal- you- you’re gonna tell the Liberty that it’s off? No more New York right? Not even as an escape plan?”
The blonde stiffens, her eyes opening immediately. 
“Paige,” Azzi presses, lifting her forehead so she can study the older woman’s face properly,  the false comfort of a few seconds ago being replaced by a leaden pit in her stomach. 
“I- I don’t know,” Paige whispers, so quietly that it takes a couple of seconds for Azzi’s ears to even pick it up. But when it does finally register -the repeat of what she’d said to Stephie-  it feels like something’s slowly cracking inside Azzi, until the cracks get larger and larger and something shatters, the pieces of it lodging themselves in every organ of her body.
“You don’t-” Azzi swallows, pulling her hands out Paige’s, “you don’t know?”
“Az-”
“No,” Azzi holds her hand out in a stop sign as Paige tries to grab for her, “how- how can you not know,” she keeps speaking even when the blonde tries to reply, “Paige you- you were the one who pushed for this. You were the one who begged- who convinced me to try. Why- why would you do that? What have we been doing for the last few weeks Paige if you’re still thinking about leaving at the end of the season? God Paige- how can you even say that you don’t know?”
“I thought I did,” Paige bumbles out, “these past few weeks have been everything to me Azzi and I thought I knew but tonight- everything Drew said-” she stops suddenly and Azzi knows whatever the young man had said isn't something Paige wants to repeat back to her. 
“What did Drew say?”
Paige hesitates, “he thinks you’re gonna break my heart and that I’ll lose you and that I’ll-” she clutches her throat like the next words are physically painful to say, “that I’ll lose Stephie.”
“And you- you think he’s right?”
There’s heartbreak etched all over Paige’s face as she shrugs helplessly, “you’ve done it before Az. You let me go. You- you said no-”
“And you’re one who left,” Azzi bursts out, tears cascading down her face as she rises to her feet. 
Paige guffaws up at her, “what?”
“I know I said no but you left literally the next fucking day before I could say anything else. God Paige, I know I fucked up and I know that it’s mainly my fault. Trust me I’ve regretted it every single day,” Azzi sobs, “but you- you left Paige. I know I let you go but you didn’t hold on to me either. You just- you left.”
“Azzi-”
“I understand why you had an escape plan before,” Azzi says, wiping away her tears, “but I can’t be with you if you still have one now. Especially not when Stephie’s involved. She’s already so fucking attached and if you can’t promise not to leave her then I- I can’t let her get anymore attached. I can’t watch my baby girl cry like she did tonight- not again Paige.”
“Azzi,” Paige says again, like it's the only word she knows; the only word that matters. 
Azzi falls to her knees in front of the other woman, wrapping her hands around Paige’s tightly wounded fists. 
“I get that you’re scared and I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry that I’ve made you feel like heartbreak is inevitable with me,” she presses a kiss against the blonde’s knuckles, “but Paige I- I can’t- live like this, I can’t live knowing that you could leave me -leave us- any second. I need you to trust me, I need you to believe in us and I need you to tell me you’ll stay. And if you can’t do that then-”
“Please don’t say it,” Paige breathes out, her shoulders radiating with tension. 
Azzi stands back up slowly, delicately placing her lips against the  older woman’s forehead. She feels Paige shudder under her touch as she tries to put every little bit of emotion, every little bit of please choose me, please choose us, please choose to stay, into that kiss. 
“Just- just think about it- sleep on it I guess. Take your time Paige but I- I need more than ‘I don’t know’ as an answer,” she says finally, the words lingering between them as she brushes away a couple of strands of the blonde’s hair before letting out a sigh as she puts some space between them, “I should go.”
Paige’s fingers immediately wrap around her wrist as the other woman blinks up at Azzi with pleading eyes, “don’t go-”
“Paige-”
“It’s late. Stephie’s asleep. Just- just stay.”
You stay, Azzi wants to scream because how can Paige ask her to do the one thing that the older woman herself is scared to do. But she’s exhausted and driving home -to a house that’s entrenched with the memories of the last few weeks but wouldn’t have Paige in it- sounds like something dreadful. And so she nods, shooting Paige another longing look before she heads towards the staircase. 
“Az,” she hears the other woman call out just as she’s about to climb onto the first step, making her stop and turn her head over her shoulder. 
“Yeah?”
“You know right? You know that- that I-” Paige gulps, “you know that I lo-”
“No,” Azzi says immediately, shaking her head rapidly, “say it to me when you can tell me you’ll stay.”
*** 
May 2027 
Azzi taps her foot incessantly against the hardwood floor as her gaze nervously flitters towards the front of the restaurant, where a man in a light blue polo shirt and dark jeans has just walked in, his own eyes scanning the premises in search of someone. She has the ridiculous urge to shrink in her seat, to hide away from his wandering eyesight as if he’s not the reason she’s here in the first place. Taking a deep breath and counting to ten Mississippis, Azzi finally raises her hand, trying to wave him over. 
“Tristan,” she calls out, attempting to arrange her features into a smile to match his when the man in question finally spots her. 
“Hey,” Tristan choruses, his eyes twinkling as he slips into the seat opposite Azzi, “I’m not gonna lie, I’m kinda shocked you called. Not that I’m not happy- I mean, who wouldn’t be happy if a pretty girl called but I- I just wasn’t expecting it.”
Azzi tries to give him a humorous grin, “so you just gave me your number expecting nothing?”
She’s trying to make a joke but it comes out flat and she hopes he can’t read just how uncomfortable she is; won’t call her out for the uneasiness that she knows is radiating off of her. 
“Expecting? No. Hoping? Definitely,” Tristan smirks and Azzi’s reminded of the charm he’d exuded that night in the bar. 
The memory makes her want to throw up- well she supposes it’s probably not just the memory but also her little situation. She regards the man in front of her warily; he’s not bad to look at and at first glance he doesn’t exude any major red flags. And she’s almost ready to give her way-too-fucking-drunk past self a pat on the back because she'd made multiple dumb-as-fuck decisions that night -exhibit a: fucking a random stranger in a bar while mourning her ex- but at least she’d had the sense not to choose a complete psychopath. 
“Well I called,” she announces awkwardly. 
Tristan raises an eyebrow, “it’s been a whole month.”
Azzi bites her lip, “better late than never?”
The man in front of her snorts, “I suppose so but honestly I wasn’t expecting you to call at all. I mean- I figured you’d have gotten back together with your ex.”
That causes Azzi to suck in a sharp breath, her fingers digging crescent shaped scars into her palms. 
“I mean,” Tristan continues, oblivious to the way his words cut into the woman in front of him, “you just- you sounded like you really loved her and the way you talked about your relationship- it just- it sounded so perfect and I know I don’t know her and I know- I know you mentioned she was seeing someone else but you just- your relationship like- that shit sounded unbeatable and so I just- I guess I just assumed that if you wanted her back-  she’d want you back-”
“She’s engaged,” Azzi says loudly and it would be comical how quickly that shuts Tristan up if it wasn’t for the fact that saying those words out loud, feels like shooting an arrow into her own heart. She can still see the engagement announcement floating behind her eyes; can still so clearly see the pictures of Paige down on one knee for a woman who was beaming down at her, for someone who had said yes. 
“Oh,” Tristan’s saved from having to say anything more when the waiter appears with a menu. 
“What can I get you guys today?” the waitress asks cheerfully. 
“Just the salmon for me please,” Azzi says, still a little lost in her thoughts. 
“And for you sir?” the waitress turns to Tristan after jotting down Azzi’s order. 
“I will have the chicken with a waldorf salad on the side but with no nuts please; I’m allergic to most nuts,” Tristan responds politely as the waitress nods and starts to walk away but it’s the last part that perks Azzi’s ears up. 
“You’re allergic to nuts? Is that like- is that genetic?” she asks. 
Tristan seems a little taken back by her curiosity of his allergy but he nods his head yeah and Azzi pencils that little fact into her brain, figuring it would be an important tidbit to share with her doctor. 
“So your ex is engaged,” Tristan repeats, looking apologetic when his bluntness makes Azzi flinch but it’s replaced by a smirk as he lounges back in his seat, “so you called me for what? A rebound? I mean look Az, you’re a gorgeous girl but only being called for a rebound might just give a guy a complex.”
She knows he’s trying to be suave -charming even- but instead all it does is give her the ick and Azzi’s reminded of why she’d avoided men since her mistake of a boyfriend back in her senior year of high school. Hell, she’d only dated him because she and Paige had been trying their hands at another attempt of being just friends and the blonde was dating some pretty girl. But he’d been the first and last man she’d ever been with -which wasn’t surprising considering it had taken her and Paige only a year after to finally get together- until that night at the bar. 
Azzi barely remembers anything about that night beyond flashes of memories but she remembers the morning after clearly, remembers the regret that had coiled itself around her ribs. She’d practically run out of the hotel room, barely managing to keep the tears at bay in the back of the uber. She hadn’t even made it to her bedroom, breaking down in the middle of her living room floor as everything that had happened the night before -seeing Paige with someone else, being with someone else- hit her like an avalanche. Azzi doesn’t know how long she’d sat in a sobbing mess on the floor but at some point she must have fallen asleep, because her next memory is Colleen towering over her, a look of pure concern on her bestfriend’s face as she shook her awake. And then she was crying again, this time wrapped in the comfort of Colleen’s arm as she let the regret of all her mistakes -from the past and the present- flow down her cheeks. 
All she’d wanted after, was to just forget about the night -forget the image of Paige kissing a stranger, forget the image of herself walking up next to a stranger- and for a little while, the world had even granted her that wish. That was until a mandatory pre-season checkup had given her news that would make sure she’d never forget that night. 
“Azzi?” Tristan clicks his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, “you still with me?”
Azzi shakes her head, trying to come back to reality instead of staying lost in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she finally puts into words the truth that has become the epicenter of her world. 
“I’m pregnant.”
Tristan stares at her with a shell-shocked look on his face, his eyes unblinking and wide as his mouth slowly morphs into a ‘O’ shape, “you’re- you’re pregnant?”
“Yes,” Azzi nods, her tone shifting from nervous into something more businesslike, “and before you ask, yes it’s definitely yours. But you don’t have to feel pressured to be involved beyond whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m more than financially capable of taking care of a child by myself and I’m very lucky to have a great support system in my friends and family so I’m not depending on you for any-”
“You’re keeping it?” Tristan cuts her off, sounding almost disbelieving that, that was the choice she was making. 
Azzi stops at his words, tongue darting out to wet her lips. She’d gone back and forth with the decision from the minute she’d found out. Most of the factors in Azzi’s life pointed towards an abortion being the best thing for her. She was an athlete at the beginning of the peak of her career and she was only 25 years old, a young adult who’d just started this journey of life. For all her responsibleness, Azzi was still figuring out how to take care of herself. How could she possibly take care of a baby? 
She’d been just about to call Dr. Myers when instead her phone had opened to the instagram app; Paige’s engagement announcement the first thing on her feed. 
There’d been a thousand and one emotions that burst through Azzi but she’d fixated specifically one of them; loneliness. It was a ridiculous thing to feel for a girl whose family had moved across the country for her; whose best friend had become her manager and followed her to a brand new state. But Azzi felt it every time she was alone, sometimes even when she was surrounded by hundreds of people. She was so fucking lonely. 
And that’s when she’d decided she wanted this baby, a baby she could love and a baby who’d love her back, a baby who would fill this aching whole in her heart. A baby that would be hers. 
Azzi would never be lonely again. 
“Yes,” she answers Tristan’s question without a hint of hesitation, “I’m keeping the baby.”
“Wow- okay- this is- sorry,” Tristan shakes his head, his previous casual demeanour having changed to something far more rigid, “this is just- it’s a lot to process.”
“I understand,” Azzi says gently, “take your time.”
Tristant stares down at the table for what feels like an eternity and when he looks up, well, Azzi doesn’t really know the man in front of her at all- hasn’t even had the chance to ask him his last name, but she knows what the guilt in his eyes means. She remembers seeing it when she’d met her own biological father, only once, only for an hour and never again but a snapshot of it has been saved to her brain ever since. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up from the table, “I can’t do this. I’m not ready to be a father. I can’t have a baby. Fuck me. I’m barely an adult. I can’t take care of a child. I’m sorry, I just- I can’t.”
“I understand,” Azzi replies clinically even though her stomach lurches a little at the rejection, at the realization that her child would grow up with the ever-present question of why didn’t he stay, just like she had. 
Azzi hadn’t called Tristan for lunch with the intent of getting anything out of it. The plan had simply been to do her due diligence by telling the father of her child that she was pregnant. After that, the decision would be in his hands and she’d made peace with the fact this -what had just happened- could be one of the outcomes. She hadn’t come here under the guise of reconnecting, finding a husband or any of that, not when, even thinking of any of that -despite the fact that Paige is engaged to someone else- feels a little bit like cheating. But Tristan's response still stings. 
Because he might not have been her first option to raise a child with-really she’d only ever wanted any of that with one person- but Azzi thinks if he’d wanted to try, she would’ve liked having a partner to watch her child grow up with
“I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry,” Tristan repeats again as he starts to back away, “I wish you-” his eyes flicker down to her stomach, “I wish both of you the best.”
Azzi nods, “thank you,” and the words of gratitude are for a little more than just his best wishes. 
Tristan pauses for one second, hesitating as he looks at Azzi's belly one more time with an indecipherable emotion in his eyes, something a little like regret. But it’s not enough to make him stay and Azzi watches, with a hand on her stomach, as he turns walks out of the restaurant. Through the window, she watches him walking down the street, getting smaller and smaller until he rounds the curb, disappearing out of sight. And Azzi lets out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding. 
“Oh,” her head snaps towards the waitress, who’s carrying two plates of food and looking awkwardly at Tristan’s abandoned seat, “your uh- your friend- where is he?”
“He’s gone,” Azzi says quietly. 
“Is he coming back?”
“No,” Azzi shakes her head, “no, I don’t think he is.”
*** 
May 2033 
The memory burns against the back of Azzi’s eyelids as she lies, wide awake, in Paige’s guest room with Stephie tightly snuggled against her chest. She’s not sure what exactly had triggered the memory because honestly, she doesn’t think about Stephie’s father -her sperm donor to be more accurate- that often. He’d existed for a mere second in the clock of her life, disappearing almost as fast as he’d appeared. But there’s a part of Azzi that will always be thankful to him, because he’s part of the reason she has this beautiful little girl who’s sleeping in her arms. 
A little girl who she loves and who loves her back, a little girl who’d filled the aching hole in her heart. A little girl, that was hers. 
And Azzi hasn’t been lonely ever since she’d been handed her little girl. 
Until tonight. 
Her eyes drift to the other side of the bed and she can’t help but focus on just how empty it looks, can help but be immersed in the feeling of something’s missing. It’s the first night in weeks that the other side of the bed isn’t filled and everything about it feels so fucking wrong. Azzi sighs, resting her cheek on Stephie’s head as she rubs her hand up and down the little girl’s shoulder. She can’t sleep and she knows -by the little telltale frown on her daughter’s face- that the little girl might be asleep, but it’s the kind that’s deeply troubled. 
She’s just about to close her eyes for another unsuccessful attempt at letting her exhaustion lull her into a slumber, when she hears the sound of footsteps right outside her door. Azzi rises up slowly, gently disentangling herself from Stephie as she squints through the little gap between the door and the floor. It doesn’t take a genius to know who it is and Azzi’s heart thumps anticipation as she watches the shadow of feet pacing back and forth. Suddenly they disappear and disappointment -even it’s ridiculous to feel it after the events of the night- courses through Azzi. Sighing to herself again, she lays back down, closing her eyes. 
A minute later they shoot open at the sound of the door being pushed and Azzi sits back up again, something like relief -something like i’m so glad you’re here, i'm so glad you came back please don’t ever go again- rushing into her veins. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the sight of the figure in the dark but once they do, Paige is practically illuminated by the moonlight streaking through the windows.  The blonde looks at her, not a speckle of shock at the fact that she’s awake because Paige knows her, knows her the way Azzi had known Paige was awake too, knows that they’d never been particularly good at falling asleep after an argument. 
“Can’t sleep,” Paige admits out loud in a whisper, nervously shuffling her feet by the doorway. 
“Me neither,” Azzi confesses, her hands brushing through Stephie’s hair. 
Their revelations -and the i can’t sleep because i can’t sleep without you hidden behind them- hang in the air, waiting for the two of them to say anything else as they stare at each other in the dark room. 
Paige speaks first, stumbling towards the bed, “can I just-”
“Yes,” Azzi breathes out before the question’s even finished, “please.”
Despite the urgency in their words, Paige is slow, climbing into bed, like she’s waiting for Azzi to take it back. The blonde slips underneath the covers, her hands immediately moving to rub Stephie’s back where they collide against Azzi’s fingers and that lightest bit of contact elicits a breathy gasp from both of them. There’s so much still left to say, so much still left to fix, so much they’re not sure can be fixed, but as Azzi slowly lies back down, her fingers interlocking with Paige’s over Stephie’s tiny body, she thinks that she might not survive, if these fleeting moments don’t lead to forever.
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