#is this relatable to other writers or am i just insane

[the-lovely-lady-luck]

okay i finally did it, i caved and i wrote 3k words about a character with less than 60 lines of dialog in a ~30 hour game. if you haven't played clair obscur: expedition 33 yet i lightly suggest that you do bc the game is absolutely an all-timer. also don't read this because it spoils just about every major plot point in the entire game. if you've played feel free to read on.

Fuck. Clea Dessendre. I don't even know where to start to be honest. What a wildly compelling character. Eldest daughter syndrome. Needs to be doing something productive-ass cunt. This is sort of just my insane ramblings about her (mostly off the cuff while at work or packing for my trip), so if there are any inconsistencies it’s likely due to that but I fully intend to do a deep dive looking into all the mentions of Clea sometime soon.

I guess the central thing that compels me is the thing that most people get wrong about her in the first place: her grief. admittedly we have very little to work on from her directly, but I would argue that it's intentional. We have a couple of core things about her introduced through our first and only real interaction with her.

- She's a painter (obviously)

- She is mean to Maelle, and it's highly insinuated to be related to blaming her for Verso's death. She “both loves and hates him for that”, hating that he sacrificed himself for a sibling she doesn’t love like she loves him and yet loving him for it because it's why she loved him in the first place — that he was the kind of person who would sacrifice himself like that.

- She is off waging war against the Writers. She is outwardly dismissive of the rest of the family and the way they are handling their grief, but at the same time says she will wage this war on her own if need be.

I’ve seen a lot of jokes about how she's the only one in the family not caught up in grief, how she's off fighting in the plot of an entirely different game where she is the protagonist, etc. And while that's funny (and I want to play the clea game please please please) I think putting her off in a corner where she gets to lore dump and then not matter is a missed opportunity to think about her place in all of this. 

The stages of grief tend to be overused and often misunderstood (people putting too much significance in, say, the order of them or the insistence on everyone existing in every stage in the process), but I like the framework of different manifestations of grief and the names are easy to understand so I am going to use them as points of reference here (though notably i am reaching different definitions and conclusions for these terms than the “stages of grief”). My original thoughts on the topic were long and rambly so I'm paraphrasing my thoughts.

Denial and Bargaining are predominantly shown through the parents of the family, Aline and Renoir. Denial is Aline’s territory, with many characters remarking about her desire to escape into the fantasy of the canvas to avoid the harsh reality. She builds upon Verso’s established world and creates a fake version of her family so that she can play out what “should” have been. Bargaining, in a less traditional sense, is Renoir’s domain. He insists on his method of grieving over all others. And while he has a perspective many see as more healthy than Aline’s, his desire to force his family all under one roof to heal together is violent and ends up dooming an entire world just to satisfy his belief. His bargain is that if we just all stopped what we were doing and stood together for a moment and process in the *right way* then it won’t hurt.

Depression and Acceptance are the axis on which Alicia and Painted Verso reside. We don’t see much of Alicia in-game (I am counting Alicia, Maelle, and Maell-icia as different people in this context, since they largely have different experiences and feelings) but during her flashback we see she isn’t doing much in the mansion, and she takes Clea’s insults and believes them to be true. She blames herself for Verso’s death, as well as the conflict her parents are locked into. We don’t know enough about the situation with the fire to make any kind of commentary on how true that is but it clearly weighs on her as she worries over her family and repeatedly seeks some way to help. She initially talks about her injuries and claims her desire to go into the canvas is more to help her family, but later on, as Maell-icia, she comments to Renoir of “how little of [her] life remains” outside the canvas, revealing a darker insight to her interiority. 

Painted Verso is one of the few characters to strongly reside in multiple modes as a character of both Depression and Acceptance. Painted Verso is someone I think I could go on another rant about but my abbreviated take is that Painted Verso is a character who is being denied the stage of acceptance by everyone around him. By the time we reach him he has known the truth and wanted out of his immortality for some time. His life has gone too long, he has watched his loved ones die or be killed off, only to learn to love again and then see them die and killed off again in a never ending cycle. While the family of his dead namesake fights over his memory in their attempt to reckon with grief, Painted Verso is forced to live through cycles of grief over and over and over again (while these people can’t even get through a single one). His acceptance goes beyond accepting grief and it has basically broken him. He wants an end to the pain for him and for everyone in the canvas that dies because of his family (on his behalf), even if that means wiping it all away. With Verso’s memories and feelings and characteristics he is the most in-tune to what Verso would want for his canvas (rivaled only by the sliver of Verso’s soul that still resides within the painting).

Which leaves one major stage remaining, something that this game as a whole, in fact, seems to lack: Anger. Sure there are flashes of it here and there (this is not a game without anger), but it is rare that we see anger ignited by grief in the main story. Gustave has flashes of it, and then after his death Maelle possesses a great anger towards Painted Renoir for his part in it. But otherwise we see the other stages spread far and wide across the game while anger is relegated to the background.

Clea is anger. And her absence haunts the narrative like the absence of anger haunts the game. Her simmering anger echoes throughout the background of the game, from abducting Painted Clea to killing an Axon to pushing Alicia into the painting, her choices compound. And while I'm fully prepared to admit I might be going wild with all the red strings on the pinboard it feels like its simmering just under the surface in anything directly related to her, like a motif. With Renoir, with Alicia, with Simon, with *herself* she is trying to inspire rage at one thing or another.

Now anyone who knows me likely knows I love themes of anger and mess so it's no surprise I love Clea so much. Clea is *angry* at the writers, and while the other family members likely share the sentiment, she is the only one seen to be stewing in that anger, who has stayed in it as long as everyone else has been mourning or bargaining or denying. As shown and stated by both herself and Renoir she is waging war alone and at the same time lashing out at anyone nearby. She blames Alicia  for Verso's death in his sacrifice for her and she shows outright disdain for Aline and her attempts to escape to a world where the tragedy didn't happen. Renoir, who is ostensibly on her side, is not immune as Clea repeatedly states he is wasting his time trying to force Aline out of the canvas. Even verso, whose death the family so greatly mourns, gets the word hate spoken towards him for his willing sacrifice for Alicia. But each of these are, in a fucked up way, some combination of care, grief, and love for each character.

Clea is not kind to Alicia, generally speaking. It is difficult to gauge what their relationship was like before Verso's death, but it was certainly worsened by the event. she belittles her and her abilities, and even a couple of instances flagrantly comments about her inability to speak from her scarring. I certainly wouldn't call it a warm dynamic but there's a repeating theme of treating Alicia like a child, *which she is* at her (likely) age of 16. In several instances Clea mentions that Alicia being in the painting would actually help (as she is unlikely to be helpful in fighting a war given her proficiency before going into the painting) and she says she won't have to worry about Alicia while she is spending time growing up in the painting as maelle. Clea even enters the painting again, something she has repeatedly said is a waste of time, to specifically ask Painted Verso to watch over her since it is safer for her in the Canvas. It's not a particularly kind love, but I think it is a love all the same. The Clea in the endless tower speaks to Maell-icia asking if she wants to have fun, get away from the stress of fighting for a moment. She is still antagonistic but her distance and Maell-icia’s safety in the canvas allow her to let down her walls enough to speak more kindly.

Clea and her mother have a rocky relationship, which we can see pretty clearly with her attitude towards her mother in the flashback and how Renoir's plan wouldn't even function without Clea's direct involvement in weakening her mother. There is an twinkle of admiration in her words, as Clea talks about how Aline used to be the head of the Painters Council, how Aline is far better at painting than Renoir is and how Clea had to help him to even have a chance, how Aline *would have* agreed with her before she became this different person in her mourning. She is also the only Dessendre child to consistently refer to her mother as “Aline” rather than “Maman”. She even paints over her mother's depiction of her, one of the most pointedly spiteful things in the game. While it is all antagonistic, I think it hides a resentment that Aline isn't with the rest of the family. The person Clea respected, who was head of the Painter’s Council, would not abandon her family — would not abandon *Clea* — like Aline has. And with her gone and unwilling to listen to anyone else on the subject, Clea has cut her out, abandoning her to the painting and only contributing to her expulsion because it will hasten Renoir to her cause.

Renoir and Clea are close, him being one of the only people she shows respect for. She doesn't speak very highly of his painting skill, and she is firm in her belief that his attempts to expel Aline are a waste of time, but he wants to live with his family in the real world, which is the closest that Clea has to someone to grieve with. And so she creates the nevrons to stop chroma from returning to Aline, and letter sends Alicia to go help him too. She really wants him out of the painting, thinking he will be of major assistance in the war she is fighting (despite her comment that he's not as strong as his wife). And the admiration is mutual. While there is some debate in the game if it is Clea or Alicia who is Renoir's favorite, we can see with Hauler, the Axon slain by Simon in Old Lumiere, that Renoir saw her as carrying a part of the world on her shoulders. Alone. Clea’s ostensible lack of care towards the events of the canvas is repeatedly betrayed by her actual actions that add up to Renoir’s eventual success. 

We don’t know much about the war going on, but we know that Clea is the only one in her family fighting in it, potentially the only person fighting in it *at all* if the throwaway lines about the state of the Painters is indicative of anything. Upon Verso’s death she starts fighting. And then Aline withdraws from the world leaving her family to grieve without her around, a betrayal from a woman and paintress Clea seems to respect. Renoir, the only one who seems to want everyone together, goes into the canvas to bring his wife out. Clea is left to sort things out on her own, using anger and fighting a war single handed to process her feelings. And all of this on top of having to care for her newly scarred younger sister (who Clea is already having a hard time not blaming for Verso's death) because her parents have abandoned them both. 

But Clea is a grown woman. She can handle this. And then time wears on. and on. So she creates Nevrons to speed the process up, to get her parents back. She goes in herself only to discover a painted version of her likeness, some kind woman helping this man she loves on an expedition to explore this newly shattered world. It's such an insult to Clea that she steals this fake version of her and *paints over her* — both a mark of skill as well as a pointed aggression towards Aline, painting over another artist's work. It’s easy to assume that she is simply offended by Aline painting a bad or unflattering depiction of her, but I think it’s actually the opposite. We know Aline is an amazing painter, Renoir remarks that Painted Verso is one of her finest creations and Maelle/Maell-icia both have an affinity towards Painted Alicia and seem to understand each other on an intrinsic level. Renoir and Painted Renoir interact very little but despite Maell-icia’s comment to the contrary, both are quite willing to commit mass murder to protect their respective families in the way they think is correct. I don’t think Aline got Clea wrong, I think she got Clea *deeply* and *uncomfortably* right. 

Clea, in her anger and her already growing disdain for her mother, sees this woman who loves and cares for her family, for her brother and for Simon, and loses it. It is too painful to see a version of herself happy and in love; and in anger and jealousy she steals her away and “forces” this Clea into someone endlessly producing Nevrons — alone and fighting her own war against the expeditions without her family. Clea disguises herself as her Painted counterpart and grants Simon the power to kill the Axon painted in her likeness — Hauler, She Who Carries the World (that’s not an official title but god I just *really* want to know what it was). In one fell swoop she has erased herself from the canvas and from both parents; leaving one corpse as a monument in the center of the world among crumbling ruins and one corpse an animated puppet painted over her likeness and trapped in a sky prison.

The final piece of the puzzle is verso, who we learn Clea was very very close to. The only canonical age we have is verso, who is 26, so it is difficult to draw hard lines around childhood, but given that Clea is the eldest and Alicia seems to be quite a bit younger than Verso, it makes sense that Clea would be closer to him than her. She would have spent 10ish years with him (which we get some small glimpses into throughout the game) before Alicia came along. We get a lot of stories about the two of them through fading souls and talking to Esquie and Francois. Verso is scared of the dark and Clea makes him the Lampmaster (scary as fuck nightlight), the two of them go on adventures with their respective imaginary friends/creations. In the extended scene where Esquie gets Urrie we learn that Francois enjoys dancing and singing, and that he used to do so with Clea all the time. While initially unclear if this is just Esquie's optimistic perspective on the situation, the ending in which Francois asks to keep the little stone (with him and clea carved together) shows us francois “crying dramatically” over the rock (and Verso commenting about how much he must miss her). If you go back to him later Francois actually *thanks* the player for giving him the rock, saying it is nice to have a carving of Clea. These memories and her parent’s depictions of her paint a very different image than the one we see in her few real appearances.

The personal nail in the coffin for me is Re-Painted Clea seeing Painted Verso in the flying manor. When you make your way up there Verso is surprised she is even alive, a testament to how well Clea pulled off her deception. After the fight the party determines that they can’t really kill her, but something causes one of Re-Painted Clea’s eyes to return to normal, accompanied by the sound of panting effort. Painted Clea regains control, if only briefly, and tries to reach out to Painted Verso, her brother. Her body cracks and strains at the movement, like she is fighting off Clea’s Re-painting just to hold his hand again. The effort isn't enough and Re-Painted Clea takes control again, backing away and shaking her head. She takes control of her Nevrons and bids them to attack her relentlessly until she dies in an explosion of paint and energy. Painted Verso only gets a moment to say goodbye to the energy left over before it dissipates. Painted Clea seeing the fight with Painted Verso is enough to give her the will to fight back against the weakened control, and Re-Painted Clea sees Painted Verso as enough of a threat to her control that she kills herself rather than risk it again (yet another cruel bit of programming from Clea in her Re-Painting process).

Honestly I could probably keep going and getting less and less coherent given that we have so little to work with but YOU SEE MY VISION. I KNOW YOU DO. Clea baby I love you and your anger. Your belief that anger will defeat the grief and that you can outrun it you just have to become meaner and more spiteful and don’t stop running and running and running or it will catch you in the dead of night. And then your grief will make you useless just like your family is. And what good are you if you don’t have use.

Fuck. Clea Dessendre.

[jesuistrestriste]

when i go back and read smth ive written (after it’s been posted for a while) and realize that i made a typo/grammatical error that i never corrected, my body literally has a physical reaction

like damn someone probably noticed that. it makes the whole piece of writing seem off and all over the place. if my writing was decent up until the error, the error just took it back down to a zero. this is it for me, friends. i had a good run

[poetryqueer]

planning document must be going well I just said the words “explaining the endurance of Platonism could be the life I’m living” to myself. Alone. At 2:30am. Because yeah. Could be.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

ELECTRIC. - y.jh

your best friend is many things. smart, funny, empathetic, a complete and utter pain in your ass to name but a few. and on the evening of his twenty-eighth birthday, you discover something a little unexpected: jeonghan is very afraid of thunderstorms. 

pairing : jeonghan x fem reader. content : f2?. smut. fluff. a bit of angst. comfort. (MINORS DNI) w/c : 6.3k warnings : swearing. jeonghan has astraphobia / a fear of storms (for a brief period, he's a little fragile). intentional lowercase. smut tags utc. PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. notes : happy birthday to this sweetest of sweethearts. i would chew my right arm off if he asked me to. (barely proofread. if you see a typo, no you didn't.<3)

smut tags : pussy drunk jeonghan (my beloved), no real power dynamics but jh is a cocky mf and a bit of a dick, panty sniffing hehe, fingering, oral sex (f rec), reader is turned on by the storm. they're very unserious about it.

the lead actors meet in a kiss. the screen fades to black. so ends yet another round of your annual birthday movie nights.

jeonghan reaches for the remote and silences the end credit theme to the film you’ve just finished watching at the same time as you lift your head up off his shoulder, stretching high above your head and letting out perhaps the loudest yawn (-stroke-moan) of your life. your joints ache from too long spent in one, rather cramped, position, your eyes feel heavy in the late hour. the room falls almost silent around you both, save for the harsh splashing of rain against the windows. 

(this really doesn’t help the fact that you’re seconds away from falling asleep.)

“what did you think?” jeonghan asks, stretching his long legs out in front of him. 

“not my best pick,” you say, scrunching your nose a little. “not my worst, either.”

your best friend gives a short ‘ha’ of agreement, finally standing up off the couch. “couldn’t have said it better myself.” 

he gathers up the takeout boxes currently decorating his coffee table and grabs the now empty drinks glasses with his free hand, grunting softly as he stands fully upright again. you see him trying to roll out a kink in his neck and laugh from where you’re still settled comfortably in the couch cushions.

“you’re going stiff in your old age,” you tease him, grinning brightly. he fires a look at you that simultaneously dares you to keep going down this path, and yet also, tiredly agrees. “remind me to book you a good massage for your birthday next year.”

he grunts something that sounds suspiciously like an instruction to go fuck yourself as he takes his leave from the room, carrying everything that needs to be thrown away or washed up into the kitchen. you busy yourself on your phone while he’s gone, deciding to check in on your weather app. you quite like the rain and you’re really not that worried about driving home in it; you’re just curious how long it’s going to last for. 

in the delay of the app opening, a series of bright flashes bounce off every single wall in the living room. when you glance outside, the rain is falling harder than before; barely ten seconds later, a thunderclap roars through the ajar windows and you feel it all the way down into your tummy. 

you don’t have a chance to excitedly run across the room to get a look at the storm, though. a loud swear and the sound of crashing glass stings your eardrums before the rumble is even over. instead, you’re bolting through in the same direction jeonghan disappeared off in just moments ago, your heart having taken dangerous residence your stomach.

“what’s wrong?!” you ask as you skid around the corner in your socks, just managing to catch yourself from sliding straight into the wall at the end of the hallway. “i heard a—”

you freeze, then, falling silent. jeonghan is gripping onto the kitchen counter like his life depends on it with both shattered glasses laying at his feet; he looks like he’s seen a ghost, all white-knuckled and clammy and pale-lipped. it’s terrifying. 

“hey,” you say, slowly making your way into the room, mindful not to startle him and even more careful not to stand on one of the many shards on the laminate. “what happened? are you okay?”

he nods, weakly. swallows hard. blinks a few times, curls and uncurls his fingers, steps back from the counter. 

“yeah,” he breathes eventually, uncertain and still visibly shaken. he wipes his palms on his sweatpants and looks over at you, forcing a smile, but you’ve known him for entirely too long to be sold on this terrible performance. “i, uh-...”

but jeonghan stops short, shaking his head, running out of words to say. for a moment, you think maybe he’s about to apologise; that’s the shape his lips make, anyway. you cut in before he gets the chance.

“it’s okay,” you say, leaning one hip up against the counter. “go sit down, i’ll clear all this up. watch where you stand, though.”

“you don’t have to–” he starts, but you interject before he can even entertain the idea of cleaning the mess himself.

“i know i don’t, but i want to. go. i’ll only be a minute.”

begrudgingly, he agrees; you grab the broom from his kitchen cupboard and start slowly sweeping the broken glass into a dustpan while he carefully steps on the safe parts of the floor and makes his way back through to the living room. you make reasonably quick work of everything, emptying the fragments into the bin on top of the takeout boxes – all that’s left by the time you’re finished a couple of minutes later, is to try and figure out what caused all this in the first place.

jeonghan isn’t an easily shaken individual; you know this from years of experience. he seems to be able to catch you every time, without fail: whether he’s just popping out at you from behind a door and making you yelp, or he’s near-on giving you heart failure by texting you that something terrible has happened and that you need to come over, immediately, only for said ‘terrible’ thing to be that he got really comfy on the couch without making any popcorn. but regardless of all the numerous ways he manages to terrorise you, you’ve never, ever managed to do the same back to him. 

he’s always shrugged off your attempts, bragging that he just isn’t afraid of anything. so… you’re not really any closer to finding an answer at the time of going back through to the living room with your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you wanna tell me what happened in there?” you ask, sitting down next to him on the couch. you’re sure his posture is supposed to be an attempt to convince you that he’s absolutely fine, now, but jeonghan looks stiff and is outright refusing to meet your eyes, despite your best attempts. again, unfortunately, you aren’t so easily fooled.

“i just came over dizzy,” he lies, doing his best to play it down. “maybe i stood up too fast and had a delayed reaction, i don’t know.”

“i’ve known corpses get up faster than you did, hannie,” you deadpan, laying one hand by his knee. “come on. that’s crap.”

he doesn’t quite jerk away from you, but you do feel his thigh muscles tense under your touch. you slide your palm down onto the couch between you instead in an effort to make him a tiny bit more comfortable. 

“it’s nothing,” he tries. “really. it’s–”

“jeonghan–”

“y/n.”

the room around you falls silent, both of your stubborn personalities at a stalemate. he won’t talk, and you won’t let him stay quiet. it’s been this way for years. since you were teenagers, even. you’d think he would have learned by now. (he hopes that you might have, too.)

but, there is a fact at play that makes you stop staring him down, and you relax your shoulders slightly as you sit forwards.

“i’m only letting this go because it’s your birthday,” you sigh, clasping your hands together. “if it was any other day of the week–”

“yeah, yeah. trust me. i know.”

there’s an edge to his voice that almost sounds like your jeonghan. like the teasing menace you know and adore. almost. it’s missing something. missing his usual spark.

“i swear to god, though, if i find out you’re sick and you’re not telling me,” you mutter under your breath. not quite under your breath enough, mind – he hears you perfectly, and you can see, out of the corner of his eye as you start to rummage through your backpack for your car keys, the way his ears prick up.

“don’t be stupid, i’m not sick,” he says. the truth in these words, specifically, is evident in the weight of his voice, in the way his fingers brush against the small of your back. “i swear.”

“pinky swear?” you ask, turning to look at him over one shoulder.

he holds out his little finger on his right hand for you, both eyebrows raised in a silent challenge. you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. saved for really important promises. when he does the same, you know you can believe him.

“okay,” you concede, going back to your search. “in that case – i think i’m gonna head on home before the roads get flooded.” you had to learn the hard way that the drains in this part of town aren’t known for their ability to handle much more than a middling rainfall.

somehow – always, somehow – buried at the very bottom of your backpack, you manage to find your keys and your hand curls around them as soon as you feel one of the rough edges against your fingertips. it’s barely been three seconds since your announcement, but jeonghan has managed to shuffle right into your personal bubble anyway and is now sitting with one arm pressed fully against your own.

“i don’t know if it’s safe to drive when it’s like this,” he says quietly. “it seems dangerous.”

“i think i’ll be okay if i leave, like, soon,” you try to reassure him. 

“you think,” he repeats, narrowing his eyes at you. 

“i’ve driven in so much worse, believe me,” you say. “don’t worry, i’ll be careful.”

“why don’t you just stay the night?” he offers. “you’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“i’m not,” you confirm, and you do genuinely consider the offer for a moment before deciding to decline. “but i need a shower, and–”

jeonghan interrupts you, a little too quickly. “you can use my shower, i’ve got spare towels. i’ll sleep on the couch. don’t drive in this.”

“hannie, stop worrying,” you laugh, starting towards the door. “i promise, i’ll go slow and i’ll text you the second i’m home.”

“y/n,” he sighs, stepping towards you, jaw tense. “please. just this once.”

you swallow, looking all over his face, trying to figure out what train of thought the cogs behind his eyes are turning in tune with, why he’s so stressed about this. you’ve never known him behave like this sober. (you’ve only ever known him to be like this once, at all, and he tried to kiss you, then, so–)

“i really…” you start, only to be interrupted by another brilliant white flash. your eyes dart to the window just in time to see the lightning bolt through the clouds, and you feel your face noticeably soften in wonder. barely four seconds later – it’s getting closer – the loudest thunder clap you think you’ve heard in your life drowns out every thought you’ve ever had. 

every thought, except the sudden pressure of jeonghan’s fist around your forearm. every thought, except the stuttered gasp he lets slip. every thought, except the sudden fear in his too-wide-eyes.

oh, you think, realisation dawning on you as the blunt press of his nails grows just a fraction softer in time with the end of the rumble. that’s…

“it’s okay,” you say softly, taking a step closer to jeonghan and opening your arms for him to step into. “it’s okay. i’m here.”

he falls against you like an unsteady house of cards, his arms tight around your back and his head buried into the place in your shoulder where it fits the best. you’ve never seen him like this, and you’re not really sure what to do with yourself; he’s always been the sturdy one, between the two of you. he’s always been your rock. there’s a little bit of an irony in how he’s always been the one to help you weather the storm, but with the shoe on the other foot…

“how can i help you?” you ask, trailing your fingers up and down his back, not really sure that he can feel you through the thick material of his sweatshirt but you’re trying your best, anyway. 

he squeezes you tighter, buries his head further down into your shoulder, takes a few shaky breaths in through his mouth and screws his eyes shut a little more before he makes his request. 

“please stay with me.”

if your heart wasn’t aching for him before, it most certainly is now. you nod to the room at large, hoping jeonghan can feel the movement even a little. you don’t loosen your hold around him, though: you let your best friend cling to you for as long as his muscles will allow before they start to ache and he has to step away. 

“come with me,” you say once he’s finished running his fingers through his hair, trying to set it back to rights. “it’s okay.” you hold one of your hands out to him and he takes it, albeit apprehensively; giving his palm a squeeze with your own, you guide him through the apartment towards his bedroom.

“what are you–?” he asks, and despite his earlier hesitance to hold onto your hand, he doesn’t want to let go of you now you’ve reached your destination. he just stands next to you, fingers threaded through yours, looking at your face with tired eyes and a lifted brow. 

“grab your bedsheets,” you tell him, shaking your hand free. “and your pillows. we’re gonna make a fort.”

“a what?”

“a blanket fort,” you say. “to hide from the storm.”

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, and for a brief second, you think maybe the idea has offended him. his face hasn’t lifted into the smile you sort of expected it to; instead, he’s just staring down at his bed as if he’s trying to will himself out of existence.

“we don’t have to do all that,” he says. “it’s… that’s way too much?”

“it’s your birthday,” you counter. “and i want to make you a birthday fort. like we used to, when we were kids. it’ll be fun!”

he gives a little sigh, but it’s not one of sadness or exasperation with you. it’s defeat. except, you think if you could taste it, you’d be able to pick up a tiny lacing of sweetness in his exhale. 

“fine. you’re building it, though.”

you think it’s safe to say that perhaps, you’re a bit out of practice. you distinctly remember this being much easier when you were young: throwing bedsheets and blankets over the couch and propping them up with chairs or broomsticks. the forts that you would make as a child were, truly, a sight to behold: you used fairy-lights to decorate one, once, and it still remains one of your most prideful projects to date. the slight catastrophe that sits in jeonghan’s living room by the time you’ve finished laying out the last few pillows is… more a cave, in your opinion, and not a very pretty one, but you emerge from it smiling anyway and jeonghan looks at you so fondly that no matter how rubbish it is, it’s worth the half an hour you spent putting it together.

“what do you think?” you ask, sitting back on your heels.

“it’s not your best,” jeonghan teases as he walks towards your monstrosity masterpiece, critically eyeing the ‘roof’ that would definitely fail any kind of health and safety audit. “but it’s not your worst, either.”

a bright smile lights up your face as he drops down to his knees and crawls inside the space alongside you, letting the ‘door’ (a particularly thick blanket) fall down behind him. one of the (many, many, many, many, many) problems you encountered was trying to make one of these to fit two grown adults, but with him tucked away inside with you and a few flashlights to prevent you from being plunged into darkness… ignoring the potential for it all to come collapsing in on you at any given time, it’s surprisingly comfortable. 

you lay back against the pillows first and jeonghan follows soon after, a weirdly gleeful smile playing at his lips as he does. he curls into your side and you talk, and talk, and talk. about everything. about nothing. it doesn’t really matter.

you’re not quite sure why, but the deep roars of the storm outside don’t seem to bother jeonghan quite as much in here. maybe it’s because he’s not alone, and there’s no imminent threat for him to be: maybe your company really is making a difference. he still reaches for you every time there’s a particularly loud clap, still closes his eyes and takes a series of deep breaths until his stress passes, but for whatever reason, he feels significantly less tense.

and when, after the third boom, he decides just… not to let go of your hand? who are you to try and force him?

there’s… just one problem, though. you’re ecstatic that the storm isn’t bothering jeonghan as much, now. that he can talk absolute nonsense to you in your private little hideaway, that he can lean his head against your shoulder and chuckle at your bad jokes and even crack a few of his own. genuinely, you could not be happier. for him.

but there was more reason than wanting to sleep in your own bed that had you desperately trying to get home before you realised the gravity of your best friend’s situation. 

with every new growl of thunder outside, something low in your stomach twists, accompanied by an ache, a warmth, a throbbing between your thighs. at first, it was easy enough to battle through. you kept telling yourself that the thunder never lasts too long, that you could get through this without jeonghan being any the wiser, that everything was going to be fine. but now, almost an hour later, the buzz of electricity in the atmosphere and the entirely-too-addicting scent of your best friend’s fabric softener has you feeling hot enough you could faint.

you twist and shuffle over and over, hoping to find a position that eases the throbbing. it’s fine, you think, taking a deep breath and praying to every deity you can recall by name that jeonghan doesn’t notice your discomfort. i can do this. it’s fine. just a little while longer.

a spectacular boom sounds through the apartment and jeonghan’s fingers tighten around yours so much that, against all your better judgement, you let out a loud gasp. not out of pain, though – no, you wish. if only it was that easy. ha. no – as he squeezes your hand, images flash through your mind of him being the one to relieve you of the tension building up beneath your skin. of him gripping and grasping and tugging, thrusting, tasting, adoring. your throat runs dry and you squeeze your thighs together desperately, pinching your lips tight, willing your pounding heart to calm the fuck down. willing your cunt to stop drooling into your panties.

“fuck,” you breathe when he finally lets go. you feel him shuffle at your side and prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at your face with mild terror written into the lines of his own.

“i’m so sorry – did that hurt?” he asks, searching your eyes for any kind of clue. you wish he wouldn’t. surely, you think, pressing your tongue harshly against the roof of your mouth, surely my pupils are blown to oblivion, right now.

you shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“are you sure?” he asks, slowly running his fingers down your arm, moving to take hold of your hand again if you’ll let him. you flinch, the drag of his nails akin to an electric shock – like being struck by lightning, you tell yourself – and he snaps his hand back straight away. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you hurry, pushing yourself up to sit (almost head-butting him in the process) and groaning at the way the seam on your jeans rubs against your clit. who wears fucking jeans to a movie night? what absolute moron–

“do you feel okay?” jeonghan questions, sitting fully upright now too. “do you think it was the foo–”

“oh my god, please,” you whimper, bowing your head, letting your hair fall around your face, shielding you from him. just a little. not quite enough. “please. i’m fine. stop asking. i’m fine.”

“said everyone, ever, who was in fact – not fine,” jeonghan quips. “do you need water? i can help, just talk to me–”

“jeonghan,” you snap, whipping your head back up. your face feels hot and you don’t know if you’ve ever felt this tense before in all your years on this earth. all your muscles are tweaking in anticipation for something that most certainly is not going to happen, and you really need him to stop talking in that deep, smooth, caring voice. with immediate effect. for the love of god – 

…and heaven above, the penny drops. 

jeonghan’s concerned expression turns to one of complete shock and you cover your face with both hands, trying so desperately hard not to be perceived by him in this most humiliating of moments. he doesn’t say anything for a second, and you tell yourself that he’s probably trying to find either a terrible joke to ease the tension or a way to tell you to go home. you don’t know which would be worse, but it’s only a matter of time until you find out.

therefore, you definitely don’t expect him to pry your hands away from your cheeks, and for his shit-eating, impishly charming, handsome-as-fuck grin to be the first thing your eyes land on when you open them.

“really? thunderstorms?” he asks, close enough that you feel the breaths that his words don’t quite steal. “that’s your kink?”

“it’s not a kink,” you whine, throwing your hands down either side of you. he doesn’t release his hold on your wrist, though. “come on, don’t be–”

“of all the things you could be into,” he says. oh, he’s back. he’s back with a vengeance. you suppose, really, you should be glad that he’s feeling more like his usual self, but the fact that it’s at your expense? that there’s no-one else around for him to turn on instead? that this is your topic of conversation at ten past midnight on his living room floor?

“hannie, please,” you huff, lips drawing downwards into a frowning pout. the ache isn’t going away. why isn’t it going away? why is this cocky, smirking version of your best friend making you feel even hotter under the collar? what’s going on? “don’t you think i’ve suffered enough?”

“not even nearly,” he says, sitting up on his knees, resting his palms on his thighs. “since when? how did you even fig–”

boom.

and his jaw falls slack, watching you squirm.

you’re quite literally fighting for your life. or, at minimum, for your friendship. because, really, you could jump jeonghan’s bones right now and you don’t actually think he’d turn you down (something to be filed under: thoughts that are not making this any easier). but that’s not what you’re trying to do; you’re trying to help him feel better, and take his mind off his fear, and when he pulls his bottom lip between his bottom teeth before speaking –

“okay, wait. hear me out.”

to both of your surprises, you do. you don’t try and protest, which he was sort of expecting you to do. you don’t tell him to shut up, you don’t try and get away from him. you sit there, eyes wide, hands curling into the blankets beneath your slowly numbing ass, and you wait for him to continue.

“i can help you.”

your heart shoots up into your throat and you struggle to swallow around it. your breaths are heavy, laboured, your lips parted and a little swollen from how you’ve been biting at them for the past hour and a bit.

“you don’t have to–”

“shut up, y/n,” he says dismissively, crawling in front of you and lifting your hands away from the bedding you’re kneading (pathetically, in his professional opinion) like a cat. “listen. you’ve helped me so much tonight, you don’t even know. let me return the favour.”

“hannie…”

“hannie,” he whines, in a poor imitation of your voice. “hannie, i only helped you because you needed me– is that it? look at you, y/n. you’re a mess.”

if this were anyone else, you’d be livid. not only at the way he so effortlessly makes fun of you, but at the fact that he accurately finished your sentence without having anything more than an affectionate nickname to work from as a hint. you don’t know what to say, suddenly stunned into silence, but it’s all right. you don’t need to say anything; he keeps going.

“you need me. let me help you – look. it’s my birthday.”

he wants this, you think to yourself, growing slightly concerned by the way your heart continues to hammer in your throat. he wants… me.

you give one slow, but definite, nod of your head and jeonghan’s grin grows from cocky to genuine. he crawls until he’s right up in your space, lifting a hand to your cheek, and you forget how to breathe for a moment as he looks you in the eyes with more heat than the mid-august sun.

“lie down,” he says, pushing that last little bit closer and capturing your lips in a kiss. it’s short, but mind-boggling. your brain goes totally blank when he pulls away. “it’s okay. i’ve got you.”

but you do as he says and shuffle around the little fort so you’re on your back, head resting against one of the many pillows you’re grateful you brought in here with you. he crawls on top of you, then, caging you in with one hand either side of your head, settling with one of his knees slotted between your just-parted thighs. 

“okay?” he asks, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or worry. he doesn’t find any, though – he’s met only with a perhaps too enthusiastic nod and your hands playing at the hem of his sweatshirt. he chuckles, bending down to kiss you again, a little deeper this time, a little longer. open-mouthed and hot, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, dropping onto one elbow so his torso lies almost flush against yours. 

“easy, tiger. taking care of you, right now.”

you sigh as his lips start to descend down the column of your throat, and you press your shoulders back into the blankets to try and push that little bit closer to him. one of his hands slips beneath your own shirt and his palm comes to rest flush against your hip, dragging his thumb in small circles over your skin. 

“this,” he mumbles into your collarbone, tugging the neckline of the garment between his teeth for a moment so you know what he’s referring to. “off.”

“bossy,” you mumble, your body cold all of a sudden as he sits back away from you and you tug your t-shirt off over your head. as you do, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his sweatshirt as well before he tosses it up near your head, out of the way.

now, this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever been around jeonghan without anything covering his top half, but it is something that you rarely get the chance to see. if it’s not the fact that he’s chronically freezing cold, it’s because he’s grown emotionally attached to some of the baggiest tops known to mankind, or he’s worried about getting a sunburn so is still covered up at the beach. for one reason or another, this just isn’t something you’re blessed to see very often, and he looks so good you almost forget that it’s him.

of course, that only lasts until he says something really fucking dumb. in other words, all of about three seconds.

“how… practical,” he says, eyes trained down on the bra covering your tits. in a way, it’s probably a good thing you’ve snapped back to your senses, because you once again find yourself thinking that if this were anyone else, you’d have told them to get off you and never call you again.

but why is jeonghan, of all people, criticising your choice of comfy underwear… weirdly endearing?

“sorry,” you grunt, making no effort to hide the (flesh-toned, full-coverage, entirely too old) bra that he’s looking at like it’s personally offending him. “didn’t expect to need to impress, tonight.”

“don’t be sorry,” jeonghan says, shaking his head as he unpops the button on your jeans and tugs them down over your hips. “just… do better next time, yeah?”

you laugh so suddenly, so abruptly, so loudly that you choke on your own spit and end up coughing a little, propping up on one elbow to try and relieve the burn in your lungs as he continues to work your pants off your legs. by the time he scrunches them into a ball and puts them to the side, too, you’ve managed to catch your breath, and gasp out, “next time?”

“next time,” he nods, making himself comfortable between your thighs. he lays one palm on the inside of each knee, pushing them as far apart as your hips will allow, before he brings one hand over your covered cunt and drags his thumb up and down your slit.

you don’t even get a chance to ask why he’s so sure there’ll be a next time. he skillfully works you through the material and in seconds, has you tipping your head back into the pillows, moaning at the overwhelming feeling of finally being touched.

“so fucking wet,” he sighs, feeling your arousal through the cotton of your underwear, pressing the material between your folds. his thumb circles your clit over and over, the pressure just right – not so light that he’s teasing, not so hard that you’re squirming away from him. hell, if you knew he was this good, you’d have dragged him into bed years ago.

“come on, hannie,” you gulp as he starts to work his thumb faster, starts to massage at your inner thigh with his other hand. “need more…”

well, he doesn’t need to be told twice. you lift your hips and he tugs your panties down your thighs, unhooking them from around your ankles. you expect him to, you know, return to business, but he does something just a little bit unhinged first and brings your soaked underwear up to his face. you hear how deeply, how loudly he inhales, the subsequent groan he gives even louder, and you swear the reason you end up bumping his hip with your knee is to bring him back to earth, because it actually feels like he’s forgotten you’re lying right there.

“i’ll do it myself, in a minute,” you threaten, and jeonghan grins wickedly down at you as he lowers your panties down to join the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“no you won’t,” he tells you – he tells you? – , finally now lying down between your legs, just inches away from your glistening cunt. “god – as if i’d ever let that happen.”

“i swear– ” you start, half a second before one of his fingers presses against your hole. you stop talking with a gasp, a hand flying to your chest and squeezing against your tit. just like that. in a heartbeat, you’re done for. 

he seems intent on gathering as much of your arousal on his fingertip as he possibly can, running it through your folds, pressing it inside you, smearing your slick all over and then some like a fucked-up painting. only once he’s satisfied does he finally start to work his finger in and out, pressing his lips just above where your clit is begging for his attention.

“don’t play stupid,” you chide him when he looks up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and feigning innocence. “if you can find it through my underwear, you can find it now.”

“bossy,” jeonghan tuts. “what’s with the rush, huh?” 

and he adds another finger to the first, both long and elegant and reaching spots inside you that your own physically can’t. you keen against your will, hips reacting of their own accord, trying to fuck your pussy down against his hand. he makes no effort to stop you.

“m’not gonna beg,” you tell him. “just – fuck, get your mouth on me. now.”

to his credit, he does.

and more to his credit, being eaten out has never, ever felt this good.

the hand not grasping at your chest shoots down to tangle in his long, silky hair, and jeonghan moans loudly against your pussy as he laves his tongue everywhere he can. over your clit, between your folds, slipping it inside your hole in place of his fingers – he’s relentless, slurping and groaning and finding some sort of insane stamina from somewhere deep in his soul. you swear to god, this is not the man who sometimes falls asleep with his light on because he doesn’t have the energy to get up and turn them off.

within a matter of minutes, you can feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your moans and whines only getting louder by the minute. your legs are shaking. your thoughts are little more than static, and him. at some point – you don’t know when –, jeonghan reached around your hips to pull your thighs together and clamped them around his ears, mumbling against your clit something to the effect of to help with the thunder. (you don’t mention that there hasn’t actually been another thunder crack since he started making out with your pussy. it doesn’t feel relevant, somehow.)

every time you tighten your thighs, every time you squirm, he hugs you tighter against his cheeks and you just end up humping against his tongue. something tells you maybe that was the plan all along? 

sparks of energy start to prickle all over your skin as you teeter on the edge of your high. your fist tightens in jeonghan’s hair, your breaths become fewer and further between. it’s frankly a bit of a miracle you’ve even managed to last this long – you held back as long as you could, determined to milk as much of the pleasure his hands and his mouth so skillfully bring as you can. just in case there’s no next time, but… hell, do you hope there is.

“hannie, i’m–” you gasp, his fingers curling upwards again and resuming their earlier assault on your g-spot. “fuck, hannie, i’m so close–”

“mm, have been for a while, huh?” he asks, drawing his mouth away from you, licking his tongue over his arousal-slickened lips. “you’ve been holding out on me.”

“yeah, but-... i wanna come so bad,” you swallow. jeonghan flicks his tongue out over your clit again and you jolt up into the touch. “please, don’t stop.”

“won’t,” he promises. and it’s the last thing he says before his lips meet your pussy again and he brings you over the edge into the most electrifying of climaxes.

by the time you’ve stopped twitching with the aftershocks of your orgasm, jeonghan is sat up on his knees again, softly massaging at your hips with his thumbs. your vision is still kind of fuzzy at the edges when you glance up at him, and for a moment, with a hazy outline and an amber glow behind him owed to the flashlight you set at the entrance to the fort, you think he looks a little too much like an angel.

“where the hell did that come from?” you ask him, fighting against the squirming in your belly. fighting against the sensation that feels a little too much like butterflies. 

“really?” he asks in a breathy laugh. “that’s-... i mean, do you actually want to know, or…?”

you mull this over for a moment before crossing your arms over your eyes and concealing yourself from his view, shaking your head. one part of you is morbidly curious as to how he got so good at giving head. the other part of you is too busy trying to gather the brain cells he just sent flying across about eight different dimensions.

“i think you’ve broken me, jeonghan,” you breathe, feeling more than seeing him lie down next to you again. his lips press sweetly against the curve of your shoulder. warmth radiates from that one spot, all over your body. you smile, like a complete loser. 

what’s worse is that you really don’t mind.

“is that a yes, then?” he asks, slinging an arm over your waist. you turn your head to look at him, eyes crossing a little with how unexpectedly close he is. 

“yes to what?” 

“to next time,” he says. his grin matches yours and you nod your head at him, yes. in your peripheral vision, you notice how he lifts one hand, extends his little finger. straight in front of you, you see both of his eyebrows raise.

you pinch your lips tight before hooking your own pinky through his, leaning in and pressing a short kiss to the pad of your thumb. the way you used to when you were kids. ‘you really can’t break those.’ he used to say. ‘they’re like, triple the strength’. 

saved for really important promises.

“to next time.”

thank u so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.&lt;3

[imaginespazzi]

Part 14: The End And The Beginning

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 15

Still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me that I wanna keep (please don't leave)

(In which an infrequently-updating writer finally didn't take a month to update)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff and I guess a little bit of Hurt/Comfort

Words: 9.2K

TW: Swearing (and I believe that's it)

A/N: Hello my lovelies <3 It's a little past 2 AM but y'all wanted a chapter at an ungodly hour so here it is. It's insane to think that there will only be one more chapter of this fic. In all honestly I did have ways to drag it out for a little longer but ultimately, this felt like the right path to take. I feel like some of this chapter is a little OOC (though my lovely friends have said maybe I'm just being paranoid) but whelp it was for the plot so! Like I said, ungodly hour chapters means barely any editing for now but I will go over and fix things later. In the meantime if y'all wanna point things out in terms of grammar and typos, please feel free. As always, let me know what you liked, what you didn't and what you'd like to see as this story comes to an end. Have a lovely rest of your day (night?) my loves <3

June 2033 

Azzi thinks she might have every detail of her rather uninteresting bedroom ceiling memorized by now. After all -for almost 3 weeks now-  instead of sleeping, all she’s done is stared up at it, her mind wandering off to a thousand places, all plagued with the same face. Azzi hadn’t thought it was possible for her heart to ache as much as it had the morning after the proposal, when the regret had hit and she’d rushed into Paige’s room, only to be told by KK that the older girl was gone. The days following had been torture, like enduring a heart attack over and over again, the pain crescendoing until she’d gone numb from it. 

But last time there had been no false notions, no open-ended goodbyes, just a clean break and somehow that had been easier to live with. These last few days -filled with the unbearable waiting of maybe today she’ll come back to me- have been worse. Perhaps it’s because of the innate hope flickering like a candle within her. And even though the flame of it seems to get smaller and dimmer every time she sees Paige and the older woman still can’t quite make the promise to stay, Azzi knows that until that hope of hers is either completely shattered or fulfilled, there is no moving on from this hurt. 

Sighing to herself, Azzi grabs for her phone. The screen lights up to countless notifications and she bites her lip when she notices the one from Clémence. Dinner had been uncannily awkward last night in a way that it had never been before when the French woman had been a much more frequent presence in her and her daughter’s life. But in between Azzi being completely lost in thoughts of her and Paige’s conversation in the locker room and Stephie somehow managing to find a way to relate every little detail back to Miss Buecks and her face-falling a little every time she did, well it was suffice to say even Clémence’s attempts as making the dinner more cheerful hadn’t been enough to make the evening less of a disaster. Azzi had almost let out a sigh of relief when she’d finally dropped the other woman off at the hotel, trying to not to wince when Clémence had leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. But cleary she hadn’t been inconspicuous enough -and neither had Stephie, who’s voice had been rather devoid of her normal Clémence related cheer when she’d wished the Frenchwoman a goodnight- and the guilt from the way the other woman’s smile had faltered, still lingers in Azzi’s stomach. 

Chewing at her bottom lip, she swipes the text open. It’s a simple “it was good to see you two again.” and perhaps it doesn’t mean much -maybe Azzi’s doing that overthinking thing again- but there’s something about the formality of it, about the full stop at the end of the sentence feels rather definite. Azzi almost feels like she should apologize for something, perhaps for being so aloof last night or maybe even more. She knows that Clémence had wanted something else from her, had patiently waited for her to turn their relationship into something beyond just casual, something Azzi had never been ready to give to her. But it almost feels too late for any of that and so all she says is “it was good to see you too.” and she hopes that Clémence knows that despite everything, she means it. 

Throwing her phone back on the dresser and now feeling perhaps even worse than she had a couple minutes ago, Azzi pulls her blanket above her head, almost pleading with her brain to just shut off. She’s about to give into the impulsive urge to scream into her pillows, when instead her door creaks open and she immediately throws the comforter off of herself, reaching over to turn on her bedside lamp as she sits up straight on her bed. 

Stephie stands in the doorway, a fluffy teddy bear cuddled to her chest as she stares up at Azzi with big doey eyes and the older woman’s heart constricts when she sees the hint of sadness sitting heavily within them. Her little girl had been quiet all day -really since dinner last night. With today being a rare off day, the two of them had spent most of it lounging on the couch watching movies. But Azzi could tell something was off about Stephie. Her daughter, normally ever the commentator, had been dead silent, cuddling into her mother’s side and barely even chuckling at the comedy scenes. Truthfully, Stephie hadn’t been quite the same ever since they’d left Paige’s that morning -and with the amount of nights she’d snuck into Azzi’s room since, her mother had almost been expecting it tonight- but it seemed like something else had shifted last night. 

“C’mere baby girl,” Azzi says softly as she holds her arms open and Stephie dutifully climbs into them, burrowing her head into her mother’s chest, “what’s up?”

“Can’t sleep,” comes the muffled response from her daughter as Azzi gently rubs the little girl’s back, “can I sleep here with you?”

Azzi smiles, pressing a gentle kiss against Stephie’s hair, “of course you can sweetheart,” she whispers, before falling back into her pillows with her daughter still securely wrapped in her arms. 

She continues to brush her hands through Stephie’s hair, listening to the sound of her little girl breathing as she hums a lullaby. 

“Mama,” Stephie says tentatively, after a while. 

“Yeah Stephie-bean?”

“Yes-er-day when we were at dinner-,” the little girl swallows nervously and Azzi’s squeezes her shoulders, hoping it conveys that she’s listening, ready to hear whatever it is that’s been bothering the little girl, “yes-er-day at one of the other tables, I saw- I saw a woman with gold hair and she- she had it in a bun like- like the one Miss Buecks usually has.”

Azzi’s breath hitches, “go on sweetheart.”

“And she- she was-,” Stephie drops her voice down to a whisper, “she was kissing someone who looked a lot like you Mama.”

“Oh,” Azzi manages to get out as she feels her lungs compress. 

“And there was a little girl too and they both gave her lots of kisses too,” Stephie’s voice is small as she says the fact and Azzi has to bite her lips hard to keep in the sob that’s threatening to escape her lips. And she remembers the exact people Stephie’s talking about, remembers the way her heart panged as she’d seen the way three of them -the two women and their little girl- were practically giddy around each other. They’d looked almost like an exact replica of Paige, Azzi and Stephie, not that long ago. Azzi had, had to tear her eyes away from the scene, not wanting to let the tears that were dangerously close to her waterline slip down her cheeks. She hadn’t looked in their direction again. But Azzi hadn’t even imagined that maybe Stephie would’ve noticed that too, that her daughter would’ve felt the sting of the happy picture the same way she had. 

“Oh sweetheart-”

“My friend Anya has a Mama and a Mommy,” Stephie rushes out before Azzi can console her any further, “and my other friend Lena didn’t understand how that was poss-ble cause she has a Mommy and a Daddy like most of my other friends but Anya said it’s poss-ble and that her Mama and Mommy love each other just like Lena’s Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Anya’s right,” Azzi says softly, smiling at how simple children make everything sound even though she’s not quite sure where Stephie’s getting at with this story, “I’m sure her Mama and Mommy love each other a lot.”

“Anya says they kiss on the lips- just like- just like the women at the restaurant and like Nana and Pops or like Uncle José and Aunty Tully,” Stephie scrunches her nose as she finally untucks herself from Azzi’s chest, “Anya says that’s what people in love do but I think it’s kinda gross cause kissing on the lips looks kinda yucky.”

Azzi laughs, booping the little girl’s nose, “it does look a little funny.”

“But Anya says her Mommy and Mama do other things too. Like her Mama takes care of her Mommy when she’s sick and when her Mama cries over a movie, her Mommy laughs but then gives her Mama a big hug. And Anya says that sometimes when Anya’s Mama isn’t looking, Anya sees her Mommy looking at her Mama with a big smile,” Stephie stretches out her arms for emphasis as she climbs off of Azzi’s lap to sit on the bed next to her. 

“That sounds sweet,” Azzi says wistfully, still a little confused why she’s being told everything about Anya’s two mothers. 

There’s a moment of silence before Stephie drags in a deep breath as she stares intently at her mother, “I never seen you and Miss Buecks kiss, Mama.”

Her words loom in the air as Azzi’s mouth falls open, everything suddenly beginning to click, “Steph-”

“But when Miss Buecks was sick, I saw you make her soup and make her eat her med-cines even though Miss Buecks said they tasted yucky. And when you cry over Mr. Olaf melting in Frozen, Miss Buecks always says ‘Az you’re so silly, you’ve seen this so many times. How can you still cry at it?’”Stephie recites, doing an almost perfect impression that has Azzi’s letting out something in between a sob and a laugh. 

“But then she gives you a big hug anyways. And Mama,” the little girl continues, “when you’re not looking, I see Miss Buecks looking at you with this big, big, big, smile all the time.” 

“Stephie,” Azzi chokes out, trying to hold herself together. 

Her daughter looks at her with something almost like wonder, “you and Miss Buecks- you were just- you were just like Anya’s Mama and Mommy?”

“Yeah,” Azzi whispers, as she grasps the little girl’s hands in her own, bracing herself for whatever Stephie might say next, “yeah I guess we were.”

But Stephie doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting all quiet and contemplative for a moment until she slowly climbs back into her mother’s arms, resting her head right against Azzi’s chest. 

“Mama,” her voice is small when she finally does speak, “I really miss Miss Buecks.”

Azzi feels her heart constrict, finally losing the battle against her tears as they drip down her cheeks, and she tightens her grip on her daughter, “I know baby. I really miss her too.”

*** 

April 2025

“What are you doing?” panic filters into Azzi’s tone as she watches Paige slowly get down on one knee, her heart pulsating as she slowly begins to understand why her girlfriend had set this whole thing up. Really she should’ve known as soon as KK and Ice had excitedly bound into her room, mischievous knowing smirks on their faces as they’d made her change into something nice before practically dragging her onto the roof. She should’ve known when she’d seen the candles and the pink roses and Paige just a little too dressed up in the midst of it all, that this was more than just one of the older girl’s lavishly planned date nights. 

Paige smiles up at her, either not hearing the distress in the brunette’s voice or perhaps not quite understanding the gravity of it. She reaches for Azzi’s hands, soft fingers entwining with the younger girl’s like their holding onto a lifeline. An unfamiliar sensation builds in Azzi’s stomach, one she doesn’t think she’s ever felt in Paige’s presence before.  

“Paige,” she whispers helplessly. 

“I’ve got you baby,” Paige squeezes her hands gently, mistaking whatever it is that Azzi’s feeling, for simple nerves. 

But it’s not that. Azzi knows this unsettling feeling that’s tornadoing around her isn’t just nerves or butterflies or whatever else it is that one normally feels before a proposal. It’s something much, much worse. Something almost like dread. And Azzi can feel all those suppressed emotions that have been building for the last couple of weeks-the whispers of thoughts that she’d brushed away as nothing serious- suddenly rushing through her body and settling like a large, immovable lump at the back of her throat. 

She remembers the first time she’d felt it, that unfamiliar twist in her stomach. It had been at a press conference after some easily won Big East game with UConn’s Big Three sitting diligently at the media-table. And it had suddenly occurred to Azzi, just as they’d finished their media availability, that she’d been asked exactly one question about her own performance -a respectable 24/4/3 statline- from the pool of reporters. Every other question of the four that had been directed her way, had been about Paige. She’d come to a stop outside the press room, letting herself sit with the thought for a second until her girlfriend -with her bright blue eyes and just-for-Azzi smile- had come bounding up to her. And suddenly, as it always seemed to be when it came to Paige, Azzi couldn’t think about anything else anymore. Not when the blonde was lacing their fingers together and putting her lips dangerously close to her ears, whispering all the sinful things they could get up to that night.

But then it happened again two games later. One question about her own performance followed by a cycle of questions about Paige during a presser where the blonde wasn’t even in attendance. This time Azzi had thought about it a little longer but then she’d chided herself for it, chalking it up to her brain doing that overthinking thing again. It was natural to be asked about teammates, especially superstar, generational, teammates who were likely to go #1 in the upcoming WNBA draft. 

And then it happened again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Until it was the Elite Eight and Azzi found herself, after a 28/5/4 statline and two clutch free throws to win it all, still somehow fielding more questions about Paige -and how the blonde had impacted Azzi’s game and recovery and their relationship as best friends- than about her own performance. 

That’s when she’d finally begun to understand what that twist in her stomach had been. She’d felt sick at the idea that it could be envy -how could she ever be jealous of her Paige’s success- but she’d understood then, almost gawking at the reporter who’d had the audacity to ask her, her fourth Paige-related question that night, that it wasn’t that. Maybe it would’ve been easier if it was. 

It was fear. 

The fear that her own identity in the basketball world was slowly withering away under the weight of her relationship. 

“Hey,” Paige’s voice feels like it’s coming from a distance even though she’s right in front of Azzi and the brunette swallows hard as she tries to pry herself away from her thoughts to focus on her girlfriend. 

“Paige,” she whispers back helplessly, as her eyes begin to water. 

Every time Azzi had imagined Paige proposing -the first time had been when she was 15 and she’d woken up from the dream, almost shaking but still filled with the serene calmness that came from knowing something was inevitable- she had always in fact pictured tears in her own eyes. 

But not like this. 

Because these little droplets cascading down her cheeks that Paige’s fingers diligently reach up to wipe away aren’t the tears of a girl whose dreams to marry her best friend -the love of her life- are coming true. They’re the tears of a girl who’s bracing herself for an inevitable fight when she puts her career before a relationship, when her head wins this fight against her heart. 

Blissfully unaware, Paige continues on, “I’ve um- I’ve thought of this a million times. Actually maybe a billion or a trillion or quadrillion. Point is I’ve been thinking about it pretty much ever since I met you.”

Stop, Azzi thinks but all that comes out is a whimper. 

“So you’d think, considering I’ve thought about it that many times, I’d have an actual speech prepared or something. And I did you know. I uh- I wrote one and then I hated it so I deleted it all and then I wrote another and then I deleted that one too,” Paige laughs and the sound of it, that had once felt like a warm blanket shrouding all of Azzi’s senses, now feels a lot like a wintry chill settling around her body. 

“And what I realized,” there’s moisture pooling in the blonde’s own eyes now, “is that I don’t need a speech. I don’t need hundreds of words. I just need three. I love you,” Paige presses a kiss against Azzi’s knuckles and the other girl shudders, “I love you so fucking much Azzi Fudd. And I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life.”

She lets go of the brunette’s hands to retrieve a black velvet box from her pockets and Azzi bites her lip so hard, the metallic taste of blood overwhelms her taste buds. 

“Azzi Jazlyn Fudd,” Paige says softly, flicking open the box to reveal a heart-cut diamond ring, “will you marry me?”

“No,” it comes out so soft, almost blending with the wind, that for a second even Azzi doubts she’d said it. 

“”What?”

Azzi clears her throat, “no.”

“No?” Paige repeats, blinking up at her with a mixture of confusion and anticipatory dread. 

“No,” Azzi says again, her voice much stronger now as she takes a step back, the tears freely falling from her cheeks. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” Paige, still on one knee, stumbles a little as she tries to formulate the right words, “you- you don’- no?,” her eyebrows furrow in confusion, “you don’t want to marry me?”

I do, Azzi wants to scream. 

“I can’t,” she says. 

Paige stares up at her, something akin to disbelief etched across her beautiful features, “what does that even fucking mean you can’t?”

“I just-” Azzi struggles against the jumble of thoughts in head as she tries to piece together a coherent sentence, “I can’t.”

“Bullshit,” Paige snarls. 

“Paige-”

“Do not Paige me,” the older girl seethes, her expression darkening, “you better fucking explain yourself.”

“I- I will,” Azzi stutters, trying to make herself small as she wraps her arms around herself, “can you- just,” she eyes Paige, who’s still kneeling one one knee, “can you please- please just stand up.”

Paige flinches, like Azzi has asked her to shoot an arrow into her own soul. And maybe she had. But she does as asked. The blonde’s movements are reluctant, almost like it pains her to stand up and when she does, the distance she puts between her and Azzi can’t be more than a few meters, but it feels like it stretches the length of an ocean. 

“Explain,” Paige says scathingly.

“I just-” Azzi takes in a deep breath, barely able to meet her girlfriend’s eyes as she forces out the next words, “I don’t want to be known as just your wife.”

Paige lets out an expected noise of protest, “you wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know that,” Azzi cuts her off with a pointed look, “because right now- right now sometimes it feels like all I am is just Paige Bueckers’ best friend. It doesn't matter how many points I score or how many defensive moves I make on the court or whatever else I do on the court, somehow it all leads back to you. And it makes me feel-,” she chokes on the next words, the acidity of them leaving a bitter taste in her mouth, “I feel invisible.”

“Azzi-”

The brunette holds up a hand, needing to finish what she’s saying before she fully succumbs to her emotions, “sometimes- sometimes my entire career at UConn so far feels like- like it’s just an extension of yours. Paige you- you get to be Paige. Just Paige. The superstar. You get to go to entire pressers not having to answer a single question about me or our friendship. You get to have entire articles written about you that have just a throwaway line about me and not have half of it be dedicated to how I’m the driving force behind your success. And that’s how it should be because- because as much as we rely on each other, your success is still yours. But sometimes it feels like mine isn’t mine.”

“I’m sor-”

“No!” Azzi cuts Paige off loudly when the older girl tries to apologize, guilt flashing in her eyes, “it’s not your fault Paige. You- you’re my biggest cheerleader. You always have been. But I just- I need to have my own identity. And that’s already been so hard being known as just your best friend. It’s only going to get worse if I-” she stops, unable to say the rest but even unspoken, it lingers in the air. 

If I become your fiancé. 

 “I need next year to be different,” Azzi says instead, “I need it to be my year. Just mine. Just for once, I just want to be known as Azzi.”

“It will be,” there’s a newfound conviction replacing the previous anger in the blonde’s voice as she takes a deliberate step towards Azzi. Bolstered when the other girl doesn’t instinctively move back, she takes another one and then another and another, until the seemingly never-ending distance between them disappears. 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Paige says softly as she gently holds one of Azzi’s hands between her own, “and I hate- I hate that you feel this way. But it’ll be different next year when we’re not on the same team anymore right? Out of sight out of mind type shit? They won’t- they won’t ask you about me or make everything you do about me anymore-”

“You don’t know that-”

The older girl continues like she didn’t hear the interruption, “I just- I just don’t understand why you can be known as my girlfriend but not my-” she swallows, “but not my wife? Because Az- when we come out-,” the girl in questions flinches and Paige pauses, her expression falters at the movement. 

A deadly silence clouds the air and it’s April in Connecticut and the spring breeze is just the right temperature. But as Paige slowly lets go of her hands, realization dawning on her face, Azzi thinks she’s never felt colder in her life. 

“You- you don’t-” the blonde looks at her almost accusingly as she takes a step back, “you don’t want to come out?”

“Paige-”

“Answer the fucking question Azzi.”

Azzi casts her eyes downwards, digging her fingers as deeply into her palms as possible, “no, no I don’t.”

“I see,” Paige says slowly, her tone dangerously low, “and how long have you felt this way Az?”

“I-I-” the brunette stutters nervously, “I made- I made the decision after the Elite Eight.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Paige says calmly. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand-”

“How long Azzi?” the blonde sneers, “how long have you had all the fucking doubts about your identity and our relationship? How long have you been questioning everything about us? How long have you bee going through this whole fucking decision-making process about our future?”

“That’s not-”

“Oh no,” Paige interrupts harshly, “that’s exactly it. That’s exactly what you were doing. So tell me. How. Long?”

Azzi gulps nervously, “since the game at home versus Nova.”

Paige blinks at her, “three months? Three fucking months Azzi. You’ve been feeling this way for three months and you didn’t once think that maybe you should tell me? That maybe we should talk about it?”

“I didn’t know,” Azzi says helplessly, “I didn’t even understand it myself Paige. I didn’t know what I was feeling. I didn’t even know there was something to discuss.”

“But clearly you did figure it out, Azzi. Because I know you and I know you didn’t make this decision without figuring your emotions out, so why not come to me then? Why not tell me as soon as possible. God fucking hell Azzi- when even were you gonna tell me?” Paige yells, all pretence of calm gone from her body, “if I- if tonight hadn’t happened, when would you have even told me?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything and Paige shakes her head, starting to pace around the rooftop. 

“We had a plan Azzi. We’ve had a plan for four years. As soon as one or both of us was out of UConn, that was it. No more hiding. No more secrets. Just you and and me and we weren’t gonna care who the fuck knew about it,” the blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, “and you’re telling me that for three month- three fucking months- you’ve been questioning that whole fucking plan while I remained oblivious as fuck? Azzi all I’ve done these past few months is tell you how fucking excited I was about being able to call you my girl in front ov everyone. How excited I was to hold you in public and for us to just be us without giving a fuck who could see. And you just,” Paige’s voice breaks, “you let me. You let me do all of that- feel all of that. You let me be hopeful for a future that you weren’t even sure you could see for us.”

Azzi looks away, that rock of guilt settled in her stomach starting to get heavier and heavier with each word that leaves Paige’s mouth, “I’m just asking for a little bit more time Paige.”

“And what happens if that time doesn’t go the way you want it to Az?” Paige asks sadly, “what if we survive the next year but you decide that you can’t be attached to me to start your W career?”

“That won’t happen-”

“You don’t know that,” a sardonic smile appears on the blonde’s face, “I can’t keep hiding forever Azzi. All I’ve done is love you in secret. I can’t- I don’t- I won’t do that forever.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Azzi bursts out, her defensiveness suddenly translating into a burst of anger, “I am asking you for a little bit of time. Not even a whole year anymore. Just a little bit of time for me to establish my own identity and honestly Paige if you can’t even give me that- if you can’t understand why I need this time- then maybe-” she stops herself, eyes widening at the words -word she’d never even expected herself to think of - that are now sitting, like burning embers, on the tip of her tongue. 

“Then maybe what?” Paige asks slowly, but there’s an almost resigned tinge to her tone that suggests she already knows. 

“No,” Azzi shakes her head, turning away from the older girl’s piercing gaze. She looks down at the ground, still covered in rose petals. The wax of the glittering candles littered between them has melted onto them, causing their pink hue to turn into a darker shade of red. And it’s like there’s blood scattered on the remnants of Paige’s perfect proposal. 

“Say it Azzi-”

“No-”

“Say it.”

“I don’t want to,” Azzi covers her ears and she wishes this were a nightmare, wishes she could open her eyes and find herself waking up in Paige’s arms. Warm and soft and loved. 

“Godfuckingdammit Azzi,” Paige yells, “just say it. If I can’t understand why you need time then maybe we should what?” she repeats, waiting for the brunette to finish her own sentence. 

Azzi whimpers, continuing to shake her head, “Paige please.”

“Just. Fucking. Say. It.”

The younger girl swallows, “then maybe we should end it.”

Another beat of silence. 

“Maybe we should,” Paige’s voice is gravelly and Azzi doesn’t dare turn around, not ready to see the heartbroken expression -or worse, perhaps the nonchalant one- on the older girl’s face, “if after all we’ve been through, if it’s so easy for you to think those words. Then maybe we should- maybe we should end it.”

And Azzi thinks for the rest of her life she will wonder what she should have done next. If she should’ve said something or if -when she hears those retreating footsteps- if she should’ve run after her. She thinks, for the rest of her life, she will look back on this moment and dissect every single second of it, that she will wish for the time machine to go back and stop herself from doing and saying so many of the things she had on the rooftop that night. 

But Paige walks away. 

And Azzi doesn’t do anything to stop her. 

It isn’t until the morning after -when her head does finally catch up to her heart and all she can feel is that unfamiliar sting of regret- and she races into the apartment downstairs and Ice’s expression is filled with sadness and KK’s glare is filled with accusation, that she finds out just how far Paige had gone away from her and Azzi realizes, she’s just a little too late. 

*** 

June 2033 

There’s a redhead and a brunette, holding hands and chatting quietly as they wait outside the school. The two women are clearly entrenched in their own world -sharing those warm gazes and bright smiles that Azzi’s just a little too familiar with- blissfully unaware that they are currently being stared at. Actually, perhaps glared at is a more accurate statement because there’s a clear tinge of envy running down Azzi’s spine as her eyes remain laser-focused on the scene in front of her. She hadn’t meant to be doing this of course -nobody really plans to come to pick up their daughter from school and somehow end up stink-eying said daughter’s friends parents for being too in love. But as fate would have it, somehow from where she’s parked, Azzi has a perfect view of Anya, infamous Mommy and Mama. 

They’re sickeningly cute.

And Azzi fucking hates them.  

It’s unfair of her to feel this way; she knows that. But watching them lead the life she’d always imagined for herself, is more difficult now than it ever has been when Azzi had seen them before in passing. Back then, it was just a dull ache of something she craved but knew she’d turned away herself. But now- now she’s had a taste of that life; had gotten to live it out -even if just for a second- with the girl she’d always dreamed of living it with. Until one night and a series of revelations had snatched it all away, and now Azzi’s left with nothing but the bitter feeling of waiting to see if she’ll get that back forever or if it had really only ever been meant to be a fleeting moment in her life. 

A sigh of longing escapes her as she watches Anya go rushing into her mothers’ arms, the two of them catching her in perfect sync. She has the resentful urge to scoff at the scene. It’s all so goddamn dramatic for three people who see each other every day. Except Azzi’s mind is filled with memories that are almost exact replicas of the scene in front of her; just with different faces. 

“Hi Mama,” it isn’t until the backdoor opens and Stephie’s voice fills the car that Azzi finally tears her eyes away from Anya’s family. 

“Hey baby,” she choruses back, turning around in her seat to make sure her daughter is buckling herself in correctly, “how was your day?”

“It was okay,” Stephie shrugs and Azzi feels her heart plummet at how nonchalant the little girl sounds. She misses the sound of her daughter ranting about just how booooring school is, and thinks she wouldn’t even try to reprimand her if Stephie deemed school useless like she used to. Azzi just wants her ball of sunshine, talks-a-mile-per-minute child back because this meek, quiet little girl in the back feels like a shell of who Stephie used to be. 

“You excited for Mama’s game tonight?” Azzi presses as she starts to back out of the parking lot, almost relieved when it seems to cause Stephie to sit up a little straighter. 

“You’re- you’re playing the Liberty right?” the little girl asks quietly, “that’s- that’s where Miss Buecks wanna go? New York?”

Azzi freezes at the question, trying to keep her hands steady on the wheel as she hums in agreement. 

“They’re a good team right? Lots of champ-ships and stuff?” Stephie continues. 

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “it’s uh- it’s definitely gonna be a good game.”

“Anya’s Grammy and Grandpa live in New York. Not the city-city but close to it,” Stephie says after a moment, “Anya says New York’s really nice. She’s been there lots and lots of times to see her Grammy and Grandpa forChristmas. And she- she says when she went, it snowed lots and lots.”

Despite herself Azzi smiles as her mind drifts to memories of cold Northeast winters. For the most part, they had been filled with dreary chills and darky rainy days. But then amidst it all, there had been a couple rare days of snow and when she’d been at UConn, her teammates had taken full advantage. And just like most of her memories of those years, Paige is front and center of these ones too. The blonde had never been nearly as enamored with the snow as Azzi was, and she definitely wasn’t enamored by it at seven in the morning when the brunette would wake her up squealing that it had in fact snowed and the world around them was white. Despite her grumbling, Paige had still let Azzi bundle the both of them up in winter clothes and drag her outside. And her faux irritated expression hds slowly morphed into one of admiration as she’d flicked the snow off the younger girl’s eyelashes, pulling her closer by her scarf because Azzi I’m so cold, you have to kiss me to keep me warm baby. 

“We don’t get snow here,” Stephie says thoughtfully, unaware of the path down memory lane her mother had just taken. 

“No, no we don’t,” Azzi says, almost wistfully. 

“It would- it would be nice to live somewhere with lots of snow,” Stephie ponders out loud and her mother’s eyes widen as she starts to understand where this is going, “like- like in New York.”

“We could- we could have snowball fight and make snowmen like Mr. Olaf and snow angels and everything else you do in snow,” the little girl’s voice gets increasingly more and more high-pitched in excitement, “it would be so fun Mama.”

“Steph-”

“And Anya said that- that- that- she’d even visit me like she visits her Grammy and Grandpa. She promised Mama, she promised she’d come see me if I lived in New York-”

“Honey no,” Azzi cuts her daughter off heartbrokenly, “we are not going to live in New York. 

“But Mama, Miss Buecks-”

“Stephie stop-”

“No Mama listen,” Stephie protests indignantly, “Mama what if- what if Miss Buecks really needs to be in New York. What if it’s impo-tant. And that’s- that’s why she can’t stay here. With us. Not cause she doesn’t want to but cause she can’t. But Mama just because Miss Buecks can’t say doesn’t mean we can’t go Mama.”

“Sweetheart-”

“And you- you just said the Liberty is a good team and you’re such a good player Mama. I think you’d be good on their team too. And I- I really, really like the Valk-ries and I would really miss Aunty J and Aunty Tessie and Aunty Joy but if you- if you and Miss Buecks played for the Liberty- I know I’d like them too. And I’m sure Nana and Pops and Uncle Jon and Uncle Jose and Aunty Tully would come visit us lots and lots and I wouldn’t even miss them lots cause they’d visit so much. I just know it. It could work Mama- I know it could.”

“Stephanie,” Azzi's voice is louder than she’d meant it to be as she pulls onto their street, “sweetheart, we are not moving to New York.”

“But Mama-” the little girl whines. 

“No Stephie. That’s just-” Azzi swallows the sob stuck in her throat, “that’s now how the world works.”

“But what if I want it to work that way?” Stephie asks softly with all the innocence of a five-year old as she meets her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Oh baby,” Azzi’s so caught up in her daughter’s earnest wishful thinking that she doesn’t even notice there’s another oh-so-familiar car parked in her driveway until she almost crashes into it. 

“That’s Miss Buecks car,” Stephie whispers softly, craning her neck to get a better view. Her eyes widen in tandem with her mother’s as they both catch sight of the same thing at the same time. 

It’s Paige. 

Paige, whose eyes are sunken in and red-rimmed. Paige, whose hair is tossed back into a messy bun -looking like it’s been in that same one for days- with little loose strands falling out of it. Paige, whose entire body is hunched over as she sits on their front porch, holding a grey hoodie close to her chest. Paige, whose hands are fidgeting with themselves because she can never sit still, especially when she’s nervous. Paige, who looks up just as Azzi parks her car -whose staring at the both of them like they’re still her everything. Paige, who despite it all, still looks like the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Paige, who’s here. 

It’s Stephie who recovers from the shock of seeing Paige first, the click of her seatbelt being unclasped pulling Azzi out of her own trance. The little girl pushes her door open, getting out of her car seat with quickness as she stumbles out of the car. 

“Careful sweetheart,” Azzi calls out immediately but Stephie isn't listening, already rushing up the pathway as Paige -her expression hopeful- stands up at the sight of the child running towards. 

It isn’t until Stephie hesitates, coming to a halt just a couple of meters away from Paige, that Azzi draws in a deep breath and gets out of the car herself. Unlike her daughter, her steps are much slower, her movement hesitant and guarded. She knows this is it; knows that this is when all that waiting she’s done in the past few weeks will finally be over, that Paige is either here to fulfill a dream or to start a nightmare. 

Azzi walks up the pathway until she’s right behind Stephie, one of her hands instinctively reaching out to hold her daughter’s shoulder, conveying two messages. One to Stephie, a promise that no matter what happens now, she’ll still always have Azzi. The other to Paige is an unspoken message from a protective mother, silently begging her that if she is here to break their hearts, to break Stephie’s gently. 

“Hi,” Paige’s voice is croaky when she speaks, her eyes flickering nervously between the mother and daughter in front of her. 

Azzi clears her throat, willing herself to reply, “hey,” she pauses, continuing only when the older woman keeps her own mouth shut, shuffling her feet nervously, “do you- do you want to come in?”

“Yes,” Paige says, her cheeks reddening at how quickly the word leaves her mouth and that almost makes Azzi smile. 

She nods at the older woman, her hand travelling from Stephie’s shoulder to instead hold her hand as they walk up the steps together. Azzi’s shoulder brushes against Paige’s as she moves past the blonde to open her door and electricity courses through her veins. From the way Paige gasps, the brunette is sure she must’ve felt it too. It crackles in the air as Azzi unlocks the door, her brain feeling foggy at the mere feeling of having Paige so close after so long. 

The three of them walk quietly towards the living room, Stephie’s hands still clasped in Azzi’s and Paige following closely behind them. The little girl’s grip is tight and despite how young she is, Azzi knows just how perceptive Stephie is. She’s just as aware of this moment as the adults are, realizes it just as much as they do, that they’ve reached a crossroad and the path they take -a path determined by whatever Paige chooses- will shape their future together or apart. 

“I um- I- well- the thing is- I-,” Paige breaks the silence first, stuttering over her words before letting out a soft sigh She closes her eyes for a second and when she opens them, there are little droplets of water on the edges of her eyelashes. 

“I really missed you guys,” she confesses in a whisper, her voice breaking throughout. 

There’s a second of silence as her words linger in the air and Azzi feels Stephie’s hand slip away from her own and the little girl almost stumbles over her own feet as she races towards Paige, the older woman’s arms immediately opening to catch her and as she kneels down to pull Stephie into her her chest. It’s like the blonde’s confession had broken a dam, and the water that came rushing through it, had washed away the last little bit of pretence of nonchalance that Stephie had been holding onto. 

For the last few weeks, every time Azzi’s little girl had seen Paige, be it when she accompanied her mother to a practice or when she was on the sidelines at a game, Stephie had ignored the blonde, maintaining the same angry façade as the one she’d had the morning after that night. But Azzi had seen that resolve weaken over time; had seen Stephie’s eyes linger just a little bit longer on Miss Buecks with that familiar look of yearning. And Azzi had known that resolve was almost completely gone, in the car, when Stephie had all but begged her to consider moving to New York if that was the only way they were going to be able to keep Paige in their lives. 

She feels her own set of tears prickling in her eyes as she takes in the scene in front of her. Stephie’s face is pressed into Paige’s neck, the blonde has one arm wrapped around the little girl’s waist and the other other gently brushing through her hair. Their grip on each other is tight with barely any space for air between them, tears freely streaming down both of their faces. 

“I missed you too Miss Buecks,” Stephie sobs and Azzi notices the way Paige’s hold on her tightens at the familiar nickname, “missed you so much.”

“Me too Stephie-bean,” Paige affirms as she coaxes the little girl’s face out of her neck, cupping it in her hands, “I’m so sorry sweetheart. So, so, sorry. I missed you so, so, so, so much,” she says, punctuating each word with a kiss to Stephie’s face in between. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie looks down nervously, her fingers playing with the collar of Paige’s t-shirt, “can me and Mama come to New York with you?”

“Stephie!” Azzi exclaims as Paige’s eyes widen. 

“Wh-what?” the blonde asks softly as she searches the little girl’s face in confusion.

“I don’t want you to go,” Stephie says quietly, “but if you have to- then can we come with you?”

“Oh sweetheart,” there’s disbelief in Paige’s tone, something almost akin to awe as she tilts Stephie’s chin to make the little girl look back at her. 

“My friend Anya says New York’s nice,” Stephie rambles, repeating what she’d been telling her mother in the car, “and-and-and she says there’s lots and lots of snow and I told Mama that I think it will be nice to live in lots and lots of snow. Mama hasn’t said yest,” the little girl briefly looks back at Azzi with a sheepish look on her face before turning back to Paige, “but I know- I know we could cov-ince her because Miss Buecks, Mama’s missed you so, so, so much too.”

“Has she?” Paige asks, her eyes flickering to Azzi who’s trying desperately to keep her face neutral as she keeps her own gaze firmly fixated on a picture of her daughter on top of the mantle. 

“She has,” Stephie confirms, before using a finger against the older woman’s cheek to get her to return her attention back to her, “so can we come with you? Please.”

Paige slowly tucks a strand of hair behind the child’s ears as she shakes her head, “no.”

“N-no?” Stephie’s bottom lip trembles at the rejection, “why not? Why can’t we go to New York with you?”

“Because nobody’s going to New York, Stephie-bean,” Paige says firmly and Azzi’s eyes shoot towards the blonde, her lips parting slightly as she processes the meaning behind her words, her heart beginning to race with anticipation. 

“Nobody?” Stephie repeats as a question, her little voice filled with hope. 

Instead of answering, Paige grabs the grey hoodie she’d brought with her that had fallen to the ground. She gently un-scrunches it, holding out the sleeve of it for Stephie to look at. Azzi cranes her head curiously to get a better look of it, squinting her eyes when she notices something written in washed-out black ink. 

“You probably don’t remember this because you were a lot littler when it happened,” there’s a teasing smile of Paige’s face as she uses the incorrect word, “but the first time you ever spoke to me properly, you told me, that your Mama says that one day, you’re gonna be an even better basketball player than she is.”

Stephie beams, “Mama says I’m gonna be the best in the world today.”

Paige chuckles, “I believe it and I believed it then too. That’s why,” she points down at the hoodie, her fingers brushing over the material so delicately, like it’s one of her most treasured possessions, “that’s why I had you sign my hoodie.”

“You asked for my auto-graph?” Stephie’s eyes glint and perhaps she doesn’t quite remember what Paige is talking about exactly, but Azzi can tell that it’s stirred up recollections of something. 

“Yeah- yeah I did. And you said, ‘silly Miss Buecks, I’m not famous’ and I said, ‘but if you’re as good at basketball as you say you are, then one day, you will be. Just like me and your Mama.’ And I meant it. You’re gonna be so- so great one day sweetheart. I know you are,” Paige says with conviction as her thumbs lightly caressing Stephie’s cheeks, “and I- I wanna be right here every step of the way, I wanna be right here to watch you grow up and become the great player -the great woman- that you’re destined to be.”

“You mean it?” Stephie asks, her eyes shining with a fresh new set of tears.

Paige nods, delicately wiping her thumbs under the little girl’s lower eyelid, “I do. I wanna be here, with you and- and your Mama,” she raises her head toward Azzi, mustering a watery smile, “I want to stay. Forever. If you’ll have me.”

Azzi lets out a staggered breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes remain locked with Paige’s. And suddenly, after eight years spent feeling unfulfilled -eight years spent with this constant sense of being incomplete-, hearing Paige finally say she wants to stay forever, feels a little bit like as if that missing part of Azzi has finally returned back to where it rightfully belongs. 

A loud squeal echoes throughout the living room as Stephie leaps back into Paige’s arms, a large smile stretching the length of her whole face as she buries her face back into the crevice between the blonde’s shoulder and her neck. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” the little girl chirps excitedly, “of course we’ll have you. Of course, of course, of course,” Stephie says in delight before she turns herself slightly in Paige’s grasp, arms still around the other woman’s neck as she looks imploringly at Azzi, “right Mama?”

Azzi doesn’t say anything, pursing her lips as she tears her gaze away from the two people in front of her. 

“Mama?” Stephie presses. 

“Give me a second Stephie-bean,” Paige whispers to the little girl, bumping her head against her temple. 

From the corner of her eyes, Azzi watches as the blonde disentangles herself from Stephie, before slowly getting to her feet and walking towards the younger woman. 

“Az-”

“It’s been almost three weeks-”

“It’s been two weeks, six days, five hours and around fourteen minutes,” Paige shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her face, “give or take a few minutes.

Azzi continues to look away from her, trying to keep her face devoid of emotion, “still took you a really long time to decide you were gonna stay.”

“Well I’m an idiot,” Paige says matter-of-factly and Stephie snickers behind her, “you know me Az. Sometimes these things- they take me a little while to understand.”

“I told you we wouldn’t wait forever,” Azzi says softly. 

“I didn’t make you wait forever,” Paige reaches out to gently grab her chin between her thumb and index, turning the brunette’s face towards her, “just needed a little bit of time.”

“You didn’t give me time,” Azzi accuses and the blonde flinches. 

“I know. I- I should’ve. Should’ve don’t a lot of things differently when it comes to us but I didn’t and I- I can’t change that but Azzi, I promise, I promise I’ll do everything right this time,” keeping one hand cupped around Azzi’s cheek, Paige uses the other to guide one of the brunette’s hands to rest against her chest, “I swear.”

Azzi swallows, feeling the quick rhythm of Paige’s heartbeat under her fingertips, “how do I know you won’t run away again?”

“Because I trust you,” the blonde whispers, “I trust you to stay and I trust you not to break my heart again. And that- that doesn’t mean that I’m not scared anymore- cause I am. Not a lot but definitely still a little bit. But someone once told me that, trusting is really scary but that maybe- maybe it would be a lot less scary, if we did together.”

“They sound like a really smart person,” Azzi bites her lip, “you should probably listen to them more often.”

Paige chuckles, “well if uh- if they give me the chance, I think I’d listen to them for the rest of my life.”

Azzi shudders and she doesn’t know if it’s from the earnestness of the words spoken or the strength of the emotions in the blonde’s gaze that’s still completely transfixed on her. 

“What about New York?” she asks finally. 

“I called the whole thing off,” Paige states nonchalantly, “I had Talia call Jonathan Kolb last night and I explained everything to Ohemaa this morning. Everyone’s on the same page. There is no deal anymore.”

“You-” Azzi gapes at the girl in front of her, “you- you already called the whole thing off?”

“I did,” Paige confirms, not a hint of regret in her voice, “I don’t need an escape plan.”

“You called it off before even talking to me?” Azzi asks, knitting her eyebrows together, “you didn’t even know how this was gonna go.”

“I already told you. I trust you,” Paige says simply, “I believe in us Az and I really hope you still believe in us too.”

The words are barely out of Paige’s mouth before Azzi’s crashing into her, the weight of her body sending the blonde staggering back a few steps before her hands steadily secure themselves around the younger woman’s waist. A slightly surprised gasp escapes Paige until the sound of it is stolen by Azzi pressing her lips against the older woman’s. Despite her initial surprise, Paige kisses Azzi back with equal fervor, both of them pouring the myriad of suppressed emotions between them the last few weeks into it. And it feels like a cliché, like coming home. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Paige breaks away first, eyes widening as she slowly turns around to look at Stephie who’s practically vibrating with happiness as she watches the two of them, “Stephie-”

“She already knows,” Azzi says with a slight grin, shaking her head fondly at just how joyful her little girl looks. 

 “You told her?” Paige looks between the mother and daughter. 

Stephie smirks triumphantly, “I figured it out myself Miss Buecks.”

“Of course you did smarty pants,” Paige smiles at the little girl but Azzi knows her well enough -is still so in tune with every little bit of Paige despite the time apart- to see the small hint of disappointment behind it. 

“I would’ve told her myself if she hadn’t,” Azzi says quietly and Paige turns back around to face her. 

“What?”

“I love you,” Azzi says and she swears no three words have ever sounded as right on her lips, as those three do, “I love you,” she repeats again and she can feel Paige’s hands shaking as they instinctively tighten their grip on her waist, “I love you so much Paige Madison Bueckers and I want everybody to know it. Stephie, our families, our friends, our teammates, the whole world. I love you and I never wanna hide that. I want everybody to know that you’re mine and I’m yours. Forever.”

A strangled sob escapes Paige’s mouth as she presses her forehead against Azzi’s, “I love you too. I love you, so, so, so much. I’ve loved you since the beginning and I’m gonna love you till the very end. Forever.”

Their lips meet in a searing kiss and it’s unclear if they’re both crying more or giggling more, as they hold each other as tightly as possible. And this isn’t their first kiss, far from it- far closer to being their millionth or so- but still it feels like a fresh new start, a brand new love story but with that same old special, all-consuming, forevermore love that has always connected them to each other. The one that had never gone away, no matter how long they’d been apart. 

“Ahem, ahem,” an exaggerated cough breaks them apart and the two of them turn their heads at the same time to see Stephie looking dramatically at them, her hands on her hips. 

  “So, Mama loves Miss Buecks and Miss Buecks loves Mama. What about Stephie?” she pouts, exaggeratedly stomping her foot. 

Paige and Azzi both laugh, removing themselves from each other just enough to crouch down and open their arms out for Stephie, beckoning for her to join their embrace. The little girl’s attempt at a sour expression is immediately replaced by a cheerful grin as she runs into their arms, tiny hands somehow managing to wrap around both of their necks. 

“You know we love you the most Stephie,” Paige whispers into the little girl’s hair, who lets out a content sigh as she burrows herself further into the two women’s arms. 

Azzi hums in agreement, closing her eyes as she leans her head against her daughter’s, feeling Paige’s fingers intertwine with her behind Stephie’s back. And then it’s quiet for a while, nothing but the sound of the three of them breathing and their hearts beating together in sync. Azzi feels at peace, her mind completely calm, no longer overthinking anything. 

Because now she finally has everything. 

Paige, Stephie, and the promise of a world the three of them can build together, it’s everything. 

[azaharinflames]

I was rewatching the Bucktommy scenes from Season 7 (as one does), and a thought popped into my head. Now, I might be way off-base with this one, and it might be just my perception, but hear me out:

Season 7 was for Buck. Season 8 is for Bucktommy.

Let me explain. The Bucktommy scenes we got in Season 7 were great (I maintain the first kiss scene is one of my absolute favorites from the show as a whole), and it did give us the start of them as a couple. But did it establish them? I know they were working with a shortened season, and considering that, they did an amazing job, but still. I feel like Season 7 just began to explore what Bucktommy could be - especially if we look at Season 8.

Because I feel like Season 7, naturally, focused mostly, if not entirely, on Buck. Again, makes sense - Buck is our main character and the one who was discovering his sexuality. Tommy was an old side character we hadn't seen since Season 2, and they did a great job re-introducing him and making us fall for him, but the focus was on Buck.

(And I do recall some of the criticisms towards the ship were how little development we saw on our screens from them. Again, they were working with what little time they had, but it meant we didn't get a whole lot. And it does feel like the writers, or Tim, saw that and went: alright. Bet)

Season 8 is very much about Bucktommy. Yes, Buck is still our main guy, and we still explore his feelings and his growth, but there is a tiny difference that I noticed when rewatching Season 7. And that is, the show is making sure that we are also aware of Tommy, even if he is not in our screens. Whenever the plot touches Buck (and even if he's only indirectly affected by it- see 810), we are reminded of Tommy. The only time during this season Buck has had an entirely separate storyline from his relationship was during 804, and that was in order to bring Bobby back home, and during 809, where he was dealing with Eddie leaving.

Buck's journey this season isn't as solitary as it was last season. Because last season, despite Tommy being the reason Buck started to realise his bisexuality, it was about Buck, period. But this one? Buck is not riding alone on this one. When we think about Buck's storyline this season, it all draws back to Tommy. To them.

This is also seen in the way they treat Tommy this season. Because not only are they making sure we are aware of his existence in the 911 universe, but they are also making sure we know how he's feeling. They are making sure we're aware he's completely gone on Buck, but is apparently terrified and very insecure about his overall place. The show is making an effort with Tommy and is not trying to hide it, to make us relate and be sympathetic, and to make us aware (as much as they can do it when Lou is recurring) of his feelings.

(To make the audience long for them and for a reconciliation. To make them want to see Buck finally figure it out and win Tommy back. But I digress)

I might be reading too much into it, but the thought hit me like a truck when I saw the hospital kiss. The way we've seen Bucktommy in Season 7 and 8 is different. And, even if I am putting on my clown shoes by saying this, it very much feels like this season is the season they've started to treat them like the other main couples (that is, giving them drama).

Anywho. Please do tell me if I sound insane.

[androdetective]

As a poc, I have a complicated relationship to vbros. On one hand, the world is really immersive and the characters can be really great, on the other hand it is a very white show and has a racism problem. Many of the white characters have done racist things when characters have gotten punished or killed for less. There's also barely any side characters of color. And even then, many jokes get made at them regarding their races, because they're not seen as the norm. Also because it's an adult swim show made by white guys.

Off the top of my head, there are 4 side characters of color (Orpheus, Jefferson, Kano, and Dr Z). If we want to be generous, we could include Al. Maybe even Triana with her being biracial, albeit entirely passing as white. Even with those characters, Orpheus became whitewashed over the years.

However, ironically enough, he's the best written character of color. He's a very nice, multifaceted character. He's even become a fan favorite. He's also had no racist comments made towards him in the show. Which was a pleasant surprise. Especially since he lived on the compound with Rusty of all people. As happy as I am with that, it feels off because why did they spare only him but not others? I'm not sure if his race was ever figured out as the writers. It never got brought up, unlike other characters. I won't lie, that gives me a feeling they didn't write him as a brown man in mind. If they did write him with that in mind, he probably would've been written worse. It feels like they could only relate to him and made his character good by thinking he's white like them. Hell, they even projected their weird breakup feelings onto him.

With Jefferson, his character is a mixed bag. He's a cool character and very capable. He's a solid character, all things considered. It's just that he gets racist jokes thrown his way. And just, the show has one black side character, and they can't even act right. Why is racism, the hatred and otherness of one's entire existence, so funny. I noticed that each episode except one that he was in had at least one antiblack joke. That's an insane ratio. The worst joke was in the Halloween episode, where he was at the party. They specifically made his character open the door to a side character, red mantle, doing blackface. It was to make a shitty reference to some niche movie and just oh my god, can you stop being shitty white nerds for a second? People who think shit like this is funny makes me want to project years of racial trauma into their brains so that they could finally Get It. Again, this is the best black character they have, but they to make him go through cheap antiblack jokes.

At least with Kano and Dr Z their skin tones stopped being yellow. The other times we see characters of color are when they're background characters. They're either there to make a scene feel full or they're labor workers. The worst is when they were what I'd describe as background antagonists. One-off antagonists that aren't really villain villains. Moreso regular criminals. These tend to be depicted as black and latino. This was more common in early seasons and stopped happening over time. Which obviously great albeit bare fucking minimum, still doesn't change that it happened.

For a world that critiques the old mentalities from previous generations and even specifically denounces generational toxic masculinity. They don't say shit about the blatant racism of the Johnny Quest times they parody. And the times they try to, it's just showing racism and doing nothing about it. Princess Tinyfeet is the worst example of this. She's a blatant racial stereotype. Who for whatever reason, used to be married to Sgt Hatred, an American soldier. And Sgt Hatred is a whole can of worms.

With Dr Z who was apart of the Quest era, at least they tried to give him a character. The thing I will say is that he's voiced by a white guy (Publick) doing a stereotypical vaguely Eastern Asian accent. Something I wished when watching the show was for Dr Z to mention the old racist era he lived through, and maybe even how the present is still rough. The toxic masculinity of the era got mentioned, so why not that too. It would've been so obvious too.

I won't lie, a part of me is glad they didn't try to handle the racism because it would've been a horrible train wreck. I can get why they didn't delve too into it, they're white after all. I just wish there were more poc in the team and sensitivity writers because they were desperately needed. But for a show that can't even handle white women, I'm not surprised they can't handle people of color. For a show whose best thing they were able to tackle was toxic masculinity, I find it ironic how misogynistic they still were. Like quick, why were the side effects of misogyny that affect you 🫵 handled the best.

The thing is, if they did try to critique the racism, they'd alienate the audience, and it'd also be strangely hypocritical of them. Venture Bros'/Adult Swim's main audience is white cishet men. The ones least affected by bigotry. They're able to laugh at bigoted jokes, and they're the most marketable people. White guys will appeal to other white guys. In the early 2000s, white creators were able to get away with much more. Not because it was alright but because it was easier for them to shut down minorities calling them out. Despite how "normal" it was, that doesn't change how that fed into a very toxic, bigoted culture. Despite today still being hellish for minorities, it was even worse just a couple of years ago.

Venture Bros obviously did not invent racism/bigotry. The show is very much a product of their time and environment. And whenever I think about that, it feels draining. Especially having had to live through the 2000s. The show can be amazing when it wants to be. There's so much potential and a lot of charm and character. I really enjoy it, and that's why I'm so critical of it. Not only because I want it to be better but because I want something better for fans of color. We barely get anything, and the least we should get are characters that look like us and are respected. Just like their white counterparts. It's like, how am I supposed to feel when Sgt Hatred gets redeemed and made a main character before we got a character of color that didn't face racist jokes/got whitewashed. Or even before we got a female character whose existence didn't hinge on their relationship to a man. Obviously, the show doesn't hate people of color. They've tried to better over time, which again great. But it barely felt like they respected poc enough.

With the movie, despite its own problems (not helped by Adult Swim screwing them over), you could tell they were trying. And it was really appreciated. Jefferson had a big spotlight, and there weren't jokes against him. We even got to know a bit more about him. It was genuinely his best. Ignoring Orpheus still looking like he's in a perpetual state of winter, that aspect of the movie was alright.

I'm very glad to see fans who are critical of these aspects. It makes me more happy seeing them vouch for poc. However, there's still a large majority that ignores or even excuses the racism. Unsurprisingly, these tend to be the white dude bro fans. But I've seen even the more liberal fans excuse/ignore stuff. The fanbase is very white, just like a lot of other fanbases. I can get why a supportive white person feels they wouldn't be best to call out the show's shit. I just wish they'd mention it more with a simple "oh there's xyz in this episode and it wasn't alright." Something as simple as that carries a lot of power in very white environments. Also, of course, uplift other fans of color, especially when they talk about or face racism. Things as simple as that make me breathe sighs of relief. It personally encourages me to interact with communities more.

I'm unsure of how to close this off. This feels like a topic you could talk about all day. All I wish is for things to be better, you know? Hopefully this all makes sense. I just wrote shit off the top of my head. I'd love to hear thoughts expanding or adding on to stuff. Really hope this reaches the right people

[charcubed]

Doctor Odyssey finale (aka the Captain vs The Powers That Be)

WELL! My mind is powerful unfortunately.

That simultaneously blatantly looked like what happens when a queer story gets censored but ALSO felt it could be twisted as setup for a future throuple in season 2 if miracles happen, which is both better and worse than I expected (a la Max’s speech).

They packed several bits of ODY3 subtext in the last like 5 minutes of that episode and I will TAKE IT ALL:

Max and Tristan making up as a group wedding happens.

Here's a screencap I took that also captured my sister texting me because she heard me yell "FUCKING FINALLY" through the wall.

Bonus points for the Captain's speech about love.

Despacito (LMFAAAOOO) being a Max/Tristan moment before Avery returns. "It started with a dance on a beach," as we were reminded this episode. But that song and dance was always about all 3 of them.

Not ending it on Maxavery; ending it on the throuple. Despite how that makes Tristan a third wheel in a scene that would feel objectively insane in any other television program about a love triangle lol. But this was never a conventional love triangle despite this supposed "resolution"! It was a poly love story!

And Max said he'd take all the bad again for both of them.

Treasuring the beautiful morsels <3

But! Come for the ODY3 subtext, stay for the other tangentially related subtext in the episode.

It's not a joke anymore (if it ever was): I DO think there is credence to the Captain's story in this finale being about the censorship of the show. It felt intentionally blatant.

"Corporate" "The powers that be" The rest of the team standing in solidarity? Not a boat but a SHIP?

Yeah.

Sequence of events:

Captain Massey, #1 supporter of ODY3 in the show (like its creators/writers), is steering the ship.

Captain is removed from power by corporate and the ship is steered by Monroe to bring Avery to Max.

Maxavery ultimately decide on monogamy. (That hard cut from Max and Avery dancing without Tristan to the Captain looking upset while on the ship? Like holy shit lol.)

Captain is then put back in power in the end via solidarity and protesting from his team.

Only then does ODY3 subtext return.

Crazy work.

I see. I perceive and appreciate. I say "fuck you, ABC network executives." The usual.

But in all seriousness, one of the reasons I'm arguing this is that – if I understood/remember correction (I'm very tired so maybe I'm off with this detail lol) – the Captain was removed from his position for saying they were returning to land to pick everyone up. So corporate punished him for that.

But Munroe made the same call and then did THE SAME DAMN THING with no consequence. It wasn't a plot thing. It was a metaphor!!!

CRAZY. WORK.

I do think they set up potential for a season 2 fairly well, all things considered? Like Max/Avery are obviously doomed without Tristan involved. Framing even conveyed that:

Tristan being in the middle again, getting between Max and Avery just like when they walked down the aisle as a trio (as ODY3 truther Captain is reinstated)… likely thing for them to show.

Avery wearing red as a visual warning while Max/Avery's chairs are close together and Tristan is slightly farther with a different drink… sick and twistedddd. (<- Complimentary)

So like, I'm at the point where I believe this show either doesn't get renewed because they said no ODY3 allowed, or if it DOES get renewed it's because ODY3 is (temporarily) alive as a possibility. The writers left themselves enough threads and subtext to work with, though I'm not sure how they'd get around Avery not being on the boat.

...but Avery going to med school means Max/Tristan would physically be on the ship together as just the two of them for a bit. There's that.

So like. Am I satisfied? No.

Would I say I'm upset? Not on the level I could've been. The writers got to sneak in more crumbs than my low expectations anticipated tbh. I'm mostly just sighing heavily. I also think I'm entitled to financial compensation, and Tristan as a character is entitled to violence, after which I will wrap him up in a blanket to hug him.

Would I say this show has wasted potential if it's been axed via the behind-the-scenes ultimatum of network interference that I suspect? Yeah, obviously. ABC executives, you STUPID BIGOTED BASTARDS.

To recap from last week's post:

There is a non-zero possibility that the execs gave Ryan Murphy an ultimatum about no longer doing polyamory, and since that’s the premise of the show, he is stuck struggling to figure out where the show can go from here. Which is maybe why it’s a decision (but not much of one) that the execs say Ryan Murphy has to make, which positions him as the bad guy who has to take the fallout from fans if he ostensibly ~just decides not to continue the story~ if renewal doesn’t happen.

The way this finale went seems to support that. But who knows! Take it with a grain of salt.

Anyway. I'm chillin. Like I made my peace with this a couple weeks ago at this point because I could see the writing on the wall. This show was still a gift to me. Censorship is just seemingly alive and well in the big year of 2025 (that's not news, though I really appreciate it being written into a plot) but subtext is also alive and well, so! Fuck it.

Throuple slow burn love story boat show I will always adore yoouuu <333

[midnight-mourning]

❄️MIDNIGHT'S DCA DECEMBER❄️

Hello! I've decided to have a little bit of fun this December and will be opening up requests for the month! Please see below for more details (With subheadings!):

Requests Overall

I will have 31 slots available for requests, first come, first serve. Each piece will range from 1000-2000 words in length and may (MAY) include a little doodle made by me.

Requests can be anything! They just have to be winter/holdiay themed (do NOT have to be releated to Christmas) and DCA-related

Winter/holiday themed means movies/stories too! Ex: i am a BIG fan of The Nutcracker (went insane when I saw @/robinette-green's au for the Barbie version lmao)

As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc. 

For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is FINE), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want

Potential Issues & Schedule

If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to. 

I will be posting these throughout December, ending on the 31st

In order to have enough time to write, I will be starting these as soon as I get the first request. To speed things up a little, requests will be open from 11/29 to 12/13 OR until I receive 31 unique requests. So that's maximum two weeks to think of an idea and share it with me. 

If I don't get enough overall or get anything prior to Dec. 1 I'll probably come up with some ideas of my own, but only if that happens! Additionally, if I don't get enough, I may open it up for people to request multiple times, again only if I don't get enough or run out of ideas (genuinely don't know how many I should expect so just trying to cover my bases lol)

To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.

HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)

Confused Spirit

For those who may be concerned (as I was before making this post lmao) Confused Spirit's schedule will not be affected by this! Now that it's back I'd like it to stay back lol. We may stick to an every two weeks schedule for a bit, or may go back to weekly, it will depend on life stuff, not on other writing things. I promise ^_^

Having little things like these also help prevent writers block, and thus stay more consistent with updates

Sharing & More

Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 31 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!

I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^

Unrelated but similar, @/quilteddreams is working on a DCA Advent Calendar for December that's also really cool! (I'm helping out with beta reading :D) Highly reccommend you check it out once it starts posting! 

Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca December, just in case there's another similar tag out there and I'm not just taking it for myself

Alright, that's all for now, excited to see what you guys ask for!

Adding the tag list to this since y'all enjoy my writing lol:

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai

[greenbubblefactory]

Matchup for @a-kind-pandemic-disaster

Congratulations you have a match with..

Idia Shroud !

★At first glance, you and Idia might seem like an odd pairing,him, a socially anxious shut-in with an aversion to anything remotely resembling human interaction, and you, a quiet but motherly presence who’s patient to a fault. But in reality? You two fit together almost too well, like characters in a slow-burn romance visual novel that he swears he totally hasn’t been imagining in his head.

★The first time he meets you, Idia is convinced you’re a background character from an eerie, gothic-themed otome game. Your aesthetic dark academia meets pastel goth completely captivates him, though he’s far too awkward to say so outright. Instead, he just stares a little too long before quickly hiding behind his tablet, sending Ortho out to do most of the talking while he tries to figure out how to interact with someone who looks that cool. He might even mumble something like, “Ugh, why does this feel like the setup to a tragic romance route? If this were an anime, I’d be doomed.”

★Despite his initial hesitance, Idia is drawn to your presence, partially because you’re not overly pushy and partially because he can sense that you, too, prefer quieter spaces. You don’t force him to step too far outside his comfort zone, and that alone makes you one of the safest people he’s ever met. And then there’s the moment he learns that you’re a writer. A horror and romance writer.

★At that point, Idia is both intrigued and horrified. On one hand, he’s deeply impressed,your ability to weave eerie, unsettling narratives is the kind of thing that could rival top-tier visual novel scripts. On the other hand, he’s paranoid.What if you write villains that are way too attractive? WHAT IF YOU BASE YOUR CHARACTERS ON REAL PEOPLE?? He panics for a full three hours before Ortho convinces him to just ask you about it like a normal person.

★When he finally works up the courage, Idia is surprised by how easily he can talk to you about horror. Despite being a total scaredy-cat when it comes to jumpscares, he’s the type who will stay up until 4 AM deep-diving into horror game lore, and now? Now he has someone to rant to about his theories. He even starts reading your work in secret, claiming he’s just skimming it, but then sending you random messages at 2 AM like:

★"Okay, so first of all, how dare you write such an insanely good plot twist? And second of all, if I have nightmares, you’re dealing with them."

★And then there’s gaming. Idia practically malfunctions when he finds out you love gaming as much as he does. He’s usually too anxious to play with people in real life, but with you? It’s different. You don’t judge him when he gets too competitive, you’re patient when he rambles about obscure mechanics, and you’re just as content as he is to spend hours co-op grinding. He low-key starts treating gaming sessions with you like dates, even though he’s too embarrassed to admit it. If you ever make a slideshow game specifically for him, that’s it. That’s the moment he realizes he’s completely and utterly doomed. He keeps every single one of them, even the goofy ones, and will occasionally replay them when he misses you.

★Idia also relates to your struggles in a way that most people wouldn’t. As someone who’s also neurodivergent, he understands the exhaustion that comes from masking, the way overworking can become a coping mechanism, and how easy it is to trust the wrong people. He tries not to be obvious about it, but he’ll start looking out for you in small ways reminding you to take breaks, hacking into NRC’s system to lighten your workload (not that he’d ever admit it), and casually “forgetting” to log off when he knows you’re up late with insomnia, just so you won’t feel alone.

★Your relationship is built on mutual understanding. He doesn’t force you to socialize more than you’re comfortable with, and you don’t pressure him to step too far outside his bubble. But at the same time, you help each other grow. You remind him that it’s okay to take small steps toward the outside world, and in return, he teaches you the beauty of existing in your own little space without guilt.

★And if anyone ever tries to take advantage of your kindness? Oh, they better be ready. Idia may not be the type to fight people outright, but he will ruin them digitally. He may not always know how to express his affection verbally, but his actions whether it’s tweaking an algorithm to make sure you never get bad gacha pulls or programming a custom AI to read you horror stories late at night speak volumes.

★To everyone else, he might just be NRC’s most reclusive, gaming-obsessed shut-in. But to you? He’s your favorite co-op partner, your biggest (secret) fan, and the one person who truly gets you.

★Idia is your chaotic, nerdy gremlin who understands your struggles and shows his love through digital devotion and quiet companionship.

English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes!

[fancyfeathers]

Always Prey But Never A Bird

Based on the Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling series

Previous Chapter <- Chapter Eleven -> Next Chapter

Taglist: @jsprien213 @toast-on-dandelioms @plsfckmedxddy @lilyalone @sydneyyyya @yandere-wishes @cxcilla @nemesis-writer @sadslasher13

“You know the rules, Songbird.” One of the security guards spoke to you as they led you past the security checkpoints, the heavy steel doors closing tightly behind you and the security guard handed you a visitor’s pass, just something to get you in and out of Arkham Asylum, even superheroes and vigilantes have to follow the rules sometimes. “The patient will be restrained during your visit and security cameras will be in every corner of the room.”

“I’ll need those cameras turned off.” You spoke to the guard and you watched the look on his face turn into one of shock and you sighed and shook your head at his reaction. “The things I will be discussing with Mr. Dent are related to a top-secret investigation, whatever we say stays in that room or else it could potentially cost innocent people their lives, I don’t want that blood on my hands and I am sure you don’t want that either, correct? Or I could make a call to Austen Industries and have them shut down all of their security camera networks-”

“F-fine… just don’t be too long.”

“I won’t be long, promise.” You replied before you turned away from the guard and began making your way down the dark halls of Arkham Asylum. Your shoes hit the ground in heavy steps against the floors of the asylum which shifted from hardwood floors to metal paneling and concrete ground, materials which are nearly impossible to break. You had to walk down that same hallway you did when you came to the asylum to deal with the Joker, or rather your father dealt with the overgrown clown. It was a high-security hallway, it held the ones who were the most dangerous without special abilities or mutations, this hallway held the sort like Dr. Jonathan Crane, Victor Zsasz, and Ted Carson, among others in the cellblock, including who you were visiting, Harvey Dent. when you walked past the former district attorney’s cell he was gone, most likely having been taken to an interrogation room closer to the end of the hallway. You sighed and shoved your hands in the pockets of your coat that you wore over your suit. Along the way down the hallway you walked past the iron bars of Ted Carson’s cell, otherwise known as Firefly, one of the few criminals in here you have a history with as Songbird, you shot him a glare which he returned. You groaned and looked ahead, trying to take your mind off of what happened when you faced against him, you remember Clove’s agonizing pain in her recovery and how Foxglove and Henbane had to carry you back to the warehouse because of the fresh burns on your skin make it too hard for you to walk, it was too painful, then the smell of burning flesh was horrible, it was something that made you gag whenever you thought about that night.

You felt even more ashamed of what happened that night when one of the guards in the hallway clicked on a lighter to light a cigarette and the slight of flames actually made you flinch, you slightly stumbled and took a step back, your eyes unwillingly fixed onto the spot where the fire was and the guard never even noticed your reaction, just continued to walk on their own route. You took a second to pause in your steps and catch your breath from the sudden scare.

“I’ve always wondered what you would be afraid of, I didn’t expect you to be afraid of fire of all things.” You sucked in a breath when you heard the voice of Dr. Jonathan Crane speak from another cell on your other side. You turned your head to look at him with an emotionless expression, without the mask and fear toxin he really was not that scary, a thinner-looking young man with brown hair and fair skin with thin glasses, honestly if he was not insane you might have found him somewhat attractive, but then again your current track record only put you with the psychopaths and the insane of the world. “I’ve met some of your friends, the short blonde one and the lady with the red hair.”

“I remember…” You could never get the images out of your mind of Nettle crying in the corner of the warehouse’s kitchen after you and Clove rescued Nettle and Foxglove after they had the unfortunate experience of breathing in fear toxin, Foxglove was not like Nettle with it, she was just silent and did not move a muscle without you helping her, she just stared at the wall until it wore out. “They certainly were not happy after your encounter with them.”

“No, they were not, but you… you’re different than all of them, you look so young but you… you have been doing this for years longer, or at least it feels that was probably from years of extreme childhood trauma and issues with obvious issues authority-”

“You’re psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Crane.”

“Am I wrong?” The silence from you after his question answered it for you. “Besides if it helps I have been analyzing your behavior for quite a while now, you act so similar to the other masked oddities in the city but so different at the same time, then the fact that you are called SOngbird when you clearly cannot stand and most likely despise the Batman and his… sidekicks, for lack of a better word.”

“The press gave me that name… I could not stand it at first, because you are right, I hate Batman for personal reasons and maybe I am doing this whole vigilante thing out of spite. The thing is I don’t hate being called Songbird anymore because someone got me to see it in a new light.” You took a step away from the former doctor and professor to continue your way down the hallway but you glanced back at him. “Also fire isn’t my worst fear, it’s syngenesophia, I am absolutely terrified of my own family, have a good evening Dr. Crane.”

You forced yourself to walk down the hallway, ignoring the rest of the patients who tried to speak to you, even the laughter from the Joker as you turned the corner and kept on walking until you reached the heavy iron door that would lead you into the small interrogation room made up of metal and concrete. There was a guard next to the door who would lock it when you were inside and take Harvey Dent back to his cell when you left. You gave the guard a smile and nod and he nodded in return before he reached out to open the door for you and you stepped inside the dark and small room which inside there was a small table which was bolted to the ground along with two chairs, one of which was not empty and where a man sat, his hands in cuffs which were connected to the bolted down table. Harvey Dent was your father’s age, he actually knew your father and mother and met you once upon a time when you were just a little girl and he was still the district attorney.

“Hello, Mr. Dent.” You spoke calmly as you sat down across from the scarred man, you glanced up at the four corners of the room, all of the security cameras were off, and the red light not showing up at all, you were safe to talk freely in here. “I asked them to turn off the cameras so we would be able to talk without anyone watching.”

“I have been in here for two months, whatever happened-”

“It’s not related to any sort of that thing, what I need to talk about is personal, something I need your help with since a vigilante can’t really be going around asking for legal advice.” There was a pause in your words as you watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a coin, a coin with two heads, the only difference being is one was all scratched up. You watched him flip the coin and it landed in his palm before he looked up at you.

“You must have done something pretty serious to be this desperate to come to me for help.”

“Actually, I didn’t do anything wrong… my family is more than a bit messed up and then I have a psychopathic fiance- but one thing at a time.” You sigh and cross your arms, leaning back into your chair. “I need to figure out a way for my mother be able to divorce my father when she has no money without him and without him getting arrested for why she needs to divorce him.”

“Well, how good of lawyers can your father get?”

“The best money can buy.” You reach a hand up to grab a side of your mask and you peeled it off your face, you made the choice to reveal your identity to him. “Or the best Wayne Industries already has in their employment.”

“My god…” He stared at you as if he was seeing himself in the mirror for the first time, but really you could not blame him, this was his first time seeing you since you were a little girl, the little girl who wore frilly dresses and who her father carried everywhere in his arms, but then there was something else in his eye, a look that confirmed there was still good in him. “What did Bruce do?”

“A lot.” You reached into your utility belt and out of one of the pockets you pulled out a folded-up piece of paper, it was a list. You handed it to him and you never thought you would see Two-Face be horrified by something, but this seemed to do it. “Blackmailed my mother into marriage among other things which include, but are not limited to-”

“No, I understand… at least now I know why you came to me of all people first.”

“Ya, not exactly the sort of thing either of my identities could be seen doing without some sort of attention.”

______________________

You swung through the city streets of Gotham, and your meeting with Two-Face, or rather it was Harvey Dent who showed through, went surprisingly well even with the revelation of what he had done. The sun had just set over the city so the skyline was a very pretty shade of gold with slight hints of pink. You still had one more visit to make as Songbird to visit that girl you told Damain about, but not having your bike just made it more difficult to get from place to place, especially when you had to cross half of the city to get there. By the time you made it near Gotham City Hall your arms burned like hell and you had to stop and take a seat for a moment on a building’s ledge to catch your breath and give your arms a quick rest.

You sat yourself on top of the Novick building, your legs dangling over the edge. Honestly, it was nice, a moment of peace being able to look over Gotham with a bit of hope in your heart, Harvey Dent had even given you the name of a divorce lawyer he had known when he was the district attorney. Even if you spent every night or mostly every night as a vigilante in Gotham, you only got to see the ugly bits of the city, not how beautiful it could be like right at the end of the sunset and everything was quiet or almost quiet. There were a few children playing on the sidewalk and when they looked up and saw you sitting on the edge of the rooftop you could hear the excitement in their voices, pointing up and calling over to their parents that Songbird was here and you could not help but smile and wave down at them and you could hear them giggle in joy.

They were not afraid of you.

They never were.

You quietly laughed as you stood up from the ledge and waved goodbye to the children and you turned on your heel to walk on the roof of the building and vanish from their sight, but as you turned around, looking away from the sunset into the darkness you were greeted by an unexpected sight, well no one expects to see a man, or what you assume to be a man, standing on a rooftop dressed in black with no disenable features besides the mask they wore with golden owl features and golden circular eyes…

Beware The Court of Owls,

that watches all the time,

ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch,

behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth,

they watch you in your bed,

speak not a whispered word of them,

or they’ll send the Talon for your head.

You knew the rhyme that was told to children like a silent way for their parents to get them to behave and you certainly knew they were real now, the man on the bridge and now this, they were after you, most likely because of Gabriel. You pressed a button on your wrist, an emergency signal to your friends in case anything went wrong which would send out your last known location. You had no one like your brother to save you now, you were on your own.

You did not even have time to run before it was standing right in front of you. Clearly, its orders were not to be hostile unless need be because it just held its hand out for you to take which felt like more of an insult than it trying to fight you. You scowled beneath your own mask and instead, you spun around on your foot to try to kick whatever this thing was in the ribs which was completely useless by the way he caught your left ankle and tossed you with his grip on your leg. Your body skidded across the gravel and you could already feel your left ankle swelling up probably twisted or sprained, you would have heard a crack if it was broken. You tried to push yourself up and failed miserably when you felt the man shoot a kick into your ribcage, sending you tumbling over the gravel rooftop even further. You winced in pain as you tried to stand up again, sharp pain in your side and in your left leg. You could only watch as the man walked over to where you lay, you being too hurt and caught off guard to fight back when he covered your mouth and nose with a cloth which had clearly been soaked in some sort of chemical mixture of sedatives, extremely heavy sedatives at that. At least the League of Assassins were more gentle when kidnapping you and even when returning you to where you were kidnapped, Ra’s Al Ghul gave you tea to knock you out for fuck’s sake.

You tossed and turned against your kidnapper, looking for a way out, your eyes landed on a security camera on the side of another building and you silently prayed for the first time that Oracle, Barbara Gordon would be able to find you.

______________________

When you woke up you immediately felt like you were going to vomit, but you suppose that is what happens when you have been drugged and kidnapped. For some reason, you expected to be cold when you woke up, but everything was surprisingly warm and comfortable. You were lying down in a bed with satin sheets over your body and what you felt to be maybe a weighted blanket or a comforter. Everything was burly when you opened your eyes and it took a minute to focus your vision so you could see the unfamiliar room around you, you were, in fact, laying in a four-poster dark wood bed and the sheets and blankets were the purest shade of white, the other furniture in the room matched the shade of wood the bed was, the dresser, the wardrobe, the side tables, even the hardwood floor beneath the light blue carpet and even the legs of the armchair in the corner of the room. You actually felt like you were going to throw up when you sat up in bed and while you did, a hand from your other side guided you to lean over the edge of the bed to where there was a bowl already lying on the ground in case you did throw up what little you had in your stomach. The hand ran its leather-covered fingers through your hair as you lurched and you gripped your stomach in pain and discomfort.

“Feel better, my dove?” A gentle voice spoke to you as your stomach finished emptying itself and suddenly you felt sick again as you looked over your shoulder to see the one who was sitting on the bed beside you was your ex-fiance, except he was wearing a white dress shirt with a tan vest, a blue tie, and white pants and on his lap lay a mask, a white owl mask, just like the one you saw in the photos and just like the one you saw the man on the bridge wear. It was as if he could read your mind with the next words he spoke to you. “I do apologize for the Court’s actions a few weeks ago on the bridge, that was my mother’s choice and she just is a slightly bit less patient than me, so when she saw that you were back she did send that person to kidnap you if wasn’t for NIghtwing and how they messed up by knocking you off of the bridge, don’t worry that part wasn’t your fault and they were killed for almost killing you.”

“W-what…”

“Oh I suppose this all is quite shocking to you, isn’t it?” He smiled for a moment before it faded away like it never existed and instead, you were left with a cold and blank stair that bled right into your soul. “That is what I would say if I didn’t already know that you knew the truth and you left me without a second thought, and you crawled back home like a little baby bird who realized the nest is so much more safer than the real world.”

“I-I…”

“Don’t worry I forgive you, because I know you were just scared, right?” You could not even get out a response before his smile came back to his face. “You’re safe with me, after all, I would never let anyone hurt you. My own mother suggested that when you left that we should kill you so you wouldn’t tell anyone, such a shame she can’t see our wedding now because she is dead.”

[fillinforlater]

Monday of Appreciation: Part 106

Hello everyone, Smite here!

I have returned with the (not yet annual) release of MoA. When you look at the release dates of some of these stories, you might realize how fucking far behind I am. The back log is literally at 100+ fics that I still want to check out, so please excuse this time capsule lmao.

No matter how old they might be, these fics are golden, so send the writers some love!

(Update: currently sinking into IRL work but also into waaaaaay too long fics. I promise I will give it my all to finish some of them in the next to weeks, but other things have priority rn)

-1-

@ggidolsmuts: Move ft. Nana (woo!ah!)

There is a disturbing lack of Nana fics (geez, Smite, write them yourself then! - shut up, inner voice!). I have to thank ddeun once more for keeping us well fed. Nana's move(s) and shifty facial expressions (from cute to deadly) can really leave a man stunned.

I want more Nana.

-2-

@essentiallyleaf: Kinktober Day 16 ft. Choi Yujin (TW)

The Trigger Warning is there for a reason.

Unique execution on writing. This fic might not consider all the moral implications a sexual relationship between siblings might have, but not everything has to be a case study... this more a study of, I guess, let's fuck Yujin no matter the blood coursing through our veins.

I get it, ngl.

-3-

@worldsover: Completeness ft. Mashiro, Yeseo

The Mashiro/Yeseo combo is so thick, it should be banned for being too overpowered - or at least it has to be stripped from the hands of the great Levi because otherwise I have to ask for more, more, MORE of this. Hell, I can barely think about anything but their bodies wtf

-4-

@praeluxius: Red Wine ft. Karina, Natty

Speaking of insane bodies, you are all of course familiar with the meta-defining Karina but have you considered Natty? How about both? At the same time??? Thank you and what in the fuck, Prael, for a very intoxicating threesome.

-5-

@syeollock: Fallen Angel ft. Hyewon

Yo, I know this fic! I'm very glad @syeollock was able to kick of their writing career with this it. I feel honored that I was able to help, but they were the one who came up with the idea and executed it very well. It's a pleasure to still see so much IZ*ONE content.

-6-

@birchleavesdawn: Breakfast in Bed ft. Ireh (Purple Kiss)

Very simple, though it is not simple to get that many notes with a very nugu idol. I gotta give my props, I understand were it is coming from and I'm really craving some Ireh for desserts.

-7-

@tothosewhoyearnforit: Stress Relief ft. Yeji

Relatable. The stress, I mean. I've never been a fan of leather outfits, I just find most others better, but holy fuck, the boots, the slut drop, the overall style... this Yeji was something else.

[arrowfortea]

i really think sera is simultaneously fantastic and also a missed opportunity. solas in DA:I took ~7 rewrites, which is understandable since he's set up for like, Big Things. but i think about that a lot when i'm ~*~musing~*~ on what sera could've been.

sera is far and away the only character by bioware i'm similar to as a person IRL, her voice actress is FANTASTIC, i almost always have her in my party bc i love her, (my url is a sera quote!!), and still!!! she feels SO FLAT TO ME!!! and i CAN'T PUT MY FINGER ON IT!!!! this is going to be a very Vibes Based critique and i might pull up quotes etc for a post in future but i just need to. get it Out

maybe it's a "woman written by a man" issue. she feel so close to being Real and Relatable and then swings wide, it's so weird. i do think a deep part of it stems from the writers/narrative going "yeah she can really get on your nerves lol!" — for the most blatant example of this, see: the fact she's the only party member with a constant "get out of the inquisition" button on her dialogue wheel. i also feel this in how hard-line her opinions are, while at the same time she argues them, for the most part, from a place of vibes (like moi Right Now lmao) or shuts down the other side.

it reminds me of da2 where fenris is given time to Discourse with hawke about mages in the gallows, and mage companions in attendance will interject with like "yeah but. locking people up is bad" which YES! IT IS!!! 100% I AM ON YOUR SIDE but the writing gives fenris way more time to Outline his Facts and Logic so the mage companions look like they're just shutting him down in bad-faith.

and there's no real arc for her! her personal quest is about red jenny stuff and maybe working with a guy for the inquisition but then Not. (there is a point to be made about vivienne's personal quest similarly being Lacking in many people's opinion, but as this isn't a post abt her i'm not going to Delve, but i would be remiss not to mention it) yes we HEAR about her backstory but. then that's doneskies.

the romance is just having a good time (unless you're an elf who drank from the well in which case she dumps you which.. i both do and don't take issue with? it makes sense for her as a static character, but i don't WANT her to be static) — again this is where i start to chafe at my own rationale because.. do i want there to be more drama/conflict? yes. do i trust the existing writers to make the lesbian couple's drama not something trite or offensive? mmmmmm. mmmmm.

she has so many interesting aspects but they all feel like they got tacked on and then chucked out the window! the clearest "hey.. what's this meant to be" is how she seems fade-sensitive in banter with solas. i know this is used as evidence for "does she have some andruil in her", which i'm onboard with, but INGAME i'm sad the fade sensitivity seems solely relegated to the solas banters. like? did they just run out of stuff for them to talk about? 💀

her existentialism makes me WANT TO GNAW MY KEYBOARD it's SO EXCITING to see a character touch on existentialism the way she does; "The Nothing" WAS INSANE to see on her tombstone the first time round when i was expecting something juvenile. i knew what it meant immediately and i think it's so interesting; i'm really glad we get a talk with her afterwards abt it. do i also wish this existentialism more clearly permeated her characterisation ahhehehwhehahhe Yes

as for the Elfy issue: i'm not from any of the minorities that the writing for elves draws coding from, so. grain, salt. i don't think "i don't want to be seen as An Elf(TM)", or being not big on the dalish, needed to be handled in such a blatant "this is internalised racism i cannot talk you out of" way. again, fenris in da2 is a dick about the dalish, but he does have a personal relationship with his identity as an elf which feels authentic.

i also hate how shafted city elves got in DA:I so sera being from an alienage (when she was very young) but then that being breezed past makes me. sad whatever I KNOW SHE DOESN'T EVEN REMEMBER IT IT DOESN'T NEED TO BE A THING I JUST WANTED CITY ELVES SOMEWHEREEEE

i do love her journal though. that is top tier and i love it and 5 stars and whoever thought of that is amazing (probably her writer. sigh. credit sadly is due where credit is due /j)

anyway i should probably compile this into a better argued and evidenced post i just !!!!!

[thepunkmuppet]

approaching The Confession Scene and what the fuck. this is genuinely tragic like I’ve always seen it as a meme, a joke, an iconic moment in fandom history, whatever, I’m a tumblr user, but now that I’m actually here it’s just fucking SAD

season 15 as a whole is NOT bad. it’s really not. but there’s zero destiel. they rarely speak at all unless it’s plot-related, one (1) episode pairs them together, frankly season seven was ten times more focused on their friendship and that’s INSANE because cas is only in like five fucking episodes of that one. they have a mini arc midway through the season which is very gorgeous and well-done, but it then goes absolutely nowhere and nothing at all is done to make it textually romantic.

by which I mean: no episodes have dean or cas reacting personally to sam and eileen’s relationship, or any other romantic relationship they come across. we’re never shown anything even remotely romantic even in an unrequited sense (no post-realisation awkwardness, no lingering shots of cas pining from afar, etc etc). it reads like a normal season of the show, which, yeah, I think those two are pretty fucking gay regardless, but they’re always textually written as a friendship, with no explicit cues to clue the audience in that there are canon romantic feelings. and that doesn’t change here, at all.

so I guess what I’m saying is the confession scene is purely just a moment of fan service. as stunning as the speech itself is, and as well as it fits cas’s character, the writers throughout the season didn’t actually give a fuck to make destiel ROMANTIC even in a one-sided way. film is a language and as much as misha does in his acting, even from castiel’s perspective they’re still framed as a friendship within the show itself RIGHT up until he says the words I love you. they weren’t interested in actually depicting a (even one-sided) queer love story, just wanted to give fans their “okay here it is we did it guys!” moment at the end, so that way they didn’t have to actually show an explicitly romantic gay love story, they could just say some words, kill cas off and boom it’s canon! here you go people we’ve been leading on, mocking and low-key gaslighting for eleven years!

idk man it’s just so disappointing. I knew it was and I know everyone has been talking about it for years now but my GOD it’s so bad 😭 I can’t even tell you how bizzare it is to have seen destiel confession meme on here and in various fandom video essays EVERY DAY FOR FOUR PLUS YEARS and now here I am, watching it go down in real time with full context, having watched over 300 episodes of this show, invested, obsessed, and REALLY FUCKING UPSET AAAAHHH

EDIT: forgot to mention this originally. the actual concept of cas’s moment of perfect happiness killing him, while kind of stolen from buffy, is AMAZING. and the literal perfect opportunity to have a building textual confirmation of his feelings throughout the season, where he realises what that moment will be, and it ends in the tragic confession of his love. like that’s insane that’s perfect. but no it just comes out of nowhere so oh fucking well whatever I guess! they’re canon so we should all be happy! I hate this stupid bumhole show AUGH no one talk to me ever :(

[neyafromfrance95]

you said that as a shipper, you don't care if galadriel and sauron have romantic moments, can you elaborate?

sure. what i mean is "traditionally" romantic, their dynamic can be essentially romantic/soulmatistic without a traditional romance formula.

i love haladriel for their push and pull dynamic bc as a metaphor it explores the dark vs. the light, and subtextually it is about destined enemies x doomed lovers.

i don't mind galadriel not ever giving in and succumbing to sauron bc for me, the most important thing is her inner conflict, and subtextually, galadriel being tempted by having power in the middle-earth and being pulled under by the darkness will always be interconnected with her being tempted by sauron's proposal and imply her heart desiring the taboo (in trop continuity). u would just have to read between the lines.

i don't care that she outwardly rejects sauron even after seeing him as halbrand in the finale, bc the scene confirms that she has feelings for the latter. her willpower and pride are simply strong. and i like these traits of hers, i don't want them subdued, i don't want her to ever submit.

as for sauron, his love may not be explicitly stated either, but rather communicated through his delusional and obsessive yearning. every time he mentions "light" it will signify galadriel in some sense, nenya will still symbolize galadriel for him. and if the one ring is inspired by gal, well, that will be insane.

i personally love their sexually-charged push and pull dynamic of the cosmic scales. they can be lovey-dovey in valinor in the 7th age (in our fanon), but now i want galadriel's devotion to opposing/slaying sauron to be so strong it crosses the line of a simple hate and becomes an intrinsic part of her identity. i want sauron's worship of her light to turn into him obsessively coveting her, desiring to posses her like silmarils.

their battle in the finale is brutal, but it's as if they're dancing at the same time, it's a form of storytelling. him stabbing her is a symbolically sexual, ravishing act that can be read as a metaphor for gazing into an abyss for so long, the abyss gazes back into you! there is a thin line between hate and love, as those can be two sides of the same coin, and when u let one in, the other may follow as well.

galadriel's outward relationship with sauron and her inward relationship with halbrand is how her relationship with the darkness, power and ambition is explored through a more tangible narrative.

like, the story itself shows and tells you, and everyone working on the show say that sauron and galadriel are intertwined in a way that places their connection above every other relationship they have, and ultimately, that's what makes for a good ship.

my only concern moving forward is that their interactions won't be central. this is why im holding onto the hope for the mind-palace communications. but there are many other ways to either make them interact or show that they are thinking about one another.

i still am delusional and wish for a kiss tho. it can be done without gal "joining" sauron if the writers want it done. and i guess i have to bring this topic up as well, since anons have asked me this a few times before but i once gave my "unpopular" opinion about it at length and prefer to leave it at that. but in short, i don't really care if celebrian is sauron's daughter or not. would be great if they leave some space for allowing "sauron is the father" interpretation, and i would be equally ok with them making it clear that she is celeborn's daughter. i prefer her to not be introduced at all in trop, tbh. what i love about sauron and galadriel's relationship is that cosmic connection between them, not who may or may not be related to them as a third party.

[luckyyyduckyyy]

THANKSGIVING MOOTIE APPRECIATION ❤️✨❤️

Happy thanksgiving y'all! And a good time zone to all my non-US/non-Turkey day havers lovelies!

Tis the season of thanks and I'm a very thankful goober this year! I only started getting active on Tumblr about half a year ago and there's already so many people and things I'm grateful for from this site alone! I've enjoyed so much art and events, participated in yap seshes, tag games, and ultimately felt pretty welcomed and at home on this site, and it's thanks to all you! <3<3<3

Special thanks to the DCA fandom in its entirety as well! All the discussions, artists, writers, and shared reposts with all the silly notes are awesome! Y'all inspire me all the time and make me wish I was more outgoing than I am just so I can say hello to each and every one of you!!!!

The list gets long, so for the sake of those scrolling by, I have put it below! Have a lovely day everyone! <3333

@midnight-mourning Your writing is just wonderful. It's everything!!! I adore it so much and your CS boyos have wormed their way into my heart and refuses to leave. Some of my favorite songs even remind me of them! (Don't tell Moon this but I am very attached to CS Sun-)(Honestly gotta be my favorite Sun I've read fr fr) Also! Thank you for just being so supportive, thinking about me in tag games, and giving ALL the tag notes! They're a wonder to read and have me bounce off the walls! I'm always so happy we're mooties! ❤️❤️❤️ (Also, fun fact, you're my first mutual too! It's insane to me HOW DID THIS HAPPEN GUAHPHIAHDKA)

@pointyfruit You! Your art? Muah, wonderful. I don't even care if it's not dca related because it's so good. The shape language, art style, and just unique takes on just anything and everything blows my mind! Let's not forget COLORS. Oml they are so PRETTY. It's like an explosion I never want to end. 💥💥💥 Also! So goofy, so silly, and COTL enjoyer! Let's GOOOOO!!! I don't engage with the fandom much but I DO love the game and honestly I almost beat it, but still have not because I don't wanna do the final boss fight. It can't be over bros... Anyways when I see your posts I always wanna just wave like a neighbor seeing ya blow up 10 boxes of fireworks on a casual Tuesday afternoon. 👋👋👋:D

@divinit3a SPINS YOU!!! 🐶🐕🐶 Heya silly meister! In the midst of reading your work, gotta say? Muwah, Perfecto! The sillies are putting me on a rollercoaster and I'm stuck on the ride! While my ability to yap is a coin flip every hour, you happen to bring the yappening out of me with all the fun notes and posts you do--We've already had so many fun convos! Speaking of posts, the art is peak and will STAY peak! The designs? Muwah. The colors? Muwah. You make even the creepiest of goobers hauntingly beautiful! We've may not have known each other for long, but you're someone I look forward to seeing on my dash/notifications every time I open the app! ❤️❤️❤️

@sinister-sincerely Hi!!!! I'm still sometimes in awe realizing we're mutuals! I really love your work and if I'm in the mood to read something but I don't know what, I tend to turn to Aftersome often, even though I've read both the og and the rewrite! It's like you're the master of writing angst, bitter unrequited feelings, and the strange tenseness but want of confusing relationships. It's gut wrenching and I wish I could write something so evoking! All your stories are amazing and I seriously hope you know that, they're such heavy hitters that they have marked a place in my memory. ❤️ Your art too is wonderful! They don't pop up often but when they do it's a real treat! I love that you use grey scale in a lot of your works and the style is just so pleasing to look at. Whenever I see the DCA in your style I wanna give them the biggest hugs, even if they'd pry me off seconds later! ✨✨✨

@r0b0s-robos / @r0b0-wannabe Waving at you excitedly!!! It's always a pleasure to see your reposts, you always find the good stuff! Plus, you always are trying to help out others and it's amazing to see, your efforts are able to make great impacts. :333 You're also another writer I appreciate immensely, and I'm so invested in your botanist au. The sillies and their botanist who is desperately trying not to fall in love with them!!! ADORE THEM!!! I can't wait to read more! ❤️❤️❤️ The times you post about writing ideas or silly things about the DCA has me nodding my head with a smile. Also, the little notes you leave in tags, despite usually being brief, always makes me so happy! It's like seeing the kind stoic look at you from their seat, let out a small smile, and say "I love this"- and then suddenly it's a blast of blinding white light of endearment straight to my heart. K.O.!

@chickenchirps27 Welcome back!!! I've noticed you've been much more active recently and it's always fun to see what you got goin on! Obligatory art mention, but it would be criminal to NOT mention it. ITS!!! AMAZING!!! THEY LOOK LIKE ROCK CANDY!!! Colors!!! I love it so much, the goobers look delicio- I mean they look adorable and masterfully crafted in each piece of art! And your sona, ugh, she's so gorgeous and alien in the best ways possible. I've never seen anything like her and I am in awe of how you came up with all her little details. Those mantis arms are SICK and I want them!!! (Though drawing may be a little hard if I had em-)✨✨✨

@amarynthian-fortress / @amarynthian-chronicles Hehehe! Boops you! >:D Honestly, thank you for always being the biggest sweetheart around and being so welcoming. You're one of the people that made me feel able to crack my shell more and be more active on here! Your writing is whimsical, your reposts and comments are always so kind and feel-goody, and you just always show you care and the randomest times! Catch me off guard why don't you! I love all the snippets and treats you post, and I'm saving many of your stories to read for rainy days! ❤️❤️❤️

@ping-ski My reaction to us becoming mutuals was- 💥💥💥:OOOOO💥OO💥💥 I think I've followed you right when I started getting active on here and gah, your art is wonderful. So lovely, stylized, and colored so simply yet so appealingly that I can't stop looking. Your aus make me want to read them and their designs are always top tier! Also, I cannot forget to mention you are SILLAY!!! So silly! Your comments on reposts are goofy and I love to read them whenever they come up on my dash! Not to mention your own posts- I will never forget the 3-in-1 solid block of dca encased in ice. I was in awe of seeing them encased and I suddenly wanted my own dca ice cubes to put into a drink and try not to choke on. ✨✨✨

@quilteddreamz Your writing. Oh my GOSH your writing! It's wonderful, beautiful, gah, I can't wait for your advent calender! I wish I could do something for it but I got 3 more weeks of large projects tapped to my back. I am sending much luck your way and know that I am excited to enjoy some daily dca! Don't break yourself over it too! I may adore the goobers but you're most adored first! Take care and keep being such a whimsical person! Muwah! ✨✨✨

@flowysgonemad You are also! Silly!!! You are so fun to see popping around my dash and your doodles just make me go :333 every time! I love your aus and you're a very kind/goofy person! I don't even remember how we became mutuals but garsh diggity dang it, it's awesome to see ya and anything you yap about!

There are MANY more mooties I want to appreciate and show off, but I fear I am currently omw to go to a large thanksgiving dinner and I'm expecting to be there for the rest of the day. SO! If you weren't listed, please know that I AM thinking of you! Have a wonderful time zone, and just know that my heart is so full knowing that you're all there! I can't believe there is that many of you to begin with that I can't fit you all within the time frame! (Would you believe me if I said coming up with all the right words to say here took me 2 1/2 hours?)

So! To all my beloved writers, artists, and sillies alike! From the bottom of my heart, really, thank you! For being here, even reading this, and appreciating the things I do as much as I appreciate you! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️✨✨✨✨✨✨