#midnight vultures

[blackberryhound]

Quick shoutout to taxidermists and those who work with deceased animals whether it be spiritually or otherwise. I can see the love and care put into every cleaned skull or mounted pelt and it really shows how much one cares about the animal.

[mxmorbidmidnight]

TRINKETS I HATH COLLECTED!!

[notedoesart]

the grave digger and his small friend

when you leave the marshland, returning to another open field of tall grass, a heavy mist rolls in and what follows are the sounds of a shovel hitting the dirt

As you make your way past the Marslands, avoiding being spotted by the pair of swans you make your way deeper into these dark lands.

You find your self in another filed, this one with tall grass however mist is quick to roll in as you wade through this grass, trying to make sure you don't trip over any holes or rocks that might be hiding

As you walk, you hear the sound of a shove hitting the soft dirt, this noise makes you freeze in your tracks.... you glance around but the mist is so thick you can't see two feet in front of you

Slowly you make your way towards the noise, it's repeating noise is almost alluring

You stop, something rustled in the grass but you can't see what. Your scared but it's too late your body is frozen in fear

"FOUND YOU!" you nearly scream as this small brown dragon comes bursting out from the tall grass "see yurgi, i told you someone was near by!"

"Small one leave them alone" another gruff voice spoke out, almost as this voice spoke the mist departed and you now see the largest dragon you have ever witnessed. Bigger then the previous dragons you have spotted so far

[schlock-luster-video]

On October 30, 1995, Halloween III: Season of the Witch and The Vulture were screened as a double-feature on TNT's MonsterVision.

Here's some new art inspired by both horror classics!

[karimelthefloof]

Necromancer + Bard = NecroBard?

Had a super fun idea thanks to the song "Necromancin Dancin" by Bear Ghost + 4 hours of brainstorming w/ my mom and came up with This Character!! Super fun to draw, Love how they turned out, and plan on doodling and building them up a bit more.

Might even figure out how to make them in dnd/pathfinder so I can play as this overly cheerful, optimistic, and spooky lookin fella :>

[anothermonikan]

Being a parent is. exhausting

I have never been attached to a creature more than my sluppies yeah. so every time one of them goes missing or dies I restart the cycle yeah. trying to get Pilgrim like this :thumbsup:

[kipowolfton]

AHAHUHUHAUGHJKHSBJOSHNSOUHNSJKHSNJKSHNSHJKSNJSKNSKJSHNJSKHNSKJHS THE PAIN IN MY HAND LAST NIGHT FUELED ME WITH ADRENALINE TO DO THIS BULLSHIT

TWO HOURS AND TWELVE MINUTES

I GUESS I REMEMBERED I WAS A FURRY ARTIST FOR 5 YEARS

the sketch was still pretty better tho

ANYWAYS THIS IS THE CHARACTER FOR THE COMIC SHIT YES THE AGE IS NOW THE OFFICIAL AGE NO THATS NOT ACTUALLY MY AGE OR ANYWHERE NEAR MY AGE ITS JUST THE CHARACTER IN CASE UR WONDERING

i shoulda put the hat,but there wasn't enough room

[thenwothm]

Live Roundup #5

We are back with another live roundup showing you some of the best gigs and festivals coming up in the near future! Buying in advance both supports bands and festivals helping to make sure shows go ahead! So what are you waiting for, go and grabs some tickets! #1 Agent Steel Info: https://www.facebook.com/AgentSteelOfficial #2 Ambush – Rayo Metal Festival Info:…

[bikefuckersoftheworldunite]

I WANNA GET WITH YOUUUUU GIRL

ONLYYY YOU GIRLLL

and you sister I think her name is debra

[steveyockey]

To be aware you might be trans but unwilling to do anything about it is to create endlessly bigger boxes within which to contain yourself. When you are a child, that box might encompass only yourself and your parents. By the time you are a gainfully employed adult, that box will contain multitudes, and the thought of disrupting it will grow ever more unthinkable. So you cease to think of yourself as a person on some level; you think not of what you want but what everybody expects from you. You do your best not to make waves, and you apologize, if only implicitly, for existing. You stop being real and start being a construct, and eventually, you decide the construct is just who you are, and you swaddle yourself up in it, and maybe you die there. There is still time until there isn’t.

This reading of TV Glow’s deliberately anticlimactic, noncathartic ending cuts against the transition narrative you typically see in movies and TV, in which a trans person self-accepts, transitions, and lives a happier life. Owen gets trapped in a space where he knows what he must do to live an authentic life but simply refuses to take those steps because, well, burying yourself alive is a terrifying thing to do. The transition narrative posits a trans existence as, effectively, a binary switch between “man” and “woman” that gets flipped one way or another, but to make our lives so binary is to miss how trans existences possess an inherent liminality.

Humans�� lives unfold in a constant state of becoming until death, but trans people are uniquely keyed in to what this means thanks to the simple fact of our identities. You can get lost in that liminality, too, forever trapped in a midnight realm of your own making, stuck between what you believe is true (I am a nice man with a good family and a good job, and I love my life) and what you know, deep in your most terrified heart of hearts, is real (I am a girl suffocating in a box).

And yet if you want to read the film as being about the dangerous allure of nostalgia, you’re not wrong. I Saw the TV Glow totally supports that interpretation, too! But in tempting you with that reading, the film creates a trap for cis viewers that will be all too familiar to trans viewers. Somewhere in the middle of Maddy’s story about The Pink Opaque being real, you will make a choice between “This kid has lost it!” and “No. Go with her, Owen,” and in asking you to make that choice, TV Glow is simulating the act of self-accepting a trans identity.

See, the grimmer read of the film’s ending truly is a nihilistic one. It leaves no hope, no potential for growth, no exit. Yet you must actively choose to read that ending as nihilistic. If you are cis and the end of I Saw the TV Glow left you with a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction, a weird but hard-to-pin-down feeling that something had broken, and a melancholy bordering on horror — congratulations, this movie gave you contact-high gender dysphoria.

In an infinite number of possible universes, there is at least one where I am still living “as a man,” embracing my fictionality, avoiding looking at how much more raw and real I feel when I “pretend” to be a woman. I think about that guy sometimes. I hope he’s okay.

Consider, then, my cis reader, that TV Glow is for both you and me, but it is maybe most of all for him. I hope he sees it. I hope he breaks down crying in the bathroom afterward. I hope he, after so many years locked inside himself, hears the promise of more life through the hiss of TV static.

Emily St. James, “I Saw the TV Glow’s Ending Is Full of Hope, If You Want It to Be,” Vulture. June 4, 2024.

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ pink noise.

wnba!paige bueckers x influencer!azzi fudd. men & minors dni.

synopsis: paige bueckers is fed up and empty, burnt out and crushed by the pressure of her dallas debut. enter azzi fudd, a retired figure skater and niche influencer who might just be saving paige's life.

cw: implied mental health issues, mentions of injury, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers.

notes: i was really struggling and debating about posting this. i've gone back and forth, endlessly. this is the first thing in a while that i've written that i'm proud of, but i also understand the turbulence that comes with rpf and anything that associates with it. i truly just think these girls would be beautiful together, and i respect them regardless of the outcome of their lives.

before continuing, i want to give a heartfelt thank you to the following: @pbaz7 @azzibuckets who have literally been such an inspiration. you guys are incredible and i have so much love for you. hope you're taking care of yourself. x

my inbox is always open. don't be afraid to let me know what you think, or to just say hello.

alright, here we go.

"hello," she says, "and welcome back."

azzi's face blossoms over the screen, her cheeks rounded with the force of her smile. paige curls further into herself from where she lays in bed, her overhead headphones blocking all sound except azzi's soft, summer voice.

"today, i'm in berlin for a skaters' conference."

she's a figure skater, paige remembers, or at least she was. then her knee shattered, and she spun out. paige has watched her performances, seen her bend and curve her way into countless gold medals. she thinks of azzi's hollywood smile as she waves at the crowd, her curls tucked back from her face and her dimples dipping into the plush skin of her cheeks. she was almost intolerably beautiful at times. venus with dimples, a journalist had called her.

and now, she was just (@)azzi35 with her slightly shaky camera angles, earnest smiles, and breathy laughs.

"i'm here for their mentor program. my mom thinks it would be good for me. i don't know what i think yet."

she's so sweet, so honest. her lips are caught between her teeth, and when they slide out, they leave a berry pink stain beneath her two front teeth, the squares prominent like an american girl doll's. paige wants to lick it off.

azzi is bare-faced minus her brown mascara and pink lip mixed with a softened outline of her lip liner—shade name 'brownie'. the camera shakes slightly as she tries to show the world outside her uber window. paige finds her gaze settling on her subscriber count: 5,304. she hopes it never gets bigger, only to have azzi all to herself.

but azzi fudd is a wonderland. it's only a matter of time before the world finds her and rediscovers their venus with her gentle voice and kind eyes. but right now, in this space, with paige's midnight blue airpods max on and her chin tucked to her chest, azzi feels like only her girl. the vlogs are so lyrical, so soft that it feels like visual voicemails azzi's left for her to get to later.

paige resists the urge to comment, if only to keep the attention away. her fans will zero in on the activity like vultures in sight of meat.

"i got this new camera that all the girls say makes your filming really good. i'm a bit chronically offline, so i don't keep up with all of that, but i wish i did. learning how to work this thing is so confusing, and i feel like my content is a bit shit already."

azzi laughs after that statement, and paige thinks the uber driver does, too. she watches as azzi presses her powder pink acrylics to her bottom lip; she imagines them pressing into her instead.

"mario is my uber driver. he's been so accommodating of my rambling. well, i have to go for now. reached the hotel, and i should not be showing you where i'm staying."

azzi comes in close to the camera, her eyes like two pools of light. paige finds herself leaning in as if she's right there in the car with her. subconsciously, paige knows azzi is talking to five thousand of them, but she can't help but have the fantasy of being the only one to receive this message.

"we'll chat later, okay?"

okay, paige thinks.

azzi grins as if she's heard her, and the screen goes black. then, a thin line of white text appears. i forgot to keep filming! sorry!

paige laughs, but her headphones make it sound faraway. she's sleepy now, and the world is dusky outside as the morning comes in.

the video ends, but paige plays it again.

✺

that's the last sense of peace she gets for a while.

azzi posts on her instagram account—paige has a hunch that she either has a social media manager or forces her brothers to help her out—and paige lingers in the bathroom while she scrolls through the carousel. she strokes a thumb over the soft curve of azzi's cheek, its fullness pressed against a fan's as she smiles shyly.

she looks at the comments. the people's princess!, someone has said. she likes it before she thinks too much of it. an external pounding, different from the one in her head, breaks her out of the bubble. someone is yelling for her. maybe her coach, maybe a teammate. since joining the wnba, so many people seem to want her. paige closes her eyes and resists the urge to hug herself.

she should stay inside, stay here.

she goes out and plays.

paige walks through the park, hood up against the morning chill, headphones firmly in place. she's supposed to be on her way to an early team meeting, but she's deliberately taking the long route. she needs this—these fifteen minutes with azzi's voice in her ears, a buffer between last night's crushing defeat and whatever analysis is waiting for her at practice.

"so i went back to the rink yesterday," azzi's voice says, slightly tinny through her headphones. it’s the wired ones today. paige wants to feel more like herself, less jaded and more real. someone could simply pull the wire. she sort of hopes they do. "not to skate, just to… be there, i guess? my physical therapist said it might help with the mental block."

paige finds herself nodding as if azzi can see her. she knows about mental blocks. three missed free throws in the final quarter. twitter hasn't let her forget it.

"it smelled the same. that's what got me. like cold and rubber and—i don't know—possibility? is that weird to say?"

paige smiles. it's not weird. she gets it. the squeak of sneakers, the hollow echo of a basketball hitting hardwood. home sounds.

"it reminded me of this perfume a friend got me for christmas last year. it's a very icy smell. it's been discontinued, but she's so good at sourcing on ebay. it should be her full-time job. the notes say iris and vodka, which is so funny to me because i don't smell that at all. it just smells like home. like snow." paige wishes she would say what the perfume was, if only to see if she could find it, too. "anyway, so i'm at the rink…”

she's so caught up in azzi's voice that she doesn't notice the uneven sidewalk. her foot catches, and as she stumbles, her phone slips from her pocket, clattering to the ground. the headphones yank from her ears, suddenly filling the morning air with azzi's voice.

"…standing there like an idiot, honestly, but then my old coach—"

paige lunges for the phone, but another hand gets there first.

"was i saying anything interesting?" says a voice, exactly as the podcast continues, "—told me i didn't need to rush back into anything."

the surreal echo of the same voice, one from the device and one from above her, creates a strange doubling effect that makes paige freeze. the podcast keeps playing—“that maybe i needed to find my own path”—while the real azzi reaches down to silence it.

paige looks up, still half-crouched, and finds herself staring into azzi fudd's smiling face.

the same dimples. the same brown eyes. the same berry-pink lips from her videos, but now they're curved into an amused smile just for her and seem to be a shade darker. she's wearing a dior bodysuit, intricate diamond patterns tracing across it with strategic cutouts that reveal glimpses of warm, brown skin, paired with an asymmetrical gauzy lace skirt that floats around her legs, catching the morning light. it's elegant and ethereal, reminiscent of her skating days but with a modern edge.

paige's brain short-circuits. “you're—”

"azzi," she says, holding out the phone. "and based on what i just heard, you already know that."

heat floods paige's face. "i—yeah. i watch your videos. they're…" she struggles for a word that isn't pathetically revealing. "calming."

azzi's laugh is exactly how it sounds in her videos, but louder, tangible. "calming? that's a first. most people tell me i talk too fast."

"you do," paige says, finding her voice as she takes the phone. "but in a good way." she hesitates, then adds, "i'm paige."

azzi's eyes crinkle as she smiles, and her next words are a livewire. "i know. bueckers, right? i thought you looked familiar. i watched your game last night."

now paige wants to disappear. of course, azzi saw that disaster. she must be so red right now.

( azzi is only thinking of how blue her eyes are. )

azzi just shakes her head admiringly. "that three-pointer in the second quarter? with the defender right in your face? that was unreal."

paige blinks, surprised. most people only remember the misses. "thanks."

"i miss that feeling," azzi says, almost to herself, one hand absently smoothing the flowing material of her skirt. then she brightens. "anyway, i didn't mean to interrupt your… well, me." she gestures at the phone, and that laugh spills out again.

paige can't help it—she laughs too, a real version that loosens something tight in her chest. "it's not weird, i promise."

"no, it's definitely weird," azzi counters, still smiling. "but kind of cool. i didn't think wnba stars had time to watch my terrible travel vlogs."

"i make time," paige says, more honestly than she means to. “and they’re not terrible. you—you’re just doing what you love. i respect it.”

they stand there for a moment, the morning bustle of the park continuing around them. the breeze catches the edge of azzi's skirt, making it dance around her legs.

"well, i was just heading to get coffee," azzi says finally. "if you're not busy…"

paige thinks about practice, about the team meeting, about the inevitably grim analysis of last night's game. she feels her body lock up, feels her brain scramble. she knows what the right decision is. she makes the “wrong” one.

"i could use some coffee," she says.

✺

paige is learning just how much she's underestimated her need for somebody.

she never knew; she just assumed that she was doing alright. but coffee with azzi has led to friendship with azzi, which has led to her finding a hole inside of herself. she's only found the hole because it's beginning to fill.

it fills when azzi texts her absentmindedly about something she saw that she thought paige would like. it fills when she says good luck before a game. it fills when she calls, and paige purposefully lets it ring, only to hear the voicemail she leaves after. the filling is slow and endless, and it transmits into everything.

outside, the city hums with late-night traffic, horns blurring into the distant echo of sirens. paige should sleep—her body aches from the weight of practice, the constant push of competition—but instead, she scrolls. watches another video. then another.

azzi in a café, stirring sugar into her espresso. azzi trying on plum-colored lipstick in the reflection of a subway window, only to scrunch her face in distaste. azzi wandering through an open market, nose pink from the cold, laughing when she almost drops her phone.

paige presses the side of her fist against her mouth. there's something so unbearably soft about it, the way azzi lets the world see her like this. no stadium lights, no roaring crowds—just her, tucked away in quiet corners, existing in a way that feels small. still existing, despite the crumbling of her original path. paige wonders if azzi likes it that way. if she wants to be forgotten.

(she won't be. paige won't let her.)

she wonders if azzi understands just how much she's saved her life.

another game occurs. paige is better, though an outsider would call her phenomenal. she's not the best at being kind to herself.

twitter talks less. paige finds a way to leave herself alone. the hole is filling.

her teammates are gossiping, the usual buzz after a big win. someone mentions a player from a rival team who's been trying to get paige's attention all season. paige shrugs, a half-hearted smirk playing at the edge of her lips as she wipes her sweat-soaked face with a towel.

"i don't know, girl. she seems fun," paige says, eyes flicking toward her phone.

her teammates roll their eyes, but paige doesn't notice. she taps the screen, and the slight furrow in her brow softens when the name azzi lights up. she seems fun, paige thinks, but she's got nothing on her. she swipes to answer, her voice dropping to a tone that's so soft and easy it might not even be the same paige they all know.

"hey, az. miss me?" she says into the phone, the edge disappearing completely as she leans back against the locker, smiling like it's just the two of them alone in the world.

"hi, p," azzi says, her soft voice filtering through the speaker. paige almost closes her eyes, pictures summer rain. "i'm only calling for a few minutes. i have to get to this concert, but i think i'm lost."

paige feels a bolt of anxiety at the thought of azzi on her own in a new city. she asks her to hold a minute and checks her location. she's in a town called trogir. paige zooms out further. she's in croatia. she hops back onto the call.

"what are you doing in croatia?"

"you're such a little creep," azzi says fondly, her smile evident despite paige being unable to see her. "last-minute girls' trip with my mom. she says 'hi' by the way."

"hi, katie," paige says dutifully, and there's a faint whisper of someone saying hello in return.

"look, i'm getting distracted. i called to tell you something and—" there's the blare of a horn, and paige's heart jumps again.

"az?"

"i'm here. i'm fine. someone just almost got hit, jesus." azzi takes a deep breath, and paige wishes she was there to hold her hand. "um, okay. sorry! i called to say that i'm coming to dallas."

the world drains away, and suddenly paige can only hear the twin pumps of their hearts. her face warms with joy, and she feels the heat of a full-body blush. she's smiling like a loon, and most of her teammates have gone by now, but the ones who have stayed are watching her with amusement.

"are you being for real right now?"

azzi says yes through a sharp giggle, and paige spins in place. she sits down, suddenly dizzy, and squeezes her eyes shut until the black behind them is swimming with grains of white and pinpricks of light. she laughs.

"when will you be here? i can—i can pick you up. i will, if you want. which airport? can you just send me—"

"i will," azzi says, cutting through gently. "i promise. i'll send you everything, okay? i gotta go, but i promise."

paige clutches the phone with both hands, suddenly feeling like a child. she shifts in place and then says,

"azzi?"

"mmm?"

"will you…will you stay with me?" and it doesn't come out the way it's supposed to. it's only intended to be an offer of accommodation, but the words are swollen and filled with something else. she's asking for two things at once, and it embarrasses her.

"where else would i be?" azzi responds, and paige has nothing to say.

she goes to speak again, goes to expel the three little words sitting deep inside of her chest, but she swallows them down. she's such a child. she's a school girl with a crush.

"az?"

"yes?"

"i just—i can't wait to see you."

the background quiets. paige doesn't know where she is.

"me too, p. i miss you more than anything."

they end the call. the locker room has emptied now. it's only her. paige places her head in her hands. she grasps at her face, slides her hands over her mouth, and screams.

✺

the week of azzi's arrival comes so close, so quickly, like a flame.

paige barges into her coaches' office with so much force that it blindsides them, just enough for them to let out a startled 'sure' when she requests a couple of days off. she smiles with all of her teeth at the affirmative and gets on the road while she's still riding the high.

she arrives at the airport two hours early, as if punctuality could somehow make time move faster. she parks in short-term, ignoring the exorbitant fee. money doesn't matter today; only azzi does.

the arrivals hall is a mess of bodies and noise. families reuniting, frazzled pets held tightly, passengers searching hopelessly for their ubers. paige finds herself pacing, checking her phone, the overhead screens, her phone again. she's wearing a baseball cap pulled low, but she doesn't think anyone would recognize her anyway—not with her face this soft, this open with anticipation.

a text from azzi: landed. heading to baggage claim. see you soon x

the ‘x’ makes paige's heart stutter. she types back can't wait and deletes three different emojis before sending it plain.

when people start streaming through the arrivals gate, paige stands on her tiptoes, scanning the crowd. her height should be an advantage, but the nervous energy makes her feel small. she sees families, couples, businesspeople, then—

azzi.

she's wearing low-waisted jeans that reveal her belly piercing and a baby blue spaghetti-strap tank underneath a white bolero sweater that’s slipping off of one shoulder. her curls are gathered in a loose bun on top of her head, a few strands framing her face. she looks tired but luminous, dragging a carry-on behind her, eyes searching the crowd.

their gazes lock.

the moment stretches between them like taffy, sweet and pulling. then azzi's face breaks into a smile so bright it could power the entire terminal, and she's moving, weaving through the crowd with sudden purpose.

paige doesn't remember deciding to move, but suddenly, she's striding forward too. they meet somewhere in the middle, and paige doesn't know what to do with her hands. a hug? a wave? she hesitates, awkward and aching.

azzi has no such reservations. she drops her bag and throws her arms around paige's neck, her body warm and solid and real. she smells like airplane air and something sweet—vanilla maybe, or honey. paige's arms wrap around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground. she presses her face into azzi's neck and breathes.

"hi," azzi whispers, her breath warm against paige's ear.

"hey," paige says back, and it comes out embarrassingly rough. she clears her throat and tries again. "welcome to dallas."

when they pull apart, they're both smiling like idiots. azzi's eyes are wet, but she wipes at them quickly, laughing. "sorry, i'm just—it's been a long flight."

"no, i get it," paige says, even though she doesn't cry after flights. she gets it because she feels it too—this overwhelming something that makes her chest feel too small for her heart.

azzi reaches up and tugs the brim of paige's cap. "nice disguise, superstar. almost didn’t recognize you."

"shut up," paige laughs, taking azzi's bag before she can protest. "come on, i'm parked this way."

as they walk toward the exit, their hands brush once, twice. on the third time, paige hooks her pinky around azzi's, the smallest point of contact. she doesn't look over, but she feels azzi smile beside her.

in the car, azzi talks about her flight, about the book she read, about the baby two rows back who cried for four straight hours. pretty impressive actually, she says with a light smile. paige listens, stealing glances whenever traffic slows. the late afternoon sun catches in azzi's hair, turning the edges golden. paige grips the steering wheel tighter.

"you're staring," azzi says without looking over.

"you're beautiful," paige replies, the words tumbling out before she can stop them.

the car falls silent. paige keeps her eyes fixed on the road, her face burning. she's blown it. she's made it weird. she's—

"so are you," azzi says softly. her hand finds paige's on the gearshift, her thumb tracing circles on paige's knuckles. "i really love your eyes."

the traffic moves forward. they do, too.

✺

the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. it's late afternoon, the world outside bustling, but here, there's warmth and stillness. paige is sitting on the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her, and azzi is curled up against her, head resting on paige's lap.

azzi's breathing is slow, even, and paige runs her fingers gently through the soft curls resting on her thigh. she's been like this for hours, scrolling through her phone aimlessly, but there's nothing that can pull her attention away now. she doesn't even notice how still she's become, how careful she is with every movement, how much she's trying to keep quiet so azzi doesn't stir.

azzi shifts slightly, her cheek pressing deeper into the fabric of paige's shorts, and paige freezes, holding her breath as if moving too much would ruin it. the sight of azzi so peaceful, so vulnerable in her arms, is enough to make paige's chest tighten. she hasn't felt this attached in months. but here she is, with the lines between her and azzi a little too blurry, and paige doesn't mind. she's unafraid.

azzi's eyelids flutter for a second, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and paige smiles to herself. there's a part of her that wants to get up, stretch her legs, maybe go grab a drink. but she can't—won't. not with azzi here, warm and trusting in her lap.

she watches the rise and fall of azzi's chest, her fingers gently tracing patterns along azzi's arm. if she moves now, she knows she'll ruin it, disturb the quiet. and for once, paige doesn't care about anything else. she doesn't care about the press or the noise or her next game. she just wants to stay like this, with azzi in her arms, forever. she wants to film this, make her own vlog to watch back when the world is crushing her.

time passes without her noticing. outside, cars begin to slow in the height of rush hour. it's perfect; it's just the two of them. azzi stays asleep, her head tucked into the curve of paige's body, and paige lets her be, letting the moment stretch on until she doesn't even know how long it's been.

eventually, paige's phone vibrates on the table beside them, but she doesn't move to answer it. instead, she looks down at azzi, resting her chin on top of her head, a soft whisper of "i got you" escaping from her lips.

it's a promise, even if neither of them has said the real words yet.

after another hour, azzi stirs slowly, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. she stretches, cat-like, still half-under, before realizing her head is resting on something warm. someone. paige.

“what time is it?” she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

paige shifts slightly, her hand still tangled in azzi's curls. "almost seven," she says softly. "you were out for a while."

azzi sits up, blinking in the dim light of early evening. she rubs her eyes, embarrassed. "why didn't you wake me up?"

"you looked like you needed it," paige says, and then adds with a grin, "plus, i liked watching you sleep. you make these little noises—"

"i do not," azzi cuts in, laughing as she pushes at paige's shoulder.

it's then that azzi notices the coffee table. it's covered in takeout containers—at least a dozen of them, all neatly arranged. she blinks, confused.

"i got food," paige explains, suddenly looking sheepish. "i didn't know what you'd want, so i just got you everything."

azzi leans forward, opening one of the containers. quinoa salad with roasted vegetables. another one reveals a green smoothie bowl topped with chia seeds. a third has some kind of grain bowl with avocado and sprouts.

"i thought you hated ‘healthy-healthy’ food," azzi says, looking up at paige with wonder.

paige shrugs, averting her eyes. "yeah, but you don't. and i thought you might be hungry when you woke up, so…"

there's a moment of silence, and then azzi is moving, closing the distance between them. she reaches up, curling her fingers around the back of paige's neck, and pulls her down until their foreheads touch.

"you're something else, p," she whispers, and before paige can respond, azzi presses her lips to hers.

it's soft, sleepy, a barely-there touch that feels like the most natural thing in the world. then it deepens.

paige clutches at the base of her neck and tries to swallow her, biting at her bottom lip until azzi gives her enough room to slip in her tongue. azzi makes a high noise, something like a whimper, and paige squeezes her waist with her free hand. she kisses her harder, her fingers trailing gently over the cool gem of her belly button piercing. when they pull apart, paige's eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed.

"was that okay?" azzi asks, suddenly unsure.

paige nods, a smile spreading across her face like a slow sunrise. "okay? fuck, az. that was more than okay." it was all i've ever wanted, is what she holds back.

azzi smiles back, her cheeks bunched high with the force of it, and then gestures to the food. "we should probably eat before it gets cold."

paige laughs, reaching for a container. "i think some of it's supposed to be cold, babe."

"will you shut up?" azzi says, but she's smiling far too hard for it to have any bite. they don't say anything about the pet name.

they eat cross-legged on the floor, containers spread between them, talking about nothing and everything. it feels like they've been doing this forever, like they've known each other all their lives. like, this is exactly where they're supposed to be.

at least, paige knew this was where she was supposed to be. and if it felt miles better than being on the court, that’s her perfect secret.

✺

the press room is buzzing with the usual chatter. paige's post-game routine is the same—answer the same questions, give the same responses. she's had enough of it by now, the lights, the cameras, the questions she's been asked a thousand times before.

"paige, great game tonight! you really pulled through in the second half," one reporter begins, the usual pleasantries. "but we have to ask—can you tell us about your friendship with azzi fudd? we've seen you two together a lot recently, and you two are a little bit of an unlikely duo."

paige's shoulders tense, her jaw tightening slightly. she can feel the eyes of every reporter in the room, all waiting for her to answer in the same carefully scripted way. she's never been one for this media circus, and she certainly doesn't enjoy being poked and prodded about her personal life. but something shifts in her. the question lingers, more intimate than the usual “game analysis” ones.

she leans back in her chair, trying to act casual, but her eyes flicker down to her phone hidden in her lap. the screen lights up with a text, and her lockscreen flashes. it’s a picture of her and azzi, their faces haloed by the dallas sun. paige isn’t even looking into the camera; she can’t be bothered to look at anything that isn’t her. azzi is laughing, open-mouthed and pleased.

this is her girl, the way the world once saw her, the way paige always sees her: aphrodite with the world at her feet.

"um, well," paige starts, her voice surprisingly steady, "azzi… she's everything. i mean, look, she's always been special to me. she found me at a time in life when i needed her. she's been through more than people know, and i respect the hell out of her for that. she's my best friend, my person.”

paige stops herself, eyes narrowing as if considering whether to backtrack or not. instead, she continues, the words coming out before she can hold them back.

"azzi's a queen, man," she says, a lightness in her voice that's unmistakable. "she deserves to be loved for more than just her talent, you know? what she used to be. people see her as this little ice princess frozen in time, but she's so much more than that. she's smart, funny, kind. i'm lucky to have her in my life. i wish i’d had her earlier.”

the room goes quiet for a moment. paige can't help but glance at the reporters in front of her, their pens moving quickly, capturing every word.

she doesn't care. not this time. the clip goes viral within minutes, the headline flashing across social media—paige bueckers opens up about friendship with azzi fudd: "she deserves to be loved."

✺

paige is in bed, the lights dim, but her face is illuminated by the glow of her phone. her ponytail is messy and dark with sweat from a long day of practice, but she doesn't care. azzi's facetime rings in, and her heart skips a beat.

"hey, princess," she greets, already in a lighter mood. azzi's there, scrunching her nose at the camera, dressed in a cozy hoodie and no makeup, just her.

"am i keeping you up?" azzi teases softly.

paige leans back against her pillow, trying to act nonchalant, but there's a softness in her voice that betrays her. "i was just waiting for you to call." she traces her finger along the edge of the screen. "couldn't sleep without hearing your voice."

and she sees it in azzi's face: that warm affirmation that she saw what paige said during press today. they don't talk about it. instead, azzi says,

"i love you. so much."

paige's chest tightens. she nods, tries to say i love you too, i love you more— but struggles against the lump in her throat. azzi hears her anyway. she always seems to understand.

"um, tell me about your day," paige finally pushes out.

"sure, baby.”

azzi begins to talk. paige puts her airpods in. blocks out any other noise. she falls asleep like that.

© hcneymooners.

[mxmorbidmidnight]

POV captain clockwork shoes you their latest trinket finds

This is a cosplay of @capn-atlas oc.

[theoutcastrogue]

"[Dave Arneson] began running a heavily modified campaign about a group of feudal lords charged with protecting their fiefdoms from invading armies. Between battles, Arneson gave his players the option of exploring dungeons to fight monsters and find magical treasures, while he himself took on the unusual role of “referee.” Before long, players had gotten so absorbed in dungeon delving they began to neglect the defense of the realm. “Well, all that running around in the dungeons finally got the castle wiped out while our flock of heroes went looking for adventure and treasure,” Arneson drolly reported in his newsletter. “Our priest got drunk and engaged in a totally debauched orgy in Wizard’s wood while Swenson’s freehold burned to the ground.” Gygax thought this sounded like a game in its own right; his daughter liked the name Dungeons & Dragons.

The game was a massive success, especially among fantasy readers. But there was, as Gerald Nachtwey puts it, an aspect of ludicrousness in the fantasy role-playing game that the fantasy novel, if it could not eliminate it, had tried to discourage. Tolkien, in his 1947 essay “On Fairy-stories,” had written that fantasy was the province of literature, where the natural glamour of the written word could make anything plausible. Dungeons & Dragons was more akin to the Gothic plays put on by the March sisters, whose magical proceedings are undercut by amateur stage effects, collapsing scenery, and unintended farce. Theater, Tolkien felt, had no business with fantasy; the audience was already too busy trying to accept the “magic” by which the players disappeared into the most mundane roles. “It is a world too much,” wrote Tolkien. But this is precisely what Dungeons & Dragons offered that the fantasy novel never could: the chance to enter an imaginary world with one’s disbelief miraculously intact — to be Quixote and Sancho at once."

— Andrea Long Chu, "The Most Dangerous Game" (Vulture, December 2024)

Commentary

I think ludicrousness was very much present if not prominent in Sword & Sorcery, i.e. the sort of fantasy that mostly informed D&D's worldbuilding and overall vibe. "Our priest got drunk and engaged in a totally debauched orgy in Wizard's wood while Swenson's freehold burned to the ground" is from a Dave Arneson campaign, but it could easily be from a Jack Vance novel. (Replace "priest" with "rogue", and it IS from a Jack Vance novel, I'm positive Cugel the Clever did something like that somewhere.)

I also think Tolkien was comically wrong to claim the theatre has no business with fantasy, though I'm sure I'm missing some context on what he meant, exactly. Like, what? Where does that leave A Midnight Summer's Dream?

But the last sentence is REALLY on point. And of course it's not exclusive to D&D, it applies to any roleplaying game with actual rules (as opposed to fully freeform improv, where you can just get absorbed in the performance). You DO get to be Quixote and Sancho at once. Half your brain is immersed IN the story, getting carried away and ignoring reality, while the other half is decidedly OUT of the story, fully aware of the real world because it has to. It's got to operate the story-making machine (the dice, the rules, the math) from the outside. Plus, there are snacks.

[wren-writes-stuff]

From Under The Desk

JaycexFem!Reader

Modern College AU

You have a paper due at midnight. A very important one. You absolutely CANNOT afford to be distracted.

Jayce distracts you.

Warnings: 18+ (this is basically just smut without plot tbh.) Reader is AFAB. Oral sex, cunnilingus, descriptions of genitalia. Small age gap? Like, only a year or two. Does that count? Idk let me know if i missed something <3

You scrubbed a hand across your face, exhaustion tugging at your eyes. It wasn't actually that late- it was only about seven pm. But, you'd stayed up all of last night writing this damned paper, only to go and spend a full day in class afterwards. And now here you were, hunched over your desk like a vulture pecking at your keyboard.

Getting the words down was the easy part. It was making them make sense that made your brain hurt. The amount of words you'd back-spaced over was probably comparable to the ones you'd actually kept.

You took a swig of your energy drink, wincing as the carbonation hit the back of your throat. You don't know why you bothered honestly; it wasn't doing anything for you at this point.

It was then that you heard the lock on the front door click, and the telltale shuffling sounds of someone entering your tiny apartment.

"I'm home!"

You heard Jayce's muffled voice through your bedroom door, but you made no effort to tear your attention away from your computer screen.

"Hon?" You heard him call again, "You home?"

More shuffling. Then, he knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Hon?" He repeated.

"Hey," you said automatically, fingers still flying across your keyboard.

"Hey, you." You could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your stomach flutter a little. "I picked up some takeout for dinner- I even got those little crab rangoons you love."

In your head, you meant to say something like, 'Wow! Thank you, my love. Im so excited to eat my favorite food with you!' But you didn't, leaving only an awkward pause in the back and forth you could barely call a conversation. You scrolled back to the top of your paper to re-read it, skimming for mistakes. Ah- there's a typo here. It should be "perceived", not-

"Hey, are you okay? Did you hear me?"

"What?" You bristled a little bit, annoyed to have been interrupted. You finally turned around to acknowledge him, trying to hide your chagrin. "Oh...sorry. Um, thank you. That was thoughtful."

It had taken a moment to force your eyes to focus on him, after staring at a bright screen for so long. When they did, you found he looked significantly more chipper than you felt. That made sense, you supposed. He had been freed from the confines of student life already, no longer bogged down by trivial things like homework and exams. Lucky bastard.

His eyes grazed across your face, then the rest of your body- and stopped when he found something interesting.

"You're wearing my hoodie,". He said. Irritation clawed at your stomach, and you swallowed the 'so what?' rising in your throat. You really just wanted to get back to work.

"It's comfy," you said instead, shrugging. "Sorry. I hoped you wouldn't mind. Do you want it back?" He shook his head, starting towards you.

"No, it looks good on you. Keep it on." He leaned down to peck you on the cheek, and you smiled tiredly at him. His hair was slightly tousled from a long day at work, and his chiseled cheekbones were smeared with grease. His cologne was mixed with the smell of coal and something vaguely chemical. Truthfully, what you really wanted was to yank off the hoodie, and his clothes too, and pull him into the shower with you- but there was no time for that now. You swiveled your chair around again, going back to your work.

"Im sorry," you said, "This paper is due in a couple of hours and I need to get it done. You should go ahead and eat if you're hungry. You don't have to wait. And please take a shower."

"What?" He teased, "You don't like the smell of hydraulic fluid?" He wrapped his arms around you and dropped his chin on top of your head. You found it difficult to keep yourself upright under his immense weight.

"No, I don't," you huffed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude, but I need to focus on this. But once I'm done, I'm yours for the rest of the night, okay?"

The weight was lifted as he moved away from you, chuckling. "Alright, Alright. I'll leave you to it. God, it's kinda hot when you're mean to me. Maybe you should do that more often."

You swatted his arm, staring incredulously, and he ducked away as he laughed again. "I'm not being mean to you. I thought I was being pretty polite all things considered."

"You are mean to me," he whined. "You wont even let me give you my love and attentioonnn." He gave you fake puppy dog eyes, and you snatched a pencil off your desk, holding it up like you were going to chuck it at him.

"Get out," you warned. He held up his hands in surrender and backed out the door, eyes full of mirth.

"I bet you'd be nicer to me if you ate something."

You threw the pencil as hard as you could, but he shut the door before it reached him, and it bounced off the wood instead. You heard him cackling on the other side, before you heard his heavy footsteps move away.

You huffed, running your fingers through your hair. It was greasy, and in need of a good combing-through. You hadn't really had time for a shower yourself; but it could wait a little longer. You went back to your pecking.

Too soon, you heard the bedroom door open again. "Back already?" You asked mechanically.

"Already?" He repeated. "It's been like an hour." You glanced at the clock on the bottom corner of your screen. He was right. You'd been so focused that you didn't realize how long it had been.

"Whoops." You still didn't cease your typing.

You felt his weight upon you the same as before, forcing a wheeze from your lungs. "Why are you so heavy?" You huffed.

He chuckled, and you felt the vibrations against your back. The two of you stayed there like that for a moment, and you rubbed your eyes again. His warmth was comforting, and dangerously cozy. You were going to fall asleep at this rate. You shrugged, trying to get him to move off of you- but he didn't budge. Instead, he pressed his face into your neck, and his hair tickled your cheek. It was still damp, and you could smell his shampoo- like mint, and something darker, more earthy. You tilted your head to kiss the top of his own, breathing in the scent; but never taking your eyes away from your computer.

"Your food's getting cold, love." His breath tickled your skin, giving you butterflies again. "You should come eat something. You'll feel better."

"Can't," you muttered. Even if you wanted to, the caffeine you'd been chugging all day dampened your appetite, despite your empty stomach. He was probably right, but if you stopped now, you might not be able to start again. You had to capitalize on your focus; you couldn't afford to lose it.

Jayce brushed his lips against your jaw, pressing little kisses into the bone, and down your neck. He trailed a hand down your arm, the one opposite to him, and slipped it across your thigh, into the space between your legs-

'What do you think you're doing?" He stood up straight, taking his hand back. You glared at him, half annoyed, and half aroused. It was only now that you realized he wasn't wearing a shirt- just a pair of sweatpants that accentuated his girth in just the right way. You could see every muscle he worked so hard to build on full display, and your breath hitched. His tanned skin was just as damp as his hair, still shining with water. You wondered if he'd even bothered to dry off when he got out of the shower.

"I'm sorry. I can stop if you really want me to," he said gently. He looked down at you with something on his face you couldn't quite read. He wasn't frowning, nor smiling. His eyebrows were quirked upward just slightly, eyes half lidded. His expression was somewhere between lust and fatigue, you decided. Maybe he'd had a long day, too.

You blinked, trying to keep your eyes open. Maybe you didn't want him to stop- but you had to get this done if you had any hope of graduating next semester. You couldn't afford to fail this class. You looked away from him, feeling torn. In the corner of your eye, you watched him kneel beside you, and felt the weight of his head in your lap. He slid his hands around your waist, one of them between you and the back of your chair, and the other across your lap.

"You don't have to stop," you said quietly. "But I can't, either. This is important."

"Is that what you want though? For me to keep going, I mean?"

You nodded, swallowing thickly. "I do. I just need you to understand that I'm not ignoring you to be mean; I don't want to hurt your feelings because I'm not being an active participant."

He lifted his head, shifting himself between your legs. He had to duck and curl himself up awkwardly to fit himself underneath your desk- it was kind of cute, actually, watching him trying to fit his giant shoulders and long legs into such a tight space.

"I don't think that at all," he said when he was finally comfortable. "I know this it's important to you." He slid his hands up your thighs, letting one of his thumbs land on the spot where he knew your clit to be. He stroked it gently through the fabric of your pants, and you bit your lip to stop the gasp trapped in your throat. His other hand grasped your hip, massaging the soft malleable flesh of your curves with his thumb. He rested his cheek on your knee, looking up at you lovingly.

"You just seem so stressed," he said. "I wanna help you relax." He punctuated his words by swiveling his hand around, sliding his fingers under the curve of your pelvis. Well, 'relaxed' isn't the word you would use to describe yourself right now. A coil had wound itself inside your stomach, and your legs were tense with anticipation. In his hands, you were putty. You couldn't think straight anymore. You tried to focus, tried to keep your eyes on the prize. You were almost done here. Just a couple more paragraphs to go, and then you could-

"Oh-" you gasped involuntarily, something girlish and high pitched. Your face burned with embarrassment- you'd never made a noise like that before. But you couldn't help it- not with the way he was sliding his fingers into you now. You hadn't even realized he had managed to tug your pants down enough to expose you to him.

His other hand, previously on your hip, had slid up your sweater. It was on the small of your back now, pressing you forward. He drew his fingers out of you, slowly, and you bucked your hip forwards with a groan. He was moving so, so slowly. He was being so gentle and sweet, you thought your teeth were going to rot and fall out of your skull. He leaned forward, kissing your stomach, moving down to the side- to your hip, in the crease of your skin where your pelvis met your thigh. You shivered; his lips brushed you so lightly it tickled a bit. Your fingertips buzzed with electricity as you tried to keep typing. But then you felt his tongue sliding between your folds and you couldn't do it anymore.

You let your eyes flutter shut, letting him finally overtake your thoughts completely. You buried your face in your hands, trying to control your ragged breathing as he moved his tongue up, and down, slowly, gently. He pushed his tongue inside of you, lapping at you like he hadn't had a drop to drink in days. You whined, sliding a hand under the desk to grab his hair, to bring him closer to you. You could hear him panting, feel his breath against your pubic mound. His movements grew more desperate at your touch, ever eager to please.

You laid your other arm on the table, resting your head on it like a pillow. You really couldn't stop the sounds escaping from you now. Every gasp, moan, and whimper from you only seemed to further spur him, urging him to move faster. He alternated between fucking you with his tongue, reaching as far inside of you as he could manage, and moving back up to lick tiny circles around your clit.

You moved your hips with his rhythm, desperate for more friction as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge. "Jayce," you whispered shakily, "I-I'm really- mmmfh- close-"

He didn't let up even a little bit, even when you leaned back, pushing his head against you so hard you were worried he'd suffocate. You were almost blinded by pleasure, the coil winding itself tighter and tighter- until it finally snapped.

You cried out his name like a prayer, over and over again as you shook. You clamped your thighs around his ears, wrapping your legs together over his shoulders. You tugged on his hair like it was a lifeline, feeling every crashing tidal wave of your orgasm in full force as your back arched away from your chair. You practically sobbed, your eyes watering. You couldn't help it. It was so good.

He finally stopped when he sensed you'd had enough, slumping in your chair like a rag doll as exhaustion racked your brain through the afterglow. He pulled back, his face shiny with spit and slick. You smiled at him, before letting your head flop back as you closed your eyes.

'That was hot," he whispered. You snorted, not opening your eyes. You felt his fingers brush your skin as he pulled your pants back up, and shivered slightly when the cold wet fabric of your underwear met your overly-sensitive groin. You pressed your toes against the floor to push your chair from under the table so he'd have room to get out.

"That didn't take very long, either" he teased. "You must have been pretty pent up." You heard shuffling as he stood, and you finally opened your eyes when you felt his lips brush against your forehead. You flicked his shoulder.

"You're just good at what you do."

He smiled, his eyes flickering across your face. You reached up to rub your thumb across his chin, trying to wipe off some of the remaining fluids. He grabbed your wrist and pressed a kiss into your palm before you could withdraw it, never taking his eyes off of you.

"Come eat something, please," he whispered. You sighed and glanced at the clock again, considering it- it was almost 9:15. There was still time.

"Alright, alright," you resigned. "Give me five minutes, and I'll be right there."

Jayce made a face you couldn't discern, and let go of your hand. "Okay," he said, and stepped out of the room.

He came back ten minutes later to find you still at your computer. "I couldn't wait any longer," he said- making you jump.

"Augh, I'm sorry, Jayce," you said- and you meant it.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I had a feeling this might happen. You get so sucked in sometimes. It's endearing, actually."

He set two styrofoam boxes next to you, and opened another for himself. "I thought I would just bring dinner in here. Maybe I could help you edit? Make things go a little faster so we can get you in the shower?" He smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was lodged into the corner of the room, with the desk beside it like an oversized nightstand. There'd be no room to move about, otherwise.

You cracked open the first box, choosing to ignore his quip, and your mouth watered at the sight of your favorite food inside. Ugh, even cold it smelled amazing. You shoveled it into your face with the flimsy plastic fork, newfound hunger making itself evident. You looked to Jayce, intending to thank him for the meal; but you found he was looking at you expectantly.

'What?" You asked through a mouthful of food.

"Did you want my help?"

Oh.

You swallowed.

"Sorry. Um, yes. That might be nice honestly. I could use a break."

He set his food aside, chuckling. "The first one wasn't enough?" He teased. You scowled, only pretending to be upset.

"Whatever man. Switch me places." You stood up to give him your chair, and he complied- though he had to pull the lever under the seat to lower it, to make room for his mile-long legs.

"Alright, let's see, here..."He squinted as he read your work, and you took the opportunity to admire him. God, he really was incredibly handsome. His long, calloused fingers looked enormous over your keyboard compared to your own. His bulky shoulders hunched forward, pulling the skin of his back taught over his muscles. You bit your lip, feeling your arousal coming back through your fatigue. He glanced at you, and you blushed when you caught him staring; as if you hadn't been together long enough by now that this wasn't embarrassing. But he still never failed to give you the warm-and-fuzzies so to speak. He smiled, laughing through his nose.

"What're you looking at?"

You twirled your hair with exaggeration. "Oh, yknow. Just this cute guy I have a crush on, or whatever," you flirted. He rolled his eyes, still grinning to himself.

"Eat your food, dork." He looked back to the screen, and you did what you were told.

It didn't take long. You wolfed down your dinner so fast you even surprised yourself. You stood to collect your trash, and kissed the top of Jayce's head before heading to the kitchen to dispose of it properly. When you came back, he was already standing up to stretch.

"It looks good to me," he said- with his arms over his head, his obliques were in full view and it made you just about weak in the knees. "I think it's ready to submit, if you're happy with it."

You thought about re-reading it one more time- just to be sure- but your brain was so foggy with exhaustion (and maybe some arousal). You trusted Jayce's judgement, too. He'd graduated summa cum laude last year, after all. You were sure he knew what he was talking about.

"Thank you, love. I really appreciate your help." You patted his chest with a weary smile, and sat down to submit it. When you were finally able to click your laptop shut, you were just about to collapse. You looked over to find Jayce already waiting for you in bed, and he opened his arms for you.

"C'mere, you," he crooned softly. You complied, shutting off the table lamp before you crawled across the blankets to meet him. He pulled them over the two of you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the scent of mint and clean bedsheets. You suddenly felt self conscious, remembering you had forgotten to bathe.

You sat up. "I'm gonna take a shower real quick actually-" but he yanked you back down before you could move, burying his nose in your hair.

"Nooooo," he mumbled. "Stay with me."

"Jaaaayce," you whined, "I smell terrible. Wouldn't you rather I got cleaned up before bed?"

He didn't move, keeping you pinned between his arms. "Mmm, girl stink."

"You- what?" You sputtered, laughing at the absurdity. You tried to move, but he was already snoring softly. You couldn't tell if he was faking it or not, but you gave in anyway. You tangled your legs with his, letting his warmth overtake you and carry you to sleep at last.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Got ideas. Dust and Killer are both crows/magpies, Horror's a harpy egal, Nightmare's a falcon- honestly not sure what bird would fit him cause I'm kinda scared of birds ngl

Anon don't even get me fucking started on harpies I WILL sit you all down and make you listen to me talk for hours about my bird headcanons.

Dust has always struck me as having the wings of a goshawk. A solitary, silent hunter, agile and terrifying, waiting for the perfect moment then striking with frightening precision but ferocious power. Beautiful steely grey wings too - look up "goshawk eyes" and you'll be in for a treat. The dust gathered in his wings makes them very soft to the touch.

Horror is a big beautiful vulture. A large and powerful bird that picks bones clean - and eats the bones too, if that option is available. He might smell a little (the stench of blood and meat clings to every feather), but I imagine he'd be the nicest of them all to cuddle. He fluffs up when you give him affection.

Killer has always given me kestrel vibes. A little smaller than the others but no less effective, far more energetic and active, alarmingly fast, using speed and precision to overwhelm opponents rather than needing brute force. The black and white wing pattern matches him, too. He has a habit of cooing like a dove when you're nice to him.

Also... Kestrels have the same 'tear tracks' as Killer. I feel like this bird was made for him.

Nightmare... an owl. Obviously. The big, beautiful midnight black wings of an owl. He rarely flies, but when he does, he's as silent as death. No one ever sees him coming.

Once, he probably had wings more like this. Beautiful soft plumage. But the miasma has sunk deep into every feather, and now, they're black with an oil-like sheen.

[its-time-to-write]

hello! First thing first, I want to say how much of a good writer you are, I hope you know this 💕 second I have this idea of reader and Jamie dating, but nobody knows. One day reader is in the coaches room and starts yawning and Roy is like what's that 🤨 (something similar to that scene with beard after he gets back with jane) and reader answers with "you have been waking me up everyday at 4 am" or smt like that and this is how everyone finds out. I know you have already written something like this but I thought it was cute, so feel free to ignore

this was cute. you were right.

coffee at midnight

Neither you nor Jamie exactly decided to keep your relationship a secret.

“It’s not a secret, it’s private, babe,” Jamie insists. You just roll your eyes.

But like, it is private.

That means no instagram posts, no public dates, and no unasked opinions. It also means that Jamie gets a Polaroid camera (“so we don’t get hacked, babe,”), plans dates in his giant house, and keeps fans’ noses out of your relationship.

It also, also means that Roy Kent doesn’t know you’re in Jamie’s bed every morning when he knocks on the door loud enough to wake the dead.

You’re a week into these shenanigans, and you’re not sure how much longer you can handle it. You’ve barely been at Nelson Road for an hour, but you’ve yawned more than you’ve spoken. Jamie’s been sending you apologetic looks every time he passes you in the hall, but now the entire team is in the weight room as you bring the coaches their coffee.

You place Roy’s in front of him and he asks, “The fuck’s wrong with you?”

You glare. “Nothing. That’s rude to ask, anyway. I’m-” you pause to yawn- “fine.”

Ted looks between you and Roy. “Normally I’d side with the lady on this one, but you look dead on your feet. You been sleepin’ okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shortly. “I’ve been sleeping fine. I just don’t get a lot of it these days.”

“That sounds decidedly un-sexy,” Trent calls from his desk.

You snarl, “It isn’t,” then realize that Trent is undeserving of your anger. “I’m sorry. I’ve been getting like five hours of sleep every night this whole week. Me and my boyfriend just moved in together and we both talk like way too much. So we usually don’t fall asleep until late.”

The room fills with whistles and hoots from Ted, Beard, and Trent. Roy is stoic as always.

“I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” Ted grins. “What’s his name?”

You hesitate. You’re pretty sure Jamie would be okay if you told Ted, but you’re not sure you really want to. You let the silence stretch on for a beat too long, and Trent’s on you like a vulture.

“It’s someone here, isn’t it?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, but it’s not convincing. It’s hard for you to lie when you’re this tired.

Jamie and Sam choose this exact moment to come into the locker room to grab water bottles. Jamie glances at you and you make the mistake of glancing back. It’s just for a second but Trent catches it with his stupid eagle-eyes.

“Oh shit,” he says.

You round on him. Maybe he does deserve your anger. “Don’t say anything,” you warn.

He zips his lips as Roy says, “Why are you being so fucking weird? We know you’re fucking lying. Just say which of these little pricks you’re dating and get some sleep like a fucking normal adult.”

“I’d be able to get regular sleep, except you’ve been waking me up at fucking 4am!” you explode.

The room goes silent. 

“Fuuuck,” Roy whispers. “Fucking Tartt? You’re dating- fuck, you moved in with fucking Tartt?”

“Yes,” you groan, “We’ve been together for six months and it’s probably the most serious relationship I’ve ever been in, and I know how it sounds but we really like each other. Higgins already knows because of HR shit but other than that, it’s been private.”

Ted and Beard have matching open-mouthed smiles. It would be a little scary if you hadn’t known them for as long as you have.

“That’s the most adorable shit I’ve ever heard in my whole life,” Beard says.

“Hold on,” Trent interjects, “does this mean you and Jamie have been staying up late every night talking?”

“Yes,” you reply primly. “And then this prick bangs on our door at fuck-thirty in the morning and I’m awake for the rest of the day.”

Roy says, “Right,” very slowly. “Is that fucking why he wasn’t wearing fucking trousers?”

All eyes turn to you.

“I’m not answering that,” you say. “In fact, I think I hear Higgins calling me. I have to leave right now.” You back out of the room and down the hall before anyone can say anything else.

The coaches’ office is silent for a moment before they all clamor out of their seats to chase you down the hall. They have so many questions but first, they’re going to yell at Higgins for keeping it a secret.