#which always feels funny talking about with them

[crazziforazzi]

Fighting for the love (of the game) -Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Team dinner

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Trope: Second chance

A/N: I hope you enjoy this one as much as I have enjoyed writing it. We are getting closer. :)

Word Count: 5.9k words

Masterlist

Azzi POV: Azzi hadn’t said another word to Paige after that moment in the car.

Not when her throat still ached from keeping herself together. Not when the weight of Paige’s voice, I’m so fucking sorry, was still settling into her chest.

Julie had joined them a few minutes after what happened, sliding into the backseat with a loud complaint about her aching muscles. Azzi had laughed, loud and fake, while Paige just smiled tightly, murmuring something about training camp being intense.

Azzi had let herself disassociate after that.

Her brain flickered into survival mode, filing away everything from that moment into some mental folder labeled feel later. She turned toward Julie, asked her about her plans for tomorrow, cracked a joke about Rae’s dance moves in the locker room, and did everything to drown out the lingering echo of that damn SZA song and Paige’s tear-glossed eyes.

By the time they arrived at the rooftop restaurant, the others had started trickling in as well. It was great to see their new teammates dressed up, fresh-faced and obnoxiously loud, exactly the kind of energy Azzi needed to disappear into. The place was beautiful too, warm-toned lights strung overhead, the city buzzing beneath them, music humming low in the background. 

She ended up seated between Sarah and Azurá, which turned out to be a blessing. Sarah was easy to talk to, warm and lowkey surprisingly funny. Azurá was sharper, a little reserved at first, but once Azzi got her going about hiking routes near LA, she lit up. They fell into easy conversation, and for a while, Azzi let herself believe she was just a rookie on a new team, at a normal team dinner, talking about everything except the person sitting two seats diagonally across the table.

But it only worked for a while, because Paige was there and even when Azzi wasn’t looking, she could feel her. She caught her in peripheral glances laughing at something Kelsey said, clinking glasses with Cam, leaning back in her chair with her small smile at the corner of her mouth. 

Paige wasn’t loud tonight, did not try to be the center of attention, but Azzi noticed every shift in her posture, every time Paige reached for her drink, every moment she looked over and didn’t quite meet Azzi’s eyes. And still, Azzi could not stop looking. 

The team did a bonding thing at one point, go around the table, share a fun fact about you. Paige had muttered something about being able to braid hair very fast and Azzi had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her face neutral.

She knew that skill all too well, she was the reason Paige learned it at the first place.

She remembered Paige sitting cross-legged behind her in the early morning before practices, braiding slowly at first, then speeding up once she got the pattern. Fingers tugging gently at her scalp while some series played in the background. Paige always finished the braid by leaning over and kissing the top of her head.

Azzi had smiled at the memory, then immediately shut it down.

She needed air even though they were sitting outside on a rooftop. She let the team fall deeper into drinks and desserts before slipping quietly from the table. No one noticed, or at least, no one said anything.

She crossed to the far side of the rooftop, behind a few oversized plants in big terra cotta pots, half-hiding her from the table view. The city stretched out below her, the air felt cooler back here, touched with a salty breeze.

She leaned against the railing, closed her eyes, and finally let herself breathe. Her shoulders slumped like they’d been held up by invisible strings all night. Her fingers unclenched, her jaw loosened.

God, she felt exhausted.

Not only physically, she was used to that kind of exhaustion. It was the emotional weight that made her feel like she’d been fighting through war all night.

Like every laugh she’d given, every story she’d told, every sip of wine had been threaded with restraint. She was acting fine in a show where everyone else had the script and she was stuck improvising.

She tilted her head back toward the sky. Let the quiet wrap around her. 

But even here, even in this sliver of privacy, Paige lingered in her mind. The apology, that look on her face, the way she’d leaned into her hand like it still meant something. 

And Azzi knew that she, herself, hadn’t stopped meaning it, not even after Paige broke her heart.

She pressed a hand to her chest, right over the spot where it still ached and just stood there, eyes shut, breathing in the city and the distance and the pieces of love she hadn’t figured out how to let go of yet.

Azzi didn’t know how long she stood there before the footsteps approached.

She almost didn’t turn, figured it might be someone looking for the bathroom or another teammate sneaking off for a phone call. But the steps stopped just behind her, and then came a familiar voice, quiet and kind.

"Mind if I join?"

Azzi glanced over her shoulder and found Cam already halfway into a crouch beside her, long legs folding easily as she sat down at the sofa near the edge of the rooftop. Her eyes were on the horizon, not on Azzi which helped.

Azzi hesitated, then smiled to her best abilities.

"Sure," she said. "Just needed a little air."

Cam nodded, like she understood. She didn’t say anything else at first. Just sat there with her, both of them gazing out toward the Pacific, the city lights starting to flicker on one by one as the sun dipped lower, casting deep purples and burnt orange across the skyline.

It was peaceful and Azzi finally let her shoulders drop a little.

"I hate eating alone," Cam said after a while, voice calm and conversational. "My boyfriend was out of town this week, and I didn’t feel like cooking, so I texted Paige. Asked if she wanted to grab dinner together."

Azzi blinked, startled for a second. The last thing she expected was for the moment to pivot like that, from a shared silence to… Paige.

"Oh," Azzi said, cautious. "Cool."

Cam didn’t seem to notice her hesitation or maybe she did and just let it pass.

"We went to this new Italian place. Their cacio e pepe was amazing. I can definitely recommend."

Azzi nodded vaguely, still unsure where this was going.

Cam leaned back a little, elbows resting on the stone ledge. "We ended up staying there for a couple of hours. Just talking and catching up, it has been a while. We ended up talking about my ACL tear and how hard the rehab was. I know that I do not have to explain that to you."

Azzi turned to glance at her then but Cam was still watching the ocean.

"We also spent quite a bit of time talking about the mental aspect of it. I was in a really bad place, couldn’t see my future clearly," she said simply. "I almost ended things with my boyfriend during that time. I thought I was dragging him down. He kept showing up, but I kept pushing him away."

Azzi’s throat tightened but she didn’t say anything. She started to understand the connection.

Cam continued, soft and steady. "Eventually I got into therapy. Like… real therapy. Not the I will show up once a month kind, but actual deep discussions multiple times a week. And slowly, I started figuring out how to let someone stay. How to stop apologising for struggling and how to ask for help without thinking it made me weak. And it worked, he and I… we found our way back."

She glanced sideways now. Not directly at Azzi, just enough.

"I told Paige all of that," Cam said. "And she just… sat there. She barely touched her food, she listened to every word. And when I finished, she said, I wish I’d asked for help like that before it was too late."

Azzi felt her pulse quicken, her grip on the railing tightened. She didn’t want to cry again, not here and not now.

Cam finally turned fully toward her, voice low. "She asked for this trade for a reason."

Azzi’s head snapped to her hearing that, eyes meeting hers. "She ...what?"

"She asked for it herself," Cam repeated gently. "She didn’t tell you?"

Azzi shook her head. Small, just once.

"She asked for this trade," Cam continued gently. "And yeah, sure, LA’s a good fit for her on the court, but I think we both know that’s not all this is. She clearly came here because she wanted to fight for things she gave up on before."

The words settled over Azzi slowly, like warmth spreading across chilled skin. She hadn’t known that, not for sure. Part of her had still wondered if Paige ended up here by chance.

"I know this is confusing," Cam said softly. "And heavy and way too much to process over team dinner and wine tonight. But I hope..." she paused, voice steady, "...I hope you give her the chance to explain what happened. Not for her. For you. You owe yourself that much."

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her heart was thudding loud in her ears, and every breath felt like it might shatter her all over again. But she didn’t pull away from it, didn’t put the walls back up.

Cam stood slowly, stretching her legs, brushing off her jeans. "Either way… I’m here. For both of you. If or when you need to talk. Or if you just need someone to sit next to again."

She paused, then added with a small grin, "Also, I have a really great therapist recommendation. Just saying."

That made Azzi let out a breath of a laugh, quiet but real. 

"Thanks Cam," she said finally, voice small but steady.

Cam nodded. "Anytime."

She gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before heading back toward the group.

Azzi stayed behind with her mind only focusing on one message.

Paige had come here on purpose.

Paige POV: 

Paige immediate noticed it of the corner of her eye. A subtle shift in the background, Azzi slipping away from the table like she was trying not to be noticed. It was quiet and smooth, but Paige’s eyes tracked her anyway. She tried not to be obvious about it, didn’t want to make a scene or draw attention, but when five minutes passed and Azzi still hadn’t come back, Paige’s leg started bouncing under the table.

She scanned the rooftop.

Laughter, drinks, conversations, all of it humming in the foreground while her focus narrowed, until finally she spotted Azzi’s silhouette near the edge, on the far side, away from the warmth of the group. Her shoulders were hunched slightly, hands on the railing. Paige started to rise, already half-standing, when a gentle touch on her arm made her pause.

Cam.

"I got it," Cam said quietly, already reading the situation.

Paige looked at her, unsure, maybe even a little defensive, but Cam just smiled knowingly. "Let me check on your girl, P."

There was no malice, no teasing in Cam’s voice, just gentle, steady understanding. Still, Paige opened her mouth to object, maybe out of habit, to correct her. To say she’s not mine anymore. But all that came out was a nod.

"Thanks," she murmured instead.

She watched Cam walk away until both of them disappeared from her line of sight. Paige exhaled slowly, torn between staying where she was and craning her neck to follow them. Her stomach was still twisted up when she turned back to the table, only to see Kelsey already watching her, raising an eyebrow and motioning her over with a subtle nod of her head.

Paige dragged herself over, dropping down next to her with the kind of caution reserved for a coach’s office after a bad practice.

"Don’t start, Plum," she muttered.

Kelsey ignored that entirely. "So what are your intentions with our rookie?"

Paige’s eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me." Kelsey tilted her head again, sharper this time. "I’m asking what you plan to do about her."

Paige blinked, trying to gauge if this was a joke. But Kelsey’s expression didn’t budge. She stared back at her, unbothered, sipping her drink like she had all the time in the world. 

Paige sat back with a sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. "You don’t have to worry. I’ll make sure the team dynamic stays clean. I’m not gonna mess anything up."

There was a pause. Then Kelsey’s voice softened a touch. "That’s not what I hoped you'd say."

That caught Paige off guard.

She’d known, that their history wasn’t really a secret, the basketball world knew about them even if they called themselves best friends. That was the easier version while being teammates in college. Unless you were in their circle, no one ever said it out loud.

But clearly Kelsey had been paying closer attention. Close enough to realize they weren’t just being professional these days, that something had cracked between them, friends or more. That they clearly weren’t close anymore, and it wasn’t just about keeping a low profile.

And for some reason… Kelsey wanted her to fix it.

That caught her off guard more than it should have. She lowered her voice even further, almost to a whisper.

"I’m gonna try to earn her trust back. I mean that. But basketball comes first… for both of us. Our careers are on the line and I can’t screw this up for her. For us."

Kelsey nodded, the corner of her mouth tilting up. "Okay. Then I’ll keep an eye on her. ‘Til you can."

A smirk tugged at Paige’s mouth. "Already falling for the People’s Princess charm?"

Kelsey rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. "Don’t act like you didn’t do the same thing."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, staring at her drink. "Yeah," she said. "Guess I never stood a chance either."

By the time the clock crept past 10 p.m., the rooftop had started to thin out.

The week had been long, filled with intense practices, nonstop media, and a constant hum of adrenaline that only now was starting to wear off. Conversations still floated in the air, but it had dulled down, softened into yawns and slow blinks.

Some players hugged goodbye with lingering arms and tired eyes, others lingered a while longer, not quite ready to end the night but too tired to prolong it much longer.

Paige stayed where she was, her non-alcoholic cocktail half-finished in her hand, gaze occasionally flicking across the table. She tried not to be obvious about it, but every now and then, especially as the wine settled deeper into Azzi’s smile, she found herself watching her.

Whatever Cam said to Azzi, it worked.

Azzi was noticeably different after coming back to the table. Her shoulders were looser, her laughter easier. The longer the night went on, the more she leaned in, not toward Paige directly, but toward the group, toward the moment.

And sometimes, just sometimes, Paige caught her looking. Not by accident and not only for a brief second, but like she couldn’t look away. Paige didn’t press it, she just waited. Calm on the outside, even as something restless stirred quietly beneath her ribs.

Julie was the one who finally broke the lull, weaving back to their part of the table with flushed cheeks and a little grin like she already knew what decision was about to be made. She leaned into the space between Paige and Azzi, catching both their eyes at once.

"I’m thinking about heading out with Sarah for one more drink," she said lightly. "You’re welcome to join. Totally up to you."

Paige didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at Azzi who was already looking at her.

Their eyes locked, it was warm, and something steady that settled low in Paige’s chest. Azzi gave the tiniest shake of her head, almost imperceptible, but it told Paige everything she needed to know.

"I think I’m good," Paige said, voice low, like it had been her decision all along.

Azzi nodded. "Yeah, same. Think I’m calling it."

Julie smiled like she’d seen this coming, squeezed Paige’s shoulder, and disappeared into the night.

Not long after, it was just the two of them walking side by side down a quiet stretch of sidewalk, the city cooling around them. The breeze was gentler now, brushing over them as they passed under flickering street lamps, and for a moment, Paige forgot to feel cautious.

Azzi’s curls caught the light, and her steps stayed in sync with Paige’s like they used to, effortless.

Paige could almost pretend that nothing had changed. That they were still just two girls stumbling out of a party, shoulders brushing, the air between them thick with something unspoken and familiar.

But it wasn’t the same, not really.

Not with her hands clenched tight inside her pockets to stop herself from reaching out. Not with her heart thudding against the cage of her ribs like it hadn’t quite learned how to be careful again.

And all Paige could think about was how stupid she’d been.

How deeply, irrevocably foolish she was to let this slip away, to let her slip away, when this right here, this life, this city, this quiet late-night walk with Azzi at her side, was all they had talked about for years.

Back then, it had been the dream they clung to when the days felt too heavy and the pressure of being who they were started to crack at the edges. 

They used to whisper it to each other like a promise, spoken into the backs of necks and the soft space between shoulder blades and shared pillows in dark rooms.

One day, we won’t have to hide. One day, I’ll take you anywhere you want. One day, this gets to be ours.

She used to tell Azzi she’d spoil her. And she’d meant it, not in the cliché way people throw that word around, but in the real, rooted way that meant I see you, I treasure you, and I want the world to rearrange itself around your happiness. 

Paige wanted to take her to midnight movies and overpriced bakeries and hidden bookstores with coffee that tasted like lavender and cinnamon. She wanted to kiss her in public, hold her hand without a second thought, watch her try on clothes she didn’t need and buy them for her anyway. She wanted to treat her like the princess she always was.

And now here they were.

Azzi was right next to her, but Paige couldn’t touch her. She couldn’t lean over and rest her head on her shoulder, couldn’t press a kiss into her cheek and feel her smile against her skin.

All she had was the distance Azzi allowed, and the ache that settled behind her ribs when she realized how far away that version of them still was.

She kept her hands buried deep in her pockets, fingers twitching restlessly, trying to keep all that longing contained. And still, every step beside Azzi felt like falling in love all over again. Like a reflex she hadn’t unlearned, no matter how much time had passed or how badly she’d messed it all up. 

Even when this was all her fault.

Why did she let her go? Why did she pull away when she should have held tighter? Why did she let her own fear dictate her silence and let distance calcify what could’ve been repaired?

And now the life they’d dreamed about was finally here, laid out before them, but Paige had no idea how to reach for it again without shaking.

And Azzi… Azzi was right there, her expression unreadable in the low light, her body relaxed but her hands tucked into the back of her pants. Paige didn’t know what she was thinking. If she was remembering the same late-night talks, the same whispered plans. If she felt the same ache.

But God, Paige hoped she did.

Because if Azzi asked, if she turned right now and said show me you learned from your mistake, Paige would drop everything.

She would find a way to rewrite the stars, the whole season, the last nine months just to get one more shot at being the girl who got to love Azzi out loud.

Azzi POV:

By the time Azzi came back to the table, everything felt just a little lighter.

Cam hadn’t said anything groundbreaking, hadn’t given some magical fix, but just talking, hearing someone name the thing out loud, had helped. It loosened something in her chest, made it easier to sit down again without feeling like she had to brace herself every time Paige moved or spoke or laughed too loud next to her.

She sipped the wine Julie had left in front of her. She let herself laugh at one of Kelsey’s dumb stories, leaned into Sarah’s shoulder without thinking. She let her body relax into the buzz of the rooftop and the warmth of good company and the slight haze of alcohol working its way through her veins.

But then she made the mistake of letting herself look at Paige again.

It was stupid, honestly, how fast it hit her. How intense it still was. One second she was laughing at something Kelsey said and the next, her gaze drifted across the table and landed on Paige. And it was like every nerve in her body pulled taut all at once.

She didn’t mean to stare, she hadn’t let herself all night. Every time Paige moved, every time her voice slipped through the noise to make someone laugh, Azzi had instinctively looked away, afraid of what it might do to her if she really took her in.

But now the alcohol had softened that discipline. Blurred the line between smart and reckless and suddenly it was like her eyes had a mind of their own, drinking in every single detail they’d been starved of.

Paige looked stupidly good. Her black tank top clung in places Azzi had memorized too well, hinting at the curves and planes of muscle she used to trace lazily with her fingers on mornings they didn’t want to get out of bed. Her slightly tan legs stretched out beneath the table, long and lean and relaxed, crossed casually. Her chain kept catching the lights above them, glinting every time she tipped her head back and laughed, which she was doing more and more as the night wore on, her smile wide and easy.

Azzi’s stomach flipped at the sight of it, at the way Paige’s eyes crinkled in the corners, at how completely and painfully familiar it all still was.

It wasn’t just attraction she felt, it was hunger. Her eyes moved lower, lingered longer than they should have. On the slope of Paige’s shoulder, the dip in her collarbone, the way her fingers curled loosely around her drink, the little scar on her wrist that Azzi had kissed a hundred times.

Everything was the same and still, everything was different. And none of it was hers anymore, not that her body seem to care.

She kept her face mostly blank, or at least she hoped she did, but she could feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading up her neck. She looked away, then looked back too quickly. Tried to sip her wine like it might distract her, but it didn’t.

Paige was magnetic and that old gravity was still there, pulling at her like a tide she didn’t have the strength to resist.

And when they finally said goodnight to the rest of the team, when the rooftop noise faded behind them and it was just the two of them walking side by side into the night, Azzi could barely keep it together.

Azzi’s heart was already pounding, but not with anxiety this time.

It was heat and need and want. That same buzz that had always lived in her chest when Paige was near, hot and insistent and impossible to ignore. Every step they took together, every unspoken inch of space between their bodies, was making it worse. She could feel the warmth radiating off Paige, feel the faint brush of her arm every few strides, and it was driving her crazy.

She should have been thinking about everything that had gone wrong, about the fallout and the heartbreak. But she wasn’t. Not with the wine still humming in her blood and the streetlights glowing soft and yellow and Paige walking next to her like no time had passed at all.

Right now, all she could think about was how badly she still wanted her.

Her body remembered everything. How Paige used to run hot like a furnace, how good it felt to fall asleep with her thigh slotted between Azzi’s, how her hands always knew where to go, how she’d hum under her breath while untangling Azzi’s hair after a game.

Her brain could somewhat rationalize the breakup, could remind her why they didn’t make it, but her body didn’t give a damn.

Her body still wanted Paige, desperately.

She wanted to feel Paige’s hand on the small of her back, wanted to reach over and curl her own fingers around Paige's wrist, tug her closer, feel her body slot against hers like they hadn’t spent the last nine months pretending they didn’t still fit. She wanted to grab her by the collar of that stupid tank top and kiss her until they forgot why they ever stopped.

And God, it wasn’t fair that Paige could still look like that and Azzi couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t have her.

The thoughts came fast, unfiltered.

What if I just reached for her hand? What if I pressed up against her, right here, in the middle of the street? What if I kissed her before I could change my mind? Would she stop me? Would she kiss me back? Would we make it to the car or would we just…

She glanced sideways, quick, but not quick enough to miss how Paige’s jaw was tense, how her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her shorts like she was afraid they might betray her too.

She looked like she was trying not to look at Azzi, which only made it worse. Because Azzi knew that meant she was thinking about it too.

Azzi’s hand twitched at her side, fingers curling into a fist, just to keep herself from acting on it. She bit the inside of her cheek, tried to slow her breathing. 

Then, like the universe was trying to cool her down, a breeze picked up and cut straight through her. She shivered, her top had been cute in theory but was clearly not meant for the drop in temperature. She should have taken that jacket...

She tried not to show it, tucked her arms tighter across her chest, pressed her biceps in, kept walking like everything was fine. When they reached the car, Paige unlocked it without a word and opened her door before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Then Paige reached behind her seat, pulled out a worn grey hoodie, and set it gently in Azzi’s lap. Paige, of course, noticed.

Azzi stared at it for a second, her throat tightened. She recognized it immediately. Soft and faded, sleeves stretched out from years of use, a faint scent of cedar and whatever detergent Paige had always used. The smell hit her so hard it was almost stupid. She didn’t question it, she just pulled it on. Slowly, like she needed to savor it.

"Thanks," she said quietly, voice raspier than she meant it to be, fingers tugging the sleeves down past her hands.

Paige gave a small nod, eyes already forward. "Anytime."

The car rolled out into the street. With gospel music playing low, Azzi let her head fall back against the seat, eyes half-closed, nerves fried and heart still racing.

She didn’t mean to speak again, but the words slipped out anyway.

"Tonight was fun," she said softly, almost surprised by her own voice. She saw Paige glance at her, just briefly. Azzi kept going, a little bolder now. "You and Kelsey didn’t have to do all that. It was really sweet."

Paige’s voice was soft. "Just wanted to make sure we all got a night together. Before the roster’s set and things change."

Azzi turned her head slightly. Paige looked calm, but her jaw was still tight. Her fingers flexed on the steering wheel like she was holding something in. Azzi bit her lip, suddenly needing to know. 

"Can I ask you something?"

Paige nodded. "Yeah."

Azzi hesitated, but the wine made her brave. "Did you know?" she asked. "That I was going to be traded here. Before you signed?"

Paige’s hands on the wheel stilled completely, her knuckles pale where they wrapped the leather. For a beat, she didn’t answer. Azzi stared straight ahead, biting the inside of her cheek. She almost said never mind. Almost walked it back. But then Paige took a slow, quiet breath and nodded once, gaze still on the road.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I did."

Azzi blinked, her heart thudding a little too loud in her ears.

"I called my agent the night of the draft," Paige added after a moment, her voice softer this time, almost cautious. "Asked him to find a way to make it happen. That if there was a way… I needed to be here."

Azzi blinked again, her eyes burned suddenly, from heat or wine or something else entirely. She turned her head slowly to look at Paige.

And that’s when she saw it.

Not the usual restraint, not the tension Paige had been wearing around her all week. Her profile was lit only by passing streetlights, but it was enough to catch the open lines of her expression. There was no performance in it, no careful calculation. Just… softness. The kind that made Azzi’s stomach twist.

Paige’s mouth was slightly parted, like she’d been ready to say more but decided against it. Her eyes, still on the road, looked almost shy. Vulnerable in a way Azzi hadn’t seen in a long time. Like she was waiting for a rejection.

And suddenly, Cam’s voice echoed back in her mind.

"She clearly came here because she wanted to fight for things she gave up on before."

Azzi hadn’t wanted to believe it or maybe she’d been too afraid to hope. But now Azzi could finally see it.

Here was Paige, fingers still curled loosely around the steering wheel, jaw flexing like she was holding back everything she actually wanted to say to her.

Paige hadn’t just known about the trade, she’d asked for it. She had chosen this on purpose. Chosen to be near Azzi, even knowing that she will not be welcomed back with open arms.

Azzi turned back toward the window, heart pounding now for a different reason entirely. The hum of the city outside faded, all she could hear was her own heartbeat and the quiet, patient space Paige was giving her. 

Because Paige had been clearly waiting.

Not just for this drive, not just tonight, she’d been waiting since day one of training camp. She has been letting Azzi have her space, letting her decide if she wanted to open that door again. 

Azzi sat with that for a long moment, the weight of it shifting inside her until it stopped feeling heavy and started feeling like something she didn’t want to carry alone anymore.

She didn’t want to avoid this. She didn’t want to keep playing pretend. Whatever this thing was, this unfinished, half-held, still-burning thing between them, she didn’t want to run from it anymore.

So she swallowed. And when she spoke, her voice came out quiet, but certain.

"I have something early tomorrow," she said, not looking at her this time. "But after that… I’m free. If you want to talk."

There was a beat of stunned silence, just long enough for Azzi to question whether Paige had heard her.

Then Paige turned to her so fast it was almost funny. Her eyes wide, like she hadn’t expected Azzi to say that out loud, like she’d been bracing herself for another shutdown, another silent wall.

"You sure?" Paige asked, barely above a whisper. She didn’t sound skeptical though, she sounded hopeful, like she wanted to reach across the console and touch her but didn’t trust her hands yet.

Azzi finally looked over, and the corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile but something close. "Yeah," she said. "I’m sure."

Paige nodded once, quickly, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough. "Okay. Yeah. I’ll be around. Write me when you are done."

The eagerness in her voice was barely contained, tucked just beneath the softness, like she’d been holding her breath for days and finally exhaled.

Azzi went quiet again, but not in a closed-off way. More like… she needed a second to feel what it meant that the door was open again. That she herself had opened it.

When they pulled up to the building, she reached for the zipper of the hoodie without thinking, but Paige stopped her with a quiet, "Hey, keep it."

Azzi paused.

"You still need to get inside," Paige added with a tiny smirk that didn’t quite hide how serious she was.

Azzi let out the smallest breath of laughter, shook her head.  She opened the door but didn’t step out yet, her fingers curling over the frame as she hesitated, not ready to let go of the quiet between them. 

They didn’t say anything at first, just stared, suspended in the thick silence, both of them leaning in the smallest bit, like they could meet in the middle and fall into something old and familiar and dangerous.

Paige’s mouth parted like she wanted to say something, maybe even move, maybe close the last inches and pull her in. God, Azzi could feel the warmth of it already, the ghost of a hug that would have undone her, but neither of them crossed the line. 

Azzi blinked once, slow and heavy, and said, "Goodnight, Paige," her voice barely more than a whisper, but loaded.

Paige’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she nodded, soft and steady. "Night, Azz."

That was it, Azzi stepped out into the night, hoodie wrapped tight around her, and she didn’t look back, but she felt Paige’s eyes on her the whole way up the steps, full of something she wasn’t sure she could carry yet but didn’t want to ignore anymore. It wasn’t until she stepped inside and the lock clicked behind her that she let out the breath she’d been holding.

Later, curled up in her bed with the hoodie still wrapped around her, Azzi didn’t try to stop the thoughts anymore.

She let herself remember the way Paige had looked at her, let herself feel the weight of those blue eyes still following her everywhere, still brushing her skin like a touch she hadn’t gotten. 

And for the first time in months, she let herself fall asleep thinking about her. Not the pain, not the questions, just Paige. 

[ronearoundblindly]

Just thinking about how we as Alpine could dote on sweet Steve...

(part of Companion Animal, a steve x shapeshifter!reader series)

He's just so easy to read, like an emotional open book, and when Steve's worried about anything at all, you just have to sit with him and stare. He always cracks. He'll tell you everything, and as you continue to gaze with that caring he always recognizes in your eyes, he keeps going, every bit of honesty just flowing out of him.

Sometimes, however, Steve begs for you to change back. He wants to listen to you talk about your day. He wants to hear what you think, what you would do in his place, what you've been up to. Steve likes companionship in all its forms--you in all your forms--but loves the equanimity of human-to-human interaction.

There are so many reasons you shift to a cat, but the biggest is that life is simpler this way. It was the motivation for your first change: you wanted things to be simple. If you feel small, you can be small. If you don't feel like talking, you don't have to.

Steve envies your powers honestly. He knows what it was like to be small and overlooked. Steve actually misses that from time to time. He never thought he would.

Tonight, though he has no idea why you've felt the need to be small and quiet, Steve holds you in his lap, balancing your fluffy body in a soft curl at his hip. He talks, and once he's covered all the important bits of his day, he keeps talking about nothing at all. He mentions a new houseplant or two that he wants, but he's not sure whether to find some clippings to propagate or to go buy them.

Steve never noticed how much he talks about food until he started filling the empty air with you. He would apologize for that, but he has a lot of opinions about chicken (all the proteins, really) and serving sizes (you stop him with a chirp when he mentions 'pricing' though). There are also certain meals that go very well with certain types of weather, which he thinks should be obvious but still lays out a case for having soup and stew always at the ready for rainy days and--

"Are you asleep, babygirl?" he asks in astonishment. "Why didn't you stop me? You could have asked to go to bed if you were tired."

Steve tries very hard not to turn his frown upside down as you yawn, a big gesture for such a little thing. You're so cute. You know he can't resist the fierceness of your fangs coupled with your half-closed eyes.

You roll onto your back in his lap, a dopey, quirky look on your squished face, staring at him again.

"What?" Steve pokes gently at your belly. "You'd rather watch TV? Do--what's that stupid phrase--Netflix and chill?"

You pop upright, tail swatting between his knees, and slow-blink at him.

"You're very predictable, darling," he chides, grabbing the remote but kissing your head as he leans over. "Why'd you let me go on an' on?" Steve whispers an apology while you shove your skull into his cheek. "I don't mean to bore you. You could have--" he feels you shake your head "--no? Not boring you?" He leans back. "How is listening to me jabber not boring?"

You stand to put one paw on his chest, the other tucked to your own, holding his brilliant blue gaze.

You've told him you love his voice. You've told him you love to know what he's thinking, that everything he says is important to you, but...Steve hasn't considered how you being in Alpine-form forces him to use his voice.

Because you want to know what he's thinking.

Because you want to hear all of the things that take up important space in his thoughts.

Because you know that he won't if there's anyone else there, any other person, any other human.

Steve Rogers always puts other humans above himself. If anyone else is in the room, Steve's not the priority, so...

The second his face drops in understanding, you look smug as hell and cheekily bat your fuzzy paw at his lips.

"Ha ha, very funny," he drawls. "You think you're so smart, don't you!"

Steve scoops you up in his arms and peppers you with kisses, tightening his grip a smidge.

"What if I don't turn on your show, huh? What are you gonna do about it?" There's a familiar pressure against him, and your body becomes much heavier. He lets the shift happen as usual then looks down.

You, human-you, snuggle into his lap, the rest stretched across the couch, turned away from the television to focus only on him.

"Nothing."

Steve plays with your hair quietly because of course he stops filling the air already.

"Tell me about all these soups we're going to make."

You poke his side as Steve laughs. You know his tricks. He's so easy to read, but no matter what, he's your favorite open book.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

Tags: @hisredheadedgoddess28 @irishhappiness @fallenxjas @ilovetaquitosmmmm @venunsgirl @fries11 @lovinglimerence @navs-bhat @creat0r-cat @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @stellar-solar-flare @deandreamernp @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @bitchy-bi-trash @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[sturnsrecord]

INTRODUCING ꒰ TRUE BLUE!NICK + FRATBOY!ACE

true blue!nick isn’t one for parties, especially at his brothers frat house. but his night takes a weird turn when he meets ace.

contains. making out, grinding, confusion

parties were not his scene. especially frat ones full of loud, cocky guys all trying to impress every girl that walked through the door.

it was like a mating ritual, the way they leant up against a door or wall — thinking hovering over a girl would work. which unfortunately, more often than not, it did.

he could appreciate those who didn’t entertain it. girls that made a fool of all of them or even went after a guy instead. it was respectable at least.

nick spent too much time watching— judging. simply absorbing everyone else’s interactions either to analyse or for the pure drama of it. people watching kept him entertained and feeling good about his own decisions.

despite the somewhat lonely thoughts that constantly rattled in his brain, it all came spilling out the second he found someone he knew.

“just saw a three way kiss. disgusting.” he pulls a face, grimacing at the memory of it as he sits down.

“y’know there ‘a people fucking — doin’ muuuch worse.” chris murmurs, parked on the couch like always with a joint hanging from his lips.

nick sits back, thinking for a second — stopping himself from complaining about that too. “well i don’t have to see that so.” he sighs. “i just don’t get the fucking need to swap spit with two other people. at the same fucking time.”

chris simply shrugs, ignoring the way nicks eyes bulge out of his skull — hands flying about as he speaks.

“i hate these parties, everyone’s so fucking horny.” he complains further.

“nothin’ wrong with that.” chris murmurs, trying to. defend himself and entire crowd. nick scoff, unable to hide the look of his face. “don’t even get me started on your putrid habits.”

he frowns, taking a toke of the joint. “putrid?”

“uh, yeah. literally putrid — your roster is diabolical.”

chris turns to give him a slight side eye. “the fuck y’know ’bout my ‘roster’?” nick raises an eyebrow, hesitating to answer. “i know it’s never ending.” he mutters.

he scoffs, not offended but rather amused at nicks comment — maybe even a little smug about the fact. he laughs it off, bringing the joint back to his lips as he looks around.

nick settles beside him, hands fidgeting with his phone before he follows chris’s gaze. “her, i like. she’s cool.” he points out — as if it was some kind of redemption.

“who?” chris mumbles, elbows resting on his knees — body leant forward comfortably. “the girl you’re currently staring at. ogling actually.”

“m’not… ogling.” he trailed off, unable to defend himself as the both of them stare at her — a watching the way she controls the room and every man in her path. both admiring for different reasons.

“her names nova by the way.” nick says, as if it was some encouragement for chris to go and talk to her.

“yeah, i know her fuckin’ name, nick.” his words are harsh, spitting out like some sort of defence against what? nick didn’t know.

“aaalright then.” nick practically leans back, aware from chris’s projecting attitude. it was hard not to crack jokes in these moments. “shoot me for asking, but if you know her why are you looking at her like that?”

he simply glares, unamused by the comment. “like what?”

“like you wanna eat her alive.” there’s no hesitation in nicks comment, as he simply states a fact — one that chris was unwilling to admit.

“that’s bullshit. she’s a fuckin’ pain in the ass.” it’s almost funny the way chris denies it, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation as he shifts around in his seat. “how the fuck do y’know her anyways?”

nick has to bite his tongue to not backtrack and poke fun at chris, but he can tell that whatever it is with nova is not something chris was willing to talk about, yet alone admit.

“she does some of the costume design for the shows.” he observes chris carefully as he speaks. “she’s very talented, and more than tolerable considering her… crowd.”

chris shoots him a look, not appreciating the insult. “whatever. she comes across as a bitch here — ow! what the fuck!” chris reaches up to hold his arm that nick had just slapped, not at all perplexed by the reason he did that.

nick simply gives him a look, silently scolding him for his language towards her. “have fun staring.” chris purses his lips, giving a sarcastic nod before nick stands. “and watch your mouth!”

the walk to the bathroom is long, and finally getting there to find that the door is locked only had nick wishing he never came — anticipating a disheveled couple of people to walk out.

but it’s not — to his surprise. in fact, somehow it’s worse.

“holy fuck, i thought you were chris.” his brows furrow as he looks at nick — door swung open between them. ace, one of chris’s friends that nick had heard more than enough about. “shits uncanny.” he chuckles, moving past to leave the bathroom.

he’s blindsided to say the least, a little rattled at how to respond or if he even should respond. what kind of an introduction was that? as if nick wasn’t his own person, just chris’s lookalike brother.

“no, not chris. just his… gay brother.” the words come out petty, like he was trying to make the guy sound stupid. but the second that adjective gets thrown out he wants to smack his head against a wall.

ace looks just as confused, unsure what to do with such an introduction as he stands there — watching nick back up into the bathroom. “uh… good for you man.”

it’s painful, excruciatingly painful. and it’s his own fault. who even says that in such a situation — as if that was his one true feature. being a fucking homosexual. the pain is enough to have nick shutting the door behind him, hoping to god he’d never see that guy again.

he thinks about it whilst he pisses, and whilst he washes his hands. repeating it in his head, grimacing each time.

it was moments like these he wished he could go back in time, not to change his whole life or do anything differently. but just for that one slip up, that one thing he said that made the whole conversation still.

letting it nag at him probably didn’t help, but it felt good in the moment to reimagine it. all the things he could’ve said that wouldn’t have earned him such a strange look.

one less thing to keep him up at night.

the only positive of the situation was that it gave him a good reason to leave, knowing he’d go home with a smile on his face — having great decision making skills on refusing to spend another second at this party.

the last thing he could have ever anticipated was him, stood there. still.

maybe ace was about to throw some slurs his way or tell him how much of a loser he was. it’s hard to tell in the few seconds he has, watching him stand there almost breathless like he was going to say something — unmistakably letting his gaze flit down to nicks mouth.

but then his lips are pressed up against his, following through with his gaze.

oh.

it doesn’t matter that the action has him speechless. there was no option for talking apparently, just some random guys lips moving against his own — quick and feverish like he was starved.

nick can’t remember the last time he made out with a random at a party.

it was freeing almost. fun and exciting. but as soon as he’s backed up into the bathroom, hearing the door shut and lock, it all becomes… intense.

strong hands gripping his face hard as his ass pushes into the counter behind him, lips merging to sync together as all train of thought stops and his entire self melts into the kiss so perfectly.

“wha—” he can’t get a word in, taking a small breath before ace kisses him again — clearly all for the action right now.

what shocks nick most isn’t even the forwardness or complete one eighty that this dude had. it was the way it had nick so incredibly riled up, cock straining against his trousers almost painfully — as if he’d never felt a sexual touch from anyone before.

as ace moves to run his lips over his neck, nick can’t help but reach out — bracing himself against him and his rock hard abs. god, what the fuck was happening right now?

who the fuck was he, and how the fuck had he never met him before?

“f-fuck, that feels so—”

“shut the fuck up.” his harsh response shouldn’t have nicks balls throbbing, but it does. the sheer tone of ace’s voice pumping blood faster than in should through his body, like a hot rash spreading.

a sexy, muscular, very hot rash. all over him.

it’s all groans and short breaths, nicks head tipped back to allow more access for ace to suck and nip at his sensitive skin.

everything just clicks, they’re too in sync for either of them to comprehend it — bodies grinding together, hard dicks rubbing against one another like it was some rehearsed dance.

and god does it feel fucking amazing. ace clearly knows what he’s doing, and it gives nick the comfortability to just stand there and take it — pull him closer to feel more of his broad body up against his own.

it feels right, and it’s doing everything and more for nicks arousal as he lets his hand linger up ace’s top — getting a feel for his sculptured bod.

he’s in heaven, caged in, not wanting to leave. it’s all too good until he feels a hand around his wrist, dragging his own hand away from ace’s crotch. “fuck.”

it’s not a good ‘fuck’. ace’s breath hitting nicks skin sharp, sounding like regret or some kind of denial.

ace swallows, meeting nicks gaze. both as flushed as eachother, ragged breaths mixing in the small space between their faces.

“don’t… tell anyone.”

its unexpectedly soft, vulnerable. and it pains nick to his core. the worst three words in the english language, bundled up together and thrown at him before ace is out of the door — practically gone with the wind, away from the crime scene.

𐔌 ©.STURNSRECORD

notes. this might be the most excited i’ve ever been for an au

[pinkmarbella2050]

Oh, Tale as Old as Time, for sure. It’s a crossover of Escape The Night and Beauty and The Beast inspired by Lydia The Bard’s villain song for Belle.

2. Does it count if you have planning for it? Because if so, my novelisation for The Traitors UK Series 2. I'd love to finish scripting those episodes ASAP so I can outline the fucking thing.

3. I like how I can take some pretty wild shit and make it tangible and I have a bit of a knack for taking innocuous things and making them really creepy. In Tale as Old as Time, I've taken one of the things and rewrote the lyrics to make it really fucked up - and if you sing it over the top of the original song (or the 2017 one, it works for both!), it works, so I guess that's my claim to fame. 4. That's a tough one. Maybe unrequited love? I wanna try it, but I'm worried that, if I do write it, I will unintentionally villify the person whose feelings are unrequited, so I always get scared to. XD 5. A lot of my fics are really satisfying to finish, to be fair, but it's because quite a few of them are pretty emotionally taxing. I've cried writing a good couple of my fics - some notable examples being My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close and Its You I Welcome Death With - so getting to the end of those was pretty nice. 6. A lot of my fics have sequels, but if I had to write a standalone I had to write for, probably I Am The Star of The Stage (but not of your heart). I could do a sequel poem set at Laurex's wedding or something. 7. Quite a few of them since my fics don't have that many comments on them. If I had to pick one, definitely Rejoining Their Ranks; it did take off a bit, but I was surprised there wasn't much feedback on it. Obviously, I'm not entitled to comments, but I can't say I wasn't surprised since I thought the AU would be more popular. 8. I'm gonna go for Tale as Old as Time here; it's a series of shorter stories that tell one big story (each story corresponds to a canon episode). My favourite bit of it so far is probably in Plumage of Madness (the equivalent of Episode 4) because Chapter 3's ending has one of my favourite things I've ever written in it. I'll use it as my answer to Question 19. 9. I've talked about it briefly, but my Traitors UK Series 2 novelisation, which I'm probably gonna reveal a bit more about soon because I keep running my mouth about it and providing no additional info. It basically tells the story in novel form from the POV of the eventual winner (who I won't say for spoiler reasons). Along the way, we have more psychological explanation, real life and the game crossing over, a few slight changes for drama and a lot more gothic happenings. 10. I've been a horror/thriller/drama writer since I was, like, 11. If it's dramatic/emotional, I can write it quite easily. I really struggle with romance because I've never written it as a single genre and I doubt I ever could. 11. This is actually something I'm gonna do something for Tale as Old as Time! Once the main story's out, I'm gonna tell it from the perspective of two other people. It'll definitely change things, such as how certain characters are viewed (including the characters whose heads are in), there's new descriptions and opinions and more development on all fronts. It'll be interesting, for sure. 12. Well, there's a couple things I have named after songs, so those sort themselves out (i.e: Its You I Welcome Death With has As The World Caves In by Matt Maltese associated with it and And The Funny Thing I Would've Married You has doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine associated with it. In terms of other fics... My Life Closed Twice Before Its Close has Kurt Hugo Schneider's cover of I Will Follow You Into The Dark associated with it. I listened to it on repeat when I wrote Chapter 4 and I think that's part of why I cried writing it. XD 13. Other than The Traitors novelisation and Tale as Old as Time, I have some other fics kicking about that I wanna write. I have an AU for Escape The Night Season 2 where I take a plotline that was dropped pretty quickly and just fucking run with it and shit just gets wild from there. It's called Taking Them All Out and its Alex-centric. Last time I left off, I was on Chapter 6, so I wanna pick that back up when I get a minute and have nothing else to do.

14. I have a lot of OCs I wanna write for! I wanna start an OC Universe, which is a mix of my OCs in different fanfiction (these OCs are actually the cast of Tale as Old as Time) and in some original works of mine as well. Since I usually write fanfiction (and have done so for the past several years), it'll be interesting to basically blend the two. 15. I actually have a fic planned called I Don't Say A Word (but still, you take my breath) and it is for Jesse/DeStorm from Escape The Night Season 2. The premise is that, in the Victorian Era, DeStorm, a railroad tycoon's son who struggles with internalised homophobia, falls in love with Jesse, an outlaw and security detail for his father's railroads, but he's straight and its all an absolute fucking shitshow. I've been meaning to write it for absolutely fucking ages. 16. I have a fic called I'll Be Yours Forever ('til forever falls apart) and its for Janiel (Joey x Daniel), also from Escape The Night. It's a spin-off to The Twisted Victorian Requiem. 17. There's two at the minute, those two being Judas by Lady Gaga and Good For You by Selena Gomez. 18. It really depends; sometimes I'm hoping you laugh, sometimes I'm hoping you cry, sometimes I'm hoping you'll just be like 'what the fuck is going on in here on this day?' like Alyssa Edwards herself. It really depends on the vibes we have going on. 19. Time for the extract I mentioned in Question 8!

He wandered alone in this stone nightmare, his footsteps echoing off the walls as he turned corners and looked around aimlessly, trying to make sense of it all. How Belle, smart and kind and a practically perfect role model, had become so twisted in this world, unlike the story they knew. How everyone seemed to change so quickly. 

How she, the one who fell in love with the Beast’s heart despite his hideous appearance, now damned love to hell and left those who felt it to suffer.

A large stone balcony peeked out through one of the windows, and Eric flung open the nearby door to reach it, to be anywhere other than this prison of death. A spill of periwinkle stars emerged, shivering in the distance, the night wind stinging his numb, indifferent face.

He walked out further and slumped against the railing, ignoring the cold seeping into his skin as he rested his arms. He could easily just roll his sleeves all the way down, but the thought of doing anything brought with it a wave of worthlessness and heaviness.

With a sluggish, deliberate movement, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring box and pried it open. An opal embedded in a silver ring awaited his eyes, its colors shifting under the moon like a desperate chameleon camouflaging itself. It was just like her, in a way; hopeful and honest and so much more than how she first appeared.

She may never get it, the cynical part of him said, anybody could die here.

Hoping to shut his brain up, he pocketed the ring again.

He didn't want to hear that his love was gone. He didn't want to know how it would feel to have lost her, to lose that gentle face and those scarlet lips, to no longer see life in those great, still eyes as eternal as diamonds.  

He had seen it once through Zach. He didn't want to see it in himself.

He didn't want to think that she wasn't strong enough to pull through, but it did cross his mind, weighing down the light wings of his love.  

The thoughts continued. Another's. If she was gone, she would be another's.

She would be Death's. 

And he would love her too (who couldn't love that woman?). But the thought of that froze him stiff on the balcony, tightened his fists around the cold stone of the railing until his knuckles were white.  

Dear God, Leila, he prayed, please don't die. 20. I think that's all of them! Thanks for reading, guys!

Tag List:

@rockonfishboy, @cc-tinslebee and @kokorofiles.

✶ . ၄၃ . FIC WRITER ASK GAME !

any [insert __] is for the sender to fill in :)

1 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any one of your wips without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), which fic would you choose? tell us about it if you want!

2 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any completely new fic without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), what would you write? tell us about it if you want!

3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?

4 ⧽. is there an au or trope that you haven't written before, but would want to try?

5 ⧽. is there a certain kind of fic that feels the most satisfying to finish? any reason why?

6 ⧽. if you were to write a part two/sequel to a fic, what fic would you want to write it for?

7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!

8 ⧽. what part of [insert fic] is your favorite?

9 ⧽. tell us about a wip/idea that you're excited about!

10 ⧽. what genre is generally the easiest or most enjoyable for you to write? which is the hardest?

11 ⧽. if you were to rewrite [insert fic] with [insert different character/ship] how do you think it might change?

12 ⧽. what's a song or two you associate with [insert fic]?

13 ⧽. do you have any writing projects/goals/plans you're working on/want to work on?

14 ⧽. is there anything outside of your normal content that you want to write?

15 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] with [insert character/ship] what do you think it might be about?

16 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] what character/ship would you want to write it for?

17 ⧽. are there any songs you want to write a songfic for?

18 ⧽. how do you want your writing to feel to your readers?

19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha

20 ⧽. answer any one of the other questions that you want to!

[scarletdreamers]

Do you have any opinions on how Hannibal is seen by some as a figure of masculinity, but others see him as a more genderqueer figure?

I love this question, and yes, I certainly do!

Hannibal is a very special case when it comes to gender(stereo)typical image. Some see him as the epitome of masculinity, while others consider him genderless of mind, outside his biological identification as a man. Why is that the case, and how can someone be both at the same time?

Let’s start off with masculinity. I think that the main reason he’s seen as a highly masculine figure by some is his looks. It’s simple. He’s a generally tall, muscled, broad-shouldered man. One could argue that Mads has one of the most masculine faces in the world. His bone structure is razor sharp. High cheekbones, a square jawline, very light lashes which made them almost invisible, thin lips. These things are all the exact opposite of features that usually identify as feminine. Aka big lips, round shapes, a soft expression, thick lashes, etc. Mads’ masculine presentation also counters Hugh Dancy’s, which kind of enhances it. Hugh Dancy has a very androgynous face, made masculine by his beard, but when he’s clean shaven he has male as well as female characteristics. He has a ‘’beautiful/pretty’’ face, which makes Mads lean more towards handsome or imposing. Hannibal also has an incredibly stoic face and expression. Stoicism is, within gender profiling, a concept associated with masculinity (as women are seen as more expressive and emotional). Mads, and with that Hannibal, has a very manly appearance, which is usually the thing people notice first. 

I think something that makes people perceive him as very masculine is the fact that Hannibal has a very dominant personality. He’s always the bigger person, the guide, the lead. He commands respect and attention. Dominance is, as we all know, also a ‘’masculine’’ trait on the gender wheel (which I, as a feminist, don’t necessarily agree with). It also has to do with the position and stereotypical role of the man in a sexual context. Especially because Hannibal is a very sensual character. He’s ‘’older’’, attractive, charming and mysterious. He’s a hedonist, I’d say. People who are attracted to him more likely think about him in a dominant position, thus making him traditionally ‘’masculine’’ to some. His habit of rarely showing emotion (only when he really wants to) has to do with control. Usually, those who see him as a very masculine figure, associate these personality traits with true manliness. 

Now the funny thing is that Hannibal’s ‘’surface’’ really is the only very characteristically masculine thing about him. By surface I mean his appearance and his social personality, the top layer of the personality he decides to display in public. When you dive deeper into his hobbies and emotions, he suddenly transforms into a more fluid character. Not really one gender anymore, but something above the concept.

Before talking about this, I’d like to point out his clearly ‘’feminine’’ side, like his clearly masculine side above. 

You could say that Hannibal’s emotional nature is feminine. Hannibal is, despite being able to control it very well, a deeply sensitive man. Way more so than Will, Jack, or even Alana, who is very clear and open in her emotions. He feels everything very deeply, understands things and feels them in his core. He cries, more than we often believe and see. He has no shame crying at the opera, he probably has no shame crying over other forms of art (poetry, visual arts, music, dance, etc). In season 3A he cries because of his situation with Will (whether it is because he feels betrayed or because he feels like he hurt Will/let him down). He’s never angry, but he cries and expresses his emotions through melancholy rather than rage. If we put female and male emotional stereotypes next to each other, anger (loudness, yelling, aggression) is considered a masculine outing of emotions. Whereas melancholy (crying, held-back, introspective, soft) is considered feminine. Hannibal and his ways of coping with emotions are traditionally way more feminine-leaning than masculine. 

There’s also the thing that in a classic ‘’playing house’’ setup, Hannibal would be the motherly figure. From a traditional point of view, at least. In this part I’m talking only about ingrained social perceptions, things I don’t necessarily agree with as someone who doesn’t support the concept of ‘’gender roles’’. It’s blatantly stereotypical and downright offensive to water a domestic male-male relationship down to traditional roles and the empty shell of the ‘’who’s the mother and who’s the father’’ question. But, as goes for everything, these ideals and stereotypes are so deeply ingrained in society we often don’t even know we unconsciously project these ideas on how we see, for example, relationships like Will and Hannibals. Will is the typical American dad. He likes to fish, likes to work with his hands, and would be emotionally distant if he had a child. He’s the one to sit down at dinner after a long day at work with a cold beer afterwards. Hannibal would be the one to cook, to make the schedules and do the planning, etc. Will is the raw, tough, rural type. Whereas Hannibal is refined, elegant, committed, and the type to serve. All he really wants is to please Will, however way that might be. Will would never be that kind of person. In this domestic scenario including Will, Hannibal would take on a more feminine role. 

It’s important to note that I think this is only visible to those who ever considered this specific setup. If you’ve never thought about what they would be like as a pair, this might have never been a factor in the perception of Hannibal as a character before. There’s people who think the most important thing about Hannibal is Will. His feelings for him and the way Will changed him. This usually leads to seeing Hannibal in a more genderqueer light because in the context of a relationship, Will would take the more masculine/fatherly role. For those who don’t think Will is the centre of Hannibal’s character, but who see him rather as one of many planets floating around the sun which all equally impact Hannibal’s life, this might not be the case. When focusing on Hannibal alone, separate from Will, he’s a more masculine figure. 

If you balance these two, his actions and feelings being more feminine, his appearance and character being more masculine, you get this strange mindset which ends up being neither of the two. This is why some/many people consider him mentally genderqueer or neutral. It’s not about him actually identifying as anything other than a male. It’s about the way both genders (and everything in between) are able to identify with him, because he doesn’t explicitly think like either. He thinks like himself, like Hannibal Lecter, not like a man or a woman. It’s a sign of intelligence, to have a mentality both men and women can relate to without having to abandon their own gender related ideals. He feels and likes things that make him Hannibal, not that make him either male or female. That’s why so many people are so fond of him. He both attracts and interests everyone. It’s part of his charm as a character.

Hannibal’s mind is genderless. His hobbies don’t have a gender code smacked on them. He likes art, cooking, reading and music. All universal interests many people (often of higher intelligence/status) have. He has style, as well in his clothes as his interior choices and other preferences, which everyone with good taste can appreciate. His reputation is that of a respected professional, a good host, an overly polite person and a good friend. All gender neutral. He’s attracted to men and women and doesn’t seem to have a preference, either. He’s very open minded. Progressive. Far beyond most of us. He appreciated beauty above all, and, honestly, who amongst us doesn’t? 

It truly depends on how well one understands and knows his character when it comes to whether someone views him as very masculine or genderqueer. For people who don’t look very deeply into him, he’s usually an ideally masculine man. For those who care to spit through his character a little deeper he’s borderless. His mind isn’t tied down to the societal construct of masculinity or femininity. He’s a man, but he’s so many things before that. Like a myth. His gender is the least interesting thing about him, and that’s why he appears as a more fluid figure. Hannibal doesn’t do borders and boxes. You could never confine him to any. This goes for anything, including the gender ideal he represents. 

[dreamjoymemoir]

Hi! I got another Cipher request

Gn x reader (in a relationship)

Just how cute would it be if Cipher and the reader snuggle up to take a nap together, but at one point the reader wakes up and just watches Cipher sleep peacefully. I'd imagine the reader gently touching/massaging Cipher's cat ears. Cipher stirs, but not enough to wake up. And on one point Cipher stretches and all of a sudden starts purring, which surprises the reader and they can't help but gush at how adorable Cipher is. When the reader tells her about it later I'd imagine Cipher blushing in embarrassment, stating that she doesn't purr lol. If you have other nap time hc with Cipher I'd love to read them! Thank you in advance if you decide to do this request :3

YES cipher should purr i agree...

-in cat-like fashion, sometimes cipher twists herself into odd positions when she sleeps, like throwing her arms up over her head or curling up into a ball with one leg out. when you wake up before her, you get to see these silly moments and admire her for a while. especially those cute ears that twitch in her sleep as if to hear dream sounds...

-you reach out and gently stroke the base of one ear, and she makes a sleepy little sound and rolls over. her ears are velvety soft; you rub them between your fingers and press at the delicate skin, completely enamoured. all of a sudden, cipher sticks her limbs out long and stretches with a huge, fanged yawn. and she starts... vibrating? her purrs are loud, and they practically rumble throughout her body.

-later, her eyes go huge when you tell her how cute her purring is. she splutters and stammers several times before denying it with a toss of her head, unskillfully claiming that you're trying to pull a fast one on the master of trickery. but really, it's a habit she's had for a long time! she doesn't usually express herself by purring, but occasionally it'll just slip out when she's unguarded and feeling extra comfortable.

-as a side note i think it would be funny and cute if she talked in her sleep. it's always something incomprehensible you'll just wake up and hear her mumbling "big sis... not a bad kitty i swear..." when you ask her what she was dreaming about, she pretends she doesn't remember even though her dreams are so totally vivid and she could have sworn she was just about to get shot out of a cannon. she gets into mischief even while asleep! if she's excited enough by her dream she might just startle herself awake and slip off the bed, waking you up by the high-pitched yelp and thud she makes.

[glistenling]

The new kid drawing revolving around glisten is taking me out 😭 it's so funny but makes me wonder did a lot of kids find him rude?? like was this majority opinion?? I can't imagine this made him feel any kind of good. If not anything else it was probably a huge blow to his ego. I like to think it hurt his feelings a lot 💔

also like can you imagine having drawings up around in the place you live calling you rude in a backhanded compliment. it's like the shelly drawings i dont see it being very pleasant

"Glisten you are rude ok but I like you!"

also rip circled glisten poster in the roleplay area you will be missed dearly by me if not anyone else 💔

short silly rant about this ⬇️

I've talked about this many times with friends but glisten's room genuinely feels so sad and dull. I don't get this vibe from any of the other toon rooms. they're all really nice!! but glisten's room makes me exhale just a bit louder 😭😭 something about it is just depressing for lack of a better term. also the REALLY ugly salmon colored rug.. (and bed) that thing makes me angry and that GREY couch ..

The removal of the circled poster in place for the "customer is always right" Vee poster just makes the room feel even more off lol. l'm assuming (unless stated otherwise) the poster is there as a reminder to himself to smile and be perfect. Especially since it's Vee; he looks up to her, and tries to be like her. Him having some sort of motivational poster in his room of her makes total sense.

but oh my god that poster is genuinely so off-putting to me for some reason. It definitely feels more threatening than motivational. I've always thought that, seeing them absolutely plastered everywhere around Gardenview. I'm probably biased, but man, of all Vee posters to put in his room it had to be the the one that looks like it's watching you at all times waiting for you to mess up. Which is pretty fitting for him thinking about it.

the removal of the circled glisten poster does sadden me a bit because it was unique to him, but im sure there's a reason for it being removed completely vs just editing the redrawn stage fright poster.

also i like to tell myself it's intentionally depressing to show the fact glisten is quite insecure despite the way he outwardly presents himself and his inflated ego but whether that's intentional or not 🤷‍♂️ idk man

tldr: glisten's room feels like a prison cell and the added vee poster is intimidating

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[jakeperalta]

I hope it's okay to rant about this you, but I'm so disheartened by the current state of the Taylor fandom. I know swifties have always made excuses for Taylor when she doesnt surround herself with the best people or makes small mistakes. I dont agree but I see the logic in wanting to pretend your fav is perfect, but now why are we doing it for everyone around her. More specifically, Travis, why are we protecting him? Idk if you know this already, but he went on a huge MAGA podcast yesterday and then had Brad Pitt on his own podcast. The MAGA podcast is hosted by terrible people, one of the hosts was arrested for assault and threatened to r*pe a woman after she accused one of his friends. I was obviously very disgusted when I found all this out and went to talk about it with blogs I loved, and they just ignored it? They said nothing and kept talking about how funny the podcast was. Why are we at this place where we cant just say "hey Taylor's boyfriends sucks but whatever" instead of where we are now which is "no he's amazing she's amazing they're soulmates when's the wedding". I'm so tired lol. Sorry for ranting but I needed to vent

Yeah like I get the inclination to defend Taylor — you want to feel that an artist you listen to all the time, have maybe spent money on for tickets or merch and have spent many years of your life attached to is a good person and worthy of your love and admiration. (And as much as she does some questionable or frustrating stuff, there's also endless examples of her being a good, caring, generous person!)

But I don't see why there's a need to extend that to her boyfriend. Especially given that swiftie tradition means that every boyfriend will immediately become public enemy no1 the moment a breakup happens, so the love they give any boyfriend at any point is clearly nothing to do with his own merits as a wonderful person and entirely about wanting to believe that anyone in Taylor's orbit is automatically covered by her umbrella of perfection.

I hadn't seen any of that about Travis (I avoid news of him as much as possible through some heavy unfollowing/blacklisting/algorithm instruction lol) but you're right, that is gross. (I just googled and I assume you're talking about the Bussin With The Boys podcast? It's also brought up a reddit post about how she told them they're so funny and it's her favourite podcast and did their signature pose or something for a photo? which explains why I'd seen a couple of people I follow mention Taylor associating with MAGA people again. It's hard not to see a correlation between her increasingly publicly hanging with Trump supporters and her relationship with Travis. When the best case scenario is that she doesn't believe or agree with any of this stuff but just goes along with it for her boyfriend, it's pretty dire.)

[channelingnonsense]

What Your Rising Sign Makes People Assume About You (and Why That’s Deeply Incorrect)

They bought the packaging.

They didn’t read the warning label.

Aries Rising

You don’t give people a heads-up. You give them consequences. You look like a walking dare. No one’s sure if it’s inspiring or terrifying. The kind of person who punches first, regrets nothing, and doesn’t know how to whisper. You move like you’re chasing a deadline no one else can see and burning bridges for light.

But behind the mask?

You don’t think before you move. You lunge. You’re not impulsive for fun. You’re impulsive because pausing means overthinking, and overthinking means facing the fact that you don’t actually know what you want, you just know you don’t want to feel ignored. You take everything personally because if it’s not about you, then it means they weren’t thinking about you at all. Which is worse.

You don’t want control — you want compliance without questions. You call it a gut feeling. Everyone else calls it a headache.

Taurus Rising

Everyone thinks you’re reliable. The chill one. The rock. The “emotionally stable friend” who has their shit together and always brings snacks. You exude a calm energy , like nothing gets to you, like you meditate before bed and wake up emotionally centered.

But behind the mask?

You’re a silent control freak with a God complex when it comes to your comfort zone. You're not grounded. You’re in denial. You dig in your heels and refuse to budge, even when everything’s clearly on fire. People confuse your silence for peace, mistake your quiet for calm, but really you’re just simmering beneath a well-practiced resting bitch face. You’ll let the entire house collapse around you before asking for help, Because needing anyone hands them power. You’re not stable , you’re just too proud to bleed where anyone can see it.

Gemini Rising

You walk in and the room lights up. Or explodes. Either way, something happens. People think you’re clever, charming, funny…or maybe a little scattered, but endearingly so. Like a walking podcast episode: rapid opinions, no emotional resolution, and always changing the subject before it hits too close.

But behind the mask?

You’re emotionally evasive, constantly shape-shifting to avoid intimacy, and secretly terrified no one will like the real you (who you haven’t even met yet). You deflect with humor, overcompensate with information, and fill every silence because you’re afraid of what might crawl out of it. You don’t want connection, you want distraction. And you’re excellent at it. But behind the jokes is a person who feels like a blank page covered in stickers. Pretty. Loud. But impossible to read.

Cancer Rising

People assume you're safe. Gentle. Empathetic. The kind of person who knows when someone’s crying even through a text. You seem warm and easy to talk to—until someone actually tries. Then it’s polite smiles, vague answers, and a sudden need to “get some rest.”

But behind the mask?

You hold onto grudges like they’re valuable, something to keep, not release. You don’t want peace , you want power through sentiment. You manipulate by being the first to cry. You comfort others, yes, but only after deciding whether they deserve it. You don’t want to be seen. You want to be felt, deeply, hauntingly, forever. And if they fail to notice your pain? You log every detail, archive the disappointment, and revisit it like routine maintenance on your trust issues.

Leo Rising

Someone who commands attention and enjoys it. You radiate presence—loud, bold, unmissable. People read it as confidence, charm, fire. Like you were born to take up space and never apologize for it.

But behind the mask?

You need attention like your sanity’s on a timer. You look bold, but you’re incredibly sensitive to rejection. You want to be admired without asking for it, praised for things you didn’t do, and forgiven before anyone knows what you did wrong. Your ego’s a PR stunt — all spin, no substance, powered by fear of irrelevance and three layers of fake composure. You panic when you're not being perceived. Every conversation’s a soft launch of your worth, and somehow the compliments still sound like lies.

Virgo Rising

People assume you’re the most capable person in the room. You look like you file your emotions alphabetically and cry only when it's contextually appropriate. You come across as calm, analytical, maybe a bit uptight — but in a competent way.

But behind the mask?

You’re self-destructing through overthinking. You turn emotions into math problems, hoping you can solve what you're too scared to feel. You micromanage yourself, your image, your people — then feel abandoned when they don't notice how hard you're trying.

You're not composed. You're restrained.You're not kind. You're just socially trained and scared to offend. Big difference.

The truth is, you’re quietly begging for someone to crack through your armor and whisper, “you don’t have to earn love by being useful.” But that would mean admitting you need something. And we both know you'd rather choke on silence than need anything out loud.

Libra Rising

You seem effortlessly charming. Well-dressed, socially graceful, diplomatic. People assume you’re reasonable, lovely, balanced. You’re the friend everyone introduces to their boss.

But behind the mask?

You’re a walking apology with a savior complex, a passive-aggressive scoreboard, and a toxic loyalty kink disguised as “love.”

You say “it’s fine” with a smile, then resent everyone for not reading your mind. You don’t avoid conflict because you’re evolved — you avoid it because you think staying likable keeps you safe. you’d rather bite your tongue than risk being the villain in someone else’s story.

You're a walking contradiction, internally crumbling while keeping up the perfect calm for show. If anyone dares to ask the wrong question or get too near, you disappear in a flash, only to reappear later with a "happy birthday" text, like that magically fixes the chaos.

Scorpio Rising

You don’t even have to speak—your eyes do all the work. You come off intense, guarded, and like you already know everyone’s secrets but won’t say a word. People assume you’re powerful, maybe dangerous, definitely not someone to mess with. There’s a weight to your presence, like you’ve survived things you’ll never talk about.

But behind the mask?

You’re not deep. You’re guarded to the point of emotional inaccessibility. You bolt the second someone shows you basic human affection. One kind word and suddenly you're drafting your escape like they proposed marriage. Nobody even hurt you—you just sensed emotional intimacy and hit self-destruct like it’s a sport.

You treat loyalty like a fantasy novel. Obsessed with the idea, but suspicious of anyone who actually shows up. The moment someone’s consistent, you start poking holes, setting traps, and accusing them of faking it, just to feel in control of the plot twist you wrote in your head. You’re not hard to get. You’re hard to survive.

Sagittarius Rising

People assume you’re chill. Fun. Laid-back. The “sure, let’s go!” friend. They see the quick smile, the open body language, the jokes that hit too fast to be accidental—and they think you’re emotionally low-maintenance, down for anything, and somehow immune to existential dread. Like you’re just wandering through life with a backpack and a dream.

But behind the mask?

You keep your life busy so no one can call out how avoidant you really are. You start things you don’t finish, make promises you don’t keep, and expect loyalty you don’t return. You say you hate being misunderstood, but you never say anything straight. You run from commitment like it’s contagious, walk away guilt-free every time you screw someone over, then lose your shit when no one sticks around to coddle you.

Capricorn Rising

There’s a quiet pressure around you, like you’re already carrying too much to entertain anything unreliable,inconsistent or loud. You don’t overshare, you don’t play nice just to be liked, and you definitely don’t explain yourself twice. People treat you like the adult in every room, the one who always follows through, even when you’re barely keeping yourself upright. You don’t ask for help because you’ve learned not to expect it. And somehow, that gets mistaken for strength.

But behind the mask?

You’re not in control, you’re in survival mode. Afraid to fail, afraid to need, and definitely afraid someone might look too closely and realize you’re desperate to be taken care of, but can’t stand the thought of depending on anyone.

You build walls, then complain about isolation. You’re quick to show up for everyone else, no questions asked. But when it’s your turn? You treat support like a transaction, scanning it for hidden terms. You feel like you’re one missed call away from losing it in a public restroom, holding it together in a nice outfit because falling apart wouldn’t match the look.

You’re not cold. You’re tired of being the one who doesn’t get to fall apart.

Aquarius Rising

You feel like an unsolvable equation. Quiet, alert, slightly out of sync with everyone else, but in a way that makes people curious, not uncomfortable. You don’t try to belong, and somehow that makes people want to figure you out. You’re giving detached but not disinterested.

But behind the mask?

You’re emotionally inconsistent, commitment-avoidant, and secretly convinced you’re smarter than everyone. You don’t want connection unless it’s on your terms. You like to call it independence, but really, it’s just avoiding the work of letting people in. Less effort, less risk, less mess for you.

You treat feelings like parking tickets, leaving them piled up and swearing you’ll deal with it later, praying no one brings them up until they become a full-blown crisis with penalties.

You don’t avoid drama. You just make it quiet enough to deny later. You keep everything vague so no one can hold you to anything. People call you complex, but you’re just hard to reach on purpose. That’s not depth. That’s fear.

Pisces Rising

People look at you and instantly assume you’re gentle, safe, maybe a little sad in a poetic way. The kind of person who cries during commercials and has a weird psychic vibe that makes people overshare within five seconds. You look like the type who’ll never get mad, never set boundaries, never say “actually, that’s not my responsibility.”

But behind the mask?

You play the caretaker role until it asks something real of you. Then you disappear into your own world and pretend not to notice things so you don’t have to deal with discomfort, intimacy, or responsibility.

You’re not an empath. You just can’t stand not being involved. You latch onto other people’s emotions like it gives you purpose, then act drained like it wasn’t voluntary. It’s not depth, it’s emotional hoarding with a hero complex.

You mistake the highs and lows for passion because calm feels fake to you. You shut people out to protect yourself, then feel abandoned when no one pushes through the walls you built.

[beheworthy]

So you recently posted an "essay" talking badly about Taika Waititi? So have you seen anything apart from Thor? Do you even understand that there are cultures different from the US where the storytelling and narrative are different? Do you ever investigate or read for yourself, using critical thinking (apparently you don't but I like to be positive)? Read really about Who he is, the contrast to what people say, don't embarrass yourself posting ignorant information like most people do based on hate because the sensitivities were hurt, just because they value more some fictional character thank the very real life of a person, darling, do you even have a life or are jumping in the hate wagon just to get the attention you've never had?

Please, please, educate yourself about how important and actually groundbreaking is the work this man has done and keeps doing in his life, yes he is crazy, but there's a beauty to his madness and you are missing due to unfounded rage, like It or not this man is touching souls around the world while you are cultivating hate because of your love for fictional characters that are never goint to be more thank that, a figment of imagination, and your lack of judgement when It comes when you read in the media. Honestly I feel sorry for you, for thinking you know better when your ignorante is so apparent, hope you can open your eyes and one day see the world with a better view because this... Is more thank just Taika, this comes from within you and your pain and probably even loneliness, you feel like someone messed with you support, with the thing that madr you feel understood, that is why you feel It's basically like a personal attack, some therapy would do wonders for you, keep that in mind.

Guys it's the same person, they're back for another flogging.

It's so funny to see them keep getting ruffled over the essay I wrote two years ago (calling it recent). Feel free to read and share to ruffle this a**hole some more.

They can't even type correctly. "Ignorante, madr, more thank that x3"

They still think I am a white american.

"Groundbreaking work this man has done and keeps doing in his life" like cheating on the mother of his daughters with a younger secretary or supporting Isra*l's gen*cide? Which one - both are groundbreaking for sure.

Anyway, you need immediate medical attention. And Taika Waititi is and will always remain a vitriolic, vapid, and talentless hack. The whole world has seen it.❤️

[boiledkwamaegg]

Idk if you've answered this before but why/how is Faenil so tall?

I haven't mentioned it before actually...

I headcanon altmer as very tall in general, but Faenil is exceptionally tall for one indeed, they actually haven't met anyone taller than themself yet, though a few people have gotten close. I'd imagine the most realistic reason for their height is their poor genetics (I won't get into it too much, but Faenil is of noble family and family trees that are shaped more like wreaths tend to have unfortunate side effects...) but also because I wanted there to be some type of symbolism or narrative behind someone who literally stick out of every crowd like a sore thumb, as in, not just to differentiate them from the rest, but because it looks like they don't really fit or belong anywhere. The dragonborn, someone or something sent on a divine prophetic mission, big and terrifying in all senses, just like a dragon... I want the assumption that they don't even feel anything to be an easy one. And for a bystander, it's easy to strip someone like that off of personhood. Like, literally, the gods could have chosen ANYONE else, but it just had to be Faenil, and maybe it's a bit funny, definitely quite sad, but also, in a way, kind of fitting.

I was just talking to someone about how I find the idea of losing control to your mind and body to be quite intriguing. Faenil always got shit for their differences, and the threat of becoming a hulkynd was always looming over them, and they were quite lucky to never become one (though I'm unsure at this point which option would have been for the best). Yes, to altmer standards they were always a bit defective, but never enough to warrant outright abandonment. Faenil's mother was very protective of them, but when she died and their father took over, he was always walking the thin line of being too committed to his weird child and absolutely hating Faenil with every fiber of his being. By the time they got their growth spurt as a teen, Faenil would often cry themself to sleep because they were convinced by the few people around them that they were growing into a monster. Of course, there was no way to stop this child from growing, though I'm sure the father tried his best. After surpassing average height standards, Faenil got pretty used to keeping a low profile when out in public, though eventually they just let go of all care and embraced this monstrous appearance they were blessed with.

All in all, despite everything, Faenil likes being tall now and often wears heels just to piss everyone off even more, lol.

[doodler16]

It's easy to call Mr Wriggles fake because he panicked at the sight of Loona's true form, but something to remember is Loona is a werewolf (NEVER gonna call her a hellhound) and lowkey the majority of people will freak out if thew person they were sitting next to suddenly transformed into a tall canine right after you turned your eyes away lmao

Also he's

- The only character both in HH and HB to not swear at all

- The only character in HB who was genuinely nice and didn't have a "true nature"

Overall, it's the most solid episode of HB by far (that's saying something), and i'm kind of sad it's pretty much filler and I am SO GLAD they didn't go to the pedo/evil guy route, rare HB W

The swears are again, extremely unnecessary and it would have been interesting if the swears got censored to kid friendly words due to been near Mr Wriggles (shit becomes bummer or something like that), and Loona flipping off the receptionist, like...ok

It might be unpopular opinion but Blitzø and Loona's relationship is...pretty shallow. I know their bond is pretty much "Loser dad and the angsty child they adopted who after a while becomes more open" trope but it's done in a bad way for me in my opinion cause

- Loona is a grown ass adult, yes i know she might have experienced trauma while she was in the shelter but the way she behaves towards Blitzø makes her look genuinely mean instead of somewhat justified with her being immature and a teenager

- When they are together, Blitzø (most of the time) infantilizes her while Loona is physically abusive towards him for no reason (which is played for laughs), they barely got moments when they actually bond and are kind of nice to each other (the ones i remember is Bee Episode when she hypes up Blitzø during the drinking contest and also the moment where Blitzø gets almost executed, maybe) and if they do it never gets developed and becomes one time moment until the next 4-6 episodes when the cycle will repeat

So yeah Loona expressing her feelings of being wanted will take a long time at least to get "developed"

Him freaking out was completely fair! I now realize that haha. Though, I’m still lowkey side eyeing the writing regarding Mr. Wrigglers not questioning Blitzø’s appearance but whatever. Yeah, you right Anon. Mr. Wrigglers doesn’t swear and he’s nice making him a refreshing character overall.

“Overall, it's the most solid episode of HB by far (that's saying something).” The recent short so has given fans, stans, critics, and antis mixed feelings so far. Some like it, others understandably found it mean-spirited, and there are plenty who flat out hate it 🤣.

The swears getting censored would be funny honestly it could’ve worked when Charlie and Vaggie were in Heaven. I agree, Loona and Blitzø’s relationship is shallow and it’s all over the place writing wise. Blitzø is a decent dad to Loona but is overbearing, infantilizes her which has backfired in his face before (more or less the aftermath when he does put his foot down), etc.

Does Loona and Blitzø have anything in common, I would love for them just talk about anything, have some middle ground for once. Loona is always giving mix feelings about Blitzø. One day, depending on who is the writer: she will go soft on Blitzø then another day she’s pissed/annoyed with his presence 💀.

[valeelavvale]

Drive - Chapter 3

chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

featuring: Fernando Alonso / ofc

requested: by @sunnytkm23

"Hi. Could you do a Fernando Alonso one where practically is Right person at the wrong time, in which reader and Fernando dated during his first years at Renault and his first WDC title and during his second title, she wanted bigger things like getting married and starting a family with him, but he didn't want to at that time and they separated and each one moved on with their lives, even though they had friends in common and they commented on how one was going for the other and so Fernando finds out that she got married years after their breakup and her rise to fame as a model and she knows about his single life and the reputation he had with women and years later she is a renowned model but divorced and with 2-year-old girl which the father doesn't care and in not in the picture and they meet again after unknowingly, Fernando sees her in Monaco with her child going to market and discovers that she separated and moved there with her child and little by little the two reconnect and he invites her to dinner and admits that he regrets not having fought for both of them and that he still loves her and gives her what she wanted most and she decides to give him a second chance and he practically adopts her daughter as his own."

notes: Third chapter, late 2024, Fernando and Ana’s lives reconnect. They both live in Monte Carlo and, for some reason, even though everything is different now, it feels like something has never really changed. I think there will be one more chapter or two at most, enjoy!

genre: romance, angst

word count: 2194

Late November 2024

Ana was in the small atelier she had rented in the center of Monte Carlo, in a narrow street not far from the main road. The walls had been painted, the furniture assembled, she was very proud of herself and of what she was building. On her own, without anyone telling her that it’s one thing to get photographed and another to actually make clothes real.

She felt her phone vibrate, put down the dress she was about to hang, and picked it up.

Fernando: Hey, how’s the atelier going?

Ana smiled. They had messaged a few times, brief exchanges while he was away for a GP, a little chat one evening after she’d put Rebecca to bed and told him about the shop she’d rented.

Ana snapped a photo and sent it to him.

Ana: Painted, shelves ready, clothes still need organizing but I love it!

Fernando: Wow... Looks like a big deal!

Fernando: Congrats, you’ve always had a ton of ideas in your head.

Ana: Time to get them out of my head, I guess.

Fernando: Are you free for a drink one of these nights?

Ana: Let me check with the babysitter and we’ll pick a date.

Ana paused with the phone in her hand and sighed.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea.

Or maybe it was, maybe he just wanted to see an old familiar face and have a drink.

But really, what did she have to lose?

-

On the other end, Fernando smiled too. He had finally found the courage to ask, even if maybe it felt strange, even if maybe he shouldn't have.

But, why shouldn’t he, exactly?

It was 7 p.m. on a foggy Monday in early December when Ana stepped out of the house and saw the Aston Martin parked just outside her gate.

She felt like a teenager.

And she hadn’t been one for a long time.

But when he got out of the car to meet her with a smile, she remembered what it was like to wake up every morning next to that smile.

He was handsome. 

They laughed almost immediately, talking about something funny that had happened to Fernando during his last trip. Then they reminisced about a few old friends they'd lost touch with, until Fernando parked in front of a skyscraper by the sea.

“Hi,” she greeted him “What a gloomy evening,” she chuckled, and he nodded, shrugging.

“I know a place where the fog won’t be a problem,” he smiled, and they got in the car.

“They’ve got a rooftop that might even break through the fog,” he smiled as she followed him into the glass elevator that took them up.

“I’m not used to places like this anymore,” she laughed as they were shown to their table.

They sat down and ordered.

“You used to like them,” he said.

“I still do,” she agreed quickly. “But Reb doesn’t, not so much,” she joked. “And between work, her, and… everything else, I don’t really have time to go out much,” she admitted. “Joyce, the babysitter, is an angel, but... Reb is all mine,” she laughed.

“Not her father’s?” Fernando asked, surprised.

“Her father is in Tokyo with his twenty-five-year-old yoga instructor,” she said, shaking her head. “We made an agreement, I have full custody, and he stops by if he can,” she explained, like she was talking about someone else’s life.

“He doesn’t want to see his daughter?” Fernando asked.

“He says I was the one who wanted her, so I can handle it,” she replied. “I do seem to recall him being in bed with me that night, but maybe I’m mistaken,” she joked.

“Asshole…” Fernando muttered, with his usual bluntness. “Sorry…”

“I’ve said much worse,” she smiled, taking a sip of the drink they’d just been served.

Then one drink became two, then three, and eventually some food, without ever leaving the table, without ever stopping the conversation, the laughter, the rediscovery of a person who was completely different from fifteen years ago… but maybe not that different at all.

“I can’t believe you still have that bike,” she laughed, finishing her drink.

“I’m attached to it,” he said, pointing at her with mock menace.

“We almost got killed on that thing, Fer,” she teased.

“But it was a great vacation,” he pointed out with a grin.

“We were in love, everything would’ve seemed great,” she said, letting the silence fall for a moment.

“Does it feel strange being here together?” he asked, tilting his head.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” she laughed. “Yeah… a little, I’d say so. But I thought it would feel way weirder, and instead… it doesn’t.”

“Yeah…” he smiled, watching her.

“I hate to be the Cinderella of the night, but I need to go relieve the babysitter,” Ana said with a smile.

They got up, and less than twenty minutes later, they were in front of her house again. The fog had lifted. It was cold, but not too much.

“Since it didn’t feel weird, can we do it again?” Fernando asked, walking her to the door.

“Only if you find another fancy rooftop like that, where I haven’t been in ages, and that makes a killer Negroni,” she joked, laughing. “I’d like that, Fer,” she added after a pause. “I didn’t think I’d missed talking to you so much,” she admitted.

“We haven’t really talked in a long time…” he said.

“Since well before we broke up, I’d say,” Ana replied, looking at him.

“Speaking of…”

“No…” she smiled. “...it’s been nearly twenty years. I don’t think explanations are needed, you know? It was another life, another age. It’s okay,” she said sincerely.

“I’ll call you then,” Fernando smiled.

“Whenever you want,” she said, leaning in for a quick hug before disappearing behind the door.

-

Ana Lucia Beatrìz.

The one he’d fallen for in less than a night, when he first met her at a friend’s birthday.

The one who disappeared.

The one who was back again.

They’d agreed to see each other again, a dinner, somewhere she’d like. That’s what Fernando had said. And Ana couldn’t wait.

She was already dressed when Joyce called to say she was in bed with a fever and couldn’t come, so the evening seemed to be over before it even began.

“Moooommm, can you put on The Little Mermaid?” Rebecca’s voice called from the living room, and Ana picked up the remote, putting on her daughter’s favorite movie. Then she walked into the kitchen, grabbed her phone, and called him.

“Hey, guapa,” he greeted her without thinking, just like he used to.

“Hi, campeòn,” she laughed.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Maybe he was in the car, maybe not.

“I have to postpone dinner tonight, no babysitter, and it’s too late to call any of her friends’ parents,” she explained. “I’m sorry, Fer…”

“What if I bring a pizza?” he asked. “Or anything Rebecca wants…” he offered.

He knew it was a bold self-invitation, but he wanted to see her.

She was caught off guard for a moment.

“I think Reb would love pizza,” she smiled after a pause.

“So we can save the night like that, right? No need to cancel…” he said in that low, steady voice he’d always had.

“We’ll be waiting,” she said, unable to hide a huge smile.

“Waiting for who?” Rebecca asked, catching everything, even what she wasn’t supposed to.

“A friend of mommy’s. We met him at the coffee shop once,” Ana replied.

“The one you said you had to make a dress for?” she asked, tilting her head. She wasn’t even four yet, her birthday was the following week, but she knew everything.

“Him…” Ana smiled.

“Did you make the dress?” the little one asked.

“Not yet!” Ana replied, as the girl got distracted again by The Little Mermaid.

Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. Ana buzzed him in from downstairs, and a few minutes later, Fernando stepped out of the elevator with way too many pizzas in his arms.

“Fer, there’s three of us,” she laughed. “Actually, two and a quarter,” she joked.

“I couldn’t decide. If I disappointed the little one, I was done for,” he said sincerely, smiling at her.

He stepped inside, and Rebecca immediately stood in front of him.

“Mommy didn’t make the dress, but you brought pizza,” she said, looking up at him.

“Would’ve been worse if Mommy would have made the dress and but I did not brought pizza, don’t you think?” he said, crouching down as she stared at him, not fully understanding what he meant.

“I’ll give you a dress. Now let’s eat pizza,” she declared, hopping off toward the dining room.

“Sorry,” Ana said, leading him to the kitchen. “I know this wasn’t the plan…”

“Hey,” he cut her off, “I just scored a dress, sounds perfect to me,” he laughed.

“Do you have a tree?” Rebecca asked, climbing onto a chair and sitting in front of him, surprising him with a question he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.

“At home, you mean?” he asked, glancing playfully at Ana as she placed pizza on the plates.

“Yeah, or wherever. I need a tree,” the girl replied seriously.

“May I ask why you need a tree?” Ana asked as she handed her the plate.

“Because I told Mia I’d give her a squirrel for her birthday and I need a tree to find a squirrel,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Fernando burst out laughing. “Well, I don’t have one at home, but there are some where I work,” he replied, sounding semi-serious.

“I need it by tomorrow,” Rebecca declared, biting into her pizza. “Can you bring one?” she added, mouth full.

“I’ll see what I can do” Fernando laughed.

“Sure you don’t have any squirrels?” Ana asked, sitting down next to him.

“Hmm, tough question,” he smiled. “I’ll check the garage later,” he chuckled.

Rebecca didn’t stop talking for a second, she was a whirlwind of energy, but Fernando didn’t seem to mind. He answered patiently, with lots of humor.

After the second slice, the little girl jumped off her chair, saying she wanted to finish watching The Little Mermaid. But first, she stood still near Fernando and stared at him.

“You’re funny,” she said before disappearing into the living room.

“Okay, I don’t want to alarm you, but she doesn’t like anyone,” Ana laughed, shaking her head. “And I think no one has ever paid her this much attention.”

“She’s a riot. I’m totally in love, just so you know, she’s like a crazy little squirrel that never stops talking,” Fernando said, sipping his beer.

“Yeah, well… she’s like that at 7 a.m. too,” Ana said, not quite as amused.

“She’s incredible, really. You’re raising a wonder,” he said. “And on your own…”

Ana shrugged. “I didn’t really have another option. And I didn’t want her growing up with a dad who thought she was a mistake,” she said honestly.

“That’s not how you pictured your family…” he said quietly.

“No… well… maybe I didn’t even know what I wanted, back then,” she laughed. “You always knew exactly what you wanted,” she smiled.

“Hmm…” he sighed, taking another sip. “I thought I did. But maybe it was just the easier road.”

“Fer, you are the champion you wanted to be,” she said sincerely.

“Yeah… but at what cost? I’m 43 and…”

“…you’re at your ex’s place with pizza and a three-year-old?” she teased.

“That, honestly, feels like the best part and one of the least shitty, most beautiful nights I’ve had in a long time,” he admitted.

She went quiet for a moment. “What are we doing?” she asked, looking at him.

“Here? Tonight?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Tonight, and two weeks ago, and…” she gestured vaguely.

“I was hoping I’d get to kiss you,” he said, with disarming simplicity. She was taken aback, surprised.

“But I don’t know if the chatty squirrel and The Little Mermaid are on my side,” he added, and Ana burst out laughing, realizing she hadn’t laughed like that in a while.

“I mean it. Under the Sea in the background isn’t so bad, and neither is Reb singing, but I’m afraid she could burst in any second asking for ice cream and…”

“Damn, you still taste like vanilla…” he whispered, deepening the kiss that had started as a joke but instantly became something else.

“...Alonso?” she interrupted, and he looked at her.

“Kiss me,” she said, making him smile before he leaned in to do exactly that.

“Still like it?” she asked with a smile.

“Drives me crazy, guapa…” he murmured, just before they heard Rebecca’s quick steps as she popped into the kitchen.

“Ice cream?” she asked with a sly smile, hopping toward them.

Ana laughed, her cheeks flushed, eyes flustered.

“Ice cream!” she replied, getting up.

“Hey Reb…” Fernando started, turning to the little girl. “…about those squirrels, are you sure you only need one?” he asked, as the girl began listing all the friends she wanted to give one to.

[pettyoddity]

coffee break

[magicalswimmingsubmarine]

Meadow was glad he didn't ask further, not that she'd given him the chance, with how abruptly she jumped around subjects. It was beginning to feel a bit harder to discuss these things in person. It reminded her why she had joined the forum in the first place, how addicting it felt to unravel yourself when no one was watching.

“He is,” she chirped, her voice skipping like a stone across water. Her gaze floated upward to the delicate canopy above them, watching as the leaves received gentle kisses from the wind. “I begged him to come with me,” she chortled a bit, wrinkling her nose. “But he’ll never leave. He loves Cuenca.”

She smiled, tenderly, knowing that someone she loved belonged somewhere so completely.

"Every year he has a film for the Charcajada Film Festival in a village a few hours outside my town." She wasn't sure why she was mentioning this, the more she talked about it the more her eyes lost a bit of glint, and her chest tightened. On the forum, she had written a poem about one of the times they went together.

~New Post! From User: Teaandscones067~

Estrellas en la Cabina

La noche presiona contra el cristal, luz quebrada que se filtra por grietas— hablamos en susurros a medias, dibujando fantasmas entre los dedos.

Los nombres se deslizan suaves, como sombras enredadas en la cabina, mientras la carretera se despliega bajo nosotros, una costura fina que une oscuridad con oscuridad.

Él traza el silencio con la mirada, y yo miro cómo el cielo se disuelve en algo que casi toco, y luego pierdo.

~

Meadow’s eyebrows knit, not in anger, but in quiet doubt. Nothing to tell usually means everything to tell. He had answered one of the many questions she had about them, they weren't the reason, and a piece of her softened. She knew what the reason was, but she had always wondered if...maybe... he had turned to gambling because of a an addictive gene, shamefully delighted in the thought he had inherited a sickness as well.

But it wasn't enough. Her curiosity bloomed more so now, she almost couldn't help herself when she asked. "Will you tell me about your mother? I want to see the world through little you." This time she offered her sandwich, enticing him to take a bite, drawing him in like a wild alley cat in the night. She observed him savor the taste first, then she raised her arm "What's her name?" she teased, keeping the tempting sandwich just out of reach, a hint of rosemary ham and lettuce peeking enticingly from its edges. if he wanted a bite he would have to answer her questions.

As the wind continued, a stray leaf slowly twisted downward, landing on her cheek. Meadow gently grazed it with her fingers, bringing it closer to her hand for a closer look. "I don't know what I believe," she breathed. Life was full of uncertainties, why wouldn't death?

"But I remember, feeling... unbound." No era cierto, lo que decian. Cuando despiertas después de intentar de morir, no te sientes agradecido. Sientes vergüenza, por no haberlo hecho bien.

So, she understood what he meant, even if she had twitched slightly at his 'Non.' It wasn't what he said, but how he said it, and for a flicker of a moment she felt defensive. “I would come back.” She paused, taking a breath. She remembered not much mattered now. If she didn't feel whole, or understood, or like an intrusion in people's happy lives. She waited to get up before explaining, which she assumed he'd wonder, because it was funny to see how his face would glow with curiosity. Her arms curved over her head as she stood, her spine arching gently, releasing the small tension in her joints with a long, contented sigh. “To see how things have changed. The planet. If the continents are a little farther apart. And then, I still believe I'd kill myself. Every version of me." At times, it seemed like this affliction would seep into her being, intertwining with every existence she would come to know.

Tylio was surprised by how relaxed Meadow seemed about her father's potential reaction. She felt he would understand. While he found that sentiment to be kind of beautiful, he definitely couldn't say the same thing for his own parents. They would most likely be confused, more than anything. Because in their eyes he was doing decently. At least, the last time he spoke to them. Of course they didn't know about his debts. He never told them. What he told them was that he had a good job and a good salary and it used to be true, until he fell down a depressive greed spiral. He couldn't exactly tell them that. The shame was too big. He couldn't tell them, even when they became suspicious because he stopped sending them money every month. He just told them he had a girlfriend, and that they were saving up to buy a house. That was enough for them to let it go. They seemed so happy on the phone when he told them that too, that it almost twisted the knife deeper. They wanted the best for him. They might not be perfect parents, but they did try and they did care. "He still lives in Cuenca?", Tylio asked, because up until now he had been under the impression that her father must have also moved to America.

But he got distracted moments later, when she pronounced the word 'eccentric' with a kind of rolling R that emphasized her accent even further. He spent the next moment wondering how she was making that sound, thinking about how the French R was a lot softer. Until she told him about the shed, the movie collection she had with Josh. He tuned back in. It was where she would go, apparently, when she wanted to be found. He was about to ask her about that too, when she suddenly turned the conversation back on him. He only ever talked about his brothers, and she'd noticed. Of course she had. Meadow was observant, how else would she have gotten so good at writing? "There's nothing to tell", he answered, but immediately he could feel how stupid that answer was. "OK, that's not true, but it's not very interesting. We don't have a lot of contact anymore. But they are decent people. I was raised right. So...it's not because of them either", he added, just in case she was wondering. If there was anything his parents were guilty of it was probably negligence, but he didn't see it that way.

Tylio scoffed when she rebelliously stole another bite of his sandwich, justifying her actions with a vaguely communistic slogan that sounded as though she were repeating it from somewhere. "Oh, OK, if we're sharing then", he leaned in, taking a bite of her sandwich now, and accidentally discovering that he liked it better than the one he picked up. Maybe communism was not so bad?

Meadow seemed disappointed by the size of the pill and Tylio shrugged in response. Yes, it was small. Small but powerful, if Russ were to be believed. And this was not even the smallest dose available. Tylio placed the other one on his tongue, a slight scrunch appearing in his nose as the flavor—if it could even be called that—spread throughout his mouth. It was a bit unpleasant but he still waited for it to melt all the way before he swallowed it down. Of course nothing happened rightaway, but the thought that in 40 minutes or so, he would be experiencing something he'd never experienced before was kind of exhilarating. He leaned over, taking another bite from her sandwich while she answered the existential question he'd posed to her. Her answer sounded almost hesitant and he wondered whether this was what she was hoping would happen. That they would receive a choice about returning to earth. Returning to life.

"Non", he shook his head, and it came out sounding more dismissive than he actually meant it to. "There is no way, I didn't choose to be here." Or maybe she meant that this would be the first time they'd ever get such a choice. "But if we do get to choose, I think I'll just stay...wherever death is. Even if you pick a new body, you can't predict what that life is going to look like. It might be good, might not be. And I've done enough gambling already." He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment because he was getting a little tired of himself. When he opened them again, he was abruptly determined to change the subject. "Let's walk some more", he suggested, zipping his bag back up. "I don't know the whole mountain but I'm pretty sure there's a stream somewhere nearby."

[vaguely-concerned]

returnal and deathloop have such a beautifully 🤝 take on the timeloop theme of like... hell is empty and all the devils are here. working on their linked in profiles because as it turns out the human mind given eternity to work with will naturally birth fresh new levels of hell of its own making that a poor devil could never even dream of, and then, grotesquely, perversely, make a home out of that hell. except returnal is doing that extremely well but played very straight, and deathloop is doing it like (looney tunes connotations). and I love it so much for that.

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co