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⬩dark romance pazzi 02. ⋮ snippet.
note: hello, hello. this is an apology for neglecting you all for so long. life has a hold on me, as it always does, but i've been quietly (obsessively, really) working on this in the background, and i'd like to think it may be worth the wait. i promise that more is coming; i cannot wait for you to receive her in full. adore you, thank you for always waiting for me. x
❝ paige fell into step beside her the way she always did now, matching pace, hands in her pockets, hair pulled loose at the back of her neck in that half-finished bun that always looked one strand away from falling and somehow never did. halfway down, without warning, she reached over and tucked a strand of azzi’s hair back from where the wind had pulled it loose across her cheek.
it wasn't a large gesture. it shouldn't have registered as anything at all, the small correction a friend might make to another without either party remarking on it, except that paige’s hand didn't withdraw the way a friend's hand would have. her fingers trailed, slow, thoughtful, from azzi’s temple down along the clean angle of her jaw until they came to rest, with a startling, sudden firmness, over her lipsticked mouth.
azzi went stockstill. every instinct she had arrived simultaneously, contradicting the other to the last. she found herself absurdly aware of the smallest details: every inch of cold gathering inside her gloves, the weight of her coat across her shoulders, the steady pull of gravity through her heels into the frozen path beneath them. her breathing was suddenly louder than the water beside the road, quickened by the warmth of another's hand against her face; a touch she had gone long without.
azzi had spent years teaching herself that the body was merely another instrument of thought, something to be directed with enough discipline. now it felt unexpectedly autonomous.
she needed to break this, needed to leave this here.
there was no step back.
“tell me what to do with this,” paige said, low, and there was something desperate in her voice azzi hadn't heard from her before. she was devoid of her classroom bravado, and the easy teasing she regularly deployed on these walks; a note rawer underneath both of those, stripped strangely clean of performance.
“that's the whole point of you,” paige continued, her gaze never wavering. “you're supposed to know what to do with things i don't.”
there were moments—and they came less frequently now than they once had—when paige appeared every one of her twenty-two years, all sharp certainty concealing youth rather than replacing it. then there were moments like this, when she seemed impossible to age at all, as though intellect and longing had conspired to produce someone who had skipped several mandatory stages of becoming.
azzi didn't understand, not really, not in a countenance she could have explained if asked. but she understood enough to know the question wasn't really about anything either of them could speak to, so exposed to the public in the middle of this road. she reached up and closed her hand around paige’s wrist, meaning to pull it away, meaning to end this the way a reasonable person would end it.
paige's pulse beat there, so damnably young, so thrilled to be alive.
paige held on.
it was a rather nonviolent moment, which was somehow the worst part; she held fast with total refusal, and it made azzi’s hand feel suddenly very small around her wrist, an insistence that had nothing to prove and everything to keep.
then, just as abruptly as paige had taken it, she let go.
the world rushed back in. azzi stood there for a moment with her own pulse loud in her ears, ghost-print of paige’s fingers still warm against her mouth, and reached, without thinking, for something guileless to say, something capable of restoring proportion to the afternoon, something that would put them both back on solid ground. what came out instead was nothing at all.
it was paige who broke the silence. brave, reckless, paige; always striding through. her gaze drifted downward. she noticed, with a small private flicker of something azzi was unable to decipher, the faint stain at the corner of azzi’s own thumb, a trace of red gone slightly dark, smear left over from the raspberries she’d eaten too quickly at lunch and hadn’t properly disposed of.
azzi looked at it too, as though seeing her own hand for the first time.
paige took her hand before azzi could think to pull it back a second time, lifted it, and for one impossible second azzi believed she meant only to point it out. but then, without any of the hesitation that should have accompanied an act like this, paige brought azzi’s thumb into her mouth, behind her lips; a vanishing act.
warmth, barely more than that. the rasp of a tongue against skin so brief it might have been imagined had it not been for the astonishing precision with which paige watched her while doing it, pale irises fixed not on azzi’s hand but on her face, as though the gesture itself mattered less than whatever crossed azzi’s expression in response. she licked every remnant of red left behind, slow, her eyes lowering half-shut, savoring the taste, only leaving azzi’s gaze to take in the part of her lips while she did it.
paige let azzi’s thumb free, then said against her knuckle, “you must know—”
an abrupt halt. then she was gone.
turned already three steps down the road, nearly running, putting distance between herself and what it was she'd just done before she could be made to account for it, shoulders set with almost exaggerated composure, as though she had entrusted the aftermath entirely to azzi.
you're supposed to know what to do with things i don't. ❞
i actually disliked age-gap romances for the longest time, mostly because my exposure to them was dominated by heterosexual romance, and i just...didn't find them very interesting. they only became compelling once i realized i was, intensely, a lesbian. suddenly it wasn't really the age gap itself i was interested in anymore, but everything it could mean.
i'm incredibly particular about how it's written. i hate when the narrative is constantly moralizing the relationship. considering the ethics once or twice is fine—it would honestly be stranger not to—but i don't need the story arguing with itself every other chapter. and i much, much prefer it when the younger person is firmly an adult, like twenties and up. i have absolutely no interest in "barely legal," or the whole "i knew you when you were still saying goo goo ga ga" thing. immediate ick.
what i love is when the age gap creates emotional texture instead of becoming the entire point. i love a layered romance where they're both just a little insane toward each other, or where the younger person is the one quietly leading the older one in unexpected ways. not necessarily in an overt, domineering sense, but in almost imperceptible ways where influence shifts back and forth. there's something really compelling about watching experience and instinct challenge each other.
i'm also not especially interested when the age gap is reinforced through financial dependence. once the imbalance becomes mostly about money or survival, it loses what draws me to the trope.
if i'm being introspective, i have a bit of a mother wound. i think part of why the trope resonates with me has less to do with age itself and more to do with what age can represent. i have a complicated relationship with caregiving and protection. i'm someone who tends to shut down and become almost impossible to reach when i'm afraid, instinctively protecting myself in love, but underneath that there's a very deep desire to be able to rest in someone else's care. so i think i like the fantasy of someone who's lived enough life to recognize me anyway, to see through all the defenses, to know what i am.
i think what i'm actually attached to is the idea of someone who's lived enough years to be patient enough to coax me through my mechanisms without trying to pry them apart, someone who has enough behind them to know when to leave me alone and when to quietly insist. the age gap is just one way that fantasy gets expressed. it's never really been about the number itself.
sorry for the essay, but thank you for asking. love you. x
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do you have pinterest? if yes, would you mind sharing it? i just love love how aesthetically pleasing your blogs are, you always seem to find the most beautiful pictures
what an utter compliment, i love when people comment on the cohesiveness of my aesthetic; sending you a tight hug. yes, i practically live on pinterest. you can find me at @/deathlcss. my sideblog @dettaabene acts as a visual diary here on tumblr, where i pull from if needed. love you. x
I thought you were done with pazzi, thank you jesus for your gifts. Maybe I should start believing again
hello, honey. this genuinely made me laugh out loud. i published a fic called fawning in april that caught even me by surprise, and then the one after that dealt with azzi having pmdd. honestly, it comes and goes. i can never truly abandon what i love, even when i want to. thank you for being here regardless of my flights of fancy. love you. x
to wait on a bite masterlist has been deleted for the time being, only because i am on my sixth (sixth!) rewrite of chapter one and still hate it. however, this series has not been abandoned.
dark romance pazzi has risen from the dead, and i am currently working on the second installment instead. it's been much more successful, actually. it may end up being one of my longest works in quite some time, and i think it will have to be cross-posted to ao3. it's president's daughter!p x art professor!a, with p as the younger, more obsessive/manipulative one. a is exactly where she'd like to be.
mutuals as perfume: part two will be out this week. i had a lot of fun with this one.
thank you, as always, for bearing with me. i truly couldn't do half of what i do without your encouragement and support. i appreciate it more than i can say. i love you all, and happy july. x
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“What, to the American slave, is your 4th of July? I answer; one day that reveals to him, more than all other days in the year, the gross injustice and cruelty to which he is the constant victim. To him, your celebration is a sham; your boasted liberty, an unholy license; your national greatness, swelling vanity; your sound of rejoicing are empty and heartless; your denunciation of tyrants brass fronted impudence; your shout of liberty and equality, hallow mockery; your prayers and hyms [sic], your sermons and thanks-givings, with all your religious parade and solemnity, are to him, mere bombast, fraud, deception, impiety, and hypocrisy – a thin veil to cover up crimes which would disgrace a nation of savages. There is not a nation on the earth guilty of practices more shocking and bloody than are the people of the United States, at this very hour.”
— Frederick Douglass (1818-1895), from a speech given at Rochester, New York, July 5, 1852.
hello, hello. i've recently completed the fourth draft of an original short story i've been writing, intended for magazine publication, and i'm looking for three beta readers willing to provide feedback before i begin submissions.
it is literary sci-fi/fantasy and asks you to suspend disbelief and trust the world as it follows a woman assigned to translate an ancient artifact, except it isn't a language. it's the moon's heartbeat.
the story sits at 8.5k words, and content warning for slight body horror, implied character death, and light blood.
if you're interested, please message me. it will be shared via an ellipsus link along with a google form with specific questions to help guide feedback. i'm ideally looking to work with those who have read previously in this genre or are open-minded to it, and would be willing to set aside time to provide detailed feedback.
hello, hello. i've recently completed the fourth draft of an original short story i've been writing, intended for magazine publication, and i'm looking for three beta readers willing to provide feedback before i begin submissions.
it is literary sci-fi/fantasy and asks you to suspend disbelief and trust the world as it follows a woman assigned to translate an ancient artifact, except it isn't a language. it's the moon's heartbeat.
the story sits at 8.5k words, and content warning for slight body horror, implied character death, and light blood.
if you're interested, please message me. it will be shared via an ellipsus link along with a google form with specific questions to help guide feedback. i'm ideally looking to work with those who have read previously in this genre or are open-minded to it, and would be willing to set aside time to provide detailed feedback.
hello, hello. i've recently completed the fourth draft of an original short story i've been writing, intended for magazine publication, and i'm looking for three beta readers willing to provide feedback before i begin submissions.
it is literary sci-fi/fantasy and asks you to suspend disbelief and trust the world as it follows a woman assigned to translate an ancient artifact, except it isn't a language. it's the moon's heartbeat.
the story sits at 8.5k words, and content warning for slight body horror, implied character death, and light blood.
if you're interested, please message me. it will be shared via an ellipsus link along with a google form with specific questions to help guide feedback. i'm ideally looking to work with those who have read previously in this genre or are open-minded to it, and would be willing to set aside time to provide detailed feedback.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hello, hello. i've recently completed the fourth draft of an original short story i've been writing, intended for magazine publication, and i'm looking for three beta readers willing to provide feedback before i begin submissions.
it is literary sci-fi/fantasy and asks you to suspend disbelief and trust the world as it follows a woman assigned to translate an ancient artifact, except it isn't a language. it's the moon's heartbeat.
the story sits at 8.5k words, and content warning for slight body horror, implied character death, and light blood.
if you're interested, please message me. it will be shared via an ellipsus link along with a google form with specific questions to help guide feedback. i'm ideally looking to work with those who have read previously in this genre or are open-minded to it, and would be willing to set aside time to provide detailed feedback.
hi angel! i notice you often repost a lot of images/moodboards and tag it with pazzi au's or concepts. are those work in progresses you have or just fun ideas you mess around with in your beautiful head? just curious about your process!
hello, hello, gorgeous. yes, they are usually connected to an active work in progress. i build a lot of my stories visually and then slowly, slowly connect. really excited about this current one because it was actually an older project that i'm revisiting. adore you so much. xx
