#Fictional

[miryum]

apparently, my type is traumatised fictional men.

[cowboy1ikereid]

pov - you’re a member of the fbi’s behavioural analysis unit

[hazeysmile]

000 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 - pazzi

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at university. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 9.4k

| author note: I just wanted to say this is my first time writing something like this about real-life people. I've never done this before, so bear with me; I’m a novice writer. This is how I portray the people in the story, and I hope you like the prologue. Thank you to everyone who reads!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗗 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗘, 𝗟𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗔 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛 𝗔𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗢𝗠'𝗦 𝗡𝗔𝗚𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗘𝗖𝗛𝗢𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘─

Your phone was cradled between your shoulder and ear as you drifted away from your mom's words. She wasn't really worried about your safety; she just focused on your disobedience to your dad and her orders. You hadn't told her about your trip to america, only sharing it with your brothers and uncle—if she knew, all hell would have broken loose.

As you grabbed your luggage from the conveyor belt, the air thickened with tension. Your mother’s Spanish accent grew stronger, her quick, frustrated curses cutting through the busy airport noise. With a practiced ease, you slung your duffel bag over your shoulder, silently acknowledging the storm brewing in her voice.

Wincing at her shout, her thick Spanish lilt filled through the phone with urgency. "Valeria De Martel, ¿me estás escuchando, joder?"

You puffed out your cheeks, once weighed down by your parents' expectations. Now, across the country, you relished the freedom of your own life. Your father, a successful businessman in Lyon, exuded a charm that drew people in, even when his words were mere bullshit.

Your mother exuded elegance, turning heads effortlessly. Behind closed doors, she revealed a different side. In public, your parents were a powerful duo, radiating confidence and a touch of cockiness. At press events, they charmed everyone with their warmth, but it was all a carefully crafted facade, hiding the complexities beneath.

You argued with your mother on the phone for about ten minutes, your voice rising as frustration spilled over. People around you began to stare, giving you strange looks as you shouted a bit. She had a way of bringing out your anger, and after the heated exchange, you fell silent, knowing you wouldn’t hear the end of it, you just listened.

"Sí, Sofía," you whispered-shouted, mumbling her name just out of earshot, aware that it would only fuel her anger with your blend of French and Spanish accents. "Lo sé, lo sé, acabo de aterrizar. Podemos hablar de esto en otro momento cuando esté listo."

"Valeria, no te atrevas—!" Before she could complete her sentence, you swiftly hung up the phone, tucking it into the pocket of your jacket. You knew all too well that her voice would rise in a cacophony of shouts and curses, filled with disapproval and words that offered no support.

You didn't exactly hate flying; you loved traveling, even if it meant attending your parents' parties and galas for their businesses. At least you got to see new places. But now, flying on a commercial airplane with strangers felt completely different from the comfort of your parents' private jet.

You hated the long lines at the American airport, the slow check-ins, and the hassle of having your luggage searched. Despite holding a permanent resident card—your green card—given by your sponsor, you felt like an immigrant. "God bless America," you thought, or whatever the saying is.

You were heading outside the terminal because your new coach texted you the contact details your sponsor provided. He mentioned that one of your teammates, KK Arnold, would pick you up and take you to the penthouse your sponsor bought for you. You did some research on the team, and your brother Benjamin helped too, even though he's a plays futbol.

You and your brother Benjamin share a strong bond. Although he's two years older, people often think you’re twins because of your similar looks, with him being more masculine. He’s passionate about futbol; you used to love it too, but your heart now belongs to basketball ever since your uncle Damien taught you the ins and outs of the game. While you were decent at futbol, Benjamin's skills were exceptional, and he was a devoted fan of the Huskies.

As you walked out of the airport, a bright poster caught your eye, reading, "If your name is Valeria, come here right neow! I swear I’m not a stalker, just a girl tryin' to find the one named Valeria in a crowd of people—seriously, where are you hidin'?!" Leaning against a sleek black SUV was a girl about 5'9", her warm brown skin glowing. She had a slightly athletic build, and her dreads were styled half up, half down, framing her eager face. She held the poster with excitement, her energy lighting up the moment.

You instantly recognized her as KK Arnold, the talented point guard for the UConn Huskies. Her confidence shone through, a true reflection of her skills. With your research and your brother's insights about the team, you felt a connection. He trains at AS Monaco, dreaming of joining La Roja, the Spanish national team, yet his heart still beats for basketball.

He stumbled upon the UConn Huskies a year or two back, and his fascination grew into an enthusiastic fangirl. His excitement was infectious, as he delighted you with passionate conversations about every game, sharing the highs and lows with a fervor that made you feel like part of the team.

You blinked, unsure if you were seeing things correctly. There was KK Arnold, holding a bright poster to grab your attention. A laugh escaped you as you read the playful words on it. You walked over casually, dragging your luggage behind you, but before you could speak, she gasped joyfully, dropped the poster, and pulled you into a warm hug.

"Girl, boo! I thought you got lost on your flight! I was ready to turn into a pilot and hop on a plane to find you," she said, her tone a mix of playful and serious. You couldn’t help but laugh, the warmth of her concern wrapping around you like a cozy blanket.

As you stepped back from her warm embrace, a soft smile graced your lips. With a thick accent, you said, "C'est un plaisir to finally meet you, KK Arnold. I've heard so much about you, UConn, and of course, your esteemed teammates. My name is Valeria De Martel."

She snorted, covering her mouth as laughter bubbled up, clearly amused by your formality. "Easy, girl! No need to be so formal; I don’t bite. Your accent is as rich as chocolate—me likey! Welcome to America! I’ll be your trusty guide and chauffeur, KK or Papi KK. Now, let’s get you settled into your new home."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you began to place your luggage in the trunk, but KK was quick to intervene. With a determined grace, she took over, ensuring that your belongings were securely stowed away, closing the trunk with a gentle click.

"Hop in, m'princesa. Papi KK will take care of everything; you just sit back and look pretty," she said, standing by the open passenger door and gesturing for you to enter. You couldn't help but smile at her bold demeanor as you settled into the plush passenger seat, feeling a delightful mix of amusement and admiration for her confident charm.

"A charmer, huh? Well, I’ll take it! Just promise me one thing—don't go calling yourself daddy!"

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

“How you feelin’, Vee?” KK asked, her voice softening as she caught a glimpse of your contemplative expression. As she made a smooth left turn, the car glided effortlessly down the street leading to your penthouse.

About forty minutes ago, the car was alive with music and laughter as you and KK enjoyed your favorite tracks. She surprisingly loved your mix of Spanish and French songs, along with those catchy 2000s hits. At one point, she sang in Spanish, saying, “Hey, Spanish music just brings out the Spanish-speaking in me!” You both laughed heartily. But now, as the music faded, KK felt a shift in the atmosphere, the playful banter replaced by a subtle tension.

"My hands won’t stop shaking," you admitted, your accent thick as you released a shaky breath.

You felt a rush of excitement, finally free from the strict rules and high expectations of your parents. Yet, beneath that thrill was a wave of nervousness about being in America. Surrounded by strangers, you only knew the UConn team and your new teammates, leaving the rest a mystery. Thankfully, you understood English from your brother and uncle, who spoke it better than you.

You stared out the window, lost in thought, when KK's hand brushed against yours, making you jump. You realized you were fidgeting, and as she gently stroked your hand, a sense of calm washed over you. With a reassuring squeeze, she said softly, "Hey, you'll be fine, bookie. It's just Nika we're meeting outside your residence. Trust me, she already loves you." Her soothing voice wrapped around you, easing your nerves.

As the car came to a gentle stop outside the towering complex, you take in the sleek, modern building before you. It stands tall and pristine, with large windows that reflect the afternoon sun, hinting at the vibrant life within. It feels like a world unto itself, with other apartments lining its elegant facade.

You and KK step out of the SUV, the air buzzing with anticipation. Together, you start unloading your things, the sound of laughter mingling with the soft rustle of bags and suitcases. Each item you pull out feels like a new chapter waiting to unfold in this fresh, exciting space.

As you and KK strolled across the street toward your new home, she effortlessly balanced two duffel bags on her shoulders and two suitcases in hand, her presence a steady anchor beside you. Meanwhile, you were laden with the weight of your entire existence, having transported your life from Lyon, France, to America without leaving a single trace behind.

Your gaze drifted to a young woman casually leaning against the building, her dark brown wavy hair flowing down her shoulders, framing her warm brown eyes. Recognition washed over you—it's Nika Muhl, the Croatian point guard for the UConn Huskies. She's known for her defensive prowess, offensive skills, and exceptional leadership on the court.

As you approached, Nika looked up from her phone, her face brightening with joy. “Beba!” she called out, excitement filling her voice as she rushed toward you, wrapping you in a tight hug. In that moment, nothing else mattered; you dropped your bags, your arms encircling her neck while she held you close, swaying like long-lost friends.

“I’m so happy you’re finally here. Coach has been talking about you since summer." Nika whispered against your neck, and you smiled. You were supposed to arrive earlier, but your parents had complicated things. “Damn, I must be popular then. Everyone seems excited to meet the new girl,” you teased, your thick accent adding a playful touch.

Nika stepped back from the hug, her hands resting on your slim waist, a playful glimmer in her eyes. “Yeah, duh! It’s been forever since we had a foreign player. You’re a total mystery since you don’t show up on social media,” she said, a small frown hinting at her disappointment. She clearly wanted to see your high school highlights or any gameplay, but found nothing.

“Hehe, you’ll just have to see it in person,” you teased, your smile bright and inviting. Nika smirked, knowing there were indeed video out there. Your Instagram was filled with edited highlights from your international championship win at just 15, a vivid snapshot of your journey that you and your brother had crafted together.

"Alright, alright, what we’re not gonna do is leave me out, new bestie! Save some Valeria love for yours truly, KK Arnold," she chimed in, her voice light yet tinged with a hint of faux jealousy as she observed the two of you, feeling a touch sidelined.

"Could never forget about you, bestie," you replied, your fingers slipping from Nika’s waist as you wrapped your arms around KK's shoulders for a warm side hug.

"Now, let’s head up to see your new place—and my new home, of course, if it vibes up there. Paige might have to start lookin' for a new roommate because I’m totally movin' in with you!" KK declared, her playful tone laced with an undercurrent of seriousness. As you withdrew your arm from her shoulders to grab your luggage, Nika swiftly intervened, hoisting two duffel bags over her shoulders while you were left with two suitcases. Together, the three of you stepped into the building, an air of excitement enveloping you as you made your way toward the elevator.

KK swiped her key card against the elevator panel, and the doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, sealing us inside. “This shit is fancy, not gonna lie. At least no one can just waltz up here; they need a swipey swipe,” she laughed, her joy infectious, making you and Nika giggle along with her.

As we chatted, Nika and KK noticed the striking partial heterochromia in your left eye, a detail that stood out beautifully. They also caught glimpses of the tattoos peeking from your neck, while the rest remained hidden beneath your clothes. You shared that you had braces in the past, recently removed, and their surprise was clear; they had thought your smile was naturally perfect.

When the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival on the 42nd floor, the doors opened to reveal your new home. Before you could step out, KK was already out the door, luggage in hand, and the sight sent you and Nika into fits of laughter. It was a funny moment, watching her act as if this place was hers, while you and Nika followed behind.

“Hey Vee, would it be cool if I moved in? No bullshit." KK called out, stepping into the living room—a space that effortlessly blended modern simplicity with an air of dark elegance. She flopped onto the couch, her feet kicked up, and her arm draped casually over the backrest.

“God damn, you really are a princessa,” she murmured to herself, taking in the vastness of the room.

You, Nika, and KK meandered through the expansive living area, which was bathed in a warm, natural glow from the floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the stunning city skyline beyond. The walls, painted in a deep charcoal gray, provided a sophisticated backdrop for the sumptuous deep blue velvet sofas, their plush cushions beckoning you to sink in and relax.

At the heart of the room, a sleek, low-lying coffee table crafted from polished steel and glass commanded attention, surrounded by modern sculptures and art pieces that lent an air of creativity. On one side, a large flat-screen TV was seamlessly mounted on the wall, framed by a minimalist media console in a matching charcoal gray, offering ample storage for entertainment essentials while maintaining an uncluttered aesthetic.

You three entered the spacious kitchen, a place that exuded a sense of dark elegance. The tall black cabinets reached up to the ceiling, beautifully contrasting with the bright white marble countertops. Soft recessed lighting filled the room, highlighting the central island that served both as a prep space and a casual dining area. Sleek stainless steel appliances, including a double oven and a roomy refrigerator, blended into the design, making everything easily accessible. The glossy dark backsplash added a touch of sophistication, while clever storage solutions hinted at luxury.

"Damn, this feels like a scene from a dark romance novel," KK said, and you and Nika nodded, imagining the kind of rich, ruthless businessmen who might inhabit such a space—only this time, it was a penthouse instead of a mansion.

"I know, right? Those rich, ruthless businessmen from those dark romance stories." Nika chimed in, as if reading your mind.

"You just took the words right out of my head," you replied, your accent thick as you bypassed the studio room. Your gaze was drawn to the inviting balcony. In a rush, you all made your way to the glass door, flinging it open to step out onto the medium-sized balcony, the vibrant city sprawling below you.

The modern oasis unfolded before you, a stunning blend of minimalist design and sleek sophistication. Dark wood decking contrasted beautifully with contemporary metal accents, creating an inviting and stylish atmosphere. A chic outdoor sofa paired with a glass-top coffee table formed a cozy lounge, while carefully arranged planters added a splash of greenery. The compact outdoor kitchen and a small bar had Nika and KK buzzing with excitement.

"We don’t even need to hit up a bar anymore; we can just grab drinks and whip them up here." KK exclaimed, her enthusiasm bright as you leaned against the railing, soaking in the breathtaking city view. Your phone buzzed softly with missed messages from your parents. Were you going to answer? Nope! Would they be mad? Definitely. Did you care? Not at all; they were far away.

KK joined you, gripping the railing and leaning forward to shout, "WE GOT A FUCKIN' NEW TEAMMATE! HER NAME IS VALERIA DE MARTEL! WATCH THE HELL OUT, UCONN HUSKIES ON TOP, IT'S KK ARNOLD HOE!" You and Nika exchanged amused glances, stifling laughter as you watched KK turn around, her triumphant smile beaming like she had just won a grand victory.

As we stepped away from the balcony, excitement pulled us toward your master bedroom. KK gently opened the door, its soft creak unveiling a space filled with warmth and style. The walls, painted a deep charcoal grey, wrapped the room in a cozy embrace, while detailed molding along the ceiling. Rich black velvet curtains hung gracefully, framing the large windows and allowing just a hint of soft light to seep in.

In the center of this oasis was your grand king-sized bed, with a plush headboard that invited relaxation. The bedding was a luxurious mix of silky sheets, a chunky knit throw, and an array of soft pillows, creating a perfect spot to unwind.

Across from the bed, a sleek flat-screen TV blended seamlessly with the decor, while stylish nightstands held elegant lamps that bathed the room in a warm light. A chic leather chair nestled in the corner.

Your walk-in closet was a dream come true, displaying a carefully chosen wardrobe that reflected your unique style. Custom shelves showcased each piece like treasures, while the en-suite bathroom sparkled with modern luxury. A deep soaking tub and a refreshing rain shower awaited, all set against dark marble countertops that gleamed softly.

You and KK stepped into your bedroom, a soft sigh escaping as you both collapsed onto the bed, the sheets wrapping around you like a warm embrace. In that moment, you felt a deep sense of belonging in this new space—one that was all your own. It might not have the luxury of your parents' grand mansion, but its cozy charm was a perfect fit for your hearts.

"Damn, this has really changed how I see things. Paige will have to find a new roommate because I’m moving in with Vee! This bed feels so forbidden and divine; I’ve never experienced anything like it." KK murmured, her voice muffled by the plush pillows, surrendering to the comfort that enveloped her.

"So, beba, are you excited to be here? 'Cause I’m seriously thrilled for you—!" Nika's enthusiasm spilled over, only to be playfully interrupted when KK shot her a look. Nika rolled her eyes with a laugh, backtracking. "Sorry! I mean, we’re excited for you to be here," she said, gesturing between herself and KK.

"But I'm more excited than she is." KK mutters to herself, though the words escape her lips just loud enough for you to hear. You can't help but snort, rolling over to catch Nika's gaze. KK, sensing the pull of sleep, sits up, knowing all too well that surrendering to the comfort of the bed would mean drifting off.

"Yeah, I'm excited too, but honestly, I'm also a bit nervous. My hands were shaking earlier, but KK helped settle my nerves. It's just... fitting in here, in this new country, and with the team. Will they see me as a stranger or an outsider?" you confess, your voice a delicate blend of uncertainty and a hint of excitement, though the weight of doubt lingers heavily in your mind.

"Trust me, they won’t treat you any differently than they treat us. They’ll love you just like we do. They’re genuinely eager to meet another foreign basketball player; they’ve been talking about you all summer, waiting for your arrival since you were supposed to come then." Nika reassures you, settling beside you and rubbing your back in a soothing motion, her tone enveloping you like a warm embrace.

"But be ready; Paige might be a tough cookie to crack," KK chimed in, her smile radiating warmth as she glanced at you.

You blinked, trying to process the flurry of information. The prospect of meeting more people so soon after your arrival made your heart race, and a nervous bead of sweat formed on your palms, prompting you to discreetly wipe them on your black cargo pants. "Why is Paige Bueckers a tough cookie to crack? Wait, a party? When? Where? For how long? I just landed in America for the first time; can't a foreigner catch a break?" You rambled, your French accent lending an air of charm to your flustered words.

"Well, last year, she tore her ACL during a game and had to sit out for the rest of the season. The coach basically banned her from practice and the gym, which left her feeling isolated. She was crushed about missing out on playing, but now that she’s back, her competitive spirit is fiercer than ever. No one takes this sport as seriously as Paige does. She might see you as a potential rival, like one of those cocky ass basketball players who only care about themselves. So, she’s a bit on guard right now. But trust me, once she meets you and gets to know you, you two will become great friends, just like me and you." KK explained, her gestures weaving the bond of your friendship into the conversation.

But that only sparked your curiosity. They say curiosity killed the cat, and it had led you astray more times than you could count. This time, however, you held back your questions. KK and Nika caught the flicker of intrigue in your eyes, and KK added, "Just remember, I was here first, before Paige. We’re besties for life."

"We were thinking of inviting them over to your place, if that's cool with you. We could bring some ice cream and make our own bowls—nothing too fancy, just a chill hangout with the team and you," Nika said softly, her hand gently rubbing your back as you nodded, welcoming the idea. "But we have practice in an hour, so we need to leave early since your home is about 30 to 40 minutes away from campus. You can relax here or take a nap; we’ll be back around seven or eight, so just be ready."

With that, Nika stood up, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as she moved toward the bedroom door. KK, however, groaned, reluctant to leave the warmth of the cozy bed. With a sigh that echoed her reluctance, she rolled out of your bed, "See you later, Vee." As they stepped out, you fell back onto your bed, stretching out like a starfish while your gaze wandered up to the new ceiling above you.

Exhaustion finally washed over you after that grueling eleven-hour flight. You slowly pulled out your phone, your heart sinking as you saw ten unread messages and two missed calls from your father. He was more intimidating than your mother, and the thought of his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Alongside that, there were five missed calls and twenty unread messages from her, a reminder of the whirlwind of family life waiting for you.

Amidst the chaos, you noticed unread messages from your uncle, your brother Benji, and your older brother Marco, which brought a soft smile to your lips. But the weight of sleepiness was heavy, and before you could even think to reply, your phone slipped from your hand, landing gently on your chest. Your eyelids fluttered closed, surrendering to the sweet embrace of sleep.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The UConn Huskies packed into the elevator, their chatter a lively symphony of excitement and laughter, buzzing with the thrill of finally meeting you. Meanwhile, you were blissfully unaware, lost in the depths of slumber, your new bed cradling you in its embrace. It was 7:54 P.M., and Paige, on the other hand, had been dragged from her dorm by none other than her best friend, Azzi Fudd. Reluctantly, she had agreed to join this little gathering, Azzi adamant that she needed to connect with you, the new freshman now that you were part of the Husky family.

As the elevator ascended, Paige leaned against the wall, a look of mild disinterest etched on her face. Her hands were shoved deep into the pockets of her snug dark gray Nike tech zip-up jacket, perfectly accentuating her lean, athletic frame. A gentle ding heralded their arrival, and the doors slid open to reveal your inviting abode.

Stepping inside, the girls' excitement was almost tangible as they took in the spaciousness of your home. They explored every nook and cranny, while Aubrey, Sarah, and Lou made a beeline for the kitchen, arms overflowing with bags of ice cream, condiments, and an enticing array of toppings and syrups, their eyes sparkling with the promise of indulgence.

"Damn, she's loaded; she could seriously be my sugar mommy," Azzi quipped, her eyes glimmering with playful mischief as she absorbed the inviting atmosphere of your penthouse. The air was thick with a rich tapestry of scents—an intoxicating blend of incense and deep chocolate, intertwined with the warmth of aged wood and leather, evoking the essence of spiced red wine.

Paige rolled her eyes, a hint of disapproval crossing her face, though she couldn't deny the allure of your home’s fragrance. No way she’d ever admit that, though. KK nodded in enthusiastic agreement with Azzi's words. "I already told Vee I'm movin' in; Paige is just gonna have to find a new roommate." At that, Paige snapped her head toward KK, disbelief etched across her features.

"You just met her, and you're already thinking about moving in? What if she's not who she seems—maybe just a cocky, two-faced bitch hiding behind a sweet smile." Paige interjected, her voice low and laced with skepticism. KK shot her a sharp look, while Azzi gently nudged Paige, silently urging her to hold her tongue.

Nika rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defiantly. "Paige, chill out; she's really sweet and cool."

"Girl, boo, right! She's already stirring up trouble without even meeting my new bestie." KK replied, a teasing smile creeping across her face as she plotted how to wake you up, her excitement bubbling over. "Now let me go wake my bestie boo up!"

With that, she dashed upstairs, her footsteps light and eager, while Nika followed closely behind, anticipation dancing in her eyes as she prepared to witness KK's playful attempt to rouse you from your slumber.

"Paige, can you just put on a friendly face for a bit?" Azzi whispered, her tone laced with a mix of hope and exasperation as they made their way to the kitchen. "We’re really just trying to get to know her."

Trailing behind, Paige exuded a palpable reluctance. "Honestly, I didn’t want to be here at all. You dragged me along after I said no more times than I can count. What’s the point of meeting yet another cocky bastard who thinks they’re the best thing since sliced bread?" she replied, a hint of disdain coloring her words.

Azzi let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to stave off a headache. As they entered the kitchen, they found Aubrey perched casually on the expansive countertop, effortlessly tossing grapes into her mouth, her demeanor relaxed as Sarah leaned against the sink. Lou stood nearby, animatedly discussing you and your quirks.

Sarah caught sight of Paige and Azzi as they sauntered into the kitchen. "Wait, Paige, hand me your phone real quick," she declared, her tone abrupt yet laced with urgency. Paige raised an eyebrow, surprise flickering across her face, but curiosity soon took the reins. With a languid motion, she retrieved her iPhone 14 Pro, the sleek device glinting in the light, and handed it over to Sarah, the screen already illuminated.

Aubrey gracefully slid off the countertop, positioning herself like a shadow behind Sarah, while Lou stood to her right and Azzi took up a spot on her left. The trio formed a tight circle, their energy palpable as Sarah focused intently on the screen. "What the hell are you doing on my phone, Sarah?" Paige's voice was tinged with a mix of intrigue and mild alarm as she caught a glimpse of Sarah's determined expression.

"I'm just trying to find Valeria's Instagram to see if she's posted any highlights." Sarah replied, her tone casual yet purposeful. In an instant, Paige lunged forward to reclaim her phone, but Sarah deftly pulled it out of reach, a playful glint in her eye. Aubrey and Azzi gently placed their hands on Paige's chest, holding her back with a teasing restraint.

"Aht aht, let her find the damn Instagram. You're acting like we're watching porn on your phone." Aubrey chimed in, a smirk dancing across her lips. Lou's curiosity mirrored Aubrey's, both eager to see what would unfold. Meanwhile, Nika and KK were busy scouring YouTube and TikTok for your highlights, but their efforts yielded nothing. You simply didn’t exist on social media, or at least not under the terms they were searching for.

"Hell no, I don't want that girl in my search history," Paige shot back, her tone thick with disdain and contempt.

Sarah, brushing off Paige's words, swiftly dove into the digital realm, her fingers dancing across the screen until she unearthed your Instagram profile under the username "Val_Astral." The aesthetic was strikingly minimalist; a blacked-out profile pic that hinted at mystery. Your bio was a cool mix of flags—France, Spain, Brazil—alongside your age, 19, punctuated by a basketball emoji. A powerful quote captured the essence of your spirit: "No soy quisquillosa; solo sé lo que merezco."

With a raised eyebrow, Sarah observed the follower count—17k—and mused, "For 17k followers, I lowkey expect like a million or something." Her gaze shifted to the two posts, one from five years ago and another from four. Intrigued, she tapped the video from five years back, which boasted a staggering 6 million views and over 1.9 million likes.

The video unfolded, revealing a younger version of you, a teenager with a tousled manbun, sweat glistening on your brow as you caught your breath. Clad in a bold black and red jersey emblazoned with the number 44, the matching shorts hung loosely at your hips. You stood amidst a swarm of reporters, microphones thrust forward, their eager inquiries echoing in the air, capturing a moment that was both electrifying and overwhelming.

Questions in rapid French flew around you, like "Quelle a été la clé du succès de votre équipe tout au long du tournoi?" and "Pouvez-vous décrire les émotions que vous avez ressenties lors du match final?" Sarah and Lou translated the French words for their friends, helping them understand better.

You answered the barrage of questions with an air of quiet confidence, your breath coming in soft puffs as you lifted your shirt to wipe the sweat from your forehead. The light glinted off your slightly toned abdomen, a hint of four-pack abs shimmering in the glow, each droplet of sweat accentuating the moment. Your voice, light yet imbued with a hint of raspiness, flowed with a thick French and Spanish accent, the black braces behind your crooked teeth adding an unexpected charm.

Behind you, Paige leaned against Azzi, her gaze fixed on the screen as she watched the video unfold. Her expression was a mix of disinterest and curiosity, pondering why this seemingly mundane clip—just you conversing in a different language—had amassed a staggering number of likes and views. It was dull, almost hypnotic, threatening to lull her into a state of slumber.

“Valeria,” began a young reporter from L'Equipe, her voice wavering slightly in the face of your imposing presence. "Félicitations pour votre victoire ce soir. Une performance phénoménale, en effet. Vous êtes devenu le joueur vedette de la France, nous éblouissant avec 63 points à couper le souffle, 18 passes décisives, 8 blocs, 6 interceptions et 7 rebonds. Mais la vraie question est la suivante: saviez-vous que votre équipe gagnerait ce soir?"

When Lou and Sarah heard the French reporter's words, their mouths fell open in astonishment at the remarkable stats from the championship game you had just triumphed in. As Sarah and Lou translated for their friends, Aubrey’s eyes widened in disbelief, while Azzi stared, caught in a blend of intrigue and shock. Paige, however, remained skeptical, convinced it was all a fabrication of fake news and sensationalism, yet they all leaned in closer, captivated by the unfolding scene.

A palpable silence filled the air, thick enough to be felt, as the anticipation became almost unbearable. Your lips, adorned in a deep, almost vampiric red, curled into a slow, barely perceptible smirk. Your gaze, devoid of warmth yet piercingly intense, was accentuated by that striking heterochromia eye, sparkling with a chilling confidence as it locked onto the reporter.

"Est-ce que je savais?" you echoed the young reporter's question, your French tinged with a subtle Spanish accent that only sharpened its impact. You paused, allowing the tension to swell, each heartbeat amplifying the suspense. "Let's be clear about something, chéri.. I don't 'know' things. I dictate them. So yeah, I fucking knew. From the moment I stepped onto that court. I knew. This entire goddamn championship was mine to take."

"Et franchement," You tilted your head, your chillingly confident gaze sweeping over the stunned faces of the reporters. "quiconque pensait le contraire est un putain d'imbécile."

The atmosphere crackled with tension, your casual arrogance hanging in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating any attempt at a comeback. One journalist, visibly shaken, stammered as he tried to formulate a follow-up question, but you silenced him effortlessly with a dismissive wave of your hand.

"Maintenant, si vous m'excusez," you said, your voice dripping with a blend of cockiness and elegance, "J'ai un trophée pour célébrer. Essayez de ne pas vous mettre en mon chemin." With that, you turned and strode away, leaving a trail of bewildered reporters in your wake. The echoes of your chilling confidence lingered long after you had departed. The victory may have belonged to France, but tonight, it was unequivocally yours; you owned the court, and you were fully aware of it.

"Haha—my performance tonight? Flawless. Mon tournage ? Mortel. La victoire ? Une putain de formalité." Your voice rang out as the video morphed into a captivating edit, the infectious rhythm of "Hmm - HotHeads" setting the stage for a breathtaking showcase of your court prowess. Each frame unfolded like a masterful painting, illustrating your finesse—sinking three-pointers, executing mid-range shots with precision, and gliding effortlessly to the paint for layups. You dazzled with slick passes, leaving defenders scrambling, snatching the ball with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Your leaps were nothing short of poetry in motion, swatting shots away and claiming rebounds, orchestrating flawless assists that left the crowd in awe.

Once again, your voice pierced through the edit, brimming with confidence: "I'm just quicker, sharper—I'm just straight-up fuckin' better!" The scene captured the moment you drained a three-pointer, the ball swishing through the net as you locked eyes with your opponent, flashing a cocky three-finger salute, a smirk dancing on your lips.

In another electrifying clip, you crossed up your opponent with lightning speed, sending them sliding across the gleaming hardwood floor. Laughter erupted from you, a joyous sound that filled the air as you launched yet another deep three, not even bothering to watch it fall—your instinct told you it was a sure thing. You strolled away, confidence radiating from every step.

Then, your voice returned, rich with a blend of accents—Spanish intertwined with French. "Yeah, we won," you drawled, the satisfaction evident in your tone, a perfect finale to the exhilarating display of your undeniable talent. "But let's be honest without me? They wouldn't have stood a fucking chance. I carried that team on my back, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. This trophy? It's basically mine." As the montage unfolded, you sank a stunning buzzer-beater from half court in the final quarter, the ball arcing gracefully through the air before swishing through the net. The moment was electrifying, a perfect climax to your highlight reel. As the video faded out, the victory felt palpable.

"Damn, that was cold." Aubrey said, her voice filled with admiration and disbelief at your incredible high school highlight. "That edit is fire." Lou exclaimed, her accent adding a melodic charm to her words, clearly mesmerized by the stunning edit and the perfect track that accompanied the edit.

Azzi and Sarah nodded in awe, their eyes sparkling with admiration, while Paige scoffed, disapproval etched across her features. She couldn't overlook the way you seemed to overshadow your teammates, your confidence bordering on arrogance.

"Did you see how she just basically shamed her own teammates? Seriously, do we really want someone like that—who doesn't give a flying fuck about us at all? She only cares about herself and her image." Paige shot back, her voice slicing through the admiration like a knife, laced with disbelief and indignation.

All eyes turned to her, the tension palpable. Sarah rubbed her neck, deliberately avoiding Paige's piercing gaze, while Aubrey and Lou exchanged knowing whistles, diverting their eyes. Everyone recognized that Paige spoke a harsh truth, but who would dare to voice their agreement? Not a chance.

"C'mon, P. That was literally high school; she was just 14 or 15, winning a huge championship like that. You weren't even in France that day." Azzi broke the silence, her voice steady and calm. She could feel the weight of Paige's sharp gaze on her, a momentary pause hanging in the air as she continued. "You have no idea what she was feeling in that moment. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she was on top of the world after dropping 63 points and walking away with a big trophy."

"Yeah, Paige, chill out. Nika and KK say she's coo peeps; give her a shot." Aubrey added, her tone soothing as she rested a hand on Paige's shoulder. Yet, despite the comfort, Paige remained tense, muttering curses under her breath—a silent rebellion known only to herself.

"Alright, let me hand P her phone back." Sarah said, returning the device. Paige immediately dove into her Instagram search history, swiftly deleting your username with a flick of her thumb. Just as she was about to voice her thoughts, KK's voice broke through the tension, shifting the atmosphere once again.

"Girl, boo! I was just waking you up!" KK exclaimed, rolling her eyes with playful exasperation, a teasing smile illuminating her face. Nika couldn't help but chuckle, her mind drifting back to the moment KK had roused you from your dreams. You lay there on your side, blissfully unaware of the delightful chaos that was about to unfold around you.

KK nestled beside you, positioning herself a mere seven inches from your face, gently tapping your cheek while whispering softly, "Wake up, babygirl! Come on, wifey—our tiny tornadoes are downstairs plotting their next snack attack, and they need their queen to lead the charge!"

With each persistent tap, you groaned, and as your eyes fluttered open, you were met with KK's radiant grin, startling you to the point of tumbling out of bed with a loud thud. Nika erupted into laughter, and KK seized the moment to tease, "You know you drool when you sleep?"

Her voice dripped with playful mockery, and embarrassment flooded your cheeks as your hand flew to your mouth, wiping at the corners as if to erase any trace of your slumber. Your cheeks burned with a rosy hue while KK snickered, and Nika simply reveled in the joy of the moment, laughter echoing in the air.

As KK took the lead in choosing your outfit, her approach mirrored a mother’s care on a child’s first day of school. With a playful sparkle in her eye, she couldn’t help but tease your quirky Bugs Bunny UGG slippers. What started as a simple task quickly evolved into a lively dress-up session, completely overshadowing the ones waiting downstairs.

KK carefully selected a stylish yet casual look: a black Big Worm graphic sweatshirt that hung just right, teasing a glimpse of your toned abs whenever you reached up. The dark gray, baggy sweatpants sagged slightly, allowing the edge of your white Calvin Klein boxers to peek out. Your dark gray UGG slippers rounded off the outfit, enhanced by a spritz of Dior Sauvage cologne. Though she considered taming your wild hair, KK decided it was perfect as is—messy yet charming.

Your outfit beautifully showcased the intricate tattoos that adorned your arms and neck, each design a captivating mix of flowers and vines, as if they were alive. The delicate patterns wrapped around your fingers and flowed down your forearms, with slender vines dancing gracefully. KK admired them, her fingers lightly tracing the ink, captivated by how they enhanced your look.

"I finally managed to wake our sleeping beauty!" KK called out, playfully pulling you along toward the rest of the team, who erupted in laughter and teasing applause.

A nervous smile crept onto your face—not from shyness, but from the excitement of meeting Americans for the first time in a new country. As your gaze swept over the girls, you were enveloped in warm embraces and friendly high-fives, a delightful surprise that swiftly banished any lingering doubts. The atmosphere buzzed with energy as your new teammates playfully jostled one another, eager to decide who would be the first to engage you in conversation.

Before long, you found an instant connection with Lou. The two of you effortlessly slipped into conversations in Spanish and French, delighting in the rhythm of your words. Lou laughed at the speed of your speech, her dialect slightly different yet harmonizing beautifully with yours. The other girls watched with smiles, their faces lighting up despite not understanding a word. They were simply thrilled that you had found someone to relate to, not only in basketball but also in language.

Aubrey glided in, effortlessly commanding your attention—a moment you had been eagerly awaiting, thanks to your diligent research on UConn. Your hands met in a cool, casual dap, a gesture that felt both familiar and inviting. "Hey, I'm Aubrey Griffin. So awesome to finally meet you, Valeria. The coach, KK, and Nika have shared so much about you!"

A gentle smile graced your lips as you responded, your accent rich and warm. "Same here. It’s an honor to play for your team, and a true privilege to be in America." Aubrey's grin blossomed further as she casually draped her arm over your shoulder, guiding you toward Paige and Azzi, who were engaged in a hushed exchange.

Azzi chastised Paige for her somewhat childish antics, while Paige, ever the defender, insisted that her skepticism was perfectly reasonable. Azzi, with a knowing glint in her eye, encouraged her to stop behaving like a child.

"These two lovely people are good friends of mine and also your new teammates—"

"Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers, right?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, feeling Aubrey's arm slide away from your shoulder. Azzi greeted you with a radiant smile, her eyes shimmering with warmth and friendliness, while Paige exuded a cool detachment, her expression suggesting she couldn’t care less about your presence or the fleeting moment.

"It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. Valeria De Martel at your service," you proclaimed, your signature accent dancing through the air as you extended your hand toward both Paige and Azzi. Azzi nudged Paige, a hint of urgency in her gesture, but Paige remained unmoved until KK broke the silence.

"Aye, P-Boogers! You really gonna leave my bestie boo hangin'? Or are you just gonna keep actin' like the ultimate nonchalant dreadhead? You need to greet my girl Valeria, aka Vee, with the green!" KK snapped her fingers, her tone teasing yet insistent. Paige rolled her eyes, the very picture of casual indifference, but finally, she reached out, grasping your hand in a grip that was surprisingly firm.

Your eyes widened at the strength of her handshake, a spark of unexpected electricity coursing through you. A grin tugged at your lips, and your heart fluttered as her piercing blue gaze met yours. Yet, within those striking depths lay an unmistakable air of disinterest and ennui, as if she were trapped in a moment she wished to escape—an unvarnished truth that lingered between you, palpable and raw.

She stood tall, exactly six feet, her lean athletic physique accentuated by the fitted dark gray Nike Tech sweat outfit that hugged her frame just right. There was an undeniable magnetism about her; her long ash-colored hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, allowing her fair skin to radiate under the soft light. High cheekbones framed her face, and the sharp angles of her sculpted jawline made her look both fierce and stunning.

You found yourself lost in her presence, staring with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. When she tried to retract her hand, your grip tightened instinctively, as if you were trying to hold onto the moment itself. "Can you let go?" Her voice was a captivating blend of husky softness and firm demand, slicing through your daze.

In an instant, you snapped back to reality, blinking as a rush of embarrassment colored your cheeks. You released her hand like it was a live wire, your own hands flailing in a nervous dance. An apology tumbled out in French, completely unplanned, as you felt the weight of all the eyes around you. The other girls erupted in laughter at your awkwardness, their amusement clear, while Paige shot you a look of annoyance, as if your flustered charm was more of a bother than a delight.

"Cálmate, cálmate, Vee. Eres bueno; no quisiste decir nada con eso." Lou's voice broke through the tension, her rich accent wrapping around you like a warm blanket, soothing your frayed nerves. Just as you were about to let another apology slip from your lips, Azzi appeared, her presence radiating warmth as she pulled you into a cozy embrace. That familiar flutter ignited in your chest, reminiscent of the electric jolt from Paige's handshake.

"She isn't mad, so no more apologies." Azzi chimed in, her tone a gentle melody that brushed against the shell of your ear. "But damn, you look even better in person than in that video." Her words were soft yet firm, sending a delightful warmth cascading through you, your cheeks flushing as Paige shot you a glare, her irritation a riddle you couldn’t quite solve.

"My, my such a silver tongue, ma bella. I wonder if it tastes as sweet as it sounds," you whispered, your accent rich and inviting. Azzi's lips formed a delicate "o," a blush blooming on her cheeks, even though the French words slipped just beyond her grasp. There was something undeniably enchanting in your delivery, a charm that seemed to captivate her completely.

"I might've missed the words, but the way you said that? Damn, that was hot. You're such a tempting charmer with that pretty face of yours—care to say it again but slower?" Her lips brushed against the shell of your ear, igniting a spark that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The warmth of her breath danced against your skin, a tantalizing whisper that lingered long after she pulled away. Her hands, strong yet gentle, settled on your lower back, a perfect blend of softness and strength that spoke of countless hours spent on the basketball court.

As you leaned in closer, your arms draped over her shoulders, you noticed how she stood just a fraction taller than you. It was an unexpected advantage that made your heart race with excitement. When she uttered those words again, her voice a sultry blend of mischief and allure, your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t anticipated her playful flirting, and the way she teased you sent your mind spinning.

She pulled back slightly, her gaze locking onto yours, and the lingering sensation of her lips against your ear left you feeling breathless. The warmth in your cheeks betrayed you, a rosy hue blooming as you stared into her deep brown eyes, which sparkled with warmth and a magnetic charm.

You didn’t even realize that the other girls in the kitchen were watching with amusement, their eyes glinting as they lowkey hyped you up, caught in the electric vibe of the moment. Lou was in the corner, her voice ringing out in Spanish, cheerfully urging you on, her energy infectious. But then there was Paige, the lone dissenting voice in the crowd, glaring at you with a look that could freeze flames, rolling her eyes as if this whole scene was beneath her.

Yet there you were, completely lost in Azzi’s gaze, the rest of the world fading into a soft blur. It felt like a bubble had formed around the two of you, isolating you from the laughter and chatter of the kitchen. Just as you thought you could drown in those deep, captivating eyes, a sharp throat-clearing from KK sliced through the air, yanking you both back to reality.

KK stepped in, her arm sliding between you and Azzi, disrupting the magnetic pull that had drawn you together. As her hands trailed down from your lower back, you reluctantly pulled your arms away from Azzi’s shoulders, the warmth of his presence slipping just out of reach. “Aye, aye! PDA, y’all! Damn, you two looked like you were about to eat each other’s faces—straight disgusting!” she exclaimed, her voice dripping with playful mockery as she faked a gag.

The heat rushed to your cheeks, a blush blooming as you glanced at Azzi, who was equally flustered but couldn’t suppress the smile spreading across her face.

"Lo siento, let me try this so-called American ice cream for the first time," you muttered, your thick accent rolling off your tongue as Nika gasped and rushed over, her arm slinging around your shoulders like a warm embrace.

"Wait, seriously? You’ve never had ice cream?" Nika asked, her eyebrow arching in disbelief. You shook your head, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face. Your parents had always been too fancy for such simple pleasures, opting for elaborate desserts crafted by chefs, while you and your brother Benji usually whipped up sweet treats for each other. Ice cream was definitely on your must-try list, but somehow, it had always slipped through the cracks.

"Don't worry, Beba! You're gonna love it. We’ll make sure you have the best time in America so you can leave a five-star review," she joked, and the room erupted in laughter, your chuckle mingling with theirs, the tension of the moment melting away like ice cream on a hot summer day.

As the night wore on, the welcome party turned out to be a blast. All those doubts and nerves you had felt earlier were tossed aside, replaced by a comfortable sense of belonging. Laughter filled the air as you and the girls began crafting your ice cream bowls. Nika and KK enthusiastically threw out suggestions, and you settled on mint chocolate chip, drizzling it with chocolate syrup and sprinkling on colorful chocolate sprinkles.

"Hold up, let me pull out my phone. I gotta get this on camera.” KK exclaimed, her excitement palpable as she whipped out her phone, ready to capture the moment of your first ice cream experience. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the blush creeping in as Azzi and Nika teased you, giggles bubbling up around you, especially as they noticed your red ears.

Meanwhile, Paige remained mostly quiet, her gaze occasionally fixed on you with a sharp intensity. Each time she heard your voice or caught a glimpse of your accent, her eyes seemed to sharpen, as if she were trying to decipher a puzzle that intrigued her.

The basketball team and Azzi were definitely tuned in to your little ice cream adventure, their eyes dancing with amusement as you cautiously dipped your spoon into the bowl. With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, you lifted a generous scoop to your lips, and as the chilled mint chocolate chip met your tongue, it was like a burst of pure joy. The sensation was heavenly—until a sharp chill shot through your tooth, prompting you to instinctively blow on it, which only made the girls roar with laughter.

KK's laughter rang out loud and clear, a vibrant melody in the midst of the chaos. "Naw dawg, that ain't soup! What you blowin' on it for? You think it’s gonna start a fire or somethin'?!" she teased, her voice echoing off the walls as the cold creaminess melted in your mouth, leaving you in a state of blissful delight. You swallowed the first bite, still feeling the coolness linger.

“It made my toof cold,” you muttered, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance, your thick accent adding a layer of charm to your words.

“Yo, ‘toof’?” Aubrey exclaimed, her voice dripping with playful mockery. Sarah doubled over, clutching her stomach as laughter erupted from her. Lou, trying to maintain some semblance of composure, raised a hand to her mouth, but it was a losing battle; she burst into fits of giggles that only fueled the hilarity of the moment.

As the six of you dug into the ice cream bowls, the joy of the evening wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. You had to admit, ice cream was a delightful treat, even if it did send shivers through your teeth. The laughter and camaraderie filled the air, creating a backdrop of warmth that made you feel right at home, despite the initial nerves. In that moment, surrounded by friends and laughter, you realized that this was exactly where you belonged.

Azzi nudged her best friend Paige, who was practically glued to you with her piercing gaze. You felt it, but you were too caught up in the hilarious banter with Sarah and Lou, the three of you tossing around jokes in French, laughter bubbling up like the fizz in a soda. It was a lively scene, filled with warmth and camaraderie, but Paige's intensity was hard to ignore.

"You know you been shooting daggers at the new rookie all night." Azzi's voice sliced through the playful chaos, soft yet firm, as if she were trying to break through the stubbornness that often characterized her best friend.

"Yeah, like how you been eye-fuckin' her the whole night! Might as well just suck her face off." Paige shot back, her words a low murmur meant only for Azzi's ears. Her gaze flickered back to you, burning with an intensity that could probably ignite flames.

Azzi's breath hitched at Paige's words; she knew her friend wasn't wrong. She had been staring at you, captivated not just by your looks but something deeper, something that felt familiar yet elusive. It was a mystery she was determined to unravel, even if she couldn't quite put her finger on it just yet. As the laughter continued to flow around them, Azzi couldn't help but wonder what it was about you that had caught her attention so completely.

"P. I wasn't eye-fucking her! What's your animosity towards her anyways? She's new to America and a freshman, that's all?" Azzi shot back, but Paige just rolled her eyes, arms crossed tight across her chest. She simply didn’t trust you, and that was that. She didn’t get what everyone else saw in you.

"I just don’t trust the Frenchie, that’s all." Paige shrugged, and before Azzi could even respond, she was already striding out of the kitchen. You glanced up from your ice bowl, catching her leaving with that unmistakable look of boredom plastered across her face.

[hauntedsweetsystem]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ imagine your f/o...

…slowly drifting off to sleep beside you. They’re so exhausted they don’t even realize when their head gently falls onto your shoulder. You glance at them and notice how peaceful they look, their breathing soft and steady. You don’t mind at all—you smile and let them relax, enjoying how cute they look.

[poetryofmuses]

I don't want a fictional man. I want to BE fictional. I want to escape this reality and live in a fictional world with him.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Era - Ameno (Remix) 1996

"Ameno" is a song by French new-age musical project Era. It was released in 1996 as a single from their self-titled debut album and became a chart success in France, Belgium, Sweden, Switzerland, Poland and Latin America. The lyrics are written in pseudo-Latin, i.e. sounding like Latin but are in fact deliberately devoid of any exact meaning.

The remix used here is the one that got played on radio and featured on chart hit compilation cd's all through Europe. The original version can be found here.

It earned 68,9% total yes votes!

[piastrishelmet]

early mornings with gavi¡ ღ

warnings; hi no warnings just enjoy this fluff (can you guys tell i love fluffs)

💌; thank you for all the love i've been receiving i'm actually so happy like what 🥺

↺as a light sleeper, gavi hates the sound of the alarm ringing nonstop in the morning. that's why most of the times it's your job to turn it off while he decides to hide on your neck.

" —turn that thing off before i throw it out the window. "

↺gavi changes his position a LOT on his sleep, so if you wake up before him you will probably find him wrapped in blankets meanwhile you are freezing<\3.

↺he loves afirmation words early in the morning while you caress his back drawing circles, he says it makes the start of the day better. ( isn't he a cutie like shut up )

↺you get his deep morning voice and oh my god.

↺even if you complain about the weather being too hot to cuddle, you will find him next morning all wrapped around you, with an arm lazily resting on your waist and one of his legs over yours.

↺he always will try to wake you up in the softest way possible, giving small kisses to the back of your neck and your cheeks.

and maybe sometimes you just pretend to be asleep for a little longer. just maybe.

↺having the urge to kiss the little pout he does when he's asleep.

↺discovering gavi sometimes talks on his sleep and him being embarrased about it next morning, scared to say something stupid.

↺laughing at gavi's messy hair and gently brushing it off his face. or him being too sleepy and confused about why are you laughing.

↺" —gavi, are you awake yet? "

" —no. "

" —you're going to be late.. "

" —i'm sleeping. "

↺him pulling you both under the blankets and giving you little goodmorning kisses. or that's how he calls it.

↺having silly morning arguments and accusing gavi of snoring and gavi acussing you of taking all space in bed.

↺fighting for who goes shower first and who gets more extra time in bed EVERY day. or gavi acting grumpy whenever he doesn't get the extra time.

↺sleepy smiles and floppy lazy kisses¡

↺gavi having pillow marks all over his cheek and you tracing them while he looks at you.

" —good sleep? "

" —mhm. "

[writerawoke]

Writing Prompts

The obsessive sunshine character begins to snap because their love interest keeps manipulating them.

The sunshine character was the villain the whole time.

The 'I'll find you in every lifetime' trope.

Someone who comes from a long line of powerful beings, but they are the last one who remains.

The powerful becomes overruled.

A world where humanity is overruled.

Enemies to lovers to enemies again.

A kingdom that protects the last remaining creature of it's kind.

A story that follows the POV of an imaginary friend who is slowly being forgotten. (Their human is growing up)

A God who created the world watches the world becomes destroyed, but cannot do anything about it. Possibly because they have done wrong and other Gods want to punish them for their wrongs, so their punishment is to watch their creation be destroyed.

A fairy who had been told to stay away from mankind because they are 'dangerous' finally comes into contact with their first human.

The savior becomes the saved.

A bookworm who gets pulled into a book and has to play main character.

Humans are zoo exhibits for aliens.

Someone's voice can heal.

Humans annoy a God so much, that the God begins to involve themselves in their world to cause destruction and chaos.

The hero becomes a villain.

A hero becomes a villain for the villain, but the villain becomes a hero for the hero.

An entity who gets sacrificed curses mankind.

'I'd die for you' and 'I'd kill for you.'

Best friend betrays character.

[marrr444]

Oh no no no no,It's just a bunch of books for you, for me it's my entire personality

[yoonlyhan]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ in which kageyama tobio lost his dog

kageyama just came back to his house after a quick run. this had always been his routine every morning. after running, he would take a shower then take poochy, his dog, for a walk around the neighborhood.

but after showering, he cannot find his dog around the house. kageyama's dog had been sneaky lately but he didn't expect poochy to sneak away from home.

kageyama immediately bolted out of his house.

...♡♡♡

“sure, mom. text you later!” you walked out of your house with your corporate attire and a tote bag slings around your shoulder.

just as before you're going to close the door, a small dog slowly walk passed you to go in inside your home.

“what the...” you confusingly uttered before leaning down to pick up the small dog.

you sighed in relief when the dog didn't bite you. it just lets you carry him out of your house. “where did you come from? where's your owner, buddy?” you touch the dog's collar and read it's name.

“poochy...”

“poochy!”

you flinched when your heard someone shouting. and then you blinked in realization.“oh, that must be your owner.” you pat the dog's head as you walk away from your house to look over to the voice of the person shouting.

you looked over to the left side first but saw no one walking. you were about to look at the other side when someone passes by you running.

the speed of the person made your eyes widened. “what the...”

it was a man talker than you. he's wearing a blue shirt and shoes. when you look down, you noticed a different pair of slippers he's wearing.

“poochyyyy!” he continues to ran while shouting.

“ah!” you look over to the dog then back to that person. “sir—”

the man suddenly ran into a column post that made him stopped running.

“sir?!” you quickly walked over to him and leaned slightly to catch his eyes to see if he was okay. “sir? are you okay?“

kageyama was covering his face and pinching his hurting nose. he was scowling when he looks over to the person in front of them. and the almost immediately slides to who you were holding.

his eyes widened to stare at the dog.

you noticed him looking at the dog so you willingly handed it to kageyama. you catches kageyama's staring eyes. “that's your dog right? poochy?” you gave out a small smile as you pat poochy's head.

kageyama cleared his throat. “...he is.” he looks at the dog with a scowl. “he escaped this morning while i was showering.”

“really? i would've never guess from poochy's quiet personality.”

kageyama nodded and the both of you stood in silent. you were looking at him but kageyama struggles to look at you in the eyes.

“uh well... i need to go now.” you said as you check your watch. “it was nice to meet you— sorry, what's your name again?”

kageyama nodded again, he seems to be distracted. “kageyama tobio.”

“nice seeing you, kageyema.” you smiled. “won't you think it's a great idea to have your number or name on poochy's collar? in case, you know, he escapes again?”

“yeah... okay, i'll give you my number.”

“what?"

“what?”

masterlist ♡

© written by @yoonlyhan . don't plagiarise my content. u will be blocked :x

credits to @anitalenia the wonderful divider ♡

[fictodreamer]

Every day I wanna remind him how loved & valued he truly is 🥹 He’s such an incredible, gorgeous & inspirational man who will always have my heart & soul 💚✨

[hellomynameisbisexual]

Authentic bisexual stories are long overdue. For too long, the experiences of bisexual individuals have been erased, misunderstood, or reduced to harmful stereotypes. It’s time to change that. Bisexuality isn’t a phase, a stepping stone, or something defined solely by the gender of a partner it’s a valid, vibrant identity with challenges, joys, and triumphs. The world needs stories that reflect this truth, stories that capture the full spectrum of bisexual experiences: love, struggle, identity, and community.

These stories matter deeply. They break down barriers, challenge stigma, and foster understanding. For someone questioning their identity, seeing an authentic reflection of themselves can be life changing. For allies and advocates, these narratives can be powerful tools to build empathy and support. Every story told with care and honesty brings us closer to a world where bisexual voices are heard and valued.

This is a call to action. Writers, creators, and advocates: the time to tell these stories is now. Each story is a step toward visibility and acceptance, a way to celebrate bisexual lives in all their complexity and beauty. The world is ready for these narratives are you ready to share them? Let’s commit to living our truth, one story at a time, and ensure that bisexual experiences are seen, understood, and celebrated. Together, we can create a future where everyone feels recognized and valued.

[hazeysmile]

001 𝑭𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆 -

𝙥𝙖𝙯𝙯𝙞

| Parings: paige bueckers x fem!oc x azzi fudd

| Synopsis: valeria de martel, a rookie foreign basketball player, scores a sponsorship that lands her at UConn, home of the Huskies. She meets star player Paige Bueckers, who’s not too happy about her joining, while Azzi Fudd is super excited to have Valeria on the team. As Valeria settles in, she vibes really well with Azzi, and their connection feels natural. But things are tense with Paige, who sees her as competition. Over time, though, they go from rivals to friends. With her strict parents far away and the pressure of big games, Valeria feels overwhelmed, especially when an old flame shows up at school. Meanwhile, both Paige and Azzi starts falling for her.

| word count: 11.6k

| authors note: I want to apologize for the delay in getting Chapter 1 to you. I've been balancing learning to ride a dirtbike with work, and honestly, my motivation dipped for a bit. Anyway, it's attached. Just a heads-up: I'm still a novice writer, so I'm open to constructive criticism. Also, I didn't get a chance to proofread, so apologies in advance for any typos or grammar mistakes. I'll get Chapter 2 to you ASAP!

જ⁀➴ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘-𝗪𝗔𝗬 𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗔 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗞𝗞 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧, 𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗚𝗘─

You were deep in your thoughts about Paige and her sudden coldness, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Nika and KK were lounging nearby, clearly enjoying the show. KK was practically in stitches, howling with laughter as you dramatically declared, "It’s like she’s holding a grudge against me for stealing her favorite Barbie doll!" Your voice hit that hilariously high pitch, adding to the absurdity of the moment.

As you vented your frustrations, the ridiculousness of it all washed over you, and you couldn’t help but chuckle along with them. Their laughter was infectious, wrapping around you like a warm blanket, pulling you out of your spiral of confusion. You then thought of Lou, the girl who you gave your number to had texted you with her playful mix of Spanish, French, and English.

As the night wore on, the laughter between the three of you faded into a comfortable hum, replaced by the kind of easy conversation that stretches seamlessly into the early hours. The glow of the phone screens illuminated your faces, casting a soft light on the shared smiles and sleepy eyes. Eventually, the three of you drifted off, falling asleep on FaceTime, the connection lingering like a warm embrace, even as dreams took over.

Fast forward to the university, and you found yourself navigating the labyrinthine campus, your sense of direction notoriously terrible. It took a solid thirty minutes of circling around before you finally spotted the entrance, but you made it just in time, revving up your motorcycle with a grin.

Back in France, you had a couple of bikes that your parents gifted you—gifts that felt more like a way to sidestep their shortcomings as parents than genuine affection. They never quite owned up to their mistakes, opting instead to shower you with material things. You wrestled with the moral implications of accepting their gifts, knowing deep down that it was wrong to let their attempts at guilt-assuagement affect you. But the allure of those bikes was hard to resist; they were your passion, a reminder of the joy that came from the open road. The only reason you were awake, and alert today was because of KK, her infectious energy pulling you from the depths of sleep when all you wanted was to stay cocooned in your dreams.

KK was on one, banging those pans like a percussionist in a chaotic symphony, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. “I didn’t get no sleep 'cuz of yall! Yall not gone get no sleep 'cuz of me!” The words blasted through the phone, and you and the Croatian woman couldn’t help but groan in unison, the annoyance spilling over even as KK's laughter bubbled up like soda fizzing over. It was impossible to stay mad when her joy was so infectious, and soon enough, you found yourselves caught up in the laughter.

Rolling into the sprawling parking lot, you took in the scene: students milling about, some huddled in groups, their laughter ringing out like music, while others dashed off with purpose, backpacks bouncing against their sides. You slid your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 into a spot, the bike’s sleek, muscular frame glistening under the sun, a true beast of engineering. It was like a magnet, drawing eyes as you parked, a few students stopping mid-conversation to admire the beauty of your ride.

Your 2022 Yamaha MT-10 stands out with its bold black and dark red design, exuding an aggressive vibe that catches the eye. The matte black finish gives it a stealthy look, while the dark red accents. Up front, the sharp LED headlight shines brightly, surrounded by dark red details that contrast beautifully against the black, highlighting the bike’s muscular build and sporty feel.

The wide fuel tank flows smoothly into the exposed trellis frame, showcasing its impressive engineering while enhancing its strong appearance. The ergonomic low-profile seat is designed for comfort and control, inviting you to take on the open road. The sporty black wheels, accented with dark red, not only amplify the fierce look but also improve handling. The high-mounted exhaust system features a sleek design that fits perfectly with the bike's overall aesthetic, while the rear tapers off sharply for a streamlined finish.

As you turn off the engine, the bike lets out a satisfying rumble. You take your key from the ignition, the sound echoing softly. Slipping off your leather gloves, you kick up the stand and unstrap your helmet. As you lift it away, your hair catches the wind, capturing that perfect moment of freedom after a ride.

Your hair was charmingly messy, a look you loved for its natural vibe, though you kept it from being too wild. You wore a gray plaid flannel shirt from Bershka over a plain black T-shirt, paired with black-wash slim flare jeans that fit just right. On your feet were the cool grey Jordan 4 Retro sneakers, and a small sling bag hung casually from your shoulder.

Silver rings adorned your left hand, making your tattoo stand out beautifully, while a stainless-steel butterfly pendant necklace added a touch of elegance. And let’s not forget your iconic white Calvin Klein corten stretch boxers—an obsession you developed the moment you spotted them.

You set your helmet on the gas tank along with your leather gloves, then gracefully stepped off your bike. Pulling out your phone, you queued up your playlist, balancing the volume perfectly. As Bad Bunny's "Vuelve Candy B" began to play, you shoved your keys into your pocket and quickly pulled out your timetable.

As you strolled through the campus, students cast fleeting glances your way, their curiosity evident. Your gaze flicked to the building codes, searching for your class. "Calculus lecture... more like calculus-tastrophe of my patience," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you glared at your schedule.

Around you, students lounged on the grass, engaged in lively conversations and laughter, while others tossed an American football back and forth, boasting about their skills.

School had never been your favorite place; it felt like a drain on your time and energy. Sure, everyone knew you—thanks to your parents, who were quite the celebrities in France with their multi-million-dollar businesses. But that fame came with its own burdens. Playing the role of the perfect daughter weighed heavily on your mental health, especially when you knew you were far too clever for the straight-laced image everyone expected.

Despite being a straight A-B student, you found ways to express your true self—occasional fights, tardiness, and even skipping classes to tag abandoned buildings with your friends. But then came the day your parents discovered your report card. You remembered it vividly, the disappointment in their eyes hitting harder than any punishment could.

"What the hell are these grades?" Your mother’s voice cut through the air, laced with her thick accent, her gaze sharp as it fell upon your slender frame. "Te pusimos en la mejor escuela de Francia, ¿y esto es lo que obtenemos? Cuatro B’s, dos A’s y dos C’s, ¿hablas en serio, Valeria?" The weight of her disappointment hung heavily between you, each word a reminder of the high expectations that loomed over your every move. "No entrarás en las mejores universidades con estas calificaciones. ¡Tienes que hacerlo mejor! No gastamos tanto dinero en tu educación para que descuides tus estudios. ¡Y ni siquiera me hagas hablar de tu comportamiento en la escuela!"

Once again, you found yourself ensnared in this familiar cycle of reprimand, your parents’ towering figures casting long shadows over your spirit. Your mother held your report card as if it were a contagious disease, something to be feared and avoided. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, the sting of their words cutting deeper than you cared to admit. You were sensitive to their anger, especially from the two people who meant the world to you.

You despised the scoldings, the punishment that seemed to envelop you like a heavy fog. Most kids would share your aversion, but for you, it felt like an unending quest for perfection, a constant reminder that you had to be their ideal daughter. As their voices rose, so did the prominence of their accents, a clear indication that they were truly furious.

"L-Lo siento, mamá," you murmured, your voice quivering like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing; it never seemed to be enough for them.

Your mother scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle escaping her lips as she flung your report card at you. "Is that all you can say? 'Sorry'? Si estuvieras realmente arrepentido, estarías trayendo a casa mejores calificaciones y tomando tu educación en serio en lugar de pasar el rato con esos amigos delincuentes tuyos, jugando... ¿qué fue? ¡Ah, sí, baloncesto!"

You flinched at the bite in her voice, quickly snatching the report card from the expensive floor, the weight of her words heavy in the air.

"¿Por qué no puedes, por una vez, ser como tu padre o tu hermano? Diablos, ¿por qué ni siquiera te gusto? Todos tenemos éxito, viviendo cómodamente en nuestra riqueza. ¿De verdad quieres que te re repudiamos, que te veamos vagando por las calles por el resto de tu vida?" Her tone was laced with arrogance and coldness, sending a chill down your spine. You looked down, arms instinctively crossing behind your back, hiding the report card from her piercing gaze.

Frustration welled up inside you, a familiar ache that always seemed to surface in these moments. It felt as if they were constantly finding ways to wound your fragile spirit, no matter how hard you tried to meet their expectations. Your fists clenched tightly, nails digging into your palms, a desperate attempt to contain the whirlwind of emotions raging within.

"Siento no ser lo suficientemente inteligente para ti. Sabes que la escuela no es fácil para mí." Your mother let out a laugh, a sound that cut through your words, her expression morphing into one of even deeper annoyance. Just as her lips parted to unleash her thoughts, the grand double wooden doors swung open, and the atmosphere of the room thickened, heavy with unspoken tension.

Then he appeared—your father. The last person you wished to see. Standing tall at 6'2", he had a well-proportioned, athletic frame that commanded attention. His deep chestnut hair was trimmed short on the sides, the top styled back with effortless precision, not a single strand daring to defy him, the peppering of silver adding a distinguished touch.

His facial features were striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jawline that was emphasized by a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, a deep shade of green, were sharp and piercing, often radiating an intensity that was both alluring and intimidating. Clad in a tailored suit of the finest fabric, a dark charcoal gray that whispered of elegance, he unbuttoned his blazer, as a designer watch peeked from beneath his cuff.

With a practiced grace, he folded his blazer and draped it over the back of his leather chair, the very seat where he often settled with a cigar in hand. "Alors, qu'est-ce qui se passe que tu m'as appelé de mon entreprise, chérie?" he asked, his voice smooth yet laced with authority, ready to delve into the drama that had unfolded in his absence.

He tilted his head, not sparing you a glance, his piercing green eyes locked onto your mother as she spoke. It was evident he was aware of your presence, yet he chose to disregard it, and you felt a strange ambivalence toward his indifference.

Your mother began to voice her concerns, her words flowing in a melodic rhythm of Spanish, while he hummed softly, seemingly unfazed. With a practiced nonchalance, he unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up his sleeves to his elbows, each movement fluid and confident. A man of many languages, he wielded them as tools in the business world, a skill that had undoubtedly served him well.

Finally, he cast a glance in your direction, an unreadable expression settling on his face as he approached you with deliberate steps. A primal urge to flee surged within you, yet with each step he took, your feet felt as though they were anchored to the ground. You focused on your shoes, your breath coming in shallow gasps, a silent plea for escape.

"Recommençant des problèmes à l'école?" His voice was devoid of warmth, chilling as he towered over you, his gaze piercing through your trembling frame. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a cruel satisfaction at your discomfort. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat, leaving you mute as he tilted his head, clearly displeased by your silence.

He extended his large, calloused hand toward you, grasping your chin with a grip that felt both commanding and unsettling, forcing your gaze upward to meet his. You trembled beneath his hold, the weight of his cold stare pressing down on you—a look your mother adored, a man she would never trade for anything in the world.

"Es-tu insolente, Valeria?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, low and heavy with authority.

You shook your head sharply, your words trapped in your throat, ensnared by the thick, oppressive air that hung between you like a storm cloud.

"Insouciant?" he pressed, tilting his head with a slight, almost predatory curiosity, his expression unyielding.

Once more, you shook your head, paralyzed by fear, unable to meet his gaze, as if looking away could shield you from his scrutiny.

With an audible click of his tongue, he expressed his annoyance, tightening his grip on your face, and a small whimper escaped your lips, betraying your resolve. "As-tu une langue dans ta tête?"

His voice rose just a notch, the weight of his accent sharpening with each syllable, as you fought back tears, determined not to let him witness your vulnerability. "O-Oui, père." The words finally slipped from your lips, fragile and stammered, tinged with the unmistakable lilt of your own accent, echoing the tension that thrummed in the air around you.

"Dis-moi pourquoi tu choisis d'être paresseux à l'école au lieu d'utiliser ta tête. C'est exaspérant que vous ne puissiez pas voir que nous faisons ce qui est le mieux pour vous. Tu ne m'écoutes jamais, ni à ta mère; c'est toujours une excuse. Chaque jour qui passe, vous trouvez de nouvelles façons de me décevoir. Honnêtement, j'atteins ma limite, Valeria."

Every word he uttered sliced through the air like shards of glass, each syllable deepening the ache that settled in your chest. A tempest of emotions swirled within you, the overwhelming urge to scream or weep clawing at your insides—a desperate plea for understanding. Why did they impose such towering expectations upon you, fully aware of the struggle you faced each day? At just fourteen, the weight of success felt like a heavy shackle, chaining you to a life that felt more like a prison sentence than a journey. All you longed for was a taste of normalcy, a fleeting moment unburdened by their relentless standards. You were utterly exhausted, drained by a reality that seemed to demand perfection while you yearned for freedom. Sleep became your only sanctuary, a refuge from the unyielding demands of a school that viewed you as the perfect daughter, simply because your parents basked in wealth and fame. How tragically misguided they were.

"I'm not lazy! You only see me when it fits your crazy high standards! What’s really best for me—your expectations or hers? You don’t even know your own—!" Your voice was abruptly silenced by a sharp, brutal slap that echoed within the confines of your father’s office. The sting radiated across your cheek, leaving a vivid red handprint as your head turned, the metallic taste of blood pooling at the corner of your bottom lip.

You froze, your head still tilted, the grip of your father’s hand vanished, replaced by his furious glare. Anger radiated from him like heat from a raging fire, nostrils flaring, while tears threatened to spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. The air was thick with tension, a palpable silence that felt suffocating.

"Me répondre, prétendre que nous ne vous connaissons pas ? Nous vous avons donné la vie ! Nous vous avons fourni tout ce que vous auriez pu demander, et c'est ainsi que vous nous remboursez, moi et votre mère!" His voice thundered, thick with a French accent that intensified the fury in his tone. You trembled, rooted to the spot, your bottom lip bleeding, crimson droplets trailing down your chin—a silent testament to the emotional and physical torment you endured.

He continued to shout, his accent becoming increasingly pronounced with each heated word, a torrent of frustration spilling forth. You felt an overwhelming desire for the ground to open up and swallow you whole, to escape the suffocating tension that filled the room. Meanwhile, your mother hovered nearby, her voice a soothing balm, desperately trying to calm him down, and slowly, it seemed to be working.

Your father pinched the bridge of his nose, a futile attempt to ease the evident anger and frustration etched across his face. "Valeria, c'est votre dernière chance de répondre à mes attentes. Je vous rabande de l'école et j'engage un professeur professionnel juste pour vous. Ils vous perceront tout ce qu'un lycéen devrait savoir. Il vous est interdit de vous associer à ces délinquants que vous appelez amis, et plus de basket-ball - cela fait clairement baisser vos notes. Je te surveillerai de près. Si tu te fouts encore en l'air, tu vas à l'internat."

Your heart sank at the utterance of those words: no more basketball. It felt as if you were sprinting through an endless abyss, a doorway looming far ahead, just out of reach, with a basketball tantalizingly waiting for you just beyond it. Yet with every desperate stride, the door seemed to recede further into the shadows.

You stumbled slightly, grappling with the weight of his proclamation, your voice trembling as you stammered out apologies in a futile attempt to negotiate with your father. His icy gaze pierced through you, unyielding. "W-Why anything but that? Please, Father, I will try—!"

But before you could complete your desperate plea, his hand rose sharply, halting your words mid-flight.

"It seems I misspoke." The man with the dark hair turned away, folding his arms across his chest as he perched himself atop his imposing desk. Your mother, ever attentive, cut his cigar just the way he liked it, placing it between his lips as she produced her elegant lighter, igniting it with a flicker. He took a deliberate puff, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the air. "Je n'ai pas demandé tes supplications, Valeria, et franchement, je m'en fiche. Ma parole est définitive : vous cesserez de jouer au basket-ball. Cela vous a transformé en rebelle. Maintenant, laisse-moi et ta mère tranquille ; ta présence me rend malade."

Fury and sorrow intertwined within you, a tempest of emotions as you clenched your fists, the weight of his words pressing heavily on your heart. You turned and fled from his office, the smoke lingering behind you like a ghost as he resumed his conversation with your mother about matters unknown. Panic surged in your chest, tears streaming down your cheeks, every sound blurring into a distant hum. You didn’t even notice your older brother calling out to you, a futbol tucked under his arm as he prepared to leave for practice.

A sudden tug on your shoulder yanked you back, pulling you into his chest, where worry etched itself across his features. He had just dropped his futbol, and his firm yet gentle hands cradled your face, lifting it from the damp fabric stained with your blood and tears.

"H-Hé, calme-toi, Val, d'accord?" he urged, his voice a soothing balm as he wrapped his arms around your trembling frame, drawing you closer. He whispered sweet memories and amusing tales, coaxing your breath into a steadier rhythm. When he finally pulled back to meet your gaze, his frown deepened, concern etched in every line of his face.

He tenderly wiped the blood from your chin. "Tu te sens mieux maintenant ? Dis à ton grand frère ce qui s'est passé."

Your voice cracked, tears welling in your eyes once more, but you fought to contain them, clenching your fists tightly. "Je ne peux plus jouer au basket. Je ne peux rien faire. Mon père va me surveiller de près. Je vis en enfer ; j'aimerais ne jamais être—"

Before you could finish that thought, he flicked your forehead, drawing a scowl and a whine from you as he held your gaze steady. "Don't you dare finish that. You're going to be fine. Je demanderai à Lorenzo et Damien de parler au père; ils peuvent négocier avec lui. Vous savez qu'il les écoute généralement." His reassurance cracked a smile from you, and he beamed back, a flicker of hope igniting in the space between you.

"Maintenant, allons dans votre chambre pour que nous puissions plonger dans vos bandes dessinées. What do you say?" He gestured toward your sanctuary, and you nodded eagerly, your excitement bubbling over as he took your hand, rushing you both toward your haven.

"Qu'en est-il de la pratique, grand frère?" you murmured, your voice raspy from the earlier turmoil. He merely waved it off with a casual flick of his wrist, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Missing practice to hang out with my baby sister? Allez, cette bande dessinée "Bone" est beaucoup plus amusante que n'importe quelle pratique."

You didn’t even realize you had zoned out, your gaze wandering down to your schedule, the ink blurring as a single tear slipped silently down your cheek. It landed softly on the paper, a tiny reminder of the weight you carried. A nervous chuckle escaped your lips as you hastily wiped your face, your hands trembling, a sheen of sweat forming on your brow. Why had that long-buried memory resurfaced? It haunted you—after winning the international U16 championship, you had stepped away from the court for four long years, a decision that felt like a betrayal to your passion. But last year, the call of the game had pulled you back, reigniting a rush of vitality, that exhilarating sense of freedom that once defined you, rekindling your joy in a way you hadn’t thought possible.

Shaking off the shadows of the past, you resumed your walk, determined to forget the memory that lingered like a specter. A group of college students caught your eye, their stares piercing and invasive, as if they were dissecting your very essence. The leader of the pack exuded a casual confidence, his smile polished and rehearsed, as if he believed it could charm anyone into submission. They were clearly jocks, their self-importance radiating from them like a beacon, suggesting they thought the world revolved around their bravado.

As the four jocks approached, you chose to ignore them, pressing forward with a sense of purpose. But the ringleader was relentless, tapping your shoulder with an insistent touch that sent a jolt through you. You kept your pace, but suddenly, a rough hand clamped down on your shoulder, pulling you back and halting your steps with an unwelcome force.

"Hey, pretty girl, you new here? Haven’t seen a face like yours around," he said, his tone dripping with an overconfident bravado that made your skin crawl, a stark contrast to the delicate warmth of the day.

You let out an inward sigh, fully aware that they wouldn’t cease their antics until you acknowledged them. “That’s right. Would you mind? I’m trying to find my class,” you replied, your tone a delicate balance of annoyance and polite firmness, enriched by your thick accent.

The ringleader, a young man with bleached blonde hair and a T-shirt that clung uncomfortably to his frame, remained undeterred by your rejection. “So, uh, what brings a pretty girl like you to UConn?” he asked, attempting a wink that might have held a trace of charm if it hadn’t felt so forced and contrived.

“Basketball,” you replied curtly, your eyes drifting to your timetable as if it held the key to your escape. “And if you’ll excuse me…”

"W-Wait just a moment," he interjected, stepping closer, a flicker of desperation igniting in his gaze. "I’m Daniel. These are my boys—Mark, Leo, and Jack." He gestured to his trio of companions, who waved at you with a blend of amusement and curiosity. "Maybe we could show you around; you seem a bit lost, babygirl."

You felt a cringe ripple through you at the word "babygirl" slipping from his lips. It was already grating enough when he called you "pretty girl." Those words never felt right coming from a guy unless he possessed genuine charm and knew how to engage with women. It wasn't that you disliked men; you simply chose not to label yourself. But you absolutely despised those who missed the glaringly obvious rejections that hung in the air like an unwelcome scent.

"I believe I will manage. Merci, mais non merci. And don't touch me again," you declared, yanking your shoulder away from his firm grasp with a resolute flick. Your natural charm typically drew people in—both women and men—but this man's overconfidence grated on your nerves, as if he believed he could charm anyone in sight. You were accustomed to receiving admiration for your attractiveness, both in friendly and desirable contexts, yet his advances felt dull and discomforting.

His friends erupted into laughter, clearly entertained by Daniel's failed attempt at wooing you. "No need to be rude; I was just trying to help a pretty girl like you out. Hmm, you said you transferred to play basketball—is that all the balls you can handle? I have two in mind that you might like to play with."

A snort slipped from your lips, quickly evolving into a cascade of laughter that bubbled up as you tilted your head back, reveling in the sheer absurdity of his brazen remark. The sound was infectious, a melody of mirth that filled the air around you. As the laughter subsided, you dropped your head forward, resting your chin on your hand, your eyes glimmering with a mix of amusement and distaste. "Let’s get real for a second: your breath reeks like merde, and your pick-up lines are just as shitty. Do yourself a favor and find someone else to annoy, imbécile."

You watched as Daniel’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, his expression a portrait of wounded pride as you turned to walk away. It was as if your words had pierced his heart, but deep down, you knew it was his ego that had taken the real hit. As you moved on, he hurried ahead, sauntering backward in a desperate attempt to keep your gaze locked on him, a comical scene that made you wish he would trip over his own bravado and land flat on his face.

“Ouch, that stung! C'mon, babygirl, don’t be like that. I can show you a real good time,” he declared, flashing a grin that was equal parts audacity and desperation, his hand making an absurd gesture at his crotch. You rolled your eyes, annoyance flaring up inside you as you continued to ignore him, striding past with purpose, his three friends trailing behind like lost puppies.

“Hey, I’m talking to you…” Daniel called out, his fingers stretching toward your arm in a misguided attempt at connection, just as a stranger intervened with impeccable timing. With a fluid motion that spoke of practiced confidence, the newcomer seized Daniel’s wrist, twisting it behind his back while applying just the right amount of pressure to send a clear message.

"Ow, ow, ow! What the hell?! Crazy bastard, let go of me!" Daniel's voice rang out, a desperate mix of pain and incredulity, slicing through the charged atmosphere. His friends stood frozen, their eyes wide, caught in a tableau of shock and indecision, unwilling to intervene in this unfolding drama.

The newcomer, radiating an unsettling calm, wore a knowing smirk that suggested he relished the moment. His grip was unyielding, a silent testament to his resolve. "Can't you take a hint, Danny boy? She's clearly not interested. It’s time for you to back off from my new friend."

With each futile twist and turn, Daniel struggled to break free from the iron grip that held his wrist captive, a mix of anger and embarrassment flooding his senses. "Okay, okay! I'll leave her alone! Just let go of me, for fuck sake!"

The newcomer’s smile widened, a lazy amusement dancing in his eyes as he shoved Daniel back toward his friends. Mark, unable to suppress his delight, chimed in with a teasing lilt, "Haha! You've just had your ass handed to you by Elias and been publicly humiliated by the new pretty girl! I can’t wait to spread this around campus!" His words dripped with a blend of mockery and triumph, each syllable a sharp reminder of Daniel's defeat.

Leo and Jack joined the chorus of laughter, their chuckles ringing out like a soundtrack to Daniel's humiliation as they turned to walk away. Left alone, he rubbed his sore wrist, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment swirling within him, silently pleading for this moment to vanish into the ether, hoping against hope that his friends would keep this little spectacle under wraps.

You finally caught a glimpse of the new guy who had swooped in to help, even though you could've easily handled yourself. He stood tall and confident, his short black hair falling in curtain-like waves around thick, slightly arched eyebrows that framed his warm brown eyes. Those eyes, glimmering with a gentle light, seemed to hold a universe of stories, perfectly complementing the straight, defined nose and full lips that hinted at a playful smile, one that promised both mischief and warmth. His fair skin bore a light tan, while his sharp jawline, accentuated by light stubble and a neatly trimmed goatee. Small silver hoop earrings dangled from both ears, paired with a delicate silver stud that caught the light just right. He wore a snug gray hoodie over a crisp white shirt, light blue jeans that hung casually, and fresh white Nike Air Forces.

"Sorry about that; some guys these days don’t know how to take a hint, so I thought you could use some help. I’m Elias Taylor." His voice was deep but not overly so—just the right amount of resonance that made you lean in closer, as if drawn by an invisible thread. He stretched out his hand toward you, and you hesitated for a moment, taking in the warmth of his smile before clasping your hand in his. The connection was electric, a moment suspended in time, as you felt the strength of his grip and the unspoken acknowledgment of your own resilience.

Elias regarded you with a smirk before saying, "Valeria De Martel! Nice to meet you!"

The way he pronounced your name was almost lyrical, each syllable dripping with admiration and curiosity. You tilted your head, blinking in surprise, momentarily lost in the depths of his gaze. You hadn’t remembered giving him your name, and he chuckled at your bewildered expression, the sound like music in the air. "You've heard of me?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and disbelief threading through your tone, your heart racing at the unexpected recognition.

"Of course! Most people on this campus know who the hell Valeria De Martel is! You're the new UConn rookie for the Huskies, and your victory in France winning the international U16 championship trophy? You're pretty badass Frenchie!" His laughter was infectious, a bright spark that illuminated the lingering shadows of the moment.

"Oh... well it's a pleasure meeting you, Elias," you said, your voice laced with a thick French accent, a soft and charming smile illuminating your face as a delicate blush crept across your cheeks at his flattering words. It was a moment of delightful surprise; you had never expected anyone to pay such attention to your highlights or to know about your accomplishments. As he released your hand, a gentle warmth lingered in the air between you.

Elias circled you with an air of playful curiosity, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin, before exclaiming, "You have a pretty badass bike as well—damn, this is awesome! I'm a huge fan of the Huskies, but now that we're friends, you definitely have to get me a seat for your games." His words danced between jest and sincerity, prompting you to roll your eyes in a playful manner, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Yeah, as if! Why can't you just buy tickets like a normal person?" you muttered, your accent wrapping around the words with a delightful flourish. His laughter rang out, rich and infectious, as he slung his arm around your shoulder. Surprisingly, you felt an easy comfort in his embrace, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t quite articulate.

"Damn, Frenchie! You must not know how things work here in Connecticut," he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You see, whenever the Huskies have home games, they sell out in the snap of a finger because the fans absolutely love seeing them play."

"So, what brings you all the way from France, Frenchie? Besides basketball, that can't be the only reason," he teased, his voice a playful lilt as you both meandered down the sun-dappled path, the gentle rustle of leaves harmonizing with the soft cadence of your footsteps.

"Just to travel," you replied, your words slipping from your lips with the lilting cadence of your French accent, a melodic veil over the half-truth that concealed the deeper yearning within. Beneath the surface lay the heavy burden of expectations, the relentless pressure from your parents that loomed like an ominous shadow, casting doubt upon your every step.

"Naw, that can't be the reason..." His tone shifted, a conspiratorial whisper threading through the air, the gravity of his gaze piercing through the lighthearted banter. "Definitely to get away from high expectations and your parents, right?" The casual nature of his words struck a chord deep within, and you met his probing gaze with a blend of surprise and reluctant intrigue.

His laughter erupted, bright and effervescent, shattering the fragile tension that had enveloped you both. "I'm just fuckin' with you, Frenchie! Jeez, you look like you wanted to punch me in my shit," he exclaimed, amusement dancing in his eyes as he cast a glance at the crinkled schedule clutched tightly in your hand, a testament to your nervous grip.

"Let me at least show you your classes and give you a tour. It’s the least I can do for those basketball game tickets. What do you say? Deal?" His sincerity wrapped around you like a warm embrace, coaxing a reluctant smile to your lips as you rolled your eyes in playful resignation.

With a nod of agreement, he patted your shoulder affectionately before releasing you from his grasp. As he began to lead the way toward your class, you trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

As you sprinted across the sun-drenched expanse of the football fields, the echoes of laughter and music lingered in your mind, remnants of a lazy afternoon spent with Elias and his eclectic crew of friends. They had formed a small band just a couple of weeks ago, aptly named Hamartia, a title that hinted at both their youthful exuberance and the inevitable flaws that came with it. Elias, the charismatic guitarist and de facto leader, had a magnetic presence that drew you in, while Dallas, with his rhythmic intensity on the drums, and Daniela, whose bass lines pulsed like a heartbeat, created a sound that was surprisingly cohesive. In your honest opinion, they were pretty good—raw and unrefined but brimming with potential.

Elias had casually suggested that you join the band, a proposition that sent a jolt of anxiety through your veins. Elias had invited you to join the band, a proposition that both thrilled and terrified you.

You had always dabbled with instruments, but the thought of performing in front of an audience made your heart race for all the wrong reasons. Your parents had sent you away to boarding school at fifteen, a decision that had shattered your sense of belonging and left you grappling with their expectations.

The boarding school they sent you to wasn't so terrible, really. Within its ivy-clad walls, you discovered a world of music, learning to play various instruments that filled your days with melody and rhythm. It was there, amid the structured chaos of academia and faith, that you met her—the bright spark that illuminated some of the best moments of your life.

The school, a strict Christian institution, didn’t particularly bother you; rather, it offered a sense of order that you found comforting. For three years, you navigated its corridors, and in your final year, you even embraced the thrill of basketball, the court becoming a sanctuary where you could channel your energy.

You thrived within those walls, achieving straight A's and B's, your behavior transforming over time. This newfound success led your parents to become increasingly lenient, their attention drifting as they believed you had finally met their expectations. Yet, in an unexpected twist, you chose to leave without a word, vanishing into the unknown, leaving them to ponder the silence of your absence.

You weren't even ready, still wearing the clothes you'd thrown on for school that morning. Your long legs carried you across campus, a full-on sprint that blurred the edges of your vision. A trail of mumbled apologies followed in your wake as you navigated the throng of students. Punctuality was usually your mantra, but today, basketball beckoned with an irresistible allure. You'd managed to slip away, savoring this new sense of freedom, the absence of your parents' watchful eyes a heady elixir.

Despite your best efforts, you were still thirty minutes late, a fact that gnawed at your nerves. You could only hope your new coach wouldn't unleash a torrent of reprimands as you burst through the facility doors. The sound was like a gunshot in the otherwise silent gym. Every girl mid-practice snapped their heads in your direction, their focus momentarily shattered. The rhythmic cadence of bouncing basketballs dissolved into an echoing silence; all eyes now fixed on you.

Each step you took, the sound of your shoes clicked against the polished floor, each click amplified by the sudden quiet, as you hurried towards your new coach. But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Your foot caught, and you stumbled, gravity seizing control as you crashed onto the unforgiving hardwood. The thud reverberated through the gym. Unbeknownst to you, Paige snorted, her hand flying to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her laughter. Lou, ever the compassionate soul, jogged over to help you up, while KK winced, a shared empathy for your misfortune etched on her face.

Your cheeks burned with the fiery blush of embarrassment, a sensation that intensified with each passing second. A groan escaped your lips as you felt a hand gently grasp your arm, lifting you back to your feet. You quickly retrieved your bag from the floor, your fingers brushing against the cool leather. It was Lou, her soft smile a comforting beacon in the sea of judging eyes. "Esto es vergonzoso," you muttered, your voice thick with a French accent laced with a Spanish lilt. "I wish the floor would swallow me whole. Hopefully, Coach isn't too mad about me being late." The words tumbled out in a hurried rush, earning a low chuckle from the Mexican woman beside you.

Lou simply patted your shoulder, her touch offering a silent reassurance as she guided you towards your new coach. "Aye, todos tenemos días malos, a pesar de que ese otoño fue quite an entrance," she teased gently. "Solo tal vez un poco de regaño, nada que no puedas manejar. Además, esta es tu primera vez en Estados Unidos, así que relájate, chica."

You offered a nod, your face etched with an apologetic expression, hoping to smooth over the situation. Lou gently nudged you towards the coach, then discreetly stepped back, leaving you to face the music. "Finally, you've decided to grace us with your presence, newcomer. You're officially thirty minutes late," the older man pointed out, his finger tapping impatiently on his silver wristwatch. The gesture was precise, each movement deliberate, like the ticking of time itself counting against you.

"L-Lo siento, Coach," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I lost track of time, and this campus is very huge. I think I got lost more times than I can count. It won't happen again." Your thick accent. You couldn't miss Paige's derisive snort from a few feet away, a clear indication that she found your predicament amusing. You chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the man before you.

"Well, now that you know your way here, don't let it happen again. Otherwise, you'll find yourself running until you drop." Geno's tone was a complex blend of seriousness and lightheartedness, leaving you uncertain whether he was joking or delivering a grave warning.

His hand, a warm anchor, settled on your shoulder, the unexpected gentleness of his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the court. "Alright now," he announced, his tone carrying a subtle command, "since our newcomer has finally arrived, gather 'round."

The girls, all coordinated grace, moved as one toward their coach, you, and Lou. Only Paige trailed behind, her face carefully blank. "From this day forward, Valeria," Geno declared, turning his head to meet your gaze directly, his eyes holding a wealth of unspoken expectations, "I will be your new coach. My name is Geno Auriemma, but you will call me Geno. Understand?" You nodded, absorbing the quiet authority that radiated from him. He continued, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "Listen up! As some of you may know, we have a new foreign player joining our ranks, and a few of you might've already met her. But for those who haven't, this is Valeria De Martel. Let me make this crystal clear: you will show her the same respect and courtesy you expect for yourselves. From this moment on, she is part of this team; she is a Husky." Geno's declaration hung in the air, his eyes locking with Paige's, a silent challenge passing between them. Paige lowered her gaze, a flicker of defiance momentarily subdued.

Geno stood 6'1", a figure of quiet authority that commanded attention without uttering a word. His short, gray hair, threaded with strands of white, framed a visage that balanced strength with a surprising gentleness, the lines etched around his eyes. Dressed in casual sports attire, the modern uniform of his trade, he wore glasses.

Lou's enthusiastic clapping sparked a chain reaction, a wave of applause rippling through the team, a warm welcome washing over you. Lou, ever the effusive one, launched into a rapid-fire stream of praise in Spanish, punctuating her words with a friendly pat on your back. "Now then, Valeria," Geno interjected, his voice a calm counterpoint to Lou's exuberance, "get changed into your uniform. We're going to run a drill on the court." He gestured towards the locker room with a nod, his eyes conveying a silent expectation.

"Aye, aye, Coach G," you responded playfully, your accent thick and charming, as you offered a mock salute. The gesture, lighthearted and irreverent, elicited a low chuckle from Geno. The rest of the team joined in the laughter. All, that is, except for Paige. She stood apart, her expression unreadable, her eyes flicking upwards in an eye roll that betrayed her disdain for your voice and, perhaps, your very presence. Undeterred, you jogged towards the locker room, the sound of your sneakers echoing on the polished floor as you disappeared behind the heavy door.

Emerging from the locker room, the official jersey feels foreign against your skin, the assigned number a ghost of past camaraderie. Scanning the court, the girls are already warming up, their energy a stark contrast to your own trepidation. A touch on your shoulder startles you; Lou stands beside you, a knowing grin playing on her lips, her eyebrow arched in silent inquiry.

Adorned in your new UConn jersey, layered over a navy-blue T-shirt, paired with matching shorts. Your feet were encased in Kyire 7 TB Midnight Navy shoes, a subtle nod to modern style. The ensemble served as a canvas, highlighting your sculpted arms, where subtle veins coursed beneath the skin. Your legs, powerful and finely tuned, bore the marks of both athleticism and artistry. Tattoos snaked around your calves, each design a meticulously crafted narrative – a phoenix rising from ashes, symbolizing resilience; a geometric pattern, reflecting your love for precision and order; and a delicate floral motif, a nod to the beauty you find in the world.

Lou stood there, a silent observer, admiring your physique but also puzzled by the unexpected addition of a shirt beneath your jersey. Her confusion hung in the air, a question unspoken yet palpable, as she took in the details of your carefully curated appearance.

"Why the hell are you wearing that, chica? You're going to be a walking sauna out there," she teased, tugging at your navy tee. You held back the real reason—a story for later. For now, a smile would have to do, keeping your secret safe.

A lazy smirk tugged at your lips, prompting her eyebrow to arch in playful curiosity. "Just means you'll have a front-row seat to my sweat and tears," you quipped. Before she could retort, a piercing whistle shattered the air, abruptly ending your tête-à-tête. Both you and Lou turned to see Coach Geno, whistle clenched between his teeth, as he announced, "Alright, listen up! We're running 3-on-3 drills today. Nika, Lou, and Valeria, you're a team. Azzi, Aaliyah, and Paige, you're up against them. Let's get to work!" The challenge was set, the teams were chosen, and the game was about to begin.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a sudden reminder of the intensity of 3-on-3 drills. It had been years since you'd faced live opponents, your practice sessions since the age of fourteen relegated to solitary endeavors or occasional matches with your uncle. This was different, a true test of skill and mettle. As you blinked, gathering your composure, Lou's radiant smile cut through your thoughts. Her excitement was palpable, eager to finally witness your prowess on the court. With a playful tug, she steered you toward Nika, who stood observing you with a lazy smirk.

"Our uniform was made for you, beba!" she exclaimed, her eyes flickering up and down, taking in the fabric and the number emblazoned upon it. A knowing smirk touched your lips as you retorted, "Any uniform looks good on me; I mean, just look." With a casual gesture, you lifted your jersey and navy shirt, revealing a glimpse of your toned abdomen. Upon it, a tattoo in elegant Chinese characters, medium in size, proclaimed, "Always love yourself first." A phantom troupe tattoo subtly peeked out from the defined waistline.

Nika's eyes rolled, while Lou's whistle cut through the air. "Show off, now see what you're really made of." She gestured towards the court and the beckoning basketball. You nodded, your Adam's apple bobbing with a nervous flutter. What if you don't play well? What if you've lost your touch? What if they aren't impressed? What if you embarrass yourself? The thoughts swirled as you clenched your hands into fists. Yet, one thing remained certain: you were determined to play in the WNBA; that was your unwavering goal.

As you, Lou, Nika, Aaliyah, Azzi, and Paige took your positions, the gym hummed with an anticipatory energy. The ball was tossed into play, and the knot of nervousness tightened.

Nika dribbled the ball up the court, her eyes scanning for an opening. You moved to the corner, seeking space, but Azzi defended you closely. Looking into her eyes, you saw nothing but focused precision gleaming back at you. Her sharp defense made it nearly impossible to break free. This felt different from the international competition where you'd won the U16 championship cup. There, challenges were scarce, but now you were caught between a rock and a hard place.

As Paige orchestrated the game, her voice, sharp and clear, guided Aaliyah and Azzi with the finesse of a maestro. Her eyes danced between you and Lou, weaving a strategy that transformed the court into a beautiful ballet of teamwork.

"Switch if she cuts left!" Paige's command cut through the gymnasium's roar, a precise directive that echoed in the electric air.

Yet, you chose to ignore her call, instead succumbing to the rhythm of your own instincts. With a swift, deliberate cut across the court, you sought to carve out space for a pass. But Paige, ever the astute observer, anticipated your intentions with uncanny precision, reading the unfolding play as if it were a well-worn novel. She slid into position, deftly obstructing the passing lane and forcing Nika to seek out Lou instead.

"C'mon," she muttered, her voice laced with mockery, just audible enough for you to catch as you brushed past her. "Honestly, Frenchie, don't humiliate yourself out here; it's utterly pathetic watching you struggle to keep up."

You puffed out your cheek, frustration simmering beneath your skin, her words a sharp sting. Inhaling deeply, you fought to retain your composure, anchoring your gaze on the ball, determined not to let her taunts divert you from the essence of the game.

Lou effortlessly caught the ball from Nika, a swift move towards the basket. Aaliyah loomed, an imposing figure blocking any chance for a clean shot. With a subtle flick of her wrist, Lou passed the ball to you.

Instinctively, you caught the ball with ease, shifting your weight and executing skillful dribbling moves that carved a small opening from Azzi. Just as you surged forward, the ball was suddenly stripped from your grasp, leaving you stunned and disoriented. You watched as Paige, already positioned beyond the arc, launched a flawless three-pointer. The ball soared gracefully through the air, landing with a satisfying swish.

As she jogged past you, a cocky smirk played on her lips, her eyes glinting with triumph, "Damn, Frenchie! You're not watching your surroundings at all. Better keep your head in the game, or your food's gonna get snatched right out from under you!" She taunted. You clenched your fist, struggling to maintain your composure, but she sought to break your cool, to know that her antics were working, burrowing under your skin.

As the game wore on, your frustration mounted. Lou and Nika noticed, observing as you sweated, muttering curses in French and Spanish, their attempts to ease your agitation proving futile. Paige's relentless mockery and taunts had burrowed deep under your skin. Despite your efforts, every shot seemed to bounce off the rim, save for a few lucky ones that found their mark.

Azzi's reign over the court, an era defined by her incandescent energy as she orchestrated the offense alongside Aaliyah and Paige, each dribble of the ball was a deliberate act, resonating with unspoken intent. You, a sentinel of defense, crouched low, every muscle coiled, ready to unravel her advances in a heartbeat. Then, Azzi surged, a whirlwind of resolve seemingly unbound by earthly constraints.

Pursuing her like a relentless specter, Paige executed a screen with calculated precision, the collision sending you spiraling onto the unforgiving hardwood. The echo of the impact reverberated through the gym, a discordant note amidst the symphony of the game. As you lay there, disoriented, it felt as though you had collided with an unyielding fortress, Paige casting a long shadow over you, her lips curved into that infuriatingly self-assured smirk.

In that fleeting moment, Azzi hesitated, a flicker of pause before she resumed her glide toward the basket, her movements now a study in fluidity and grace. Gathering the ball, she ascended, her eyes locked onto the rim, a beacon in the distance. At the apex of her jump, she released the ball, sending it on a trajectory of exquisite beauty, kissing the backboard before it slipped through the net, eluding Nika's desperate reach.

"We can't keep meeting like this Frenchie. It looks hopeless." Paige called out her voice dripping with cruel mockery as she tilted her head staring down at you. "How's the floor treating you? Tough crowd, huh?" She snorted before laughing at your disoriented form laying on the hardwood floor while Lou and Nika jogging over towards you their faces etched with concern and indignation, directing their reprimands at Paige who nonchalantly shrugged her shoulders.

Her words, laced with a chilling indifference, hung in the charged air of the court: "Basketball's a contact sport. If she can't handle it, she can kick rocks." With that, Paige turned, her exit a study in nonchalant grace, though not entirely escaping the subtle censure of Azzi's shoulder nudge—a silent reprimand for the persistent sting of her taunts.

Then, the warmth of Lou and Nika's hands enveloped yours, a gentle but firm invitation back to your feet. Frustration simmered, each breath coming in ragged pants as your gaze remained fixed on Paige, her cocky smirk a radiant beacon in the periphery as she shared laughter with Aaliyah. It was Lou's delicate touch upon your cheek that finally shattered the trance, pulling you back to the present.

"What the hell is her problem?" you exclaimed, the cadence of your accent thickening with the swell of irritation, your finger a pointed accusation aimed at Paige. Lou merely cast a fleeting glance in her direction, her expression unreadable. "She's just competitive; don't sweat it." Nika's hand settled on your damp jersey, a reassuring weight against the storm brewing within. With a scoff, you ran a hand through your disheveled hair, allowing it to fall where it may, as the coach mercifully called a timeout—a brief reprieve from the aftermath of the collision that still reverberated through your very bones.

"Why does it feel like she's always gunning for me? Like I'm the main character in her hate story?" You blurted it out, totally winded. Your jaw was clenched so tight you could feel it ticking. You were too consumed with Paige to notice Lou, who'd already taken off, her sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as she sprinted to grab a towel and a bottle of ice-cold water. All you could feel was Paige's presence, the way her shoulders were set, the deliberate curve of her neck as she pretended you didn't exist. Lou tossed the towel, the soft cotton a welcome distraction as you swiped it across your forehead, soaking up the sweat. She popped the top off the water bottle, the hiss of escaping pressure a sharp counterpoint to the simmering tension.

"Don't let her crawl into that pretty head of yours, chica." Lou murmured, her Spanish accent a comforting warmth. Her eyes flicked towards Paige, a vision of casual charm as she laughed with Aaliyah and Azzi. Azzi's gaze, however, was subtly different—a fleeting check of your well-being, a silent acknowledgment of Paige's uncharacteristic aggression. You swallowed, the cool water a momentary distraction from the burn of Paige's animosity, each gulp a small act of defiance against the rising tide of frustration.

"You're letting her dictate the rhythm of your game, the very way you play." Nika observed, her voice a soft but firm current. You turned, the water bottle still touching your lips, her words a refreshing splash against your rising anxiety. "This court, this team—they're as much yours as they are hers. You're a Husky; wear that badge with pride. Show her—show them all—that you belong here, without question." Her words were a flint striking steel, igniting a spark of resolve within you. It was time to claim your space, to silence the doubts, and to prove, not just to Paige but to yourself, that you were every inch a Husky.

As Coach Geno blew the whistle your gaze shot towards him as you handed Lou your towel and water which she jogged towards the bench to place the water and towel back as she walked back towards you and Nika, "Alright ladies lets resume our position continue this drill. Valeria are you okay?" Geno turned his gaze towards you his voice was commanding and clear that you nodded your head only prompting Paige let out a snort, small laughs escaping her lips but only get nudge by Azzi who gave her best friend that look which Paige retort with an eyebrow as Azzi rolled her eyes.

As the practice game progressed you getting your groove back, you were so focused that you completely ignored Paige taunts and mockery. You made shots from mid-range or deep range without any hesitation that found their marks splashing through the net even giving assists towards Nika and Lou, blocking shots from Paige who became annoyed by your abilities. You and Paige was going head-to-head not giving neither of you room to breathe trying to outperform one another.

The intensity rose up as the ball swung back to your team. Lou held the ball with a calm confidence before it to you. Without elegant effort caught it naturally while Lou and Nika giving you encouraging head nods that fueled your determination. In that moment your whole body shifted into attention mode your focus sharpening like a laser making world around you fade. A bead of sweat tracing down the bridge of your nose and the rhythmic bounce of the ball echoed like a heartbeat.

With a sense of purpose, you dribbled pretending to drive left but Paige already read you like an open book. With a burst of energy you drove right executing a smooth crossover yet Paige remained close to you like a shadow as you approached the hoop, Azzi eyes on you and Paige hoping you would show Paige that you belong and put her stubbornness in place, your heart raced with adrenaline matching steady thump of the ball against the polished hardwood floor.

Paige stood behind you like a determined shadow her forehead glistening with sweat her blue eyes glistening with focus and resolve. In fast motion you leaped forward your body defying gravity as you soared up flickering your wrist up. The ball seemed to dance in your hand as you were trying to do a reverse layup suspended in mid-air as Paige front was near your back she wore a cocky smirk ready to block your layup.

In heart beat as you were still in midair your hand snapped back behind you and Paige as you gave Nika a snake-eyed pass behind your back the ball slipping effortlessly passed Paige guided by your fingertips as Nika effortlessly caught the perfect snake-eyed pass she was positioned in right corner behind the three-point line, your eyes were sharp finding the open you felt Azzi gaze on your and Paige which created a opening for you as Nika squared her shoulders her gaze determined and leapt into the action as Azzi rushed over intent to on a jump block but the ball was already released gliding through the air in a seamless arc destined for glory. It found its mark with a satisfying swish the net rippling gently as it embraced the ball like a long-lost friend.

When the pass happened, it was more than just a play; it was a statement. The ball arced through the air, a perfect trajectory ending with your teammate’s triumphant score.

A slow, satisfied smirk curled your lips, mirroring the arrogance Paige had displayed just moments before. The taste of retribution was indeed sweet. "Wow, you're really committed to letting me make that pass, aren't you? Thanks for the assist, carino," you purred, the words dripping with a rich accent that underscored the sting. It wasn't just about the points; it was about turning her own game against her, a subtle yet decisive victory in your ongoing battle.

As you jogged back to your defensive position, you caught Paige’s eye roll and scoff. She dismissed it as mere luck, a fluke that wouldn't be repeated. But you knew better. It wasn't luck; it was precision, strategy, and a touch of poetic justice.

"Hell yeah, that's what I'm talking about, Frenchie!" Nika's cheer cut through the air, her hand finding yours in a sharp, satisfying high five. It was a brief, electric connection, followed by the familiar, intricate handshake the two of you had concocted during countless practice sessions. Lou, never one to be left out, rushed over, slinging an arm around your shoulder. "Good shit, chica! Didn't even see that coming—hell, I honestly don't think Paige seen it coming!" Her Spanish accent, usually a low murmur, now vibrated with excitement and praise.

The three of you fell back into formation, ready to seize the game. The wave of approval from Nika and Lou washed over you, bolstering your confidence and determination. The earlier frustration and anger, which had threatened to consume you, began to dissipate like mist under the morning sun. Your gaze drifted towards Paige, who was already staring at you, her eyes narrowed into a piercing glare. It was a look that could kill, a silent promise of retribution that sent a faint shiver down your spine. Yet, you shook it off, unable to resist the impulse to meet her gaze with a taunting smirk.

As the 3v3 scrimmage wound down, the score was deadlocked, and the air crackled with anticipation. The next basket would likely decide the game, and everyone in the gym knew it. Paige had possession of the ball, her eyes locked onto you as she slowly dribbled up the court. Each bounce echoed in the tense silence, a metronome counting down to the inevitable clash.

Paige signaled for a screen from Azzi, but you anticipated the move, fighting through the pick and sticking to Paige like a shadow. Paige dribbled right, then crossed back to her left, a fluid motion designed to create separation, but you mirrored her every step, refusing to yield an inch of space. As she approached the free-throw line, she rose for a mid-range jumper, her form a testament to countless hours of practice. In that fleeting moment, you sprang upwards, your hand outstretched, your fingertips barely grazing the ball as it sailed through the air. It found its mark, hitting the rim with a metallic clang before bouncing away, the sound echoing the intensity of the moment.

"Rebound!" you called out, a cocky grin spreading across your face. The earlier words of Nika and Lou had worked their magic, restoring the confidence that had momentarily deserted you.

Nika secured the rebound and fired a quick pass up court. You exploded into a sprint, gliding towards the paint, your feet dancing across the smooth hardwood like a seasoned performer on a polished stage. Paige scrambled back on defense, but you were already a step ahead, anticipation fueling your every move. As you reached the paint, Nika lobbed a perfectly timed pass, the ball arcing gracefully through the air towards your outstretched hands.

Paige lunged, desperation etched on her face, but she was a heartbeat too late. You ascended, not merely jumping, but launching yourself into a gravity-defying ballet. It was a breathtaking rise, an arc of defiance against the mundane. Your hand met the rim, and with a primal roar of exertion, you slammed the ball through the net, the sound echoing through the stunned arena.

"Game!" Coach Geno bellowed, the whistle piercing the stunned silence, yet a flicker of admiration danced in his eyes. You landed, a warrior returning from battle, sweat tracing glistening paths on your forehead, your hands finding purchase on your hips as you gulped in air. Nika and Lou converged on you, a jubilant storm of celebration, their voices a chorus of triumph.

High fives rained down, each slap a jolt of pure adrenaline. The exhilaration coursed through your veins, a heady cocktail of victory and exhaustion. It was a rare and exquisite sensation, this challenge, this hard-fought win. You had half-expected to dominate, accustomed as you were to the relative ease of the U16 European championships. But Azzi Fudd and Paige Bueckers were a different breed, a relentless force, their skill a mesmerizing blend of artistry and power. They were relentless on both sides of the ball, they were skilled in both offense and defense, leaving you in awe and breathless and yearning for more.

Nika loops her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a familiar side hug, yet you can't shake the prickling sensation of a cold stare boring into you from across the court. It's Paige. Her gaze is sharp, unwavering, a silent challenge cutting through the post-game jubilation.

"Damn, damn Frenchie! I thought you were handing them the win for sure?" KK's teasing grin breaks through the tension as she approaches, dapping you up, your practiced handshake a familiar rhythm in the chaos. She praises your performance, a flurry of words that barely register as Azzi approaches, her smile soft and genuine.

Turning your head, you offer a lazy yet charming smile. "Wow, Valerie, you're truly amazing out there. Can't wait to see you play for us in a actual game." Her voice is rich, melodic, drawing you in like a siren's call. Your heart thuds against your chest at her words, your cheeks already flushed from the heat of the game now tinted a deeper pink.

She gently pulls you away from Nika, who doesn't seem to mind, already deep in conversation with Lou about your dunk – a feat they'd never seen a woman your height accomplish. Azzi's hug is warm, close, the sweat and heat from her body seeping into yours. Her hands rest loosely on your waist, but it's the brush of her lips against the shell of your ear that sends a shiver down your spine, a sensual whisper that speaks volumes.

"The way you moved on the court was mesmerizing, like a dance that I couldn't take my eyes off of." Azzi's words hung in the air, a silken thread that tugged at your senses. Your eyes fluttered shut for a fleeting moment, her voice a husky caress that resonated deep within your bones. It was a siren's song, a melody you could drown in without a second thought. "T-Thanks, Azzi," you stammered, the word catching in your throat. "You were truly remarkable. I've never broken a sweat like this. It's exhilarating."

You cursed the betraying stutter, but Azzi seemed to find it endearing, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she leaned closer, her breath ghosting against your ear. "Maybe we can do 1v1 sometime. I promise to make you sweat even more." The words, innocent on the surface, dripped with a sensual undercurrent that sent a shiver dancing down your spine. Your face flushed crimson, your breath hitching in your chest. Perhaps you were reading too much into her playful banter, but the way she'd purred those words, the tantalizing promise in her voice, left your knees weak and your mind reeling.

Meanwhile, Paige, a storm cloud brewing in her eyes, marched past without so much as a glance, her silence a stinging rebuke. Yet, despite the intoxicating pull of Azzi's presence, a desperate need to bridge the chasm between you and Paige surged within you. "Excuse me for a moment," you murmured to Azzi, her fingers reluctantly leaving your waist, a departure that left a pleasant ache in their wake. You jogged after Paige, reaching out, your fingertips grazing her wrist. The moment she felt your touch, she recoiled as if burned, snatching her arm away with a disdainful flick of her wrist.

She stopped, glancing back to find you trailing behind, a sheen of sweat on your brow and a soft smile playing on your lips. "You are incredible point guard," you blurted out, your accent thick and rich with genuine admiration. "I hope to learn from you, that we can become great teammates in the future!" You extended a hand, half-expecting her to turn away, to dismiss you with a scoff. Instead, she moved closer, her presence towering over you. Her hand clasped yours, a firm yet surprisingly gentle grip that sent a jolt through you. In a swift motion, your head found itself resting against her shoulder, her lips ghosting against the sensitive shell of your ear.

"Frenchie, listen and listen very closely," she murmured, her voice a deep, resonant timbre that sent shivers down your spine. "I don't like you. I can't stand the sight of you. We will never be teammates. Your win today? A fluke. Pure, dumb luck, and it won't happen again. Got it?"

Her words were like shards of ice, each syllable cutting through you with chilling precision. You were left speechless, the air thick with unspoken emotions. She released your hand, the warmth of her body abruptly gone as she turned her back to you. You instinctively reached up to touch your ear, now burning with a flush, your lips parting to form words that caught in your throat. Despite the sting of her rejection, a strange sense of elation bubbled within you. You were shocked, surprised that she had touched you, had spoken to you with such raw intensity. It was a small victory, perhaps, a twisted sort of progress that others might deem insane.

[imlovelace]

[cyrusking100]

GUYS LOOK AT THIS LEAK I FOUND OF DONALD!!

OMG ITS DONALD FERGUSONS BLUEPRINT AND ITS EXACTLY HOW I WOULD HAVE IMAGINED HIS ENDOSKELETON TO LOOK LIKE!!

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kidding.

i made it lol :p

So I made this blueprint because one, I am obsessed with cyborg dudes and two I have no life and got bored lmao. I did do a lot of research on cybernetics and hope I got it as accurate as I could. So without further ado...

Let me give a tour of Donald's blueprint!

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Latch- Located on top of Donald's metal head which can be opened via key insertion and is safely guarded by Cecil Stedman who only knows its location.

Imaging Process Software- Built inside Donald's eyes which allows him to see and process what he is visualizing it also allows him to imagine things much more accurately than the average human

Scent Processors or Sensors- built inside Donald’s nose which allows him to smell and process scents, unfortunately, it's not as advanced as his visual processors so he actually smells things with less accuracy than he did before he died, though he doesn't notice this as often.

Ultrasonic Processors or Receivers/Emitters- Built inside Donald's ear canals which allow him to ear and process sounds at a much higher frequency than the average human

Diagnostic CPU or Chip and the Insertion Port- a cylindrical hole located on top of Donald's forehead which is where the CPU (Central Process Unit) chip is used to diagnose any minor malfunctions and auto-corrects it. If any malfunction is too severe (such as limb amputations) it would require manual repairs to be fixed. However, the reason why Cecil is keeping this diagnostic chip from Donald is because if inserted, it would revive all of the previous lost memories since the DC identifies them as errors to be corrected. There is a key that can be also inserted in the port on his head which opens the latch that reveals his brain. When he dies they must quickly remove his brain which is protected by a thin layer of gelatin in his metal head. It is also connected to metal segments magnified to the outer layer of his brain which can be easily detached without any repercussions. when they detach his brain they must quickly preserve it in a preservation tank before it starts to decompose. (essentially he is a brain in a jar lmao.) And yes, this is the same preservation tank as the one they used for Robot/Rudy Connors in the comics.

Optical Sensors- Located in his bionic eyes, they give off the illusion of human eyes accurately  they also allow Donald to differentiate between light variations they can also allow him to see in infrared and give him night vision...but he doesn't know this yet...hehe

Eye Subsystem are motors that allow Donald to express emotions and are composed of his eyebrows, eyelids, and of course, eyes. Now given his nature he very rarely ever emotes but the subsystem is very accurate nonetheless. There are two buttons located on his eye subsystem which are called trigger buttons. When both are activated it will open up his face plate to reveal his metal skull. This allows the mechanics to repair him much faster and efficiently, unfortunately, they can be triggered easily so if he gets punched in the face or sleeps in a weird position it's likely he will accidentally trigger them which can end up in an uncomfortable situation.

Mouth Subsystem- these are motors that are composed of his mouth parts such as his lips, teeth, gums, tongue, and vocal folds. Much like with his eye subsystem, they allow him to express himself and communicate with others.

Bionic Eye and Eye Mechanisms- These are mechanisms that allow Donald to see and express himself.

Silicone Skin Outer Surface- This is Donald's fake skin which is composed of silicone accurately replacing human flesh. hair follicles can also be inserted in Donald’s skin to allude to organic body hair. unfortunately, his artificial skin cannot regenerate on its own and requires manual repairs

Microphone Sensor/Ear Detection EM Waves- This allows Donald to hear sounds that average humans cannot hear (Electromagnetic sound waves) This is done by converting em sound waves to audible sounds. It also allows him to communicate through other devices by sending audible signals

Artificial Teeth- This mimics the function of human teeth and is composed of acrylic resin they are much more durable and sturdy allowing them to decompose slower over time if used too much.

Linear Motion Mechanism- This allows Donald to move his neck up and down and convert from rotational or horizontal movement to vertical

Audible Larynx- This allows Donald to allow air to move through the passageway and also allows him to vocalize sound or talk. This artificial larynx also prevents his voice from sounding robotic or augmented, if damaged, his voice will come off as robotic.

Linear DC Servo Neck Motor- This allows Donald to rotate his neck in many positions

Artificial Nervous System- (ANS) mimics the biological function of the human nervous system which is composed of neuroreceptors, nerve stimulators, nerve receptors, and neuron circuitry allowing Donald to react to stimuli similar to how he used to before he died.

Power Core Energy Conductor- Even though Donald's brain is his body's main source of power, he still requires a source to conduct energy or electricity through his body especially when he's on low power. His body, just like most humans, requires "charge" to restore energy but he relies on an external source other than sleep which is a charging station. If his Power core is damaged it will result in an automatic shutdown. His power core is essentially his actual heart.

Hip Joint Motor- This is a motor that acts as an artificial hip and allows Donald to move in all positional possible by humans by all axes

Rotary Arm Joints- These joints allow Donald to move his arms in several positions

Artificial Internal Digestive Unit- This is an artificial digestive system that mimics most of the function of organic digestive systems though is not advanced enough to replicate the silhouette. It also digests the nutrient intake Donald consumes and transports the nutrients to his brain to absorb.

Artificial Pelvic Region- This acts as an artificial pelvis and even mimics Donald’s original silhouette

Hydraulic Hand Actuators- This allows Donald to move his hands via using pressurized liquid (oil) however this can result in janky movement sometimes though before he found out about his robotic nature he assumed that he was developing arthritis (which is reasonable considering he's in his 50s)

Artificial Rectum- Um...do i really need to explain this? Ok..well as the term implies this allows him to go to the bathroom but he doesn't really need to it just mimics human bodily function to avoid suspicion what's interesting is that the contents that he consumes, especially liquids are only dyed to appear like urine but because he doesn't have actual blood they can't break down the contents ad hey cant be filtered to his kidneys because..well he doesn't have any. So the mechanisms in his rectum and digestive system dye the content he consumes kind of like some kind of chemical lab process in his body just to make an illusion that he can relieve himself. however, he doesn't really need to eat or to drink.

Tactile and Biosensors- This allows Donald to feel sensations in his fingers and through his body albeit not as efficiently as before he died.

Neuro Stimulators- These much like his biosensors allow him to receive pain signals through his body via electrical impulses that are connected to his brain and make up his artificial nervous system to mimic the feeling of pain or nerve receptors in humans.

Angular Encoders- These help measure movements in Donald to mov his joints much more precisely which help him move more quickly and accurately esp when fighting

Servo Motor Controls- These are rotary actuators that allow more precise movement in Donald esp when rotating limbs

Titanium Limbs- These are the material that his endoskeleton and body parts are composed of titanium

Rotary Ankle Joints- These allow Donald to move his ankles relative to a how a human moves their ankles via a servo motor

Also here's more versions!!

oooh and heres more!

Here's more label info on his other blueprint-

Artificial Tongue Composed of Rubber- This tongue which is obviously located in his mouth, allows him to speak and eat clearly much like the function of organic tongues in humans. It's composed of resin and dyed rubber.

Remaining Organic Tissue- The remaining organic tissue in Donald is obvi his brain which isolated in his metal skull

Multifilament Muscles- These muscles operate similarly to humans but function at a much more efficient rate, they are also more sturdy and are less likely to tear compared to regular humans. They are composed of silk which is a very strong and elastic material esp strung together like yarn.

Artificial Fat (foam)- The artificial fat as it implies is composed of soft foam similar to humans but slightly off in feeling. Of course, Donald shrugged it off as "getting older" because what other logical reason would explain feeling weird in your own body?

Artificial Lungs (air sacs)- The artificial lungs are air sacs similar to cars and inflate and deflate based on Donald's breathing patterns. They also transport oxygen from outside Donald's body into his brain to produce the required energy to function.

Extracorporeal Membrane Oxygenation (ECMO)- The artificial respiratory system it pumps blood from donalds body and adds oxygen and removes carbon dioxide. blood flows from the artificial heart back to the ECMO.

Artificial Titanium Secondary Skeleton- This secondary skeleton only serves as to illude the silhouette and feel of an organic skeleton to prevent any further suspicion.

Internal Cooling System- This system allows Donald's body to regulate temperature much like thermoregulation, it circulates a coolant through channels to absorb heat from an engine or other system. This prevents Donald's systems from overheating and causing short-circuitry and other malfunctions from occurring. However, if damaged or exposed to extremely high temperatures, his system will start to overheat and he will start to malfunction.

Artificial Heart- This acts as an actual heart and functions by keeping the artificial blood flowing through Donald's body.

Wires Underneath Skin- The wires underneath Donald's body are used to send electrical signals to his body and prevent them from affecting his body. They also are used to transmit information from the brain to the body such as electrodes.

Artificial Blood- This functions like human blood, it can be able to circulate energy and information through the body. It also transmits oxygen and carbon dioxide to and from the body. However, Donald cannot produce blood on his own and doesn't require as much as most humans. It's mostly meant for the show to convince him and others he's human.

Artificial Urinary System- As the term implies it acts as an organic urinary system and automatically assists in preventing involuntary "urine" leakage. He has an artificial bladder that stores the "urine" which is really just dyed liquid as his body can no longer abide by the three-step process of producing urine such as filtration, reabsorption, and secretion. Though, the bladder functions as any human bladder and when it is filled up it will release the urine through the urethra and outside the body. The purpose is to convert nutrients into energy which the remaining nutrients will be spread to the blood and brain.

Artificial Reproductive System- As the term implies the reproductive system acts as an organic human reproductive system which consists of...um...you know what? Let's skip this one. I really really don't want to have to explain this tbh. (even though I put it here.)

Wired Circulatory System- This consists of wires and circuitry that acts as a network of vessels that circulate Donald's artificial blood throughout his body whilst delivering oxygen to his brain cells. It also delivers electrical signals or information to his body when he feels pain.

Gastric Pump as Artificial Digestive System- This consists of synthetic tubes that can expand and contract like actual intestines that way contents can pass through with little struggle. on the outside of the intestines is which is made from silicon and rubber and can mimic how oxygen passes through the gut and can even stimulate the ability to vomit. He also contains an esophagus made from rubber which allows many foods to pass through. He does have taste in his artificial tongue however it's not as efficient as his old one. When food passes through his digestive tract acidic enzymes break it down into small chunks and are squeezed through this molding system where it dyes and transforms the content into a "stool" or "urine" kind of like playdough factory toys. (don't worry it's not as gross as it sounds) 

Bionic Eyes- the function by converting images from built-in cameras connected to the brain and siding electric signals that stimulate the brain which interprets it as an image.

Image Processing and Tracking Software- These allow Donald to manipulate and analyze data as images but also track where certain subjects move with high precision. Enhancing his mental images and giving him a "keen" eye.

Artificial Regenerative Hair Follicles- these are made from synthetic material that can expand in very thin strings to give the illusion that they can grow. They often increase in length when exposed to high temperatures. So basically Donald can cut his hair but it can't grow very long. his nails are made from the same materials

Backup Charging Port- located on Donald’s neck, this charging port is mainly for emergencies just in case if his chest charging port is malfunctioning. It is located above his power trigger buttons which can result in a shutdown if activated or stimulated by high stress levels.

Titanium Spine - This is located on Donald's back and is composed of titanium which is very difficult to crush...unless you're a pure-blood viltrumite. 

Oh, and another thing, although Da Sinclair didn’t make Donald’s 39th endoskeleton, he was asked to revise some parts by the old man himself, Cecil Stedman. The reason being that Cecil wanted to make Donald much stronger than last time replacing actuators and adding more multifilients in certain places. He did it out of care but also knowing the questionably ethical methods he must take in order to keep Donald alive.