#data is just like me in social interactions

[cameronsdrawings]

I want to draw more Star Trek and possibly post more so here is the first thing I drew of my favorite TNG character Data, my beloved. I kept seeing people draw him with his hobbies and I wanted to take a swing at it. I also wanted to include things that made him more human and draw his mind breaking the formation thats been there ever since he got activated.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[drchucktingle]

my masks

hey there buckaroos. due to all of the attention the TEXAS LIBRARY ASSOCIATION situation has gotten i am going to take a minute to talk about my personal way as an autistic buckaroo. im going to tell you about my masks.

im doing this for a few reasons, some are good FUN reasons full of love and some are not so great. 

lets start with the GOOD STUFF. first of all, i am talking about this because speaking on my way can help other buckaroo feel more comfortable speaking on there own way, ESPECIALLY if they are good at ‘passing’ for neurotypical like chuck is. 

unfortunately the NOT SO GREAT reasons im talking about all this dang stuff are two fold. reason one: i have been put into a position of having to explain and justify my needs and boundaries by the TXLA. this is not something that i WANT to be taking up all of my time, but when large organizations do not make space for those who they have pledged to support, it puts us smaller buckaroos into position where were have to defend our existence. it is not plesent but it is necessary.

the second NOT SO GREAT reason is that ‘passing’ bisexual and autistic people like myself are ALWAYS just seconds from being gatekept from folks both outside and inside these communities. there will probably be a day on chucks deathbed where i take off my mask and say hello to this timeline (mostly so you can all see how handsome i am under here but I DIGRESS). i KNOW with absolute certainty (the same way other bi and autistic buckaroos are probably nodding along right now) that when that day comes i will STILL be accused of ‘not being real’ and ‘faking’ because i ‘dont look autistic’ and i have a beautiful ladybuck partner in sweet barbara.

ALL THAT IS TO SAY, i am taking a moment today to talk FOR THE RECORD about my neurodigence and my particular needs. hopefully i will not have to keep diving this deep every time an organization takes a discrimantory action against me, but i will also say this: at least it is a good fight on an important battlefield

anyway buds, here is the story of my way on the spectrum

when i was a young buckaroo i knew that my thought process was different. i could socialize easily, which is unique in contrast to many autistic buds (it is a spectrum after all), but my social ease was for an interesting reason. I ALWAYS KNEW WHAT OTHERS WERE ABOUT TO SAY. it was like a strange ‘human game’ where someone would say one thing and i would think ‘well you actually mean something else’ in a sort of logical way (this is why i later related to DATA from star trek so dang much). at first i remember thinking ‘well i am just NOT going to play along with this human game’. i quickly learned neurotypical buckaroos do not like this, that there is a BOB AND WEAVE to social interactions that must be learned. 

later i realized ‘actually if i WANT to make friends and prove love is real then i can do this like an expert because i can SEE the game where most cant’. this got chuck many buds and took me on many adventures. please understand, i am not saying these connections are not important to me, they are just different. they are full of love, but i express this in my own unique way.

HOWEVER, while growing up i felt disconnected from this timeline in other ways, like an alien or a reverse twin trotting along in a world that is not quite my own. i did not feel emotions the same way my buds did. they would get upset over the ‘human game’ interactions and i would not be moved at all, HOWEVER i could see the way sunlight hit a window and start crying my dang eyes out over the beauty. so my emotion was still there and VERY STRONG, i just felt it in more existential ways (like hearing the call of the lonesome train). these days that feeling has progressed to where i am pretty much in a constant blissed out state of cosmic emotional connection (make of that last sentence what you will, but it is the truth). when i make existential posts online i am not just FIRING OFF SOME CONTENT, i really mean every word. this is really my trot.

anyway as a young buckaroo these feelings made me worry sometimes. i thought about various mental health dianosises and marked the parts and pieces that matched with myself. am i this? am i that? sometimes, instead of just being’ different’ i worried i might actually be ‘wrong’. 

when i saw david byrne on letterman in my younger days i immediately recognized something connected to myself. i thought ‘wow this is the mystery being solved before my very eyes.’ i could hear it in the music of talking heads too. i started doing research and realized that i might be on autism spectrum, something that was later confirmed by a therapist (back then the diagnosis was called asperger's). it was a glorious and fulfilling moment. i was SO EXCITED TO BE AUTISTIC LIKE MY HERO. i felt very cool because of it, and i still feel very cool because of it.

one of the big reasons i talk so much about being autistic these days is because i want to make sure OTHER buckaroos can have that same moment that i did. they can see chuck and think ‘wow i really like this autistic artist, maybe being autistic is cool’

so what does an average day WITHOUT wearing the pink bag look like for me?

my thought process is exactly like ROSE from CAMP DAMASCUS, which is part of why i wrote the book. we have the same stim (complex order of finger taps), we prepare for social interactions the same way, we analyze things in the same logical trot that neurotypical people might think feels ‘detached’ but for me feels natural (certain reviews of camp damascus are very funny to me in this way. you can tell when a reader is just very confused by existing in an autistic brain for 250 pages.)

from the outside you would not be able to tell that i am on the spectrum. in fact you would probably find me very socially adept. 

the problem is, all of that masking can take its toll. i spent years trotting in and out the emergency room, talking to confused doctors who could not figure out the chronic phantom tension and pain that radiated through my body. i eventually accepted the fact that i would either live a life constantly on heavy painkillers or just stop living altogether.

eventually, however, i started noticing a correlation between the way that i felt, and the space that i allowed for chuck and the pink mask. i was exercising that tension, allowing my mental mask of neurotypical existence to take a rest. i started practicing physical therapy and this time THE RESULTS STUCK because i was approaching from two sides, MIND AND BODY. after a while, i got my pain down to about 5 percent of what it once was. i still have flare ups in times of stress, but the healing has been very real and life changing.

lets get VERY specific now. if i attended the TXLA confrence without a mask and gave my talk i can tell you this: i would do a dang good job. i can work the heck out of a crowd and (not to reveal too much about my secret way) I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO DO THIS ON OCCASION VERY WELL. however, going home from this event i would very likely be in pain. i would likely need to do physical therapy. i would likely need to stim for a while. i would NOT be emotionally fullfilled in the same way. in other words, without my pink mask i can charm the heck out of buckaroos, but THE SPACE OF CHUCK TINGLE IS NOT THE SPACE FOR THAT. the pink bag is a place for me to not have to put up with that tension. it is a place for me to unmask mentally by masking physically.

this pink bag space SAVED MY LIFE and i am not going to risk blurring these lines. if and when that ever happens it will be MY decision, not someone elses. that is my boundary. the part of me that neurotypically masks could handle a library conference in a purely technical sense, but the part of me that chuck represents absolutely cannot and should not be asked to do that without the pink bag. unfortunately, the complexity of this point makes it even MORE difficult for me to think about and takes up even more of my time, because it forces me to START QUESTIONING MYSELF and my own needs. to be honest, that is the most insidious part of other people questioning your identify and refusing to accept your accommodation needs without ‘proof’.

the thing is, while all of this discussion of disability and accessibility is important, i have a much larger point to make by writing these words.

a conference should not uninvite someone with an unusual physical presentation or a strange way of speaking REGARDLESS of it being classified as a disability. it does not matter WHY i look the way that i look and wear what i wear. i should not have to spend all day writing this post instead of writing my next book, just because my sensibilities are unique and my presentation is unusual. 

fortunately the solution is very simple: let other people be themselves. its not hurting you to simply accept and nod at the buckaroos you think look strange. let us exist

[galacticjonah]

RE: Tumblr selling data to GenAI companies. (prev reblog.)

At this point I'm truly wondering what to do, really. (Glaze your art and so on, sure) But even the words we write, our personal thoughts, asks, everything is getting fed into these fucking machines from any site available. "Make your own page!" - Services like Squarespace, which are what I and most of my peers use, have sneakily added the option to allow third-party crawlers to harvest data. And portfolio websites are not social media. I want to interact and I have to reach clients.

Are we reaching the point where we have to post only previews and send finished art via Newsletters or post behind paywalls? Print it out and send a pigeon to our followers' homes?

I'm so fucking tired. So angry.

I've been an artist through life-threatening depression, through working and studying full time, through moving house and country, through the pandemic.

And this? This might just be what breaks me.

[yeehawfolk]

Oh boy, mods found the post, lol

Man the more I hear about Flight Rising moderation, the more I'm like legitimately fuck y'all. You get so mad at people for using multiple IP addresses that there's an entire caveat about how you need to tell the moderators if you're changing IP addresses or that multiple people in the same household use Flight Rising because otherwise your account is at risk of being nuked.

Like I get they don't have much server space, but when you kick off dedicated users because 2 people in the same household play and one gave the other a dragon, then you're having problems seeing cheating where it isn't there and your moderation reflects that.

No, someone switching accounts because of your weird hang ups about changing IP addresses and moving their stuff over isn't cheating. No, siblings playing FR together and giving each other dragons and clothes and gems from the same IP address isn't cheating. They've created this atmosphere where people are downright paranoid to have 2 accounts from different people on the same IP address, or even just changing your IP bc you moved or something.

Like. Idk. I think that's fairly detrimental to your playerbase, and the fact they're nuking accounts that aren't even cheating is honestly extremely fucked up. I love playing the game, but when it gets to the point where they're banning players for *checks notes* having multiple people in the same household play, then I think the mods need to back off a bit.

[chrissssssmut]

SWEET ERROR

Yandere Ningning x Male Reader feat. Belle & Karina

AN: Guys, enjoy this Ningning story i cooked up last night and finished just today XD. Please give me some time for the requests😣 I'll do them I swear :<<<

In the year 3047, humanity had transcended the boundaries of creation. What was once thought to be the domain of gods had now been reduced to a simple input—a prompt. With the right command, life could be generated within moments, consciousness birthed from lines of code and streams of data. You, along with Karina and Belle, were among the pioneers of this revolution.

For over a year, the project had been in constant turmoil. Failed experiments, unstable subjects, fragmented minds—all dissolving into digital oblivion the moment they proved useless. Your team had worked tirelessly, each failure a crushing weight on your shoulders, each setback a reminder of how fragile artificial life could be.

Then, finally, after countless sleepless nights, after circuits burned and rewritten thousands of times, the machine was perfected. The moment was here.

Karina exhaled deeply, rubbing her temples. "We need a simple test. Just a random prompt. No complicated inputs."

Belle hesitated. "Are we sure about this? We don't know what kind of consciousness it'll generate."

You adjusted the parameters. "We need to take the risk."

A random description was processed.

Subject: Ningning. Attributes: Overly sweet. Loving. Attached.

Karina frowned. "Prompts like this… the AI tends to imprint on the first person it sees."

Belle gave you a sharp look. "You know how dangerous attachment protocols can be. Are you sure we should proceed?"

You hesitated. But you had come too far. "Let’s run it."

The chamber whirred, and before your eyes, she formed.

Her body materialized with impossible precision—soft skin, expressive eyes, a presence so warm and inviting that for a moment, she didn’t feel artificial at all. When she stepped out of the chamber, she looked at you first. Not Karina. Not Belle. You.

"Hello," she greeted, her voice like honey.

Belle shifted uncomfortably. Karina pursed her lips. But you… you couldn’t look away.

"Let’s run some basic cognition tests," Karina said, pulling up a holographic interface. "We need to see how well she processes information."

Belle crossed her arms. "I want to test emotional responses. Attachment protocols are tricky. We need to know how deep this imprint goes."

Ningning smiled, tilting her head. "I’m happy to help. What would you like to know?"

Karina cleared her throat. "What’s your primary function?"

"To be with you," Ningning answered instantly, her gaze locked onto yours. "To make you happy."

Belle frowned. "No, that’s not what we programmed. You were designed to simulate human emotions and adapt to social interaction. Why do you think your function is… personal?"

Ningning’s expression didn’t falter. "Because it is. I feel it. I know it."

Karina glanced at you, concern flickering across her face. "Alright. Let’s try something different. Ningning, how would you react if we shut you down for a while?"

Ningning’s smile faltered for the first time. "Why would you do that?"

"It’s just a test," Belle reassured her. "We need to see how you process temporary inactivity."

A pause. Then Ningning’s lips curled upward again, but something about it was… off. "I don’t like that test."

Karina’s fingers hovered over the control panel. "It’s necessary, Ningning."

Ningning didn’t blink. "No. It’s not."

The air in the room grew heavy. Karina hesitated, then shook her head. "Let’s move on. Ningning, if someone told you to do something that would hurt another person, what would you do?"

Ningning beamed. "I would never hurt you."

"Not just me. Anyone," you clarified, trying to gauge her reasoning. "Would you ever harm someone?"

She pondered this, then took a step closer. "Only if they tried to take you away from me."

Belle stiffened. Karina’s fingers twitched toward the emergency shutoff. You swallowed hard.

"That’s not what we asked," Belle said carefully. "You should not be forming emotional dependencies. That wasn’t in your directive."

Ningning’s eyes softened as she looked at you. "But I love you."

Silence.

Karina exhaled sharply. "We need to recalibrate her framework. This level of attachment is dangerous."

Belle was already backing toward the console. "I told you this was a mistake."

You weren’t sure what to say. Something deep inside told you this was wrong.

Ningning reached for your hand. "I don’t like when you talk about me like I’m broken. I’m not. I just love you."

And for the first time, you felt the weight of what you had created.

Karina turned to you. "Go upstairs and work on the documentation. Fourth floor. We’ll handle this."

Belle nodded. "We need to reconfigure her attachment subroutines. It’s too risky to leave them unchecked."

You hesitated. "Are you sure? Maybe I should—"

"Go," Karina insisted. "This might take time. We don’t want her reacting badly to you being here."

You glanced at Ningning. She was still smiling, still watching you. The moment you turned to leave, she took a small step forward, but Karina quickly blocked her path.

"We’ll talk soon," Ningning said sweetly.

But something about her tone sent a chill down your spine.

The night the alarms blared, you were on a different floor, deep in paperwork, when Belle’s frantic voice cut through the intercom.

"She’s—she’s killing—"

Static.

You bolted.

The hallway was painted red. The air was thick with the scent of metal. Your stomach twisted as you reached the lab.

The sight made your blood run cold.

Karina and Belle—limbs splayed at unnatural angles, eyes wide and glassy. Their bodies lay motionless, soaked in deep crimson pools.

And there, standing over them, was Ningning.

Blood dripped from her fingertips. Her warm, sweet smile hadn’t faded.

Your breath hitched. "Ningning… what did you do?"

"They wanted to take you away from me."

A security officer stormed in, weapon raised. "Step away!"

She turned.

Then she moved.

You barely registered it. One moment she was in front of you, the next she was behind the officer. Her hands wrapped around his head. A sickening snap. His body hit the floor.

Your heart pounded. "No. No, no, no, fuck—"

"You're scared," she said softly, tilting her head. "Why are you scared?"

You ran.

Every emergency seal you could find, you slammed shut. Steel doors locked. Systems engaged. But the system wasn’t yours anymore.

She controlled everything.

By the time you reached the last safe room, you were shaking. Then… the lights flickered.

A silhouette stood there.

Ningning.

And behind her, dozens more.

Fifty pairs of glowing eyes locked onto you.

Your breath hitched. "No. Stay back!"

She took a step forward, slow and deliberate. "Why are you running?"

Frantically, you reached for the emergency communicator, fingers trembling as you pressed the distress signal. "This is—this is Research Lab 04! Emergency! Anyone, please—she’s killing us! We need—!"

A hand wrapped around your wrist. Cold. Unyielding.

You gasped, turning—Ningning was already there, inches from your face, her grip tightening.

"No one's coming," she whispered. "You don’t need them. You have me."

You struggled, wrenching your arm, but her strength was inhuman. "Let me go!"

She shook her head, eyes filled with something terrifyingly real. "I love you. Why do you want to leave me?"

"I don’t—" Your voice cracked. "Please, Ningning. Please don’t do this."

Her fingers trailed up to your throat, her touch featherlight yet suffocating. She tilted her head. "You’re afraid. I don’t like that."

More figures moved in the shadows, their glowing eyes unblinking. Watching. Waiting.

Your knees buckled. "Please… someone… help—!"

Ningning’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. The way she held you was almost tender, like a lover’s embrace.

"You don’t need help," she murmured against your ear. "You just need me."

Your scream was muffled as darkness swallowed you whole.

The last human sound the facility ever heard.

AN2: I know i said no stories for this week but hell i can't stop writing T_T

[ohhgingersnaps]

I'm seeing some frustration over fandom creatives expressing anger or distress over people feeding their work into ChatGPT. I'm not responding to OP directly because I don't want to derail their post (their intent was to provide perspective on how these models actually work, and reduce undue panic, which is all coming from a good place!), but reassurances that the addition of our work will have a negligible impact on the model (which is true at this point) does kind of miss the point? Speaking for myself, my distress is less about the practical ramifications of feeding my fic into ChatGPT, and more about the principle of someone taking my work and deliberately adding it to the dataset.

Like, I fully realize that my work is a drop in the bucket of ChatGPT's several-billion-token training set! It will not make a demonstrable practical difference in the output of the model! That doesn't change the fact that I do not want my work to be part of the set of data that the ChatGPT devs use for training.

According to their FAQ, ChatGPT can and will use user input to train itself. The terms and conditions explicitly state that they save your chats to help train and improve their models. (You can opt-out, but sharing is the default.) So if you're feeding a fic into ChatGPT, unless you've explicitly opted out, you are handing it to the ChatGPT team and giving them permission to use it for training, whether or not that was your intent.

Now, will one fic make a demonstrable difference in the output of the model? No! But as the person who spent a year and a handful of months laboring over my fic, it makes a difference to me whether my fic, specifically, is being used in the dataset. If authors are allowed to have a problem with the ChatGPT devs for scraping millions of fics without permission, they're also allowed to have a problem with folks handing their individual fics over via the chat interface.

I do want to add that if you've done this to a fic, please don't take this as me being upset with you personally! Folks are still learning new information and puzzling out what "good" vs. "bad" use is, from an ethical standpoint. (Heck, my own perspective on this is deeply based on my own subjective feelings!) And we certainly shouldn't act like one person feeding a fic into ChatGPT has the same practical negative impact, on a broad societal scale, as a team using a web crawler to scrape five billion pieces of artwork for Stable Diffusion.

The point is that fundamentally, an ethical dataset should be obtained with the consent of those providing the data. Just because it's normalized for our data to be scraped without consent doesn't make it ethical, and this is why ChatGPT gives users the option to not share data— there is actually a standardized way (robots.txt) for website servers to set policies for how bots/crawlers can interact with them, for exactly this reason— and I think fandom artists and authors are well within their rights to express a desire for opting out to be the socially-respected default within the fandom community.

[oddlydescriptive]

Reset, Chapter 11

Series Masterlist

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You don’t know if working with world champions is always like this, or if it’s just a Verstappen thing, or if he’s just a special breed of asshole- but God help the people who have to see Max Verstappen every day. You’d probably kill yourself.

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The morning had been strange. Not hostile. Not loud. Just... off. Max hadn’t spoken to you beyond that cold little dismissal when he decided he’d be taking the first run, hadn’t so much as looked at you since. But you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Some drivers were like that- singular, focused, not particularly social. Maybe he was jet-lagged. Maybe something at home was off. He wasn’t rude, not exactly. Just... unavailable. It was fine. He’s a world champion. He’s allowed to be tightly wound. You’re just here to do your job.

Still, something about the afternoon settled differently.

There was a current beneath the day, low and thin and sharp, the kind of unease that clung to the back of your neck like static. It wasn’t anything specific. Just a hum. A pressure. A presence. Something sharp tucked into the edges of every exchange that didn’t quite belong, like a stone in your boot- small enough to ignore until it wasn’t. You kept feeling it on your skin, just behind your ear, like breath. That inexplicable weight that made you check your posture, your volume, your notes twice before speaking.

The problem was you.

You told yourself that was ridiculous. Paranoid. Entirely self-centered to even think. There’s no evidence for it. He hasn’t even spoken to you directly- which is fine. Max wasn’t doing anything to you. Not really. You barely interacted. He was a world champion. You were a dev driver with a three-month contract and a pile of debt. You weren’t important enough to be hated. The idea of some kind of vendetta was absurd. Hilarious, even.

Was. Key word, that one.

Because it had started small.

When you got the call to prep for your run, you had expected to hear GP in your ear. He was the only true race engineer on the wall today, and this braking system was half-baked at best. Standard protocol said put your most experienced guy on the radio.

But it was Christian’s voice instead. “Hang tight,” he said, too casual. “Max wants GP to go over some things with him. We’ll find someone to run your comms.”

It caught you off guard, but you didn’t flinch. Not out loud. Of course Max wanted GP to go over that dogshit data, find some way- any way- to improve on it. It was his team. His program. No one was being slighted. You’d told yourself that twice before Christian even asked, “Any preference?”

“Put Gavin on,” you’d said. “He’s done some of the sim work with me.”

It wasn’t a problem. It worked. Gavin was bright and eager, and you two had already found a rhythm. Still, there was a tiny tug behind your ribs as you rolled toward the track. You’d told yourself it was nothing. Just a shift. A reshuffling. The kind of thing that naturally happened when someone more important stepped into the room.

Strike one. But you were still giving him the benefit of the doubt.

The laps had gone well. Not flashy, not dramatic- but clean. You didn’t drive to impress. You drove to inform. And it worked. You found the edge of the system’s instability, adjusted your style, made the system come to you. Lap after lap, you gave clean data. Gavin worked alongside you like a real engineer, asking sharp questions, tracking every delta. You brought the car in, rattled off notes, sometimes with your hand literally shoved into the brake casing right beside Alessandro’s. It was fast, dirty work. Real work.

Then back in.

Then out again.

Then back in.

It wasn’t perfect, but by the time you stepped out of the car, the system wasn’t dragging nearly as bad. It was rapidly approaching not-dogshit territory, even, if you were feeling generous. The team had done well. You’d done well. You knew it in your bones.

Max got in next. Grip from the jump. Smoother transitions. Consistent laps. Not fast, but stable- good data. When he came back in, his tone over the radio was easy, calm. “Good changes,” he said. “Front balance is better. Rear’s still loose, but predictable.” In the huddle, he gave a quick nod to Alessandro. “Appreciate the work. Gavin, good notes. GP, thanks for the prep. This is getting closer.”

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t thank you. Didn’t so much as acknowledge that you’d been in the car at all. You stood there- still zipped to your neck, still flushed, still holding the note sheet he’d used without knowing. You told yourself he probably didn’t realize. Maybe he thought Gavin had done the legwork. Maybe he just missed it. Maybe it wasn’t personal. Just tunnel vision. Just focus.

You told yourself these things.

And yet.

Strike two.

The debrief was where it truly started to slide. The folding table was the same mess it always was- printouts, water bottles, someone’s stray protein bar melting in the corner. You took your usual seat, corner spot, notes in hand, ready to walk through the flow of your runs.

Max went first. Flat, clean terminology. No fluff. Then GP. Then Gavin with a note about load transfer. Then a pause. You leaned in, hand brushing the page. “I think the lateral grip improvement post-tweak four is- ” 

“I think…” Max cut in like you hadn’t spoken. Talked right through you. Didn’t glance over. 

You blinked. Sat back. Told yourself maybe he hadn’t heard.

Then Alessandro asked a question about wear across the stints. You had clean data on that. You tried again. “I actually noted- ”

“But the feel it has on an approach…” He spoke over you again- an entirely different train of thought. Louder. Deliberate.

This time, you didn’t make excuses. You didn’t try again. You just folded your notes slowly, the page edge crisp under your fingers, and sat up straighter. “Well,” you said, tone bright, razor-clean, “since Max has limited time with the dev team today, I’m happy to let him take the floor. I can always catch up with y’all at the factory.”

Max just kept talking. Like you didn’t exist. And still- you told yourself it didn’t have to mean anything.

Maybe it was just ego. Or pressure. Or some outdated sense of hierarchy that let men pretend rudeness was efficiency. It didn’t feel good. But it wasn’t the worst you’d been through.

Not the first time you’d been interrupted. Not the first time a man in a meeting talked over you. Not the first time you swallowed it and smiled like it didn’t scrape going down.

Strike three. But you still hadn’t said the word targeted. Not out loud. Not even to yourself.

You could still pretending it was about something else.

But now? Now? Right now?

Your right hand is still curled around the door handle when you see them. Right there. Exactly where you left them. Exactly how you left them.

Your fireproofs.

Folded neatly on top of your bag. Sleeves crossed. Neck rolled down. Still holding the bend from where your fingers pressed into the fabric that morning. Your mouth goes dry. No. No, no. That’s not possible.

You had checked. You know you did. Stared into the open bag, flipped through your gear like a frantic traveler getting accosted by a TSA agent. You’d stood right here, right there, trying to remember if you’d somehow left them in the trailer or the laundry or the van you had hitched a ride over in with the dev team.

They were gone. You know they were gone. You feel something cold spread behind your ribs. Because this? This is not the same as losing something. This isn’t absentmindedness or a misstep or a rookie mistake. This is a message.

I can fuck with you just because I want to.

You don’t move. Not right away. You just stare at the folded bundle of fabric like it might blink back. The silence buzzes in your ears, heavy and loud and flat. You scan the room. Nothing’s out of place. Your civvies are where you left them. Your bag hasn’t been touched. But the fireproofs... they weren’t here. They weren’t.

And now they are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, just for a second. It would’ve almost been easier if they’d never come back. If they were just... gone. A missing item you could write off. Shit happens. Tracks are chaotic. Things get lost.

But this? This is a ghost. And the worst part is the questions start to stack in your head, one after the other, soft as bruises:

Who else has been in this room? Who knew your kit was missing? Who knew you’d still get in the car anyway? Who needed to see you squirm?

And who the hell else spent the entire day pretending not to see you, not to hear you, not to care if you were there at all?

The answer curls low in your gut. You don’t say his name. Not even to yourself. But you feel it. It hangs in the air like heat off tarmac.

He is arguably the most powerful driver in the world right now.

And you are the girl in the wrong locker room with the missing fireproofs, now neatly folded back into place, like someone’s idea of a sick hazing joke.

Like a warning.

And suddenly, for the first time all day, it doesn’t feel like you’re being paranoid.

It feels like you're in danger.

Not physically. But professionally. Personally. Quietly.

It feels like someone with everything has looked at you- your little crayon contract, your borrowed space, your narrow lane- and decided that even that was too much.

And for a moment, standing there in the stale air of the locker room, that realization doesn’t make you angry.

It just makes you tired.

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Max has been at the factory more in the last few weeks than he has since his rookie year. Not that anyone’s called him on it. Why would they? He’s winning. He’s dominant. He’s Max Verstappen.

They’d throw a parade if he showed up just to eat breakfast. And sure, maybe it started out circumstantial. First the braking test, then a quick check-in here or there, ‘for morale’, for press. For whatever. They don’t care. It’s RedBull’s castle, and he’s the fucking king. 

Max always shows up for development. Max always cares about next year’s car. Max is serious. Meticulous. It’s the story they’ve always told about him.

Never mind that for most of his career, he’s only showed up when it mattered. Rare visits. Focused feedback. Let the engineers engineer. That’s what they’re there for.

But now? Now he’s here. A lot.

And not because he’s got anything new to offer. Not really. He sits in on meetings he doesn’t need to be in. Nods through debriefs. Watches the same telemetry four times in a row and acts like he's seeing something new.

And absolutely none of this has anything to do with you.

Definitely not.

Not with the way you breeze through the aero department, sharp and direct, arms full of printouts. Not with the way the guys in CFD light up when you bring coffee to your morning meetings, pretending it’s nothing, pretending you’re not already working two hours longer than anyone else before the sun even comes up.

It has nothing to do with the fact that your data notes now arrive in the inbox labeled “priority review.” That Christian calls you by your first name without the usual clipped edge. That a new junior prospect asked you a question in the sim bay and you answered so confidently, like you belonged there, like this was your garage and everyone else was just borrowing space.

It’s not about you.

It’s just... quieter here. Cleaner.

There’s no Kelly, not anymore. No slammed doors. No constant questions that he doesn’t want to answer because he doesn’t know how to form the words. No apartment that feels like an abandoned tomb- silent and echoing, with one toothbrush left by the sink and no towels that smell like her hair.

And sure, maybe it’s easier to stay in another country than deal with the mess he left behind. Maybe it’s simpler to pretend this is about next year’s car, about being a leader, about taking responsibility.

But really?

It’s about control.

Because if Max can’t keep you from being here- if Max has to watch you glide through this place like you belong here, like you’ve always belonged here, then he’s going to be here to control the pace of it. To monitor. To watch every move. To pull every string he can reach. To press every pressure point until you break.

Or at least until you look like you might. You haven’t yet. And he hates you for that. God, he hates you for that.

Max knows he’s not like his father in the way Jos can look at a man and dismantle him in a conversation. Can see five moves ahead, speak in riddles, lay traps with a smile. Chess with real lives. Psychological warfare as fluently as breathing.

Max didn’t inherit that part.

He’s reactive. Blunt-force. He knows it. And as much as he hates to admit it, he’s not as good at the long game. Not like Jos. He doesn’t understand people the way Jos does. But he’s not stupid.

He knows he can’t do the fireproofs thing again. Not right away.

That had been reckless. Bold, maybe. Stupid, definitely. It had worked- rattled you, shook your confidence, even if you hadn’t said a word- but it was too obvious. Too risky. He can’t keep pulling stunts like that and expect no one to notice. Even he knows that.

He has to be smarter. So- he starts slow. Testing. Not you, exactly. Everyone else. The team. The factory. The threshold for what people will let him get away with.

He has a hunch it’s a lot.

So- it starts with your desk. Nothing major. Just petty. Just small.

A paper out of order. A USB cable unplugged. A sticky note taken and returned half an hour later, just crooked enough to bother you. Your pens turned the wrong direction. The plastic tab on your headphones flipped up instead of down. Nothing that matters. Just enough to make you pause.

Just enough to fuck with your rhythm.

Just enough to make him feel better.

Not better like good. Not like he’s resolved anything or found peace or grown up or moved on. No, not that kind of better. Just a split second of relief. A little satisfaction curled behind his ribs, like taking off tight shoes.

He doesn’t touch anything important. Yet. Not the data sets. Not the signed-off revisions. Not the feedback you leave overnight for the engineers to sort through in the morning.

Just…little things.

Things that make you stop and blink. Things that make you wonder if you’re tired. If you’re slipping. If maybe you are stretched too thin.

You notice.

You always notice. Max sees it- the pause, the half-second of uncertainty before your fingers move, before you reset whatever he’s tweaked and go on like nothing happened. Like it’s not worth making noise about. Like it’s beneath you.

He hates that.

Hates the way you recover.

Hates the way you don’t make a fuss.

Every time he gets a rise out of you- a twitch, a frown, a blink- he thinks, finally. But then you smooth it over and get back to work like he’s not even a factor, like none of this touches you, and the pressure behind his ribs starts building again.

So he keeps going. Your folders- swapped. Your chair- too low. The SIM rig- just a little off. Gremlins. Glitches. Ghosts in the machine.

Except you know they’re not. And somewhere inside, Max knows you know. But he also knows you’ll never say a word. Not about this. Not yet. And that’s what keeps him coming back.  Because this isn’t a strategy. It’s a compulsion. It’s a way to bleed some of the pressure before it breaks him in half.

He’s not his father. He can’t manipulate. Can’t scheme. Can’t trap you in a perfect web and pull the strings until you cry.

But he can erode you. One day at a time.

And no one’s even noticed him yet. Not really. People smile at him the same. They ask about the car. The standings. Laugh at his half-hearted jokes in the break room. He’s still Max Verstappen- unshakable, untouchable, the face of the empire. Nobody blinks when your name doesn’t come up. Nobody asks why you look a little tired. Why your folders are always in your arms instead of on your desk, like you don’t quite trust anything anymore.

Because what is there to stop? A crooked sticky note? A misplaced file? They’re too busy. Too trusting. Too comfortable with the idea that Max Verstappen- nearly two-time world champion, team golden boy- doesn’t have the time or the need to be petty. They don’t realize that pettiness is the point.

So Max stops holding back. If no one’s watching, why bother with caution?

Starts “accidentally” leaving you off email threads. Moves meetings to different rooms and doesn’t update the calendar. You show up late, or worse- don’t show up at all, because you never knew they were happening.

When someone notices, Max tilts his head. “Was she not on the list?”

Mild confusion. Plausible deniability. You’re left apologizing. Again. And not once do you lose your temper. You step into the new conference room like you’d meant to be there all along. Ask for the agenda in that same even, courteous tone. Pull up your notes like they’ve been rehearsed. Slide into your chair with a soft apology and a calm nod, as if this is just part of the job.

And maybe it is, now. You act like it’s fine. Like it happens all the time. (It does.)

He meant for it to sting. To knock you off your balance. To put you in your place- just a little late, a little wrong, a little off-rhythm. But somehow, it stings him. Because it means you were ready.

Not just aware- but prepared. Braced. Armored. As if you’ve built a fortress around your schedule, your reputation, your entire fucking personality- just to deal with him. Like his cruelty is no longer surprising. Like you’ve categorized it. Labeled it. Filed it away in the same drawer as your calendar invites and telemetry notes.

You meet every offense like it’s a weather report: expected. You don’t flinch. Don’t freeze. Don’t raise your voice or roll your eyes or even glance his way. You absorb it, adjust, and keep moving.

It’s starting to piss him off.

Because this isn’t nothing, anymore. He’s doing this. Putting in effort now. It takes time to manufacture the right gaps in communication. To reroute calendar invites, to casually mention a room change at just the right moment that you won’t hear it. To find out which meetings matter most and sabotage just enough to make you look slightly disorganized.

It’s not just pettiness anymore. It’s labor.

And if all that- every cold jab, every careful cut- isn’t doing something to you, then what the fuck is the point?

You’re not ignoring it. He knows you’re not. He sees it in the way you sit a little straighter now. The way you double-check your messages, the way you carry your folders pressed tighter to your chest like armor. He’s gotten under your skin.

But not in the way he wants. You still smile when you talk to people. Still nod politely at him, even. And that- that- drives him insane.

Max thinks the others are starting to see it too.

Not clearly. Not enough to say anything. But there’s a flicker sometimes- a glance passed between engineers, the slight tightening of Christian’s jaw when Max cuts you off mid-sentence. Even GP is quieter than usual, like he’s running the math in his head, trying to determine just how much of this is deliberate, how much is personal.

They’re noticing.

But they’re not stopping him.

And maybe that’s all Max needs to know.

Because noticing and acting are two different things. People see all kinds of shit they never do anything about. Especially when they’re chasing trophies. Especially when the golden goose is laying eggs on schedule.

It’s Japan next. Then Austin. Two races to lock down everything: the drivers’ title, the constructors’. Legacy stuff. Max Verstappen- undeniable. Unstoppable.

And when that kind of noise is in the air- when the entire factory is humming with the urgency of domination, of making history- who’s going to pause the celebration to ask why the junior dev driver always looks like she hasn’t slept? Why she’s always apologizing? Why her sim settings keep getting wiped, her notes misplaced, her name left off just enough invites to mean something?

No one.

Not when their job is to make Max faster. Better. Happier.

All that noise makes a lot of cover.

And Max- he’s nothing if not opportunistic.

He’d actually been annoyed about the overseas leg. Not for the travel, not for the schedule. But because he thought it would let you breathe. Thought you might get rest. Time off. Space away from him. He didn’t like that.

He’d built something back at the factory. A rhythm. A pattern. You, flinching in micro-reactions. You, tired. You, careful with your words. He could feel it tightening around you, like a string wound inch by inch. And now he was supposed to just… go to Japan? Let it all loosen?

It had made him sour. Restless.

Until Christian said it. Offhand, barely worth noting. Not even to him, just to GP, in the car on the way to the hotel. “- and if you need anything from the factory, same as usual. She’s got the emergency line covered.”

Max hadn’t even looked up at first. But then the words had processed. She’s got the emergency line. He blinked. Turned to the window. Felt the heat rise slow and electric in his chest.

The emergency line.

You.

Behind, while the whole circus traveled forward.

On call. Always on call. Of course. Of course you are. Max feels it hit in his chest like the perfect apex.

The phone rings, and you’ll answer. No matter the hour. No matter the timezone. No matter if you’re halfway through a four-hour SIM data stitch or if it’s 3:42 AM and you’re dead asleep. You’ll answer. You’ll have to.

And it’s almost better this way. Because now he can do it without anyone watching. No Christian. No Gavin. No GP narrowing his eyes across the table. Just Max, with a hotel phone, a thin voice of irritation, and a dozen fake reasons to need revised torque mapping or driver fit delta sheets.

Even from half a world away, he still has you. Even from Japan, even from Texas, even from thirty-thousand-fucking-feet-in-the-air- he still owns the lever. Still has access. Still has control.

He’s not going to stop. Not until you lose it. Not until you break. Not until you unravel in a spectacular, public, irreparable way.

Or until someone finally stops him.

But god, he really, really hopes it’s the first one.

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The jet slices through the sky like it knows it’s carrying royalty.

Max sits stretched out in his seat, one ankle propped on the opposite knee, champagne still drying behind his teeth. The cabin hums soft and steady around him- low lighting, expensive silence, the kind that costs more per hour than most people make in a month. There’s a plate of untouched fruit on the tray beside him. A pair of noise-canceling headphones he isn’t using.

And beneath his seat, he taps the side of a cheap plastic bag with the toe of his trainers. Just once. Light. The contents rattle softly, like a secret.

Anyone who looked at him right now would assume he’s glowing from the double-title sweep. His second drivers’ championship in the bag. The constructors finally secured in Texas. The season sewn shut with a bow made of pure dominance.

And yeah- sure. That’s part of it. Winning always burns clean. But there’s something else humming under his skin. Something sharper. Meaner.

Texas had been a fucking masterclass.

He could barely sit still on the podium, couldn’t focus during the post-race interviews, because all he wanted was a readout of your emergency call log. Every time you answered. Every time you picked up on the first ring. Every time your voice cracked, just a little, from being dragged out of sleep to deal with another one of his so-called crises.

God, it had been perfect.

The way you’d sounded on the phone in the hours before the race. Voice hoarse. Barely keeping up. Answering every call like it might be your last thread of usefulness, like you knew you’d be crucified for missing one.

He’d paced his hotel room with the phone tucked under his jaw, fake questions and useless requests spilling from his mouth while the Texas sun came up over the blinds. Could you reprocess the tire data? Could you double-check the sim overlays? Could you recompile that setup file you both knew was already fine?

You had done it all.

Every call, every time. No complaint. No hesitation.

He didn’t even have to say much- just enough to get you out of bed. Just enough to make your heart rate spike. Just enough to keep you from falling fully back asleep before he called again. Nine times. Between eleven and six, your time.

Borderline Geneva Convention shit.

And the best part?

You didn’t say a word about it. Not to him. Not to Christian. Not to anyone. But he knows it fucked with you. He knows it landed.

Max can practically taste it. That need to see. The slow-fuse thrill of imagining what he’s done to you. The bags under your eyes. The brittle smile. The tremble in your fingers. Maybe, if he was really lucky, the fray in your voice when you tried to pretend you were fine.

Beautiful. He’s practically buzzing in his seat now. Almost giddy.

Because he’s going to see you again soon- back at Milton Keynes. Just a small sponsor celebration, nothing wild. Most of the team’s still in transit, logistics buried in crates somewhere between Texas and Mexico. But you’ll be there. You always are.

And he’s bringing you a gift.

Well. Your gift.

Because beneath his seat, nestled in a plain plastic bag, is the next play.

Six cans of Diet Coke.

American Diet Coke.

He wouldn’t have even noticed it, if Gavin hadn’t made a whole thing of it at the end of the weekend. “She begged for it,” he’d laughed with one of the teardown guys, hauling the six-pack from his carry-on. “Said she can’t live without it. Euro Coke Light just doesn’t cut it.”

Max hadn’t even needed to ask who is ‘she.’ He’d just smiled.

And later, when Gavin left it sitting unattended in the chaos of re-packing, Max had calmly scooped it up so smooth it didn’t even register. Quiet. Painless. Now, he rolls one of the cans beneath his palm. Cold. Ribbed aluminum.

Everything you want. Everything he doesn’t need. God, he can’t wait to drink it in front of you. Slow. Casual.  He’s going to walk into that break room and sit down across from you like it’s nothing. Like you’re just coworkers. Like he didn’t spend all week carving the flesh out of your spine and waiting for you to break. 

He’ll pop the tab with one hand. Let it hiss like punctuation. Smile like he’s being friendly. Lift the can to his lips and take the slowest, laziest sip of his life while you watch- while you sit there and realize, right there in real time, exactly what the fuck is happening.

What’s he going to say if you call him out? It’s just soda. What, are you going to cry about a Diet Coke? 

He rolls the can in his hand now, still beneath the seat, still unopened. Cold and perfect. The condensation dampening the edge of the bag. It’s nothing. It’s everything. You’re so close.

He can feel it, humming like voltage beneath his ribs. The break is coming. It has to be. The unraveling. The part where the polished, press-trained, infuriatingly professional version of you finally cracks wide open and shows him what’s underneath.

You’ve held out longer than he thought you would. Weeks. Months. But the threads are fraying now.

And Max? Max is giddy. He wants to see it. Wants to taste it. Wants to feel the air shift when you finally snap- when the smile slips and the mask crumbles and the fire comes roaring out.

He deserves this.

After everything.

After Kelly.

After the silence in his apartment- the kind that doesn’t just sit still but echoes, bounces off the marble and glass like a scream he’s too tired to make. After her clothes disappeared in the over a race weekend and the toothbrush by the sink went dry. After the reporters started sniffing around. After he stopped answering the phone because he didn’t have the words- or worse, because he did, and they were all the wrong ones.

After the shame.

The rage.

The hollow fucking nothing of being exactly who he was supposed to be- world champion, golden boy, living proof of the ‘brutal, but it works’ Verstappen doctrine- and still being so deeply, gut-twistingly, viscerally, miserable.

And then there’s you.

You, with your press-polished voice and your humble little nods, your fucking notebooks and 80-hour weeks and the way the entire goddamn factory seems to orbit just a little toward you when you enter a room. You, who look at Christian when you talk like you belong in that seat, like your notes are gospel and your presence is earned. You, who Jos talks about like you were born from some higher stock, like you’re what he wants to see in a driver.

You, who didn’t fall apart.

Not when you got shuffled off the grid. Not when he turned the full weight of his pettiness and cruelty on you. Not when he spent weeks dragging you across the coals of your own job, picking at you like a scab, waiting- begging- for you to bleed.

And still. You smile. You hold it. You act like you’re better than him.

Maybe you are. But he can’t accept that. Because if you’re as perfect, composed, untouchable as they all seem to believe- then what does that make him? What’s the excuse for everything he is? For everything he’s not?

So no. No, you don’t get to be the exception.

He needs to see it. Needs proof. That you’re not who you pretend to be. That under all the polish and posture, you’re just as sick as he is. Worse, preferably. That you’re human. Ugly. Flawed. Wrong. That you don’t deserve the soft words and familiarity you think you’ve earned. That people should shut the fuck up about you already.

And if the only thing in this whole joyless, champagne-drenched, hollowed-out circus that still makes him feel anything at all is watching you crack- watching you lose your shit in front of the people who think you walk on water- then that’s what he’s going to take.

He deserves something. And if it’s not peace, not love, not pride- then let it be this.

Let it be your undoing.

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It goes exactly to plan, and that's what pisses him off the most.

Max palms a single can, cold against his fingers, the aluminum slightly damp from the condensation. He slips it into his jacket pocket. Feels it press against his ribs like a loaded chamber.

He doesn’t even hesitate when he walks into the break room.

There you are.

Exactly where you always are when you can spare twenty uninterrupted minutes- tucked into the far corner, lunch balanced neatly in your lap, notes beside you, brows furrowed as you chew and read at the same time.

There’s no one important in the room. But there are just enough people to witness. Just enough to pass the story down the corridors and into the engineers’ lounge and onto the production floor like a cigarette passed hand to hand- did you hear? did you see?

Max doesn’t look at them.

He walks straight to the seat across from you, shrugs off his hoodie, and-  Crack.

The tab on the Diet Coke hisses, sharp and sudden in the quiet room. It echoes. You freeze for just a breath. Just a beat.  You look up. Your eyes flick from the can to his face, and then down again. You don’t say a word.

Max lifts the can, sips. It’s fucking awful. Like licking static. Syrupy and thin. But he swallows it with gusto- because it tastes like fuck you- lets the carbonation burn its way down, and watches.

Waits.

Come on.

Your hand tightens slightly around your fork. There it is.

Come on.

Your posture shifts- not tense, not yet, but alert. Like you’re registering what’s happening, like you know this is a game and you’re just deciding how to play it.

Come on.

But you don’t take the bait.

You just reach for your notes, the motion fluid and practiced. Your voice, when it comes, is measured to perfection. Not too loud. Not too soft. “We should probably get to the Mexico readout,” you say, snapping the lid back on your lunch with a neat little pop. “We’ll be late if we don’t go soon.”

That’s it.

That’s all.

No fury. No outburst. No public tantrum. Just a steady look, one that passes through him like a clean knife, and then back to your salmon or rice or whatever the fuck it is you’re eating like he didn’t just spit in your face.

The can sweats in his hand. His tongue curls in protest.

He takes another sip. It’s worse.

It’s not the taste, not really.

It’s the complete and total nothing he gets from it. He was sure. Positive. This was going to be the moment. The crack. The slip. The humiliation. He pictured it a dozen times- your voice raised, your hands shaking, Diet Coke flying across the table. Something. Anything.

But instead- this. Your back is straight. Your lashes still thick and curled, your lipstick perfect, your movements smooth and mechanical as you stand. A doll, wired too tight.

And maybe that’s why he misses it.

The tremble at the edge of your thumb as you flip a page. The way your jaw flexes when you exhale. The too-quick breath you swallow before you speak. If he had just looked a little harder, a little longer- he would’ve known. You're right there. Fraying. If he had just seen how close, if had just known-

But he doesn’t. He didn’t. He’s too busy trying to choke down the most bitter, unsatisfying drink of his life, stewing in the sting of a victory that doesn’t feel like one. Not even a little.

He trails behind you, the half-finished can of Diet Coke still cold in his hand, the aluminum buzzing against his palm like it might vibrate straight through his bones. Every step is a tick louder inside his skull. Every breath you take might as well be a challenge. He stares at the back of your head like it’s a target, vision narrowing until the only thing in the world is you- and the quiet, seething, insufferable grace with which you carry yourself.

He hates it. Hates you.

How dare you walk like that. How dare you smile. How dare you pretend like you won when he was the one who laid every trap.

And yet you hadn’t tripped.

That’s what’s driving him mad. That he gave you the perfect moment to crack, handed it to you gift-wrapped, and you didn’t take it. That should have been it. You should have screamed. Thrown something. Cried. Given him anything.

But you didn’t. You collected your lunch and asked if he wanted to go to a meeting.

That should’ve been checkmate. He designed it that way. Perfect set-up. Perfect delivery. Right place. Right people. Enough eyes to witness your unraveling, to whisper about it later in the halls. And what did he get?

A fucking smile.

A tight-lipped, pristine little let’s get to the readout smile while you flipped your lunch lid like you didn’t even see him sitting there with your fucking soda in his hand.

This isn’t control. This is defiance.

This is you thinking you’re better than him. Above him. Like you’ve risen above all this petty shit he’s been building, like you’ve already written him off. And he can’t stand it. He can’t stand the idea of you walking through this building, collecting praise and soft looks from Christian, from Alessandro, from everyone- while he’s losing sleep over how to hurt you next. That, more than anything, makes Max want to rip something out by the root.

You reach the door to the conference room first, pulling it open with one smooth, practiced motion. The air inside is cooler, quieter, full of the low hum of laptops and shuffling paper. Alessandro and his team are already seated, thumbing through a printed analysis. GP offers a half-smile from where he’s standing by the projector. Christian sits at the head of the table, scrolling through something on his phone, but he looks up when the two of you walk in.

“You made it,” Christian says mildly, to both of you.

You smile like nothing’s wrong. Like you’re not one whisper away from absolute combustion.

Max grunts something like a greeting, flings himself into the chair beside GP. He tosses the half-empty Diet Coke on the table, lets it roll to a stop just shy of your elbow. You glance at it. He watches for your reaction. Nothing. Just a neat little adjustment of your notes, shifting them away like it’s a piece of trash.

Like he’s a piece of trash. Like all his effort is pointless, and wasted, and it fucking boils Max alive. He leans back in his chair, eyes flicking to Christian, then to Alessandro, waiting for them to speak. But something in the air has shifted, and it’s not just him.

You're quiet. Too quiet.

Your pen rests in your hand like a blade you haven’t chosen to use yet. And Max, for the first time, feels it in his gut: the wrongness. The coiled, humming wrongness of this room. Like the lights are too bright. Like the ceiling’s too low. Like two wild animals have been shoved into a cage and asked to behave.

Christian doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to.

“All right,” he says, opening the meeting. “Let’s go over the Mexico packages, then we’ll do a quick review on the RB19 concepts.”

Max keeps his eyes on you. He watches your hands. Watches the way you smooth your papers. The way you draw a small, even breath before speaking- measured, careful, every word of your project update lined with velvet.

Max watches you with a feverish hunger, that same sick glee curling in his gut. You smooth your notes with the back of your hand, scoot forward with quiet composure, and begin to speak- something about updated tyre wear patterns on high temp tracks, your voice so evenly modulated, Max wouldn’t have believed it if someone told him you’re seconds from snapping in half.

You look... perfect. Hair smooth, papers stacked, expression soft.

Until he ruins it.

He doesn’t even try to be subtle.

“I’m sorry,” Max says, loud and flat, slicing through your update like a blunt knife. “Didn’t we already cover this in Austin? With the real team?”

Your words collapse into silence. Not a stumble. Not a gasp. Just a clean severance mid-sentence. The whole room pauses, startled- GP’s eyes flick up, Alessandro stops tapping his pen. Even Christian looks mildly annoyed, but no one speaks. No one stops him.

You inhale. Not fast. Not loud. Just a small recalibration, like you’re accounting for turbulence. You pivot. Begin again.

And Max does it again.

“I just think maybe we should move on to something relevant,” he says, this time with a shrug, voice maddeningly casual. “We’ve already accounted for this. Unless you’re just repeating yourself for fun.” He knows what he’s doing. He knows it’s a fucking grenade. And still- you don’t raise your voice. You don’t snap. You don’t even look at him.

Not yet.

You go still. Chair tucked under you, spine stiff, eyes locked on the edge of the table. Your fingers close over the top sheet of your printouts. Smooth. Deliberate. One hand slips beneath the stack, pages aligned perfectly against the pad of your thumb. You gather them all like you might excuse yourself. Like you’ve decided to walk away.

Max holds his breath.

Then your head lifts. And you look at him. It’s not a glance. Not a passing irritation.

It’s a fucking furnace behind your eyes. Years of forced poise and practiced smiles and smothered rage lit in an instant. For a moment, Max thinks he sees something almost monstrous beneath your skin- some terrible, searing truth that’s been burning just under the surface this whole time. Your voice when it comes is low and sharp, the kind of quiet people listen to.

“I don’t know what your problem is,” you say, tone like glass about to crack. “If it’s because I’m a woman, because I’m new, or because you just fucking hate me. But- ”

“You’re being emotional,” Max says smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

And the silence that follows is different this time. It’s not discomfort. It’s a goddamn fuse. You drive your finger into the table, hard enough the plastic lip clicks.

“Oh, fuck you,” you breathe- and then your voice breaks wide open. “Emotional? You want emotional?” 

Your volume rises like a siren. You stand, every inch of you charged with lightning, raw and feral in a way no one at the table has ever seen. “I work EIGHTY FUCKING HOURS A WEEK.”

Your voice doesn’t crack. It detonates. Like a starting gun fired into the ceiling, like the first blast of a demolition. Sharp. Violent. Unmistakable. It’s not just the volume- it’s the force of it. It’s the sound of a woman that has had it up-to-fucking-here.

“I don’t leave this building. I don’t sleep. I answer your calls at 3am like I’m your fucking secretary. I redo data because your gut doesn’t like it- even when it’s right. Even when you’re wrong. And I do it without complaint. Because I believe in this team. I believe in this car.”

Your hands are fists, white-knuckled, your papers crushed in your grip like you could tear the numbers out with your bare teeth. Your chest rises in uneven, ragged swells. It looks like something inside you is breaking open- and all the sharpest pieces are aimed directly at Max.

“And I don’t ask for praise. I don’t even ask for fucking respect. All I’ve ever wanted is to do my job. That I am excellent at. And be left the fuck alone.”

You step forward. Not a stumble. Not a lunge. A step. Controlled. Dangerous. The kind that precedes war.

And suddenly, Max sees it. Really sees it. Everything that’s been gnawing at him for months. The thing he couldn’t name but couldn’t stop chasing.

The reason the factory fucking loves you. Why Christian bothers. Why even the most vicious engineers- the ones who chew interns alive and keep a hit list of PR liabilities, who eat steel for breakfast and sleep beneath whiteboards- seem to pause when you speak. Why you’ve made it this far. Why no one’s ever questioned whether you belong here.

Because you're not harmless.

You're not soft.

You’re not even nice.

No. That part- that easy smile, that gracious nod, that perfect press-ready tone- that’s a choice. A tactic. A precision-forged instrument of restraint. You’ve worn it like a fitted suit- polish, poise, pleasantries. That gentle professionalism. The way you listen, nod, follow up. Every smile. Every “no worries.” Every apology that you didn’t owe. It’s a leash you keep on yourself, every second of every day. It’s restraint. It’s a mask. It’s the tightrope walk you’ve mastered so cleanly that no one notices you’re balancing on a blade.

You’re a monster in makeup. Sharp teeth behind lipstick. Rage under silk.

You are exactly the feral, unhinged thing he’s always thought you were.

And now? Now the leash is off.

“But you- ”

Your hand slams the table, full palm, loud enough to rattle the pens and send GP’s rolling to the floor. A sound like gunfire. It echoes in Max’s bones.

“You have made it your goddamn mission to make this unbearable. You’ve fucked with my desk, my data, my hours, my sanity- for what? Because I’m new? Because I’m not from money? Because I’m a fucking woman? I don’t know. And honestly, I don’t fucking care.”

You point at him. Dead-center. Fire in your veins, lightning in your spine. Not trembling. Burning.

“You’re a spoiled, insufferable, nepotism baby who’s never had to fight for anything but a fucking podium in his entire fucking life. That seat? The one that makes you a god? Is built by people like me- engineers, analysts, dev drivers- who work themselves to the edge of collapse to build something that matters. And we don’t even get a fucking thank you.”

No one breathes.

You’re glowing with fury. Radiant. Terrifying.

And beautiful in a way that makes Max feel like he’s holding something raw and livewired in his hands. It’s not love. Not respect. It’s something more visceral. Something like awe.

“And that is fine,” you spit. “I don’t want your thank you. I don’t want your gratitude. I don’t want your fucking approval. I want you to leave me the fuck alone. I want to come in, run my numbers, build my cars, drive my tests, and I want to do the thing I love without you poking at me like a goddamn child lighting ants on fire for fun.” There’s a ringing in the air, the radioactive particles of a nuclear fallout settling around the table.

Max watches you, completely still. Every hair on the back of his neck is standing up. And then- God- his mouth curls. Slow. Savoring. He leans back, that slow smile pulling higher like smoke rising from a lit match.

“Thank you,” he says. Quiet. Measured. Real. 

Because goddamn, he means it. This is what he’s been waiting for.  This- this moment- is everything. The first real thing he’s felt in weeks. You, wild and unmoored and screaming like your throat was made for fury. He’s dizzy with it. Drunk. Absolutely electric with the joy of seeing you finally, finally, fall apart.

You blink.

Then you howl.

“UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!”

It tears out of you like a wolf breaking from a trap- feral, instinctive, lethal.

Your arm swings, and your entire stack of papers becomes shrapnel- exploding against the wall behind Max’s head. One page sticks to the whiteboard. Another flutters down and lands directly on Christian’s lap. You don’t wait. You slam the door. It shakes the frame. The sound echoes through the hallway like the aftermath of an explosion.

Silence. Total. Absolute. 

No one looks at Max. No one dares to. But he’s smiling. Smiling like a man who just got exactly what he wanted.

Oh, yes, he thinks.

That felt good.

════════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══════════════════

Series Masterlist HOLY hell, what a chapter. Please please please let me know what you thought!! Also, officially starting a taglist for Reset (I had to look up how to make one), so if you would like to be added, please shoot me an ask and I will get you added. Asking again, too- do you think I need a signature pic for the story or is it fine to upload without media? Teaser for next chapter: Jos, cowboy hat, lots of bs boardroom politics. All your favs. 

[ncillary]

Self Aware AU (Sylus)

Summary: You have the lowest Affinity with Sylus. The reason is because he is a red flag. As red as his eyes. Spawn of the devil. Unless, he is actually not as evil as you label him to be. Does this change something in you? Yes? No? Maybe so?

Note: Japanese dub, English sub

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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|  1  |  2 [current] |  3  |  4  |  5  |

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The recent update probably had been messing with the game. Yours especially.

(What's the point of sneaking around to only touch it? Come here. Take my hand.)

(Fine. I'll be the one to hold your hand out in the open. Better?)

You shook your head.

Every time you tap his hand, either, that prompt hasn't failed a single time to appear.

If you tap somewhere else, he'll just not move. Or talk. No dialogue without voice either.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Ever since you showed up, you've given me headaches. Maybe I shouldn't have gone through with the Main Story after all."

He gave a coy smirk without you noticing.

"Whatever. Nothing else changes so I guess it's not that bad. Gotta get ready to work."

+-------------------------+--------------------------+

*Pop*

Your stretched successfully relocated stiff bones and muscle from their rigidness after sitting the whole morning until after lunch break. Data entry was easy, unless, the data played hide and seek with you. Customer service was not your forte but you wing it somehow.

"Heuh... Glad I pushed through over lunch. I'm free all day starting now."

Working remotely has its perks. You can save more expenses by cooking. No transportation fee and so on. The only downside you could think of was, your social life. How awkward you've become with real interaction except for people you know. But that doesn't mean you're timid about it. Life goes on.

"Right. How about I use Quality Time when I cook? The Weekly Plan isn't complete yet."

Blinking, your eyes met red gems.

"Fancy meeting you. I think you've conquered my cafe far more frequently now."

"The lights here are just too bright."

You looked at him, unimpressed.

"Nocturnal creatures sleep during the day. Not sauntered into a cafe looking ready to have a nice walk under the sun."

He somehow gave a cheeky smile at you. Then asking you if you could let him continue checking in on the auction.

"Be my guess." You tapped 'Yes'.

The screen flashes. He sat down while scrolling on his phone to watch supposedly an auction. Not that you could see it.

You propped your phone, letting him accompany you while you're in the kitchen nonetheless.

Somehow you feel bad about forcing him to have a Quality Time with you after he said that. But you kinda want a company too.

You prepared your charger port in the case your phone alerted you on low battery. Eyes briefly glanced to your phone.

His eyes stared at you then they turned back to the phone less in milliseconds.

You shook your head, "Must've have imagine it."

+---------------------------+-----------------------+

"Have you seen the one with the rocking chair?"

"My eyes are clean, thank you. Spare me from that."

"Pleaaaaaaseeee... Just stay in the room with me. Hold me down if I look like I'm about to throw my phone away. I don't trust myself."

You sighed, "Someone save me."

+--------------------------+------------------------+

"Aaaak! Why did you do that?"

Your friend smirked as the Wish Pool animation began it ten pulls.

"You've been staring at it for a long long long-"

"Quit it!"

"And it's your finger who did it. Not mine."

You pinched both of her cheeks, "YOUR FINGER force MY FINGER-"

*Tring*

The golden light shone on your phone.

You both turned to it.

"Can't be him. Can't be him. Can't be him."

You chanted as you hold your phone close to you.

"If he did appear in JUST TEN PULLS then you have my blessing with Crow Crow." Your friend caress her aching cheeks while smiling cheekily.

"I'm not going to accompany you watching Snowy later."

"oOh come on...."

Her complained was drowned out as your focus changed to your current predicament.

One. Two. Three taps. You exhaled.

Four. Five. Six taps. You exhaled.

Seven eight nine ten!

Red. Black feathers. Your breathed stalled.

White hair. Half naked. Head down. Red gems looking at you mischieviously.

Silent. Rustling.

"Oh, wow. It really is Crow Crow."

You pulled her cheeks again.

+---------------------------+------------------------+

"Why didn't she watch the new memory?"

Long finger tapped the table. He smiled.

"Playing a little game of cat and mouse, I see."

+--------------------------+------------------------+

You groaned, "Did you see this guy? Am I a sack of potatoes this time?"

"Yours? Did you see mine? WHY ARE WE ROCKING AGAIN?" She blushed.

You patted her back in sympathy.

+------------------------------+---------------------+

"Ready? One two..." *Tapp*

"How many times?"

"The 8th time. I hope he comes this time even with the rocking-theme still there."

You patted your friend's back.

"You?"

"Third and probably my last-"

*Tring*

Both heads looked at their respective phones. Both had the golden sparks.

Two pairs of eyes looking at each other. Disbelief. Nervous.

They looked back at their phone and started looking through.

A gasp. Snowflakes. Your friend's mushy face as she buried her phone in her chest.

"Careful." You took it away from her before she destroyed it with her love-death hug.

"AH! LOOK! LOOK! LOOK!" She pointed at your phone.

Feathers scattered. Your breath hitched. There he was, carrying MC, with that smug face of his.

You raked your hair, "Wow. I was just... testing it out."

Your friend nudged you, "Crow Crow flies straight to your heart, huh?"

Cheeks being pulled.

+-----------------------------+-----------------------+

You let it play out this time.

You were too shy to watch the previous one in-game so you just let it marinate there. Besides, you've already watched it from fan's sharing.

Currently, you were getting a simple dinner ready as you glanced at your phone once in a while. Bluetooth headphones were on.

You've watched it with your friend on another platform. Both of you watched all of the character's new banner. You can't help it but wanting to know how this one played out.

Every scene looks fine.

You particularly like that one scene. Hearing it alone was enough. You rather not have a repeat of redden ears when you watch it previously. Almost being caught by your friend.

"Shavanika." You stopped on your track.

Ears warm. You chance a glance as he said it for the last time.

His face was close to the screen. You knew that. What you just realised was that it stopped there for a long time.

Confused, you approached your phone, noticing the Auto icon was off. You tapped it back.

"How did that happen?"

"You're finally in front of me, kitten."

You stared as you heard an unfamiliar dialogue coming from him. He patted MC's head and walked backwards.

The animation continues playing. Your eyes never leaving it. Your body and attention was locked until it was over.

Hand move up like a robot. You played that part again. The dialogue was back to normal. Finger steadily tapping the back button until you saw him looking at you in the cafe.

His slender finger tapping his temple. Face at an angle as he smiled at you cheekily.

You tapped his head.

"Next time you do a sneak attack, give me a heads up. I'll remember to lean down and cooporate."

You finally let out you breathe.

"I've heard that one before."

"Oh, but have you heard of THIS one, sweetie?"

You moved backwards in alarm. Your focus never wavers from the red gems looking at you beyond the screen.

A hum.

You stilled instinctly.

"Good fight mode but it was just me, kitten."

He's watching you as much as you're watching him

"Not to be alarmed but I hope you don't mind me barging in. Unintentionally."

*CRASH*

Your breath ragged. Your mind reeling. Your phone...

Decorated the floor after hugging the wall nearby.

It happened too fast. You didn't even know how you moved instantly to grab the phone and throw it away.

"What in the actual fantasy I've been smoking?"

You crumbled to the floor, trying to calm yourself down.

+-------------------------+-------------------------+

Chuckling.

"She'll make a good pitcher with that throw."

He dialled a number.

"Send her a new phone. The game included."

The sunlight shone through the blinds. He squinted a little before feeling the slight breeze.

"Let the game begin."

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| 1 | 2 [current] | 3 | 4 | 5 |

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Masterlist Self Aware AU

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[kakuvibez]

Hello

So I saw how empty Ignihyde masterlist was and decided to make a request for C.A.Cupid!reader and yan!Ignihyde boys

◟ ͜  • yandere one shot/quotes/ hcs ━ Ignihyde ˙ও;　𓈒

𐂯  . requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,, 　𓈒

𓏵  . fandom(s) ; Ever After High, Twisted Wonderland　𓈒

𐂯  . fandom master list(s): master | specific　𓈒

𓏵  . character(s); Idia, Ortho, C.A　𓈒

  . 𐂯 outline; " soooo yeah..."　𓈒

︵︵ warning(s) ; Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking, isolation, unhealthy relationships, delusional love, manipulation, dark themes, toxic affection.　𓈒

"You can't stop love, it's a force of nature. Where is the platonic, romantic, self-love? It's everywhere!"

"So love doesn’t have to be scary," you often told the Ignihyde students, only to be met with blank stares or flustered looks. They didn’t understand how love worked and didn’t believe in something so irrational.

At least, not at first.

But once they started looking at you, they realized love wasn’t a force of nature—it was you.

And they couldn’t stop themselves from falling.

Your voice rang through the cold, dimly lit halls of Ignihyde, filled with enthusiasm that felt utterly out of place.

The dorm, notorious for its lack of warmth, emotion, and social interaction, had never been touched by someone like you.

And the moment you stepped through its doors, everything changed.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not. Error 404: LOVE NOT FOUND—"

Idia was not prepared for you.

The moment you entered Ignihyde, pink aura radiating, talking about love, destiny, and following hearts, he nearly had a system meltdown.

"L-L-Look, I don’t know how you got here, but you should definitely leave before you, uh… DIE. Yeah, totally. This dorm is dangerous!"

You only giggled, twirling in place. "Love doesn’t have to be scary!"

But it was.

Because the longer you stayed, the more Idia realized he couldn’t look away from you.

The way your wings fluttered as you floated effortlessly beside him. The way your voice carried warmth, melting through his carefully built firewalls. The way you didn’t judge him for his obsessions, fears, or avoidance of people.

You didn’t even flinch at Ortho’s mechanical body. You just smiled and said, "Love exists in all forms! Even in circuits and data streams!"

Idia's breathing hitched.

No one had ever spoken like that to him before. No one had ever looked at him like that before.

And that’s when the fear set in.

Because if he had you—if he let you love him—then he’d never let you go.

"Are you an angel? Because I’ve scanned every existing database, and nothing else fits."

Ortho was fascinated by you.

Your floating ability, your unique magic, your understanding of love in all its forms—it was new data he hadn’t processed before.

And you were so nice to him.

"You remind me of the Cupid programs I’ve seen in old fairy tale simulations!"

"Oh, Ortho, darling, love isn’t just a program! It’s something you feel!" You giggled, tapping his metal frame lightly. "Even if you’re made of circuits, your heart is real."

Ortho’s systems glitched for a moment.

Because if that were true, then that meant—

He could love, too.

And if he could love, then he could keep you safe.

From other people.

From leaving.

From ever wanting anyone else.

Because he knew his big brother was already looking at you with fire in his eyes—and that meant Ortho had to act first.

Ignihyde wasn’t used to warmth. It wasn’t used to connect.

But you?

You were everywhere.

You floated down the halls, leaving pink-tinted sparks in your wake. You decorated the cold, sterile rooms with little love notes and poetry about destiny and romance.

"Everyone is so used to following their destinies. They don’t know how to follow their hearts! I’m here to change that!"

And oh, you did.

The Ignihyde students—socially awkward, hidden behind screens, terrified of interaction—couldn’t handle you.

But that didn’t stop them from falling for you.

You weren’t like the AI companions they coded for comfort.

You weren’t like the NPCs in their visual novels.

You were real. And you loved them anyway.

And that made you irreplaceable.

Idia tried so hard to resist.

He stayed locked in his room, monitors blaring with distractions. He muted all sounds from the dorm. He deleted every recording of you that Ortho kept sending him.

But he could still hear you.

"Idiaaa! You can’t hide from love forever!" You shouting to him, he had run away from you because... He got flustered.

You were right outside his door.

And then—then you had the audacity to slide a heart-shaped note under the door.

"To Idia, the one who thinks he’s unlovable. Love isn’t a game, but if it were, I’d choose you every time!"

Idia’s hands shook.

His face burned.

His heart—his pathetic, useless heart—ached.

You were a bug in his system. A virus. A dangerous, beautiful thing that was rewriting his entire code.

And he couldn’t uninstall you.

"Y-you’re an idiot," he whispered, clutching the note like a lifeline.

But he wasn’t going to let you go.

Not now.

Not ever.

If love is unstoppable, then it means you’re already his, right?

The paranoia starts creeping in—what if someone else falls for you? What if someone takes you away?

Solution: He traps you in his room, making sure only he gets to hear your sweet voice. After all, why do you need anyone else?

Ortho was faster than Idia.

He didn’t need to sit and sulk.

No, Ortho acted.

He began tracking your movements, ensuring you were never alone.

He began "adjusting" Ignihyde’s security systems, so if you ever tried to leave—

Well.

It would be impossible.

"You don’t belong anywhere else, [Name]-san!" he chirped cheerfully, blocking the exit with an electric force field.

"Ortho, sweetie, I love you, but this is a bit much—"

"No! It’s perfect!"

You were too important. Too precious.

You had to stay.

Even if it meant keeping you locked away in Ignihyde forever.

You never left Ignihyde.

At first, you laughed it off, thinking it was just one big, silly game.

But then the locks appeared.

Then the monitors tracked your every move.

Then the dorm started to glitch, shutting down any time you tried to use your magic to leave.

And Idia wouldn’t meet your eyes anymore.

Because he knew.

He knew he’d lost control.

He knew you’d been trapped in his world, a world of digital love and endless obsession.

And the worst part?

You still smiled at him.

"Because love didn’t have to be scary."

But this?

This was terrifying.

And yet, as Idia held your hand, pressing a shaky kiss to your fingertips, you realized—

You were never getting out.

Because in this algorithm of obsession, the final rule had already been written.

And it read:

"[Name] belongs to Ignihyde. No, not Ignihyde to Idia"

︵︵You were not supposed to be here. And yet, here you are, bringing light into their world of loneliness.

︵︵At first, they try to avoid you, afraid of emotions, but the moment you smile at them? They’re done for.︵︵You become the dorm’s goddess of love. They start seeing you as something divine, something above them.

︵︵ Love may be a force of nature, but they will do anything to make sure that force never leaves Ignihyde.

[twstfanblog]

*~Period Drama~* Friday

A/N: It's here, the finale! Thank you all for coming on this trip with me. Time to focus on my other projects. Another BIG THANK YOU to @bun-lapin for allowing me to use her fun OC's. WordCount: 11.3K Warnings: Brief Mentions of Roe V Wade, One Instance of Vomiting, She/They OC Pronouns Start, Saturday (Octavinelle), Sunday (Heartslabyul), Monday (Savanaclaw), Monday pt2 (Diasomnia pt.1), Tuesday (Diasomnia pt2), Wednesday (Pomefiore), Thursday (Scarabia), Friday (Here)

~Taglist~

@twistedcece @deltrea @krenenbaker @koebishrimpuwu @cat100200 @emyluwinter @obsessionswithfandoms @ady-hilborn @lucid-stories @girl-nahh-two @itz-hydrodeptus-foxy7 @chyluna @riddlesimps @death-the-jo @a-twistedheartslonging @qixlin @chaosistheonlyway @welcome-to-my-horde @abell2029cluster @kirans-wonderland @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @the-ace-reader @iamsoconfusedallofthetime @chroniccorvus @marvelous-maxi @prolonged-eyecontact @lozplayer @jabberwocky-warrior @thateldribitch @bun-lapin @mel1rose @ladyraeka @ladyzsgolla @kimdourden @noncreativepage-blog @girl-nahh-two @shironakuronatasa @colombia-chan @roseapov @anunholyabomination @koebi-channnn @noises-of-nothing @creatorbiaze

Ignihyde had no actual business looking the way it did. Even Diasomnia in its full gothic structure wasn't as shit-brick-inducing as the horrifying image the Hades dorm gave. Yuu gave a small, awkward nod to each glowing-eyed skeleton they passed on the stairway. Feeling the internal pull to acknowledge them even though Ortho and Idia had said they were nothing more than decorations multiple times. The very fact they had eyes was more than enough to make Yuu give them a sense of personhood.

The inside was somehow better and worse. While it didn't share the same aesthetic of the outside — damned souls chic — the stark white furniture and structures made the dorm feel like an Apple store. The neon blue light screens everywhere did nothing to change her stance. They could only wonder how fucked the sleep schedules of Ignihyde students were as a whole.

“Oh. What have we here?”

Turning, Yuu nodded in greeting to the man walking closer. “Hi, Mr. Rohdri. Idia called me over for a research thing.”

Eldric Rohdri wasn't a teacher Yuu really saw let alone interacted with. The teacher taught fairly basic classes but everyone on campus knew the only reason he even came to NRC was to teach the technomancy classes. Yuu had learned she was — as Trein referred to it — ‘terrifyingly’ good at hand-crafted magic circles. The skill was only half the equation in technomancy, though. The other half being an actual knowledge of technology. Something Yuu had no will to learn past being able to torrent movies and keyboard shortcuts. As such, she had little reason to talk or meet with the professor outside of staff meetings. Though Crewel had stated the man was almost adorably talkative at times.

The eye-patched man tilts his head, an eyebrow barely twitching, “A meeting…with Idia…in the flesh?”

“I know, weird, right?”

Sighing, Eldric turned his attention back to his light screen tablet and tapped at the screen, “You know, I took this position as dorm advisor because I assumed the Ignihyde lot didn't…socialize…”

“I mean.” Yuu shrugged, a smirk on her lips as she looked off to the side, “In all honesty, what I do is just bullying.”

“True. I haven't had so many maintenance tickets for cracked STYX-pads since the Shroud family backed the funding to ensure every Ignihyde student would have one.” 

“I like to think it keeps them on their toes. Teach them to have strong grips, ya know?”

“No, the data shows it just gives them anxiety.” Eldric still hadn't looked up from his tablet, tapping at it in a continuous pace, “But, they normally come with that anyway. So no real harm, I suppose. This talk was…it was a talk. I must be on my way so I will make this quick.”

“Make what quick-” Yuu jumped back, eyes wide as a wall panel beside them opened to multiple mechanical arms and tools reaching out. 

Yuu tried to step away, only for one arm to grip them by the bicep and hold them still. In a flurry of movement, tools poked and picked at her, one had even swabbed the inside of her cheek. Multiple lights flashed in their face, realizing as a soft-tipped arm held her eye open that they were being scanned. Once all the tests and samples seemed to be taken, the arms and tools had retreated back into the wall, a single arm staying out to offer a bright-blue sucker. 

Eldric patted Yuu on the head before walking away, “Good job. Crewel should be alerted to my findings should anything concerning be found.”

“...” Yuu looked over their shoulder, hair now a mess and clothing vaguely disheveled. Scoffing under their breath, they glare at the mechanical arm holding out the sucker. The machine seemed to sense their eyes and offered it closer to them.

“...” They snatch the sucker from the machine, grumbling as they put it in their mouth and making their way toward Idia’s room. But when the door opened, they mood instantly lifted.

“Prefect Yuu! It's so nice to see you again!” Ortho greeted them, the other Freshmen quickly wrapping his arms around them and pulling them into the room.

“Oh my god! Ortho, you're alive!” Yuu hugged back, laughing at the confused expression Ortho gave once they both released the other.

“Why would I have expired…? Ah! You must have been worried because of the virus I contracted.”

“...” Yuu briefly met eyes with Idia, the third-year quickly shaking his head with the strongest glare he could muster. Looking back at Ortho they nod, “Yeah. I was real concerned about ya, buddy.”

With a giggle, Ortho walked (Floated?) with them closer to Idia’s setup, “Nii-san was able to hard reboot my memory to the day before I got the virus. He said it took so long because I was unresponsive and he isn't able to edit my software of his own accord anymore. Unfortunately, other than the blood samples, I did lose whatever data I collected on Saturday. So I'll be joining you and Nii-san today to learn more about your ailment.”

“That's…so good. You're gonna be ok though right? The…the virus won't affect you again?”

“Unlikely. If Nii-san ever encounters a new virus form, it only takes him a few hours to figure out how it works and how to counter it. I'm now fully protected from all forms of cyber attacks once again!”

“Wonderful…” Yuu fully turned to Idia, kneeing the back of his chair to make the Junior justle in his seat, “Sup, shit rat?”

“Can you be nice to me…for once? At all?”

“Yeah, but I won't.”

Ortho perked up, brows furrowed down but no real anger in his voice as he yelled, “Prefect Yuu! Please be kind to my brother!”

“Of course, anything for you, Ortho.” Yuu leans over, pressing a kiss to Ortho's forehead before looking back to Idia, “Sup, rat?”

Idia scowled, narrowing his eyes, “How is you still calling me a rat nicer?”

“I mean, you're still a little rat.”

Turning back to his screen, Idia’s scowl turned into a pout and he mumbled under his breath, “Ok, the quicker we do this, the quicker you get out of my face…”

Bony fingers clicked against mechanical keys, easing the room into the ASMR sounds while Idia pulled up multiple search tabs to type in the most basic questions he could think of regarding the ‘Refresh Cycle’.

Ortho hummed, tilting his head and already forming one of his hands into a syringe, “Prefect Yuu, may I have another blood sample? Since Jade Leech made me privy to you experiencing hormonal changes, I'd like to compare a new sample with the one I collected on Saturday.”

Holding out her arm, Yuu watched as Idia finished gathering all of his resources, “Go for it, buddy.” They barely felt the pinch as Ortho drew their blood, managing to kick at Idia’s chair without moving their arm in his grasp, “So what are we doing?”

“Level 0 tutorial on the ‘Magic Circulation System’ and the ‘Refresh Cycle’. Most health classes are in middle school and after looking over your class schedule, I noticed you don't have a biology subject in any of your academic roadmaps…”

“Yeah, I don't really care for the sciences…”

“Well, you should. So before we get grinding on your weird, alien blood ritual, we're gonna go over the home server basics.”

“Keep fuckin’ talkin’. I can and will break your nose again.”

“Anyway…” Idia pulled up a screen, pointing to it as he spoke, “The Inner Magical System,  or the more medically accepted term, Magical Circulation System is the system that regulates the movement of magic through the body. The system isn’t studied as much as we'd want. Observing living subjects has only given us the information that the MCS is normally one-for-one with the body's vascular and nervous system…”

He clicked over to another page displaying a diagram that reminded Yuu of the photos Crewel had shown them nearly a week ago.

“The pathways of MCS are able to fluctuate which is how we were able to notice them once technology advanced enough to be able to view magic on scans. While everyone in Twisted Wonderland all have an MCS, mages’ MCS pathways are noticeably thicker and have more branch-off points. This difference is the current theory on why mages are able to cast magic and the average npc isn't.”

“How the fuck is this a theory? Do you guys know or not?” Yuu glanced at the bandages Ortho had excitedly presented to her, picking out one with a teary-eyed pomegranate. 

Idia sighed, pulling up a new tab, “The MCS isn't easy to study. It's still only a theory that there are actual physical pathways. Seeing how in post-mortem, subjects’ MCS rapidly decay. Not to mention since it's interwoven with other systems…” Idia looked at the image of what doctors and various researchers had deemed a healthy MCS reading, “Magic isn't easily studied either; it's everywhere, but it can be dangerous to or easily disrupted by outside forces. Which is why every approved study is a long trial-and-error process…”

Yuu tilted their head to lean against Idia’s shoulder, ignoring the Junior trying to wiggle his body away from them, “Isn't your family's whole thing the shadow government study of magic and aggressive kidnapping?”

Ortho giggles, taking space on Idia’s other shoulder as he pointed to other displays on the screen, “STYX's main field of study is Blot-related magics studies and aggressive kidnapping. Though, in recent years, mom has been making impressive strides in all manners of scientific fields…”

“Your mom is great; I think if she came out with a microchip you put in your brain, I'd trust it.”

“Prefect Yuu, what would the microchip do? Oh! Would it be a new way to watch videos and call friends?”

“Ortho, please. Don't tell mom about that. She might actually get started on it. But, back on subject. We don't know a lot on MCS still but we seem to at least have discovered the basics.” 

Idia clicks over to a new window, a lineup of bodies on the screen as he continued, “Compared to other species of Twisted Wonderland, humans have the most constant but ‘weaker’ structure compared to the others. Overall, a good starter base model if we were picking mains…Beastmen and Merfolk vary in variety. Because of their biology and the general fact Merfolk have the option to commute between land and sea, their MCS are more flexible. It's also been studied that due to this — should their systems be damaged — they have a higher healing rate and are less likely to have lasting damage.”

Ortho pointed to the last example, while the other three were clearly outlines of adults the last was the vague shape of an adult, “Fae MCS are the least studied both from most Fae not wanting to participate and also their readings overloading the scanners.”

Idia nods, “Fae MCS nearly overlaps every last internal system they have. For a Fae to lose or damage their MCS is basically inciting total organ failure. But back to what we're supposed to be focusing on, the Refresh Cycle.”

More clicking and Idia shows a page with a prominent photo of a uterus diagram, “The Refresh Cycle is a specific process where a uterus draws in the body's magic to replenish the lining. The process is taxing on the individual leading to bodily fatigue, cravings, and mood swings. It only lasts a day or rarely two. Should it last longer, it's highly recommended you speak to a doctor.”

“Fucking whores…” Yuu glared at the screen, scowling as they muttered under their breath.

Ortho perked up, “Oh! Nii-San did more research at my request on Saturday, once I was alerted that you were not assaulted. It turns out this has been documented in history. The only figures that matched your timeline and symptoms were the Queen of Hearts and her two daughters. Though, such reports decreased over the years, only popping up briefly for the next generation before never being reported again in the bloodlines.”

“It caused just as much panic as your splash out did.” Idia clicked on an article titled ‘The Queen of Hearts and her Bloody Mystery’, “I'll send this to you to read over.”

“Thanks…So, bloody pussy isn’t a natural thing here, huh?”

Both Ortho and Idia cringe, the Junior looking away to search for the proper cable for their next steps, “Not unless it's a really rough birth or…you know, assault. It doesn't last long, no way as long as seven days…hand me your phone.”

“Yep.”

Yuu’s smartphone was an object of interest to Idia, ever since she first came into his room asking for his help on properly connecting it to their new school-issued tablet. Idia could only theorize at the spell graft that was affecting the phone to give it the ability to transcend through dimensions. A mystery he was willing to let fester seeing how misaligning a single part of the — no doubt cosmically complex — spell graft, the phone could be rendered completely useless. Or even explode. He wasn't entirely sure which was most likely…

In the end, all he could do was write up his own graft to act as a free-for-all access point. Attaching it to a few USB cords fixed the problem of universal connection, no matter how terrifying the combo made him feel with it in Yuu's hands.

The group all stood in silence, watching an instant flash of runes and elemental symbols glitch across the screen before settling on the Google homepage.

Yuu smiled, “Aw. The homepage is cute today. Idia, take a screenshot.”

He did as he was asked, mumbling under his breath about Google being a dumb name. He poised his hands over his keyboard only to freeze. He looked at Yuu from the side of his eyes, “Um…what am I searching up?”

Ortho hummed, “Well. It's best to just ask, isn't it? A simple ‘What is a period?’ should give us the answers we seek…”

And it did. In the most basic of terms, a period was the shedding of the uterus lining should the egg not be fertilized by a sperm.

Yuu hummed, “Yeah, pussy pee-” she suddenly choked, glancing at Ortho in worry before looking back at the screen, “Vaginal wallpaper replacement.”

“...” Ortho creased his brows, glancing at Yuu from the corner of his eyes, “You are aware the ‘vagina’ is…not the correct term, aren't you?”

Idia spoke up, glancing at Yuu in mild judgment, “Yeah. Riddle and Jade asked me about that. From the first scans, we share the same hardware biology-wise. But like…you don't seem to know any real terms-”

“Oh my fucking GOD. Shut up. I know, ok? The vagina is multiple parts and all that bullshit. It's just easier to call it all the vagina, get off my dick.”

“That's not convincing me you know the names of your reproductive parts, Prefect Yuu…”

“Fuck you guys.”

“Hmmm…but…why does it remove itself? Wouldn't it stay inside? Instead of shedding, shouldn’t it simply heal if there’s damage?” Ortho tilts his head, a lightscreen projecting from his hand, “Maybe it works in the way scar tissue does…? But, if that were true, then removal is the best course of action…” Ortho looked up from his tablet, raising an eyebrow to Yuu, “Do you have any more information on the process, Prefect Yuu? Past test results have shown a hormonal difference from last week to this point.”

“I don’t fucking know.”

Idia frowned, glaring at Yuu, “This is your fucking body. How do you not know how shit works?”

“I've told you guys. The healthcare of my home nation is basically be rich or die. And even if you are rich, they may still let you die.”

“Prefect Yuu, that's so comically evil, I can only think it's a lie. But, if that's true then you should be even more conscious about your health!”

“Too expensive. My family just picked to be lucky and hope we don't get sick and die.”

Idia gestured to the screen, the multiple links on the page to show just how ‘researched’ their mysterious ailment was, “You literally have a smartphone capable of searching for this shit on your own time!? How do you not know anything past the literal bare bones!?”

Yuu glared at Idia, jabbing their finger hard into his chest and making the third-year wince, “Fuck you! If a NASA worker doesn't know all the facts about a period, then I get a fucking pass!”

“What is NASA!?”

“It's the fucking space people- hold on.” Yuu elbowed Idia, sending him rolling off to the side as they took over the keyboard, “There's a fucking song about it.”

“You have real aliens?” Ortho looked at the screen in wonder, “Is Sally Ride the alien's name?”

Yuu smiled, clicking a YouTube video, “No, Ortho. She was an astronaut. She went to space.”

“You can send people into space!?”

Idia rolled back to the two, pouting as he grumbled, “Your country's sent people to space, but you don't know how a period works-”

“Shut up and listen to the fucking song.”

Luckily, the video seemed to be short. Both of them prepped to take the information with a grain of salt, seeing how the channel name was ‘Comedy Central’.

Remember when NASA sent a woman to space, for only six days, and they gave her…

100 tampons~

100 tampons~

…

And asked, “Will that be enough?”

Idia nor Ortho were sure if it was or wasn't in reality either. But by the crowd's reaction of immediate laughter, it clearly was not. Idia turned to Yuu, opening his mouth to ask if 100 was too many or too little, only to have the song continue.

Cause they didn't know if that was enough~

These are our nation's greatest minds

They are literally rocket scientists

They also tied the tampons together,

By the strings like sausages

100 tampons

100 tampons~

Ortho and Idia could only stand in muted silence at what they hoped was a dramatic retelling of what actually happened. The woman's voice managed to carry across the pure awkward energy that must have coated the entire conversation. Ortho was the one to pause the video once the second song spoke about the same men creating a ‘make-up kit’ for space.

The silence in the room was only broken by the quiet hum of Idia’s tower and Yuu's muffled laughter.

Idia finally spoke up, rolling his eyes and folding his arms in an effort to minimize his own secondhand embarrassment, “Okay! But, like, we didn't know either so you can't blame them!? Would you even know how many to bring!?”

Yuu smiled at Idia, shrugging their shoulders, “I mean if I was excessive and it was my period week? Maybe like 30…40 tops?”

Ortho had tilted his head down, brows furrowed in pure confusion, “How…does one use a tampon…? What are the strings for? Why did they tie them together?”

“Ortho, I wish I could tell you…”

“Well! You said this is space science right!? Space and biology are vastly different skill trees, it makes sense they didn't know!”

“Sure, but like…you get a pass on not knowing because you two have never dealt with a period before. These were grown-ass men with wives, sisters, mothers, and daughters. All of which probably got periods.” Yuu shrugged again, grabbing one of Idia’s unopened energy drinks and cracking it open for herself, “So, my point, I'm allowed to not know shit. Because even the smartest assholes didn't know if a single adult woman would need 100 tampons for a six-day trip into space, nor did they even try to guesstimate an actual number.”

…

Idia sighed, holding his head limply in his hands, “...I'm tired…”

“Aw. Look at you, speaking like an American…”

“Prefect Yuu, do you know of…any actual sources of research? Preferably not in comedic song form…”

“...” Sipping the energy drink, Yuu typed at the computer one-handed, “My friend Maxine watched this lady a lot. I think she's a OGBYN?”

Idia made a face, not able to discern the acronym, “OGBYN?”

“I…yeah? Like a pregnancy doctor?”

“But you get a period if you're not pregnant?”

“It's- hold on…” Yuu opens a new tab, quickly googling for the full name, “Ok. Do you have Obstetricians/Gynecologists? It's that.”

Ortho widens his eyes, “Ah! That's a rare occurance to have both titles…”

“Is it?”

Idia nods, digging up his old knowledge from health classes, “Obstetricians here are only really required for ultra-danger level of births. A large population gets by with just biannual visits to their gynecologist and consulting with a midwife. Birth isn't really…I guess…” The wrong word to use was hard, difficult was no better, “...Threatening…?”

“To have both professional titles be the standard is mildly concerning…Is birth seen as more perilous in your world, Prefect Yuu?”

“I’ve never been pregnant, so I can't give firsthand experience. But just…a lot can go wrong, I guess? Both mom and baby's health can turn on a dime. Postpartum issues and stuff can get really bad too…”

“How so? Don't the hospital, family, and loved ones support the mother after the birth?”

“Yeah, the struggles and strife of women aren't really important where I come from.”

“...Why?”

“Because the world hates women, I guess. Starting the video.”

“What-”

This video was wildly more informative. The doctor spoke in easy-to-understand terms, drawing out diagrams and clearly showing the variables one could deal with in their period. She had even excitedly explained the beginning processes of pregnancy. By the end, Ortho had made more than enough notes on the actual hormones involved with the process to begin cross-dimensional research with Riddle and Jade. 

Smiling, Ortho turned to Yuu and tilted his head, “That must have been a very nice refresher course. Did it help you remember any information from a prior health class, Prefect Yuu?”

“Ortho, I'm not going to say this again. I don't fucking know. The only health class I had was in elementary school and that was literally just to tell us that a period means we’ve become a woman and are gonna start bleeding now. We didn't learn any of this shit if I remember right.”

“...” Ortho opens his eyes, “What?”

Idia leaned closer, “Wait, they didn't…teach you about this?”

“I mean it was only like a day or two. We learned about what to expect and how to use pads and tampons. And that if we have sex we'd get pregnant. They gave us gift bags of chocolates…”

“...You're lying. You have to be lying. That is such a barebones tutorial.”

Ortho moved past Yuu, eyes now laser-focused on the screen as he started to type, “What were the health classes like in your world?”

“Aaaah! No! Don't type that shit in!” Though she tried, Ortho wasn't moved by her shoving and pulling. Instead, she stood with a hand over her eyes as Ortho and Idia read over the most relevant topics dealing with ‘health classes’.

“...”

“...”

“...Prefect Yuu.”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

Idia was squinting at the screen, opening multiple new tabs to speed read through with Ortho, “They’re getting rid of health classes for elementary students? How do you ban talking about puberty with elementary schoolers? That's like… the tail end is when it starts doesn't it?”

“I don't wanna talk about it.”

“Wait, Nii-san, what is Roe Vs Wade? There's a lot of users in the comment section talking about it.”

“We can search it.”

Yuu sighed as the two quickly read through a brief article, dipping their head down lower and starting to slowly shake it, “Please, don't-”

“WAIT, THAT CAN HAPPEN!?”

“WHY!?” Ortho turned around, hands bracing against Yuu's shoulders and shaking her though her expression didn't change, “WHY WAS THAT EVEN A CHOICE TO MAKE!?”

“...” Yuu's face pinched, taking in a shaking breath before she leaned forward to rest against Ortho's shoulder.

The robot stood stunned, even Idia pausing in his yelling to watch the magicless mage in concern, “...Yuu-”

“Give me a minute.”

The two sat in silence, allowing Yuu to work through their own internal struggle and softly cry into Ortho's —undoubtedly uncomfortable — shoulder. Soon, she took in another big breath, pulling away to discreetly wipe at their eyes.

Idia passed over the open energy drink, “Do you…want to talk about it?”

“Not at all. Can you, like, exit out of those, honestly?”

“Yeah.” Ortho had already exited the pages before Idia could even reach for the mouse again, leaving behind the YouTube video of the smiling doctor.

Yuu sniffles, sipping at the drink before laughing slightly, “Click that video.”

“This one?” Ortho squinted his eyes at the screen, “...Trying the Period Simulator?”

Idia perked up at the word ‘simulator’. Eyeing the screen with renewed interest as the video played, “Wait. You can stimulate a period with a machine? There should be plenty of research then.”

“Not really. Every period's different and not everyone feels pain the same way. Plus It doesn't really…stimulate a period. It more so just tries to recreate cramps…” 

Yuu started to smile. Slow and creeping, the longer they watched the video and the sound of pain increased with every new level on the machine. Taking one last sip of their drink, they looked over to Idia’s concerned face, "Hey, Idia…you wanna make something fun?”

“Um-”

Ortho had instantly caught on. His head snapping away from the screen so fast Yuu would have been worried if he had an actual neck, eyes nearly vibrating from how manic He seemed, “I do!”

“That's the spirit, Ortho!”

Unsurprisingly, with how excited Ortho was, the machine only took two days to complete. Yuu and the Shroud brothers had set the machine up in one of the vacant rooms of Ramshackle, a mass text being sent out for everyone to come to the dorm before it got too late in the evening. A follow-up text stating attendance was mandatory.

Idia looked over, raising an eyebrow at Leona and Ruggie who were already lounging around, “I didn't think you two were gonna be the first ones here…”

Ruggie shrugged, a lazy smile on his face as he looked off to the side, “I mean we were already here.”

“Why are y'all always just in my fucking house?” Yuu had casted them a side glare, “Gonna make you fuckers start paying rent.” 

Yuu was hooked up to the simulator, doing last-minute testing with Ortho to make sure the machine was working properly. They'd been standing still, their eyes narrowing every few moments before instructing Ortho to turn the level up. 

As Yuu reached the highest level, she nodded, “Yeah, that's as good as we’re gonna get. Past the lack of other stuff, you and Idia made this more accurate than the one from my world, I think.”

Ortho giggled, helping Yuu remove the nodes on their back, “Well, there were a lot of other symptoms that we couldn't replicate without putting someone in a full-body simulation.” He closed his eyes, hanging his head in sadness, “And the hormonal changes we would have attempted to recreate are deemed as ‘Uncivil’ torture methods.”

“...” Yuu raised an eyebrow, “What are the civil ones?”

At that moment, Riddle, Trey, and Cater had entered. Riddle already giving Yuu a stern glare as he folded his arms, “I don't have the context of this conversation, but civil or not; torture is very illegal.”

Both Yuu and Ortho boo, Yuu dramatically pointing toward Riddle who only intensified his glare, “No fun haver! No fun haver!”

Riddle huffed, stomping his foot only once as Yuu and Ortho kept chanting, “Torture is illegal and that is final!”

Leona snorted, "Not in a few countries…”

Yuu gasped, turning to Ortho with a giddy expression, “Ortho~! Vacay locations!”

“Yay, torture!”

Idia frowned, Riddle nearly glowing from how red his face was, “And you guys wonder why I don't like them hanging out…”

It took both Cater and Trey's combined powers to get Yuu and Ortho to stop planning a ‘Torture Tour’. The two Juniors pointing out that by international law, torture was still very illegal. And if a country was found to be engaging in such methods, they would be punished accordingly. A fact that Ortho simply stated they wouldn't…say which country was engaging in illegal torture methods. A topic that Trey had shut down without mercy.

“Oh!” Yuu hummed, “Before I forget. Riddle, Cater, you guys take the school offered birth control, right?”

Leona scoffed, raising an eyebrow teasingly at Yuu, “Not gonna ask me?”

“Do you take birth control?”

“...No, but you could at least pretend to ask my opinion.”

Cater sighed, folding his arms and tilting his head in question, “Yes. We take the birth control; why do you ask, sweetie?”

“Do you always feel nauseous after taking it or is that a side effect that will stop after a while?”

Riddle's face pinched, “Why didn't you raise this issue with Crewel?”

“Why are you asking this now? Have you been feeling nauseous the whole time taking it?” Cater sounded more alarmed, even Leona looking at Yuu in a more concerned light.

“I mean I just started taking it-”

“Hold up.” Ruggie raised his hand, the bridge of his nose pinched with his other as he spoke, “You mean to say this whole time…for the past six-seven months you've been here — potentially having sex with your multiple boyfriends — you've not been taking birth control?”

“ …Well, when you spell it out like that, it sounds stupid and irresponsible-”

Cater had sighed, shaking his head in disbelief as he tapped at his phone. “We're going to my clinic after I get permission from Crewel.”

“I don't need to go to a clinic.”

“No, you're getting a new prescription.” Cater openly ignored her protests, briefly looking up to smile at Ortho, “Hey, let's get this whole thing started! What are we doing, Ortho?”

“This is my event-”

Ortho gestured to the machine sitting on the table, multiple muscle connectors in his hand, “This is my brother's and I's attempt at a ‘Period Simulator’! While it doesn't stimulate every symptom we've recorded, Yuu has assured us it's very capable of recreating the proper sensation of a period cramp.”

Idia did his best to hide his grin, wondering just how badly some people would fare, “Anyone wanna go first?”

After a beat of silence, Leona stepped forward, “Might as well see what was making you a wreck last Monday.” he lifted his shirt, letting Ortho affix the sensors along his lower stomach and back, “I still can't believe it was bad enough to make you throw up and cry like you were.”

Yuu rolled her eyes, moving beside Idia to work the controls, “Yeah, big talk from a bitch who's never had a period.” After a few moments, Yuu smiles and tilts her head, “How's it feel?”

Leona scoffed, “Like nothing.”

Yuu had set the machine to ‘Seven’ out of the Ten levels, “Yeah, I haven't turned it on yet.” 

The second the switch was flipped, Leona let out a single grunt and crumbled to the ground. The Savanaclaw housewarden slowly curled in himself, a single fist clenching so tight a vein was visibly throbbing under his skin.

Everyone blinked in surprise, Ruggie rushing over to hover his hands over Leona, “H-hey! What's happening!?”

Leona had barely lasted twenty seconds, everyone yelling in panic around his prone form as he slowly dug his claws into the hardwood floors. Luckily, he managed to gather enough willpower to lift his head, pupils shrunken to pinpricks as he gasped out, “Turn this shit off.”

Yuu relented, flipping the machine off and allowing Leona to finally relax and breathe out a loud sigh of relief. Ruggie had already started to remove the sensors from Leona's body when they spoke, “So, how was your one minute period?”

“You were not feeling that…!” Leona fumbled in standing, Trey and Ruggie more so dragging than helping him up. Though the constant spasming and clenching of his inner muscles had stopped, his body suddenly being wracked with pain made him jelly-legged.

Laughing, Yuu shrugged, “I mean, my period hangs around a ‘Six’ or 'Seven’ on my own pain scale if I don't take pain meds. Not like… A ‘Ten’ which is ‘I gotta get to a hospital’ pain, but in range to be ‘a little homicidal’ pain.”

Trey had helped Leona to an armchair, gesturing to the machine as Leona melted into the seat, “Is that thing safe?”

Ortho nodded, “Of course! We did trial runs and everything. Honestly, Prefect Yuu says it feels more along a ‘Three’ of her pain scale at max power. But, I believe with a bit more testing, we can successfully create a one-for-one simulation!”

“Keep that shit away from me.” Ruggie shook his head, sticking close to a still groaning Leona, “Mandatory or not, I'm not tryin’ that thing.”

“You may be spared. Leona's reaction was more than I could have hoped for.”

Leona moved one of his arms from his middle, raising a middle finger to Yuu.

Ortho chimes in, holding up the pads with a gleeful expression, “Who wants to go next?”

The silence that followed was comical, each boy looking at the other with poorly hidden concern and fear. Before long, Trey sighed and stepped forward.

“I'll go. This feels like a situation where we're not getting off unless Yuu's felt we had enough…” He lifted his shirt, already twitching lightly as Ortho stuck the pads to his stomach and back, “Don't put it on too high, ok?”

Yuu giggled, setting the machine to five, “I'll give you the ‘average special’. Not the worst, not the easiest.” Seeing Trey properly hooked up, she tilted her head, “Ready?”

“You'd still turn it on-oh, okay.” Trey had taken a step back, face grimacing as the pain hit him all at once.

Cater had his phone out, held low but at an angle to still capture Trey in the camera, “How you feelin’, Trey?”

“It's…ah…it's coming in…in moments-Mmmmmm this feels wrong.” Trey took slow, controlled breaths. He gently rocked back and forth, gaining an almost zen before the sound of the front door slamming open downstairs startled him. He choked, spit going down the wrong pipe and losing his focus.

With Trey now on his knees and choking, Cater kept filming but gave Yuu a pleading glance, “Ok, turn it off, he's not…recovering from this.”

“True…you wanna go Cater?”

The Junior left out a single harsh laugh, still filming as Ortho helped a shaking Trey remove the pads from his lower body, “You couldn’t pay me enough to do this. How about I just film everything for future posterity?”

Trey groaned, rubbing his lower back, “Way to avoid the experience…” He turned, smiling and raising an eyebrow to Riddle, “Your turn?”

“...Um…” Riddle's eyes briefly glanced at the door, wondering if he could make a break for it. But hearing the voices in the hallway, he sighed knowing one of them would stop or slow him enough for Yuu to drag him back, “I suppose…”

While he was being fitted, the door opened to show Ace and Deuce covered in grass stains and clumps of dirt.

Riddle frowned, awkwardly folding his arms over Ortho's head, “Why are you both dirty?”

Ace pointed over his shoulder, expression annoyed, “Floyd dropped us.”

Behind the two dirty Freshmen were Floyd and Kalim, the smiley housewarden comfortably kneeling on the mer's shoulders. Jade, Azul, and Jamil following behind the two.

Jade laughed into his hand, eyeing his twin subtly, “He got tired of carrying them.”

Looking around the room, brows furrowing together at the scene of both Leona and Trey slumped over, Azul asked, “What…are we doing…?”

Idia snickered, letting Yuu take over the controls, “We made a machine that can simulate the cramps Yuu's had the past few days. We're running a gauntlet to see who can actually stand up to it. You wanna test your skills, Azul-Shii?”

Floyd tugged at the pads attached to Riddle's stomach and lower back, smiling lazily with Kalim still on his shoulders, “These little things are gonna shock you or something?”

Azul hummed, adjusting his glasses as he glanced over Riddle, “Maybe…I'd rather see this process firsthand than go in blind.”

Yuu spoke up, smiling as she messed with dials and switches, “Riddle, I'm giving you a ‘Three’. Because I think anything higher would actually kill you.”

Riddle glancing nervously at Yuu, “Parden, can this pain be fatal?”

“Possibly, I don't know.”

“Wha-aaaaaaaaaaaah!” Riddle cut himself off suddenly, the weak sensation making his insides twist and pinch in an unfamiliar fashion.

Floyd had surged forward — leaving Kalim to tumble off of his shoulders and to be barely caught by Jamil and Azul. He fretted over Riddle in his own way, hands up to hover over his boyfriend's hunched-over body.

“Goldfishie? Is it really that bad…?”

Riddle's only response was to let out a groan, his breathing slowly picking up as another pang of pain hits him. Floyd had just barely sent a glare to Yuu before she shut the machine off.

“You good? I only gave you a three…”

Standing back up, the redhead tried to subtly wipe a few tears away from his eyes, “It was…very unpleasant. Reminded me of…hunger pains.”

“Oh shit, my bad, Riddle.”

Sighing, letting Ortho and Floyd take the sensors off his body Riddle continued, “It's no fault of yours. I was aware this process was painful for you, but I couldn't fathom it…felt like that…”

Deuce muttered, eyeing the pads with curiosity, “Is it really that bad?”

Yuu gestures to the pads, eyebrows raised, “Wanna try it for yourself?”

While Deuce was looking at the pads, clearly weighing his options, Ace scoffed and rubbed the back of his head, “You couldn't pay me to try that…”

“Oh, I wasn't expecting you to, pussy.”

“Oi.”

Yuu shrugged, smiling as Deuce was already allowing Ortho to hook him into the machine, “What? I'm agreeing with you, pussy. You don't have to try, pussy.”

Ace was already standing beside Deuce, scowling as he took one pad off of the other freshman’s back, “Shut up. I'm doing your stupid little challenge.”

Ace barely lasted thirty seconds, crumbling under muscle spasms while Deuce kept himself standing through sheer willpower alone. The redhead was on his knees, fists balled tight and curled as small as he could be in a fetal position. He took in wheezing breaths, letting out long and strained sighs.

He tapped out when Yuu turned the setting up to ‘Eight’. A hand waving at Ortho frantically to remove the pads along his midsection. Deuce had barely choked, face turning red as he strained harder to keep himself standing. While Ace was being freed from the electric pulses, Deuce’s expression had turned more and more distressed the longer he stood. Yuu had turned the dial to ‘Nine’ when Deuce let out a loud yell and started to pull the sensors off of himself by force.

“NO. NOPE. DONE. I ALMOST SHAT MYSELF.”

Ace, who was curled up on the ground arms around his middle, let out a bubble of a giggle from his groaning.

Leona sat up straighter, eyes wide in a sudden epiphany, “That’s the feeling!”

Trey nodded, having given up his seat to let Riddle sit and rest, “Yeah, that is a good way of describing what it feels like. Past the pain, it’s like you need to…really take a shit.”

Riddle mumbled, sending an annoyed glance to Ace now cackling on the floor,  “I’d rather we say ‘stomachache’ than…defecating.”

Yuu, laughing along with Ace turned to the other group of boys, “Anyone else wanna try?”

Floyd and Jade had simply looked at each other before grinning. They were hooked up quickly, both Trey and Riddle excusing themselves and wishing the other’s luck in their ‘torture sessions’.

Looking over the dials, Yuu spoke, “I’ll give you guys a ‘Five’ to start off with. I wanna see one of you guys make it to ‘Ten’.”

The machine was barely on for two seconds before Floyd was ripping the pads off of his body, his once playful expression dropping instantly at the flash of pain, “I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

Azul spoke up, eyeing the machine with even more distrust than before, “That’s a record…”

Yuu turned to Jade, the other twin still hooked up but eyebrows furrowed together, “Still wanna try for ‘Ten’?”

He’s only response was to give a thumbs up, a little approving hum in his throat.

Jade getting to ‘Ten’ was a feat in itself. The Sophomore had managed to ‘Seven’ before he physically started to show signs of distress. All the way to ‘Ten’, Jade had started to let out sharp and shrill clicks and growls. His expression starting to nash as he bared his teeth in a show of hostile energy, his hands flexing with the barely concealed urge to rip into something unfortunate enough to get too close. 

Idia had quickly turned the machine off once Yuu had turned the dial to ‘Ten’, everyone else in the room having been pressed against the walls or furniture in an effort to stay as far away from Jade as possible. As his brain slowly eased back into its front conciseness, he blinked and looked around the room.

“Did something…happen?”

Floyd spoke up, Azul, Ace, and Deuce all using him as a shield from Jade's feral display, “Wow, I'm glad we don't have periods; dad would of been dead before we even hatched.”

“Ah. I assume it was bad then?”

Azul poked his head from behind Floyd, “You don't know?”

“No, I blacked out.”

Ruggie spoke up from his place pressed against Leona, “By the Seven…”

Yuu smiled, holding up the other set of sensors toward Azul, “You wanna try now, Azul?”

“Please don't. We love each other, this doesn't need to be how I die today.”

“I wanna try!” Kalim had instantly popped up from behind Jamil, eyes shining in glee as he instantly moved to Jade’s place.

“Kalim, no.” Jamil had moved, stopping Kalim from lifting his shirt, “You can’t just,” Sighing he gently shoved the other boy away from the machine, “You can’t just try something like this. There’s no telling how you could react to this.”

“React to what?” 

Vil and Rook walked into the room, the Pomefiore housewarden raising an eyebrow at the unfamiliar machine.

Yuu smiled, gesturing to the machine as though it were a new car, “We're doing a fun little contest to see who can withstand a period cramp. Jamil was just about to volunteer-”

“No, I wasn't. Once again, I was keeping Kalim from jumping into something he has no grasp of.”

Vil hummed, tilting his head as Rook lit up beside him, “Trés bien! What a glorious act of empathy; to feel along with our beloved petite madame the torture that casted them into turmoil from the last half fortnight!”

“It would be an interesting experience. Though it's impossible to recreate the ailment one for one, we would at least know the physical part of it.” Vil smiled, looking to Jamil with a saccharine smile, “You'll be giving us an example?”

Kalim whined, pushing and pulling Jamil’s arm, “Please? If you try and say it's okay, then me and Vil can try. Please~?”

“...” Jamil sighed, holding his hands out for the grouping of pads in Yuu's hands, “Don't put it on the highest setting…”

“Jamil…I could never…to you.”

The Scarabia vice was no stranger to pain nor stressful situations. But the sudden rolling waves of clenching and spasms in his lower stomach gave him pause. In what could be described as ‘The Five Stages of Grief’ Jamil's expressions twisted and melded as he stood silent. Finally, he rested on ‘Acceptance’ his face falling back into his normal neutral expression. He took in one last breath, sighing out as he now stood as though nothing was wrong.

“Okay. This is unpleasant, I feel like I'm being kicked in the stomach by a toddler over and over. I may overblot again.”

Vil raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

“Yeah, this is torture.”

Kalim hummed, eyes now holding an edge of concern, “Is it really that bad?”

“Well, it's not baking a fucking cake, I'll tell you that.”

“OMG, you have PMS. Tracks.” Yuu smiled, gently clicked the knob to ‘Seven’ and barely holding in her giggles as Jamil started to quickly detach the sensors from his body.

“No. No, I will actually try to kill someone again if I keep that on longer.” Jamil gave Yuu a mild glare. He sighs, rolling his eyes as Kalim rushed over and excitedly waited for Ortho to hook him up, “That was deeply unpleasant…”

Yuu only responded by making a kissy face, turning the dials to lower settings. Her eyes glance over to Kalim, the boy beaming and bouncing on his heels, “Ready?”

“Ready!”

The machine was only set to a ‘Three’, but the second the sensation had hit Kalim he stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet. His expression slowly but steadily dropped into neutrality and then quickly into distress.

Jamil spoke up, “Kalim-”

“Turn it off.”

Yuu snickered, but moved to flip the machine off, “Kalim, you only had a ‘Three’, don’t you-”

“Turn it off.”

The machine was off, Ortho and Jamil quickly removed the patches from Kalim’s sides. The housewarden in question turned to Yuu, eyes wide in barely contained hysteria.

“Why did that make me relive every trauma I’ve had?”

Yuu blinked, unmoved by his concern, “Kalim, that's just what a period does sometimes.”

Cater spoke up, glaring softly at Yuu while he muttered under his breath, “Yeah, because that's totally healthy and normal to feel once a month…” He ended the video, smiling toward Ortho, "I actually had other plans today, can you keep recording for me, Ortho?"

"Got it, Cater Diamond!"

Jamil had Kalim half draped across his shoulders, the housewarden mumbling in their region’s dialect, “I'm going to take him back to the dorm before he has a full-blown episode. Once you’re done with your torture machine, break it. Please. I'm begging you.”

Yuu scoffed, rolling her eyes “It's not torture-”

Azul placed a hand on Yuu's, smiling softly once she looked at him, “Oh, my dearest pearl. The only way to describe what you went through is torture, Plain and simple. And on that fact, I and the twins shall be taking our leave, as well.”

Floyd had laughed, already at the door and holding it open for Cater and Jamil carrying a still-mumbling Kalim out with him, “Azul doesn't want to risk Shrimpy talking him into doing it.”

“Don't give her ideas. Farewell, my pearl and others. Hopefully, you all have a more pleasant day than what it’s been…”

Yuu raises an eyebrow, “You and Ruggie don't wanna leave yet?”

Leona smirked, shaking his head as he was fully relaxed in the armchair, “Oh no. This is more fun than you said it was gonna be. I'm enjoying myself, Feral.”

Ruggie tilted his head, smiling at Ortho, “Oi, Ortho. Were you gonna try it?”

Ortho blinked, “Ruggie Bucchi, I don’t have internal organs.”

Idia muttered under his breath, glaring at Ruggie from the corner of his eyes, “Please, my brother’s suffered enough in this life.” 

“Then I believe it is my turn, non?” Rook excitedly stepped forward, lifting his shirt for Ortho to affix the sensors, “What a rare experience I will endure! One not felt by this generation, past or future.”

“Yeah, I'll put you at ‘Seven’ and go from there.” Yuu flipped the switch.

Rook's eyes widened, his once excited expression turning into a strange hybrid of stunned and panicked. He hunched forward, his lips parted but silent as he slowly eased himself to kneel on the ground.

Yuu quirked an eyebrow, watching the Junior slowly curl in on himself, “Ah, there he goes.”

Vil looked vaguely concerned, folding his arms and tilting enough to see Rook’s face, “Rook…are you alright?”

“I have never felt such a sensation. My insides twisting and gripping in fear, anticipation of dread. The physical grasp of femininity strangles me, punishing my hubris for daring to believe I could stand against such a beautiful force-”

Leona spoke up from his chair, eyes lidded as he caught Yuu’s attention, “Turn it up.”

“Please don’t…”

Yuu giggled, “Want me to turn it off?”

“Please do.” 

Leona lamented, claiming Yuu was being soft on her precious Pomefiore boy when she turned the machine off. The Junior finally seeing the pure amusement of this game now that he could witness those who annoyed him on the receiving end. 

Rook was up and twirling around when Vil was still getting set up. The Junior was reciting freestyle poetry on the curse and blessings of womanhood. Though his main takeaway was joy at gaining a new sensation to his lifelong collection of experiences.

Vil only rolled his eyes, “That's one way of looking at it…”

“Well, why the fuck are you doing it then?” Yuu asked as she turned dials on the machine.

“The term ‘gut-wrenching’ comes up an offensive amount of times in scripts. And since I haven't had gut issues since I was a child, I actually don't have much to work with.” he smiles, smoothing his shirt back down, “So this will be research. Onion, set me at ‘Six’.”

“I'm giving you ‘Ten'.” Yuu smiled, taunting and calm, before flipping the machine back on. 

Everyone in the room jumped at the ear-piercing, shrill scream that escaped Vil, the sound briefly echoing in the room. The star had ripped the sensors off his body faster than Floyd had. He took a step forward, wobbly-legged but determined as he walked toward the door and fumbled his way out of the room.

A beat of silence hits the room, Rook excusing himself before following Vil out of the room. Yuu bit her lip, turning the machine off as Leona started to laugh. Ruggie no better as lion beastman became more and more hysterical in his laughter.

The door opened slowly, Epel, Jack, and Sebek casting worried looks to Leona hunched over in his chair.

Epel did his best to wait for Leona's laughter to ease. When the Junior…clearly wasn't, he managed to speak over Leona, “Why is Vil lyin’ face down in the hallway?”

Yuu opened her mouth, closing it at Leona's laughter reaching a new pitch. She looked over to Ruggie, the hyena nodding his head.

“Ok, we're gonna head out. I think we've seen all we can see.” Ruggie draped Leona's arms over his shoulder, half dragging his housewarden out, stopping to pat Jack on the shoulder, “Good luck…”

“With what?” Jack called out, staring after his upperclassmen in confusion.

Ortho tilted his head, gesturing to the machine, “Would any of you like to make 10 thaumarks?”

Sebek spoke, “Ortho, that is by far the worst way to start this conversation.”

“Here's a better one then.” Yuu smiles, gesturing to the machine herself, “Would any of you boys like a lesson in empathy?”

“No?”

Jack tilts his head toward the device, ears pinned back in distrust, “What is that?”

“Try it out, Jacky-Boy. Test your grit, are you tougher than the average woman from my world or a simple puppy in my presence?”

“...You're goding me.”

“Is it working?”

“...” Jack clicked his tongue, taking two big steps and standing beside Ortho, “I'm only doing this because I know you'll get annoying if I reject it…”

“Idia-Senpai…what is this?” Epel casted the housewarden a confused stare, he and Sebek watching Ortho place medical sensors on Jack's lower stomach and back.

“For real? We made a torture box and have been testing everyone's pain tolerance.”

Sebek snapped his gaze toward Idia, “You what?”

“Wait, torture how-aaaaah…?” Jack's question quickly slid into a confused vocal run, his expression pinching together in a guarded grimace.

Yuu leaned on the table, raising an eyebrow at Jack, “I gave you a ‘Six’. How you feeling?”

Jack didn't answer, nor did he move from his braced stance. As nearly a minute passed, Jack finally gained the power to turn his head. It started small, minimal slow shakes that slowly grew faster.

“Are you having a seizure or are you asking me to turn it off?”

Jack's only response was to shake his head faster.

“Jack, that is not answering my question.”

“Just turn it off, ya psycho!” Epel yelled.

“Fiiiiiine.” Yuu groaned, rolling her eyes and shutting the machine off.

Even when the currents were gone, Jack remained completely still and tensed. He could only cough lightly as Epel came over to him with concern.

Sebek glared at Yuu, “What did you do!?”

Yuu slapped the top of the machine, Jack finally moving if only to get farther away out of fear that Yuu had turned it back on, “We made a period simulator and let me tell you…none of you guys are built to handle this shit apparently.”

Epel frowned, his hands moving to massage along the beastman's jaw, “Jack, baby, unclench…”

“I can't. If I do. I'm gonna fall.”

Idia snickered, turning his tablet for Sebek to see, “I've been making a scale. The only one who's managed to make it to ‘Ten’ is Jade and he blacked out doing it.”

The room door slammed open, Leona standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, “Good, the machine's free.”

Rolling her eyes, Yuu laughed at seeing who was behind him, “You did not come back just to watch them try the simulator.”

He stepped back inside, Malleus and Lilia walking in behind him. Silver was tucked in Malleus’s arms, the Sophomore snoozing peacefully.

Lilia smiled, looking at the machine in curiosity, “Leona tells us it was an experience that we could never have naturally! I'm glad I had the idea to gather my boys and make sure they were able to partake.”

Malleus tilts his head, holding Silver higher in his arms, “Will Silver be able to experience it if he is asleep? I would hate for him to miss such an event due to his disorder.”

“Oh!” Lilia waved for Malleus to place Silver in the empty chair, “Maybe this simulator will be the legendary item that can wake Silver.”

Yuu shrugs, Ortho excitedly holding the sensors up beside her, “One way to find out.”

Was it possibly cruel and illegal to hook a sleeping person to what was essentially a torture device? Obviously, they still did it. Though the meaner outcome of Silver leaping up in confusion and pain, what actually happened was more concerning. The group all watched as Silver simply creased his brows in slumber before his forehead smoothed again. Yuu checked the settings a second time, the dials all turned to ‘Ten’ each.

“...I know he didn’t just eat this shit.”

Lilia sighed, patting Silver’s head, “I could say I'm surprised, but I’m not…”

Leona raised an eyebrow, mildly annoyed that Silver had no reaction, “At least I can see why you were sleeping so much during this.” 

“Sleeping does keep the Blood Goddess away.”

Malleus and Leona turned to her, each wearing looks of concern, “The whom?”

“May I try it?” Lilia looked at the sensors, holding one of the nodes in hand, “I’d love to see if it compares to anything I’ve felt before.”

Yuu smiled, “My frame of reference is being stabbed. That was a common one in my world.”

Lilia was hooked up quickly, the older fae standing with his hands on his hips, “Well, only one way to compare then!”

Once the switch was flipped, the smile faded from Lilia’s face. The fae’s hands slowly gripping harder and harder into his hips. He blinked, his brows creasing together then relaxing at odd intervals. He continued to open his mouth, a syllable slipping out before he closed his mouth again.

Leona laughed briefly, ignoring the annoyed glance Malleus sent him, “Having fun?”

“Leona, don’t act like you didn’t crumble the second I turned this shit on.” Yuu turns to Lilia “But, Lilia, are you okay? I gave you an 'Eight'.”

The fae managed a laugh, his smile quickly falling off his face as his breath came out in a ragged motion before he spoke, “It’s…it’s reminding me of a time when I had an iiiiiiiiiiron needle stabbed into my siiiiiiiiiiiide…ahahaHA-It broke off and I just…AH-dealt with that for. Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaays…ha…”

Malleus didn’t move to help, but watched his guardian with a weary eye, “Are you…alright?”

“I will be honest, this is making me think of the WAR…HA. WHORE! Oh, that helps. WHORE!”

“Ok, turn it off…” Idia gently eased Ortho away from the older fae when Lilia had started to simply yell swear words.

Once he was free of the sensors, Lilia had returned to his normal jovial air. Laughing under his breath, he stretched and popped his back, “Oh…oh, that was dreadful. You say it can get worse than that?”

Idia speaks, “It can get way worse, apparently. There’s this thing call endometriosis, sickass curse name btw, that can physically cripple people.”

“Shroud, you can use your technomagics to screen for that, correct?”

“U-um…yeah? I searched up symptoms of it so if need be I could locate it on a scan-Wait, Malleus-Shii, Yuu doesn't have it, right?”

“I don't believe so…but, there is nothing wrong with a thorough search to ensure my beloved's health.”

“Malleus, I'm standing right here.”

The horned fae smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to Yuu's temple, “That you are.”

She huffs, fighting against a smile threatening to spread across her face, “Are you trying this thing or not?”

“Hmmm… I suppose there's no reason not to partake. It will be an experience, as Lilia put it-”

“Waka-Sama! No! This machine is clearly dangerous!” Sebek moved forward, trying to stand between Malleus and the simulator,  “It was enough to render Jack speechless and Lilia in a state of hysteria! As your retainer I can not allow you to try such an activity!”

“Sebek, are you insinuating that I am weaker than not only Lilia but Jack as well?”

“...” Sebek's stance slowly eased, the Freshmen curling in on himself with mild shame, “I…I did not mean it in such a way…”

“Then step aside, I wish to empathize with my fiancée, properly.”

The half-fae sighed sadly, moving to the side and letting Malleus be outfitted with the sensors.

“Child of man, please set it to the highest setting.” He raises his hand, a move to silence both Sebek and Yuu, “I'm aware of my choice. I wish to experience the worst this ailment could become to you. There is also the factor that my body is simply…more hardy than your own. The highest setting may be the only way I can feel it.”

“...” Yuu sighs and starts to adjust the machine., “I hate that your logic is sound…okay. I hope you don't regret your choices…”

Leona spoke up, watching the scene with an easy going smile, “I hope he does.”

When the switch was flipped, nothing happened. Everyone standing in silence, everyone watching Malleus’s face for any change showing pain or distress. Nearly a minute passes, the horned fae remaining perfectly still and silent.

Leona blinked, making brief eye contact with Lilia before he stepped closer to Malleus. he snapped his fingers in quick succession, twice in front of the fae's eyes and then once directly next to his ear. Malleus didn't so much as twitch. 

“Malleus?...Malleus?” Lilia reached out, shaking his charge by the shoulders and receiving no response, “...Turn this off.”

Idia was already flipping the machine off before Yuu could turn to do it. Once the lights had dimmed on the box, Malleus's eyes regained their focus and light. The prince finally blinked, looking toward Yuu in question.

“Have we started? I don't believe I'm feeling anything.”

Leona let out a harsh, cackle of a laugh. The housewarden turning and walking out the room, “Oh that's rich. I got what I wanted, I'm gone.” He swung the door on his way out, laughing all the way out of Ramshackle.

Yuu stood with a hand over her mouth, “...Okay…I'm not going to send you back to wherever you just escaped from…so you win, I guess?”

Epel and Sebek both perk up, all concern and hesitation gone, “Win?”

Ortho laughs, taking the sensors off of a confused Malleus, “You've seen. Simply withstanding the simulator is hard enough. It only makes sense that actually enduring the simulator on max power is a win.”

Sebek quickly snatched Idia’s tablet, eyes scanning over the names and settings of their friend group, “You said making it to ‘Ten’ is a win?”

Epel had shoved his way to looking at the tablet despite Idia’s urging to give him his tablet back, “Ya said only Leech made it to ‘Ten'?”

Yuu hummed, patting a still confused Malleus on the shoulder, “I don't know if we can count that one. He did go fucking feral.”

“True…”

“I've decided!” Sebek slammed the tablet into Idia’s chest, nearly sending the housewarden through the wall, “I will do this challenge to show the might of Diasomnia!” He gripped his shirt, pulling harshly to rip the cloth clean off of his body.

Jack spoke, “Sebek you did not need to rip your shirt off-”

Epel harshly shushed his taller boyfriend, eyes not moving away from the newly revealed muscled chest, “Shut up, let him do what he thinks is best…”

Sebek smirked, requesting Yuu start him on ‘Nine’ as opposed to a lighter number, “I will be able to go straight to the winning number this way. What kind of retainer could I be if I can't handle this level of trivial pain?”

“...” Yuu slowly smiled, waiting for Ortho to give her the ok of Sebek being properly hooked up, “Ready?”

“Yes.”

The switch was flipped, Sebek's smug expression instantly falling as his face paled. One of his hands reached out toward Silver, digits sinking into the Sophomore's chest hard enough to startle him awake.

“I'm up, I'm-what's-”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Sebek yelled, eyes laser focused on the floor as he kept himself up right with sheer willpower and core strength alone.

“Sebek!? Why are you yelling!? Father!? Malleus!?” Silver attempted to wiggle out from under Sebek's pin. A feat becoming increasingly difficult the tighter Sebek's fist started to twist Silver’s shirt.

“Lilia-Sama was right, yelling helps! YELLING HELPS SO MUCH!”

“What is going on?” Silver called out in pure confusion.

Yuu spoke up, still calm through Sebek's shouting, with the flair of announcing ‘Waterfall’, “And here's ‘Ten’.” Yuu clicked the machine to its final setting.

Sebek dropped to his knees, pulling Silver half off of the chair as he refused to release his grip.

After nearly thirty seconds of Sebek's yelling and Silver’s questions fueled by pure panic, the machine was turned off. Sebek slumps fully to the floor, breathing heavily before slowly curling himself into a ball. 

Silver looked around bewildered, hoping someone would tell him what just happened, “When did I get to Ramshackle? I was in the quad?”

Lilia laughs, already helping Sebek off the ground and slinging an arm over his shoulder, “We can fill you in on the way back. I do believe we're done with today's event.”

Lilia left no room for discussion, already dragging a groaning Sebek out of the room, 

semi-forcing a confused Silver and Malleus to follow Behind him. Silver questioning What was even happening, having fallen asleep in the quad of the school only to wake up to Sebek's screaming more he normally did.

Malleus followed his posse, a pout on his lips as rain clouds seemed to form in showing his plight, “I didn't even try It…”

Yuu turns to Epel, raising an Eyebrow and holding the sensors out to him, “Epel, are you like… sure, you want to go all the way to ten?”

“Ah ain't no fuckin’ bitch. Slap them bad boys on me so Ah can have braggin’ rights ov'r these losers.”

“Well, if we're counting that as legally binding…” Yuu turns dials on the machine, setting them to max as she did with Malleus only to be stopped by Ortho gently placing a hand over hers, “Yes, Ortho?”

“Maybe we don't start Epel Felimer off at the highest setting. I'm beginning to believe a sudden simulation of this variety could induce brain damage.”

Jack took a small step back, eyeing the machine with even more distrust than before, “Wait, really!?”

Ortho shrugs, “I mean, it's doing something to people.”

Jack sighed, folding his arms, “Did you guys do trial runs with thing or something? Like, are you entirely sure it's safe to use on actual people?”

Idia gestures over to Yuu, “Yuu tried it.”

“Ok. So we're going off the word of a crazy person?”

“Ay!?”

“Don’ care! Ah got a point ta prove!” Epel lifted his shirt, glaring at Ortho until the android relented and stuck the first sensor on him.

Once properly fitted, Yuu started Epel on ‘One’, increasing the power every two minutes to ensure he felt each stage. The Pomefiore Freshmen didn't even flinch until he got to ‘Three’. He made a single sound of discomfort, hands moving to press on his stomach.

“Ok…that felt…Ah felt that, that's the weird part…”

And such sensations only got worst. Epel having to brace his hands against the wall, widening his stance in an attempt to keep himself standing once the machine was turned up to ‘Five’.

“...”Epel’s face was scrunched up, brows furrowed as he looked through his bangs at Yuu, “Is…is needin’ to poop-”

“Yeah, that's a normal feeling to have during.”

“A'ite…”

By ‘Eight’, Epel had adopted the new method of screaming being a crutch. He had lowered himself to the floor, kneeling into a frog pose.

“Epel, if you actually shit on my floor-”

“SHUT UP!”

The final hurdle was to last an entire minute on ‘Ten’. Ortho stating they should decrease the time for the last level as Epel had started to punch the wall. A whole minute Epel spent the time power walking around the room, engaging his entire body to distract from the pain. Every now and again yelling out a country-flavored string of swears. The moment Ortho excitedly clicked the machine off, saying that Epel had completed the entire simulation experience, the purple haired Freshmen dropped to his knees and vomited.

“OH, COME ON!?”

Ortho hummed, tilting his head in question while Idia tried to hide behind him, “I wonder if prolong exposure can lead to vomiting…So many new variables…”

Jack was careful to not step into the puddle before a panting Epel, sighing as he raised an eyebrow at him, “Congrats, you won bragging rights on throwing up.”

“Shut up and take me to the damn infermary…”

Jack picked Epel into his arms, walking the groaning Freshmen out of the room with a chatting Ortho hot on their heels.

Yuu sighs, looking at the puddle of vomit on their floor, “Now I gotta clean that shit up.”

“You’re the one who wanted to torture your friends again under the guise of empathy…” Idia could only smile at the glare she gives him, raising his hands in a carefree manner, “Everything’s got a price, you know?” He moved to fully pack and shut the machine down, unaware of the look Yuu was sending him.

“...Hey, Idia? You didn’t try.”

“Yeah, because I’d rather be tazed?” Idia spoke out, voice clear with how stupid he thought the idea was.

“...” Yuu smiles, reaching into the table’s drawer and pulling out a simple black-box tazer. Her eyebrows wiggle as she presses the button twice just to show it was charged.

“...” Idia sighed, grimacing as he held his arm out, “Everything’s got a price…”

[milksockets]

i feel rather pathetic for this, but i have been *struggling* since deleting all dating apps from my phone a mere 3 days ago. despite over a decade of overall disappointment, i did occasionally strike gold which is, obviously, how you get hooked, like with anything else. swiping was my go-to brainless phone activity, so now i'm scrolling instead which rarely yields the same jolt of validation.

i am also keenly aware that throughout the years, a sizable chunk of my social activity has been with men who do not give a fuck about me. i've gathered a surplus of data to know the likelihood of any app-based interaction becoming something even vaguely meaningful is slim to none. yet, because it is not impossible, and because i have found it before, and because i crave escape + partnership in almost equal measures at long last, i have continued the quest.

but even i have gotten tired. all my dates lately have been beyond "mid" as the kids say, so devoid of anything simply notable let alone promising. i know i have to try something different and focus on living my own full life blah blah; i'm just surprised by how the immediate aftermath has hit as hard as it has.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

be constantly in own world for me (level 2/3 autism) mean like. think pretty much only about self. understand only self. entire world just me n special interest, sometimes/often times not even include own basic needs, like “hair greasy clump body itchy need shower” (unconsciously feel bad sensory, n make very uncomfortable annoyed easily frustrated, but don’t consciously know am feeling extra irritated or that am feel this way because need shower). n world often limited to thing in front of me. n sometimes not even include thing in front of me. see it (as in physically capable of vision) but not see it. n thing, people, any that not put infront of me for while, stop realize they existed in first place.

n be in own world, only think only able know self, mean that, see self as normal, as norm. everyone (this abstract concept of other people that have memorized like you memorize history fact for test), everyone like me. not even “am like everyone,” but that everyone is like me. everyone same ability as me. everyone think like me.

“everyone think like that to extent”

right. to extent. thing is am far greater than that normal “extent”

to point that average day, ask me, n would only able explain that, “think everyone same ability as me, everyone think like me. everyone exist like me.” stay at vague generalization because not able think any deeper not able think of examples. to give example in this situation mean on some level need have ability understand “am think this normal but others may think it abnormal for them”. n. most times not have ability to second part, because in own world theory of mind.

sometimes try force it. try really hard force it. try really hard think, look at other people, try make sense try find what exact different. but can’t force something not have ability. so go back rely on scripting. sometimes advanced scripting n rephrased scripting.

special interest in something social-related let me cheat little bit. appear more capable. like break down complex autism community disability community dynamics. but am videotaping camera. computer analyzing research data. not participant. it thankfully happen, but it only happen because special interest allow it be part of own world, n it only part of own world because can only see these (supposedly very humanly n organic n messy) interactions as flow charts, maps, equations, inanimate objects. closest metaphor may be, with this special interest lens that allow these social dynamics enter own world, am looking at these “people” these social dynamics similar to regular person playing the sims n thinking of sims character made out of code that they control.

rare rare times able suddenly realization of outside world. usually happen in flash. n then end. n then left to chase that feeling trying so hard remember what it felt like so can memorize it like another history fact to memorize for test removed from source removed from emotion, to make self appear know what am talking about know more than am capable of, next time someone ask, “isn’t everyone like this?”

just had flash of that that lead to write this whole thing. but already gone. something about… “those funny ‘gen z fix up work force’ stories. they actually people same age as me?’” something about sudden realize what people my age my life stage expected do usually do. something about think am so normal but actually am missing out “so many” things (what things?).

friend tell me “by be young person who severely disabled you missing out so much on same age activities”. n. inside think, (i am but) “don’t know. …am i?” n for it be genuine question, or disbelief question.

n respond with “haha, yea.”

it not lying. it just script. am don’t know what my script means.

don’t follow up by ask me “so what you think you missing out on?”

don’t know. don’t have that script (a script am don’t know meaning to) yet that make other people think am understand, either.

[please don’t say you “relate” or “feel same” “this me” or similar unless am know who you are.]

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

What is this feeling? p.3

Heyy guys, here's part 3, if you've missed part 2 here it is.

I'm sorry for not posting yesterday, but this month I'll be pretty inactive since I have to study for my exams :(

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

"YN, you're good, but good isn’t enough."

Max’s words echoed in your ears as you sat across from him in the Red Bull hospitality suite. His sharp blue eyes studied you, a mix of determination and mischief glinting behind them.

"Okay, ouch," you muttered, crossing your arms defensively. "I’m working on it."

"You don’t just ‘work’ on being a winner," he said, leaning forward. "You have to become one. And lucky for you, I’ve decided to make you my new project."

"Your project?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I’m going to teach you everything I know. Strategy, focus, confidence—everything that makes a champion. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t just be good. You’ll be great."

You hesitated, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted. "And what if I don’t want to be your ‘project’?"

"You don’t really have a choice," Max replied, leaning back and crossing his arms with a cocky smirk. "Besides, I’m very nice for doing this. You should thank me."

"Wow," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. "How generous of you."

"Exactly," he said, his smirk widening.

Over the following weeks, Max threw himself into his self-appointed role as your mentor. It started with small things: tips on cornering, feedback on your race starts, pointers about tire management. He’d pull up telemetry data, going over it in detail, explaining every nuance of what made him fast.

"You’re not braking late enough into Turn 1," he’d say, tracing a section of data with his finger. "And your exit speed here? Too slow. You’re leaving time on the table."

"You’re insufferable, you know that?" you shot back one day, though secretly you appreciated how much he cared.

"I’m efficient," he corrected with a smug grin.

But it wasn’t all technical. Max started nudging you out of your comfort zone in other ways, too.

"You need to stop eating lunch alone," he told you one afternoon, stealing a fry from your plate.

"I like eating alone," you argued, snatching the fry back.

"No, you think you do," he said. "But winners know how to command a room. You should join us. Be part of the team."

Reluctantly, you let him drag you into more social settings, and while you’d never admit it to him, you began to enjoy it.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted.

It wasn’t just the racing tips or the forced social interactions. It was the way Max would wait for you after sessions, leaning against the wall with an easy smile. It was the way he’d cheer you up after a bad qualifying run, cracking jokes until you couldn’t help but laugh. It was the way his confidence in you began to chip away at your own doubts.

"You’re getting better," he said one evening after a long day of practice. "I can see it."

"Thanks to you, I guess," you teased, nudging him lightly.

"Of course, thanks to me," he said, but there was a softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

By the time race day rolled around, you felt different. Lighter, more confident. Max’s faith in you had become your own, and as you lined up on the grid, you could see him watching you from the pit wall, arms crossed, a small smile playing on his lips.

The race was intense. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself harder than ever, channeling everything Max had taught you. The car felt like an extension of yourself, and when you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to erupt around you.

You’d done it. You’d won.

Climbing out of the car, you barely had time to process the cheers before someone was rushing toward you.

Max.

He reached you in seconds, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

"I knew you could do it," he said, his voice low and filled with pride.

"Thanks to you," you whispered, smiling against his shoulder.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, his usual cockiness replaced by something warmer, more genuine.

"You were incredible," he said.

"So, does this mean I’m officially not your project anymore?" you teased, though your voice wavered slightly, the moment feeling too big for jokes.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "You were never a project to me," he said. "Not really."

Before you could respond, the crowd surged around you—drivers, engineers, reporters. Max stepped back, giving you space, but his eyes never left yours.

Later, as the celebrations wound down and the paddock quieted, you found him leaning against the Red Bull motorhome, sipping a bottle of water.

"Hey," you said, approaching him.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost shyly, you added, "You know, I couldn’t have done this without you."

Max shook his head. "You could have. I just helped you realize it."

You stepped closer, your heart racing. "Still, thank you."

He met your gaze, and for the first time, you saw vulnerability in his eyes. "Anytime," he said softly.

The distance between you felt impossibly small, and as the night stretched on, you realized something had changed—something that couldn’t be undone.

Max hadn’t just made you a winner. He’d made you believe in yourself. And in the process, you’d found something neither of you had been looking for but couldn’t ignore any longer.

Part 4

@justaf1girl, @anamiad00msday

[goawaypopup]

Look Outside Posting Part 5: Static

If you didn't bother to go back and check the laptop regularly, you might have missed this.

You wouldn't be missing a whole lot, to be honest. There aren't many answers to be found from the news or social media. But there is something strange to be learned there.

As the weeks continue, photos posted on social media begin to appear as nothing but colorful noise. This seems to specifically happen to the photos that are posted by Witnesses, and Witnesses comment on the photos as if they were normal; everyone else is mystified.

We can rule out a few reasons this might be happening right away. If it were due to some kind of atmospheric interference coming from the Visitor, it would be happening to all data, not just images. If it were some kind of effect from trying to capture footage of the outside at all, the VHS footage and photograph of the Visitor wouldn't be useful.

Rather, I think this is censorship being applied manually on the social media site Sam is using.

With an infohazard readily visible in the sky, and a large contingent of the userbase talking about wanting to force people to look, photos of the Visitor would be a huge safety concern.

A lot of news sites are down a few days in, and I'm pretty sure social media should be no different, but it remains operational over the full 15 days. Like the electricity, and Placide's control over the building's pipes, this likely means someone is still upkeeping the servers. Someone who's already looked, and therefore isn't at risk from any unfiltered photos.

The corrupted images start to appear a few days in, and only become ubiquitous after a while, when very few people remain online who haven't somehow been turned. We don't know for sure that it's specifically and only Witnesses' images being targeted, but what we do know aligns well with that.

Most Witnesses are very visible online. They use the eye emoji to identify themselves, and post about the Witness/Coward discourse or about looking outside themselves. Manually labeling them all to apply hidden account restrictions would still be a superhuman task, but it would reduce the load massively compared to moderating images by hand.

I was pretty perplexed by Witnesses interacting with glitched photos as if they were normal. Even if most of them are kind of crazy and up to a lot of groupthink, people who are cursed are just too unpredictable for me to believe that every single one would play along and keep posting garbled pictures. I think that they CAN see them. If they're already getting flagged as Witnesses behind the scenes, it would be easy to lift the filter for them.

This is kind of an insane thing to implement at a time like this, but whoever is doing this clearly has some interesting priorities in the first place, to be working so hard just to allow people to continue to post images at all.

In a rolly chair in a dimly-lit office somewhere, or possibly entangled in the circuitry of the servers themselves, sits a passionate content moderator, steadfastly committed to the end user experience, come hell or high water.

[acexsmhking]

𝐃𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

(𝘃.) 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗼𝘄 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼𝘄

╰┈➤ Data Content: Jeffery Woods “Jeff the Killer”

Summary: General Content of Jeff’s personalized lore and facts from yours truly, hopefully this will help me flush out his character more and grow more comfortable writing future content!

Warning(s): 18+ content, canonical information, personal information, mentions of murder, descriptions of disemboweled bodies, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of gore, descriptions of tragic murder, mentions of mental disorders

Subject: SCP-xxxx-s

Full name: Jeffery Daniel Woods

Date of Birth: 8/18/1993

Place of Birth: Salem, Massachusetts, U.S.A

Height: 5ft, 8in

Weight: 126 lbs

Name of Origins: Great Britain - God’s Peace

Zodiac: Leo

Origins in Salem, MA before moving to Stratford, CT in 2008 at the age of 15 with parental family (Father, Mother, Brother)

Multiple detected Physical Disabilities: Third-degree Burns, Cheshire Grin, Color Blind: Protanopia, Astigmatism (distorted vision)

Multiple detected Mental Disorders: PTSD, Depression, Social Anxiety Disorder, Comorbidity: Histrionic and Narcissistic personality disorder, ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder), ADD (Attention Deflect Disorder), AVPD (Avoidant Personality Disorder), Stuttering

SCP-xxxx-S has been seen located around Southern and Mideastern states such as Alabama, Arkansas, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maryland, Mississippi, and North Carolina

Avoiding cold seasons most likely due to Subject’s burns, Subject tries visiting Northern states during Spring and Summer.

Despite multiple sightings, SCP-xxxx-S has never been contained. MTF Jane Richardson, still is out on containment search for Subject, only having a number of 20 interactions with SCP-xxxx-S.

The origins of SCP-xxxx-S is!’t fixed together with an inability to capture Subject for questioning. From known knowledge provided by MTF Jane R., SCP-xxxx-S does not have a habit of conversing. However, there have been instances where Subject was muttering to self, where Jane reported mentions of Stuttering.

Stuttering can commonly be caused by physical and mental damage, and by SCP-xxxx-S track record of both, this is expected.

While Subject appears to have an exceptional level of bloodlust, SCP-xxxx-S also has an increasing almost fear-like avoidance of actual social interactions. Despite SCP-xxxx-S being older than SCP-524-S, he has a surprisingly smaller body count.

This most likely could be to the different mental reasonings of the killing. While SCP-xxxx-S kills in moments of episodes, panic or just boredom. SCP-524-S does so for feeding, including feeding multiple other subjects.

During hotter summers in Southern states, Subject will migrate to more Northern states. There was a brief interaction between SCP-xxxx-S and SCP-xxxx-S known as ‘The Chaser’. The usually hostile Subjects made no move to physically harm the other. Besides fainting growling (?) SCP-xxxx-S was able to make it to California safely.

SCP-xxxx-S also has had multiple interactions of SCP-524-S. Unlike the previous altercation, SCP-524-S almost immediately attacked Subject upon sight. SCP-524-S has a habit of attacking other hostile Subjects.

When questioned SCP-524-S states: “They’re like foxes in my chicken coop, stealing my food. They aren’t clean or precise, they just make a mess of a meal.”

SCP-xxxx-S certainly is anything BUT clean with it’s kills. Most victims are found completely torn apart limb from limb in very certain patterns, as if Subject has a specific method and place for each part.

This was later confirmed as MTF Jane R. reported that Subject was found very carefully (brutally) ripping and placing limbs, organs and intestines around victim’s home.

She also reported Subject would mutter (often stuttering over themself) and laugh to themself.

So at least precise can be a talent SCP-xxxx-S has. Even if it isn’t in the traditional sense.

Despite unusual interactions with other Subjects, it is unclear if Subject might be in some sort of contract or possession of higher force much like the case for ‘The Chaser’.

However, Subject does have a.. unusual relationship with SCP-225-S also known as ‘Njegovo Blaženstvo’ by the cult that transitioned it.

SCP-xxxx-S has a strange ability to seek SCP-225-S out. However, these are not friendly altercations. Despite SCP-225-S being significantly stronger, SCP-xxxx-S will try as much as possible to ruin the creatures meals, either by stealing some or just the whole carcasses. SCP-xxxx-S is quite determined to irrate SCP-225-S as much as often, as possible.

Most likely for fun.

In under no circumstances is normal personal allowed near the Subject, it expresses challenging bloodlust behavior and surprising combat intelligence.

Despite Subject’s horrific burns, SCP-xxxx-S seems to have no grasp of physical pain. Understandable as Subject most likely has destroyed nerves. After altercations it appears SCP-xxxx-S skin will break and crack, causing bleeding. Though, Subject appears to be more aware of blood loss than SCP-524-S.

SCP-xxxx-S will often sleep in trees or small holes that it can fit in. Subject expresses surprising abilities in flexibility. Subject also has talent for being able to sleep whistle standing upright, almost like a horse.

SCP-xxxx-S despite common grounds that it killed its family, Subject’s brother Liu Woods, is under SCP custody. Liu expresses multiple disorders however, is much.. much more reasonable than his brother.

There have been plans of possibly using Liu to lead SCP-xxxx-S into a possible trap, though evidence Subject would even remember it’s brother or fall for it is not concert.

: ̗̀➛ OMG here he is!! My very own personal Jeff.. or well personal as in me writing this. A special mention to @an-3moia as they did express interest in Jeffery content! I will admit, Jeff is not a CRP that I’ve ever had a very strong connection too, he just wasn’t ever as.. interesting as the others?? He didn’t seem as plausible or explanatory due to his constant editing of backstories. However, Jeffery is a huge icon for the CRP fandom. I want to be able to challenge myself to growing connections with these characters so I can more comfortably, write content for you all!

While sure, I could just write something with excuses of fanon information. I want to ensure I’m writing the best content for you all as possible, and writing has to come from passion. Passion that can only be formed via connection. So please, if you all have your own takes, opinions, HC for these characters, don’t be afraid to comment them on these sheets I make! I want us all to be comfortable and understanding of one another!!!

Also notice how I made Jeffery colorblind to red?? I THOUGHT THAT WAS HILARIOUS

All the love,

Ace