#didn't read all of it but. i liked it and will probably try to read the rest at some point

[apricotbuncakes]

[ID: Screenshot of Tumblr tags that read "#sigh this is the universe sending me a message (I'm on day 8 of binding for like 13 hours every day) #and i wonder why it hurts to breath #aaaaaaa #gender shit" End ID]

Ooooookaaaaaaah, big brother time.

So. Here are some things that I have learned to help me not bind as much. Note how I didn't claim this will make you less dysphoric. These won't work for everyone, but they did work for me.

1) Use neutral language about your breasts. Not like gender neutral language (though that may help too). What I mean is don't use negative language like "I hate my chest" or "my chest is bad". Yes I know those phrases are basic. But framing your chest in a neutral way may help you to not see it as a chore that needs maintained constantly and may help you feel less guilty about not binding or 'preforming' your gender (aka: presenting in a way that others expect).

2) Remember that you don't owe anyone a certain look or level of effort from your body. Not binding because it hurts and or you can't/don't want to doesn't mean you 'aren't trying hard enough' or 'aren't really trans'. If anyone tells you otherwise, they're a fucking dick who doesn't care about your health and you shouldn't care about them or their opinion. Your health and safety is more important than the approval of some dick whose allyship is conditional to you being the perfect tranny for them. And I mean that with all the love I'm my heart: If someone thinks you performing their ideal version of you is more important than you being safe and healthy, They 👏 Don't 👏 Deserve 👏 Your 👏 Love 👏 Or 👏 Attention! 👏 👏 👏

3) Don't bind at home in your room. Get used to being topless in your room. Literally, I've been topless in my room since my second year of highschool. I actually get a sense of euphoria from not having to wear a shirt in an environment where it's completely legal to do so. It's part of how I reframed how I look at my chest. I no longer hate myself for having a large chest, though I know I'll still feel so much happier when I have top surgery next month.

4) Have a 'lazy' binder. For me, that's a 'binder' that is loose and comfortable. It doesn't necessarily 'bind' me, but it's not a bra either. Ideally you have a nice binder and a lazy binder, but if you can only afford one, a loose tank top can also substitute as a lazy binder for you to wear under your shirts. This lazy binder is for you to put on when you can't bind 'properly' but you still need your brain to accept that you've 'put in the effort'. It's a lot less restrictive, but still provides enough support that your chest doesn't feel completely exposed.

5) Convince yourself that other people are just unobservant. Make a list of qualities that you consider gender affirming, and if someone misgenders you, think of that list and tell yourself "Pssh! That person is so dumb for not noticing [list of gender affirming qualities] that clearly signal I'm [gender identity here]." Don't remind yourself that you aren't binding or punish yourself for not 'doing better'. Just pretend that other people are ignoring the very obvious signs of you being your gender. (Literally, this has prevented me from crying at work).

6) If you can't take off your binder (because you're at work or school or wherever), try putting it on later in the day instead of trying to take it off before your event is scheduled to end. Wear extra layers when you go to wherever it is and then slip off the the bathroom to put it on. That way you don't use some of your binding time during the commute to the event.

Or if you're like me, get really good at putting on your binder under your clothes. You probably shouldn't be able to do that, but some people are also broke like me and can't afford to get a new binder every time the old one gets a little stretched out. I get it.

Final reminder that your health and safety is just as important as your joy and euphoria. Binders are a tool to help us achieve euphoria, but like any other tool they can hurt you when used incorrectly. Take care of yourself. Listen to your body.

This is coming from someone who learned too little too late that binding incorrectly will seriously hurt you. I can barely bind for more than a couple hours now without feeling some kind of discomfort, and some days I can't bind at all because it just hurts that bad to wear a binder. Do not follow in my footsteps. Please take better care of yourself than I did.

Fact #1047: The advice to not bind your chest for more than 8 hours at the time is not some transphobic conspiracy to foce you to experience dysphoria. It is advice given to you for your own safety. As mentally uncomfortable it might be to be without a binder, physically you need to give your ribcage a break.

[rotagnus]

WHY YOU'RE A BAD BITCH.

pick a pile you feel drawn to. if you do not feel drawn to any, maybe this pac is not for you. trust your FIRST gut instinct. do not overthink it.

--

i didn't expect to make this pick a pile but i had a feeling that some people have been down in the dumps recently (as have i) and this would help the both of us.

-1. you're the epitome of elegance. you may not realize it, because you believe yourself to be a rather crude and perhaps blunt individual, but you do have a graceful femininity around you (whether you're male or female). think of the beauty of swans. your tongue is sharp and your wit is bright, and that fire emanates from your very looks. you're absolutely gorgeous--angular faced, maybe with almond eyes. you carry the steadfast power that horses do, galloping in fields. you're wild and free, and oftentimes people, specifically men, try to tame you. but you're a free person, and you don't take shit from NO-BO-DY. you can be read as intimidating and maybe cold, but the truth is you don't tolerate disrespect. you are strong. you get whatever you want, baby, all for good reason. <3

-2. your presence is SOOOO sooo felt. you underestimate how much people love you. the truth is there's a certain quality for you that just makes people adore you. you have a very unique personality and a very unique look to you (dyed hair, piercings, noticeable features, et cetera) and you flaunt this without feeling any shame about it. your confidence attracts people to you--you may not always feel confident but you're able to show it, and you BECOME it. you thrive with the right people, and this is seen as addicting. people want to be close to you and they can become obsessed with you (which can be a double edged sword). you shine so much, and your smile is to die for. TO DIE FOR.

-3. you have a melancholy heart and you're so sensitive to the suffering of everyone else. people want to take care of you and protect you. i think you're rather insecure about several aspects of yourself because people have recognized your glow, but not many have made it brighter. the qualities you have that would normally be fawned over are cast away. but you're a bad bitch regardless babe! your power is in your quietness. you give energy to people who deserve it. your presence is a mystery and you're like pandora's box. once somebody actually wants to get to know you, you open up and you have this beautiful way of being vulnerable, it makes people feel honored and trusted. you'll meet a lot of people later in life who want to be your knights, protect you. your softness makes you a bad bitch!! don't let anyone step over you.

-4. you have DISCIPLINE, darling pile 4. you want something? you work for it! you want to earn more cash? you work for it. you want to get healthier? you WORK for it! not only that, but you have a very beautiful figure--maybe on the thicker, curvier side. you probably have long hair, maybe curly, and GOD you're gorgeous. both of these qualities make you sooo irresistible. you're, by nature, a very caring person and people feel like they can open up to you. you don't make anybody feel ashamed about their emotions and you do care. this quality isn't normalized a lot in our society--you probably don't like being online very much, and you're a very real person. you have depth.

-5. you're very coy and you have this enticing, film-like quality to you. people feel like they're starring in some movie when they're with you. you accessorize a lot. you also have a tendency to fawn over people--you center them in a way that might be detrimental to yourself if you overdo it, but when you don't--you make people like you a lot. you probably have gorgeous, darker features. you remind me of a black cat, and you probably attract a lot of golden retriever like people into your life. you mighta went through something in your youth, but you're glowing and you don't let that drag you down. you're WORTHY. you're amazing. don't forget it babe.

-6. you've got a bit of a mischievous flair to you. you're a very funny person and you're QUICKKK to snap back with comebacks if need be. you don't dim your glow for anybody and you take pride in your roots. you may have a deep connection with your ancestors or members of your family, and there may be some generational trauma to unpack but that doesn't mean you can't find strength in your blood. you may have black hair and prominent nose--not necessarily big, but it's one of your prettiest and most noticed features. you have a warm presence that people suck up to. you're friendly and this quality makes people flutter over to you. your vibe is IMMACULATE.

[valiwrites]

reincarnation ✧.* formula 1

part 2

: ̗̀➛ pairing: formula 1 x senna!reincarnation!male!oc (nico santos) : ̗̀➛ warnings: strong language, people shipping drivers but nothing serious, bromance, hate comments : ̗̀➛ author’s note: i wrote this before and got a lot of hate for it. if it’s not your thing, just scroll past—no need to spread negativity. i didn’t write this just to read mean comments.

: ̗̀➛ smau

danielricciardo ✔︎

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, nicosantos and 1.3m others

danielricciardo the funniest part was... i had to held him back so he didn't murder anyone yesterday

view all 345k comments

user1 reason 727390 why daniel and nico are my fav duo

user2 showed my dad a picture of nico and he said he hasn't seen anything of senna in years i had to explain to him that this is not senna 😭

user3 my mom said that too!! but nico hates being called senna

charles_leclerc i haven't seen nico that mad ever

user4 why is the first picture so wholesome tho omg

user5 because danny is wholesome

user6 nico was ready to commit a whole crime and daniel said ✨no✨

maxverstappen1 i was lowkey scared for my life not gonna lie

user7 danny out here being the emotional support human for a guy who could probably fight god

user8 nah but the way nico looks at daniel in the vid… y’all seeing this or am i delulu

user3 the way his eyes soften when he looks at daniel is so cute

user5 y'all are so delusional he didn't even look at daniel 😭

lando nico was pacing like a dad whose kid just crashed his car 💀

user9 why does every chaotic duo have one guy who keeps the other from getting arrested

user10 danny being the only thing between nico and a felony is so on brand

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by danielricciardo, mickschumacher, lando and 3.2m others

nicosantos mood after yesterday

view all 743k comments

user1 help nico really wanted to throw hands 😭😭

nicosantos you know it

user2 nico has a cat???

user3 it's max's cat lmaoo

user4 he kinda fine

user5 i have been saying that but no one listens to me

user6 the way he just crouched by daniel’s car like it’s some kind of secret mission 💀

user7 lowkey nico should’ve been in the movie ‘mad man on the edge'

user8 no way you can look at them and not see the chemistry. it's so obvious

user9 nah, the way nico looks at daniel in that video is giving ‘you’re mine’ vibes

user10 no wtf don't say that...

user11 why do i feel like nico is totally in love with daniel and he just doesn’t know it yet?

user12 why is everyone suddently shipping them hello

user13 bc daniel hugged nico at the press conference 😭

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 2.5m others

nicosantos ok, so we look alike. i get it. but let’s be real, i’m not him. just because we share a lot similarities doesn’t mean we’re the same person. i’ve been getting a lot of hate in my DMs, and honestly, it’s getting old. so, can we all just chill and let me live my own life? respect is all i’m asking for

view all 954k comments

user1 literally, it’s just a resemblance, relax people

user2 the hate is so uncalled for. nico deserves respect not this mess

user3 people acting like he’s actually senna’s clone, chill out

user4 he's trying really hard to be 🙄

user5 the fact that nico has to explain this is crazy. let him breathe

user6 you can’t just deny the resemblance though, it’s a little weird you’re acting like it’s nothing

nicosantos i’m not denying it, but i’m also not claiming to be someone i’m not. it’s not that complicated

user7 he’s just salty because people keep bringing up senna. get over it

user8 he doesn’t owe anyone an apology for looking like someone. leave him alone

niconews ✔︎

liked by 47k users

niconews eyes never lie... this was nico just a day after all the hate he’s been facing recently. in a raw moment during an interview, when asked, "you seem pretty pissed at the situation," he didn’t hold back. nico responded, "well, people stick their noses in everyone’s business without thinking about feelings. i didn’t ask to be born the way i am, i’m just trying to live my life." his voice cracked, and despite trying to hold it together, tears started to form. it was a moment that showed just how much this constant pressure has been affecting him. in a world where we all expect people to be perfect or fit into certain molds, nico's vulnerability spoke volumes.

view all 9k comments

user1 it's heartbreaking to see someone so kind and real get treated like this

user2 the pressure he must be under is insane. we forget these are real people

user3 this is so unfair, just let the guy breathe for once

user4 he’s literally milking the whole senna comparison for attention. stop pretending like it’s all ‘the haters’

niconews if you think that’s what this is about, you clearly missed the point

user4 he’s literally crying over people pointing out how much he looks like senna? get over it niconews it’s not about looks, it’s about respect. maybe try understanding that

nicosantos ✔︎

liked by lando, carlossainz55, danielricciardo and 4.1m others

nicosantos bromance is real

tagged: lando

view all 1.4m comments

user1 aww the senna cap

user2 i love nico he's adorable

user3 lando 😭😭

user4 lando is always the funniest person in the group

user5 nico with the senna cap is a whole vibe. love the respect for the legend

user6 this is the kind of bromance we all need in our lives

user7 nico wearing the senna cap but being his own person? love that for him

nicosantos see now i can't tell if you're being sarcastic or fr 💀

user7 i was being fr 😭😭

user8 someone tell lando to stop being this extra, i can’t keep up

[iamquiantrelle]

OFFSIDES (chapter 1) ────── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black oc (☔️💕✨) # wc: 8.16k

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @jessnotwiththemess @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @rainbowsparkelsunshine @lbchi @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes

# summary: nazanin "naz" williams and real madrid star aurélien tchouaméni's casual relationship takes an unexpected turn. after he temporarily ghosts her, leading to leaked photos and public drama, they must face their feelings for each other and try to make their 'situationship' into something concrete. masterlist

Naz stared at her phone for what felt like the millionth time that day. Still nothing from Aurélien. Not even those stupid little notification bubbles that showed he'd at least seen her messages.

"Girl, this is not okay," Destiny said, sprawled across Naz's bed. "I don't care if he's Aurélien Tchouaméni or the king of Spain – you can't just ghost someone like that."

"He's not ghosting me," Naz muttered, but even she didn't believe it anymore. "He's probably just busy with-"

"With what? Call Cama."

"I'm not calling Eduardo."

"Yes, you are." Destiny was already grabbing Naz's phone. "If anyone knows what's up with your man, it's his bestie."

Before Naz could stop her, Destiny had Eduardo Camavinga on speaker. His voice filled the room, bright as always: "Ayyyy what's up?"

"Where's your boy at?" Destiny demanded.

"Who, Aurélien? He was supposed to come chill with me and my brothers today but canceled last minute. Why, what's up?"

Naz's stomach dropped. So he wasn't too busy for his phone. He just wasn't answering her.

"What's up is he's being weird," Destiny said. "Not answering calls, leaving messages on read-"

"Look," Cama's voice got serious, which was weird because Naz had never heard him anything but hyper. "It's been rough, yeah? The whistles at the Bernabéu, then that talk on Instagram... maybe he just needs space?"

"He can't have space right now!" Destiny practically yelled.

"Why not?" Now Cama sounded curious. "What's so urgent that-"

Naz grabbed the phone before Destiny could say more. "Cama, just... tell him to call me? Please?"

Something in her voice must've gotten through because all the playfulness dropped from his tone. "Okay. Yeah, I got you."

After they hung up, Naz's mind drifted to last weekend. She'd been in his box at the Bernabéu, watching him play against Espanyol. Before the match, he'd given her this gorgeous gold charm bracelet – a football charm, an 'A' pendant, little shoes (because she was always teasing him about his sneaker collection), and a graduation cap because she'd just finished her master's.

"So you don't forget about me when you're conquering the world," he'd said, fastening it around her wrist.

Like she could ever forget him.

It was crazy how it all started, really. Destiny had been hanging with Cama and his crew at some fancy club in Madrid, and she'd dragged Naz along. Naz remembered being nervous – she might've grown up following football because of her dad's obsession with the sport, but actually being around the players was different.

She'd known exactly who Aurélien was when she first saw him. Had watched enough of his games, read enough articles. Knew about his move from Monaco, the pressure of that price tag, how he'd proved everyone wrong. The way he moved on the pitch like he owned it, all graceful power and perfect positioning.

She also knew the game. Pretty girls and footballers – it was like this dance everyone knew the steps to but no one talked about. So yeah, maybe she made sure to be at the right parties, wear the right things, catch his eye.

But Aurélien had been... different. Even with everything undefined between them, even with no labels or promises, he was sweet. Attentive. Would send her good morning texts with stupid football memes. Would call just to hear about her day. Would show up at her apartment with takeout when she was stressed about her thesis.

Which was why this silence felt so wrong.

Her phone buzzed and her heart jumped – but it was just another worried text from her other friend Gia: girl what are you gonna do???

Naz stared at her reflection in the phone screen, at the gold bracelet catching the light on her wrist.

What was she going to do? Because this secret... it couldn't wait much longer.

She typed out one more message to Aurélien: We need to talk. Please.

Then she waited, watching those three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear, until finally, they stopped altogether.

And that's when she knew something had to give.

"This isn't like him," Naz mumbled, pacing her bedroom. "You don't understand, Des. I literally spent almost every weekend at his place in Madrid. Flying in from London after work on Fridays, staying until Sunday night. His dog Ocho even has his own bed in my apartment for when they visit."

"Girl-"

"I met his uncle, Des. His uncle. You know how private Aurélien is about family."

Destiny watched her from the bed, concern mixing with something harder in her expression. "Naz, breathe. Your anxiety is-"

"No, you don't get it." Naz twisted the gold bracelet on her wrist. "During the Euros? I was there every day. When France didn't make it to finals, he was... God, he was so wrecked. And I just held him, you know? Let him be upset without trying to fix it."

"Yeah, and that's sweet and all, but-" Destiny sat up straighter, her expression shifting. "Maybe he's giving that same comfort to someone else right now."

Naz froze. "What?"

"You know what I mean." Destiny's voice went gentle but firm. "Quality time. The horizontal kind."

"No." Naz shook her head. "Aurélien isn't like that-"

"Girl, get a fucking grip!" Destiny's braids swung as she threw up her hands. "He's a fine-ass footballer playing for Real Madrid. One of the biggest clubs in La Liga. He's drowning in pussy. He doesn't care about you or that-"

Naz's phone lit up, Aurélien's name flashing across the screen. Her heart jumped until she read the message: what's up why are you hitting up cama?

The tone was all wrong. Cold. Accusatory. Like she'd violated some unspoken rule by reaching out to his friend.

Before she could respond, Destiny snatched the phone. "I'll respond," she said, pushing her braids over her shoulder. "This nigga got you acting funny and I don't like it. You're not playing the game right, Naz."

Right. The game. The jersey chasing game that Naz was never fully invested in, not like Destiny who had WAG dreams and vision boards. For Naz, it had started as an escape from thesis stress that just happened to come with designer perks. Yeah, maybe at first she'd thought about the lavish vacations and gifts, but then...

Then she'd actually gotten to know him. Seen how he'd light up talking about tactics, how he'd spend hours playing with Ocho, how he'd call her at 3 AM just to hear her voice after a tough match.

Destiny handed the phone back, and Naz's eyes went wide at the paragraph her friend had sent: accusations of him being ain't shit, demands about why he'd been ignoring the SOS signals, a whole essay of confrontation.

Those three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Naz's stomach twisted – she knew exactly what was happening in his head. Aurélien hated confrontation. His whole vibe was chill, level-headed, always taking the higher ground. He'd rather walk away than—

Aurélien: fine Naz. Whatever you say. I thought if anyone knew what I was going through would be you right? Guess not. Guess that psychology degree seems worthless. Sorry I ignored you - had a rough few days and needed time to cool off and see that therapist you wanted me to get so badly. My communication sucked but you know I always get back to you. Well I thought you did. ✌🏾

That peace emoji. Naz's heart dropped. She knew what that meant – bye, adios, I'm done. Aurélien Tchouaméni had officially clocked the fuck out.

"No no no," she frantically typed back, but the messages wouldn't deliver. Called, but got that automated voice: "Sorry, the number you dialed cannot be reached at this moment. Please hang up and try again."

She tried again. And again. And again.

Because that was another thing about Aurélien – sweet as candy, yes, but also petty as all hell when pushed too far.

He'd blocked her.

She stared at Destiny, horror dawning. "What the fuck was that, Des?"

The bracelet felt heavy on her wrist now, each charm a reminder of everything she might have just lost. And the secret she still hadn't told him? The real reason she'd been so desperate to reach him?

It sat like lead in her stomach, growing heavier by the second.

"He blocked you? Wow, what a dead beat ass-"

"Des, shut up!" Naz screamed, making Destiny's eyes widen in shock. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper, "This isn't what I wanted, what I needed, what the... what the baby I'm carrying needs."

Des let out a dry chuckle. "What do you even mean?" She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. "You can milk this, bleed him fucking dry. Do you know how many gossip blogs would kill to have this info? Like you can be set-"

"Des, I don't give a fuck about that, not right now." Naz's voice cracked. "I just found out I'm pregnant and my child's father just blocked me. What's not clicking?"

"No one told you to be out here fucking him without a condom anyways." Des rolled her eyes. "I mean who rawdogs an athlete unless that was your angle all along..." Her voice trailed off as she literally pondered for a second. "Hmm maybe I should have Vini knock me up?"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Naz screeched and threw a throw pillow at her.

"Bitch, that hurt," Des said as the pillow hit her face.

"I don't care, Des. You're out here plotting about trapping Vini instead of worrying about your friend. You know how fucked up that sounds?"

Des rolled her eyes again, adjusting her clothes as she stood up from Naz's bed. "Girl whatever, I was trying to help you out, remember? You wanted all the nice pretty things and I told you these men don't care about us and your dumb ass got pregnant. Not my fault." She smoothed down her shirt. "Now you have two choices: abort that baby or have it be your golden egg. And as your friend, I'm gonna do what's best for you."

"Des, don't do anything stupid. You know how Aurélien-"

"I don't give a fuck. You're out of options, Nazanin." Des's voice turned hard. "You're not having any luck finding a new job and how will you support a baby?"

The words hit like bullets because Des had a point. Her current job barely covered her bills, and sure, she could treat herself occasionally when Aurélien wasn't spoiling her, but a baby? In her two-bedroom apartment with a roommate who hardly ever leaves?

But abortion...

"I can't do that," Naz said, sinking into her office chair. A tear rolled down her cheek as she shook her head. The stress was already too much – she could feel it in her bones, in the constant nausea she'd been fighting all week. "I can't do that without letting him know about it first."

"Well too late for that 'cuz you got blocked," Des said, her words cutting deeper than she probably meant them to.

Naz pressed her hand against her still-flat stomach. Just this morning, she'd walked into that clinic thinking about getting an implant because clearly, she and Aurélien needed to be more careful. Instead, she'd walked out with news that changed everything – six weeks pregnant. Six weeks of a life they'd created together, probably during one of those weekend visits where they'd gotten careless, too caught up in each other to think about consequences.

She thought about Aurélien, how attentive he was with everything else in their undefined relationship. How he'd notice if she was tired or stressed, would remember her favorite foods, would call just to make sure she got home safe after late flights. He deserved to know about this baby. He was equally responsible for this life they'd created, even if right now he was being petty and blocking her because of Des's stupid text.

"He needs to know," Naz said finally, wiping her eyes. "I don't care about money or support or any of that shit you're thinking about, Des. But he deserves to know he's going to be a father before we make any decisions."

"And how exactly are you planning to tell him when he's blocked your number?" Des demanded. "Gonna show up at training? Send a carrier pigeon? Call Cama again?"

The reality of the situation hit Naz full force. Here she was, six weeks pregnant, blocked by the father of her child, and her best friend was more concerned about how to manipulate the situation than actually helping.

Actions meet consequences indeed.

A week of silence felt like forever. Not just from Aurélien, but from everyone – Cama stopped answering, even Jude ghosted her. Funny how quick football friends disappeared when you weren't in the inner circle anymore.

Now here she was, sitting in a clinic exam room, trying not to throw up for the third time today. Earlier, in the waiting room, a heavily pregnant woman had smiled at her, offered advice about ginger tea for morning sickness. Naz had managed a weak "thanks" before the nurse called her back.

The exam table paper crinkled under her as she thought about how spectacularly everything had blown up. Des had taken matters into her own hands, sending those pictures to the gossip blogs – Naz at Aurélien's matches, in his private box, wearing his gifts. She'd thought maybe it would get his attention.

Instead, all she got was internet hate. Thirsty. Clout chaser. Another jersey hunter. People digging into her past, trying to find dirt. And still nothing from Aurélien.

"Have you considered termination?" The nurse asked gently.

Naz turned to stare at a poster about fetal development, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"You don't have to do this, you know. There's other options."

"Like what?" Naz snapped, immediately regretting her tone.

"Adoption? Or maybe raising the baby yourself? I'm a single mum and I have this group of women who are my support system. Do you have that, Nazanin?"

Naz shook her head. Gia would help if she wasn't across the continent, but Des? That bridge was burned. And moving back to New Jersey? To her mom and stepfather's judgmental house? They'd treat her like shit even if they loved the baby. But isn't that what being a parent meant – sacrificing comfort for your child?

"How long do I have to decide?" Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

The nurse explained the timeline, mentioned seeing a counselor first. "You seem like you have a lot on your mind right now. I don't think it's best to make these certain decisions at the moment."

"But I-"

"Nazanin, abortion is a serious thing to consider. Your mental health is important as well. Are you in contact with the child's father? Maybe-"

Her phone rang – unknown number. Her heart dropped to her shoes.

"I'll give you time to answer that." The nurse slipped out, leaving Naz alone with her racing thoughts.

"Hello?"

"Naz, what the fuck are you doing?" Aurélien's voice came through angry, other voices murmuring in the background.

"Give me the phone, Aurélien," she heard his uncle say, followed by scuffling.

"Nazanin, it's Bertrand." His usually warm voice was formal, distant.

"Hi," she croaked, sniffling.

"Nazanin, what is happening? I understand you and Aurélien are not seeing each other anymore but to put it on the blogs..." His disappointed tone broke something in her. She let out a sob. "Nazanin, are you okay?"

"Give me the phone, uncle." Aurélien's voice commanded. Patience had never been his strong suit when he was upset about something.

"Djani, I am handling this for you. Please show patience." Bertrand's tone was firm, used to managing his nephew's temperamental moments.

"Is Aurélien there?" Naz asked quietly.

"I can put the phone on speaker. Hold on." More scuffling and rustling filled the line. "He's here. He's listening now."

"Hey Naz." Aurélien's voice softened, sounding like her Aurélien again, the anger seemingly dissipated.

"Am I still your favorite artist?" She couldn't help asking, remembering their inside joke about sharing a name with the rapper.

He chuckled. "Always." Then quoted their favorite Nas lyric.

She smiled through her tears. "I'm sorry. Destiny thought-"

"I never liked that girl," Uncle Bertrand huffed.

"Yeah... she's something."

"Her spirit is not pure. I told you, Aurél, that it wasn't Nazanin's fault."

"It is my fault though. I told her to-"

"She manipulated you, Nazanin," Uncle Bertrand cut in. "We can apologize once you're back in Madrid."

"Uncle-"

"You need to apologize, Aurélien. We need to make this right."

"I know I do. I should've never sent that text to you, Nazanin."

"I know, Aurél. We made some mistakes."

"I was so upset-" Aurélien started, but Uncle Bertrand interrupted again.

"We can talk when she gets here."

Aurélien opened his mouth to say something else, but then the hospital PA system crackled overhead, and his tone changed instantly. "Nazanin, is everything okay? Why are you at the hospital?"

Her protector. Her lion. Always the one watching out for everyone else, even when he was angry.

"Aurélien, we need to talk."

"About?" His confusion was clear in his voice.

She heard Uncle Bertrand's soft "fuck" as he figured it out.

"Naz, what's going on?"

One deep breath. Two. Her news, the one she'd been holding onto for almost two weeks, exploded out of her mouth: "I'm pregnant."

Uncle Bertrand's louder "fuck" echoed through the phone, but from Aurélien? Nothing but silence.

"Aurélien?"

The line went dead.

Naz stared at her phone, hands shaking. Called back immediately – straight to voicemail. Again. Voicemail. A third time – same thing.

"Fuck," she whispered, then louder, "Fuck!"

The nurse chose that moment to return, taking in Naz's tear-streaked face with practiced sympathy. "Everything alright, love?"

"I just told him," Naz managed, still clutching her phone. "I just told the father and he... the call dropped and now he won't..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't voice how much it hurt that in this moment, this massive, life-changing moment, Aurélien had gone silent again. Or maybe Uncle Bertrand had taken his phone. Or maybe...

Her phone buzzed – a text from an unknown number. Her heart jumped until she opened it:

Nazanin, this is Bertrand. Aurélien is... processing. Give him a moment. We will call back soon. Please do not make any decisions without speaking to us first.

Us. Like she was dealing with Tchouaméni Management now instead of the man who'd held her through thunderstorms, who'd dance with her in his kitchen, who'd absentmindedly massaged her scalp while watching match footage.

"Do you want to reschedule?" the nurse asked gently. "Maybe take some time to talk things through with the father?"

If he ever calls back, Naz thought bitterly. But she just nodded, gathering her things. "Yeah, I think... I think I need a minute."

Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number:

Don't leave the clinic. Please. - A

Two seconds later:

I'm booking a flight. Stay there. Please.

Then from Bertrand: He's on his way. Hospital name?

Naz's hands were still shaking as she typed out the clinic's name and address. Three dots appeared almost immediately:

Flight booked. 2 hours. Don't move. Don't make any decisions. Please.

The 'please' caught her off guard. Aurélien, Mr. Confident, Mr. Always-In-Control, saying please. Thrice.

"The father's coming," she told the nurse, her voice steadier than she felt. "He's... he's flying in."

The nurse's eyebrows shot up. "Flying in? From where?"

"Madrid." Naz wiped her eyes. "He plays for Real Madrid."

Understanding dawned on the nurse's face – she must have seen the gossip blogs. But instead of judgment, she just squeezed Naz's shoulder. "There's a private waiting room down the hall. I'll make sure you're not disturbed."

Naz nodded gratefully, following her to a small room with comfortable chairs and warm lighting. As she sat down, her phone buzzed one more time:

Je suis désolé. For everything. For blocking you. For not listening. For not being there when you found out. I'm coming. We'll figure this out. Together.

She pressed her hand to her stomach, still flat but now feeling somehow different. More real.

"Your papa's coming," she whispered, then laughed wetly at herself for talking to a cluster of cells that couldn't hear her. "He's... he's actually coming."

********************************************************

Two hours and a half later, the door opened, and there he was – Aurélien in a Nike tracksuit, hood pulled up, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of everything hanging between them.

Then the duffel bag hit the floor with a thud, and Naz was moving before she could think, crashing into his chest as tears started falling. His arms came around her automatically, one hand cradling the back of her head like he always did.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her hair. "I'm so fucking sorry."

She pulled back enough to look at him, wiping her eyes. "I know what we are, what this was supposed to be. I know this isn't what you wanted-"

"How far along?" he cut in, his voice soft but steady.

"Almost eight weeks."

She watched him do the math in his head, saw the moment it clicked. "Mallorca." She nodded. "Fuck." He ran a hand over his face. "I wanted to go raw that time and look where it got us." A bitter laugh escaped him. "I'm sorry about blocking you too. Too much was in my head, I was angry-"

"We can worry about that later," she cut him off. "Right now we need to think about... about this."

They sat down next to each other, and Aurélien pulled his hood off, clasping his hands together. "What do you want to do?"

Naz tried to keep her voice neutral, clinical. "It's just cells right now, so... an abortion would be-"

She saw something flicker across his face, a tightening around his eyes, but he nodded. "If that's what you want."

She scoffed, shaking her head.

"What?"

"You'll let me go through with it?" Fresh tears were falling now.

"Naz... this is your decision too. You said that if you... abort the baby, it'll be fine. Is that not what you want?"

"I don't know what I want, Aurél."

"I don't either. This wasn't planned."

"No fucking shit!" The chair scraped against the floor as she stood abruptly.

Aurélien held his head in his hands, pulling lightly at his fresh taper fade, before letting out a groan. "Naz, we have to make a decision, okay? We can't keep running around and arguing about this. You're eight weeks pregnant, Nazanin, we have a timeline to... make a choice."

She folded her arms over her chest. "What do you want?"

"Naz... I really don't know..."

"Do you want me to abort the baby?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Nazanin." He rolled his eyes.

"Tell me, Aurélien... do you?" More emphasis this time, demanding an answer.

He went quiet, biting his bottom lip in that way he did when he was really thinking, probably running through every possible outcome in that tactical mind of his. The silence stretched until she was about to scream, when-

"Yes..." His eyes met hers, and she felt like someone had punched the air from her lungs. Those eyes that were usually so warm, so playful, now held something deeper – fear, uncertainty, a desperate need to make the right choice. "And no. Would having an abortion make things a hundred times easier – yes, but what about where that leaves you? We're 24 years old, Nazanin – this isn't like changing coursework at university. This is a baby. A human-"

"It's cells right now!"

"Don't give me that, Nazanin!" His shout made her flinch slightly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but don't try to be stale with your emotions. I know you are thinking about it too. A baby will make things hard for the both of us. We have to figure what we have out and make decisions on how to raise that baby. Would we just co-parent or would we be together?"

"I'm not gonna be a baby mama." Her voice was firm.

"And I don't want you to be, but what we have right now was casual... even though we only was with each other, it was still that. What I'm trying to say is – fuck!" He yanked at his hair again, frustration evident in every movement. "Naz, this wasn't supposed to happen. Shit, not like this."

"I know."

Naz sank back into her chair, suddenly exhausted. "What would your uncle say?"

"Uncle Bertrand?" Aurélien let out a dry laugh. "He's probably already planning the baby shower. You know how he is about family."

"And your parents?"

His jaw tightened. "They'd... adjust. Eventually." He turned to look at her. "What about yours?"

"My mom would probably fly straight to London just to kill me herself." She pressed her palms against her eyes. "Then she'd resurrect me just to lecture me about how I threw my life away for a footballer."

"You didn't throw your life away-"

"Didn't I though?" Her voice cracked. "Everything I worked for, my degree, my career... having a baby now would-"

"Who says you have to give any of that up?" There was an edge to his voice now. "You think I'd let you do this alone? You think I wouldn't make sure you and the baby had everything you needed?"

"That's not the point, Aurélien! I don't want to be some footballer's baby mama living off child support-"

"Stop saying that!" He was on his feet now, pacing the small room. "You're not just some... We're not..." He stopped, running his hands over his face. "Fuck, Naz, you will never be that to me. You know that."

She looked up at him, heart pounding. "Do I?"

"Eight months, Nazanin. Eight months of me flying you out every weekend, introducing you to my uncle, giving you keys to my place-"

"While keeping me your little secret-"

"To protect you! You saw what happened the minute those blogs got hold of those pictures. The shit they're saying about you..." He knelt in front of her chair, taking her hands in his. "I wanted to do this right. Take our time. But now..."

"Now what?"

"Now we have about seven months to figure out how to be parents." His thumbs traced circles on her palms. "If... if that's what you want."

Naz stared at their joined hands, at how his dwarfed hers. Hands that could control a ball with perfect precision, that could change the direction of a game, that were now offering to help guide her through this mess they'd created.

"I'm scared," she whispered.

"Me too." His honesty surprised her. Aurélien Tchouaméni, always so sure of himself, admitting fear. "But maybe that's okay? Maybe being scared means we're taking this seriously?"

"The press would have a field day."

"Fuck the press."

"Your career-"

"Will be fine. I'm not the first footballer to have a baby."

"Your girlfriend might object though," she couldn't help adding.

His head snapped up. "What girlfriend?"

"The model. The one they keep linking you to in the papers."

He actually laughed. "Naz, the only woman who's been in my bed for the past eight months is you. The only woman who has keys to my place is you. The only woman my dog actually listens to is you." His expression softened. "The only woman I want to figure this out with is you."

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "That's not fair. You can't say things like that when my hormones are all over the place."

His laugh was gentler this time. "Sorry." He reached up to wipe her tears away. "But I mean it. Whatever we decide – about the baby, about us – we do it together. No more blocking, no more games, no more letting other people get in our heads."

"Even Destiny?"

"Especially Destiny." He made a face. "Uncle Bertrand was right about her spirit."

That startled a laugh out of her. "Your uncle and his spiritual readings."

"He's never wrong though." Aurélien's expression turned serious again. "So what do you say? We take some time, really think about this? No pressure, no rushed decisions. Just... figure it out together?"

Naz looked at him – really looked at him. At the man who'd flown across countries the moment she needed him, who was on his knees in front of her offering support instead of easy solutions. At the potential father of her child.

"Together," she agreed softly.

His relief was visible. "Together." He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Now can we get out of this clinic? Hospitals make me nervous and I haven't eaten since I got your call."

"You're always hungry."

"Growing boy."

"You're literally a professional athlete."

He stood, pulling her up with him. "Exactly. Need to keep my strength up." His hand slid to her still-flat stomach. "Especially now."

The gesture should have felt presumptuous, but instead it felt... right. Like maybe they could actually do this.

A soft knock interrupted them, and the nurse from earlier poked her head in. Her eyes widened slightly at Aurélien's presence – of course she recognized him – but she maintained her professional demeanor.

"Everything alright in here?" she asked, though her gentle smile suggested she'd heard enough of their conversation to know things were better.

"Yeah," Naz managed, suddenly aware she was still holding Aurélien's hand. "We're just..."

"Taking things one step at a time," Aurélien finished, giving her hand a squeeze.

The nurse nodded. "Would you like to see the baby? You're far enough along for an ultrasound."

Naz felt Aurélien tense beside her. "We can... we can do that?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain.

"Of course. Let me get you two into a proper exam room first, and I'll give you some information about all your options." She gestured for them to follow her.

The new room was bigger, with an ultrasound machine and an exam table. The nurse handed them several pamphlets – Naz tried not to focus too hard on the ones about termination – and went through Naz's chart.

"Everything looks good so far," she said, patting the exam table. "Hop up here, love. Dad, you can sit right there."

Dad. The word made Aurélien's breath catch audibly.

"This might be a bit cold," the nurse warned as she applied the gel to Naz's stomach. Aurélien moved his chair closer, his eyes fixed on the screen.

For a moment, there was just static, and then...

"There we go," the nurse said softly. "See that little flutter? That's the heartbeat."

Naz heard Aurélien's sharp intake of breath. She turned to look at him and found his eyes were glassy, his usually composed expression cracking around the edges.

"Quite strong for eight weeks," the nurse continued, taking measurements. "Everything looks perfectly normal. Would you like a picture to take home?"

"Yes," Aurélien said immediately, then looked at Naz. "If... if that's okay?"

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Because that flutter on the screen... that was real. That was their baby. Not just cells, but a actual heartbeat and an embryo.

The nurse printed two copies of the ultrasound – "One for each of you" – and helped Naz clean up. "I'll give you a moment," she said, heading for the door. "When you're ready, there's a private exit through the back. I assume you'd prefer that?"

Aurélien nodded gratefully. Being spotted at a women's clinic was the last thing either of them needed right now.

Once they were alone, he looked down at the ultrasound picture in his hands. His fingers traced the tiny shape that would become their child.

"It's so small," he whispered.

"Yeah." Naz slid off the table, straightening her clothes.

"But that heartbeat..." He shook his head in wonder. "That was... fuck, Naz."

"I know." She leaned into him, and his arm came around her automatically.

"You still scared?"

"Terrified."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Me too. But maybe a little less than before?"

She nodded against his chest. The flutter of that heartbeat had changed something, made it all more real but also somehow less overwhelming. Maybe because now they were facing it together.

"Come on," he said finally, grabbing his duffel bag. "Let's get out of here. We can grab some food, talk more about everything."

The nurse was waiting by the back exit, holding the door open for them. "Take care of each other," she said softly as they passed.

Aurélien's hand found the small of Naz's back, guiding her through the door into the afternoon sun. His other hand was still holding the ultrasound picture, tucked safely in his pocket like something precious.

Maybe because it was.

Aurélien stifled another yawn as he sat against the training pitch wall, water bottle dangling from his fingers. The 5 AM flight from London had him running on fumes, but it wasn't just the lack of sleep weighing on him. Last night with Naz had been... intense. Hours of tears and whispered conversations, trying to map out a future neither of them had planned for.

He'd held her while she cried about her career, about her mother's inevitable reaction, about all the ways this could go wrong. Then she'd held him when the reality of everything finally hit and he'd broken down too.

Uncle Bertrand's lecture still rang in his ears: "Sexual responsibility, Djani. Being a man means facing consequences." Like he didn't know that. Like the ultrasound picture burning a hole in his wallet wasn't consequence enough.

Fling. The word kept bouncing around his head, making him grimace. That's what everyone would call Naz – his fling, his hookup, maybe his special friend if they were being polite. But how do you label someone who's seen you at your lowest after losing crucial matches? Someone who stays up till 3 AM discussing racism in football commentary? Someone who gets why you sometimes feel like you're not enough, even when you're playing for Real Madrid?

And now she was carrying his child.

"Yo." Cama's voice cut through his thoughts as his teammate dropped down beside him. Jude wasn't far behind, settling into the grass with that easy confidence of his.

"You look like shit, mate," Jude offered helpfully.

Aurélien took another swig of water. "Early flight."

"From London?" Cama's tone was careful, too careful. "We saw the blogs. About Naz."

The ultrasound picture felt heavier in his wallet. "Yeah."

"Everything good?" Jude asked, and Aurélien could hear the real question underneath: Are you good?

He stared out at the training pitch, at the pristine grass that had always been his escape. But football couldn't solve this one. Couldn't tell him how to be a father at 24, how to protect Naz from the media shitstorm that was coming, how to balance a baby with his career.

"She's pregnant," he said finally, the words still feeling foreign on his tongue.

The silence that followed was deafening. Then:

"Fuck," from Jude.

"Putain," from Cama.

Aurélien let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah."

"What are you gonna do?" Cama asked, all traces of his usual playfulness gone.

"Keep it." He didn't realize he'd made that decision until the words came out. "I want to keep it."

"You sure?" Jude's voice was gentle. "It's a lot, mate. The press alone..."

"Fuck the press." Aurélien pulled the ultrasound from his wallet, looked at that tiny flutter of life that had changed everything. "We saw the heartbeat yesterday. It's... it's real."

His teammates leaned in to look at the picture, and for a moment, they were just three young guys staring at something miraculous and terrifying.

"What if she goes through with it?" Jude asked carefully. "The abortion. Would you be mad?"

Aurélien stared at the grass, rolling the water bottle between his palms. Was he ready to be a father? Hell no. But could he just let Naz terminate their pregnancy? The thought made his stomach turn.

"I can't be mad at her. It's her choice too," he said finally. "I support her right to her choice, but... it's different when it's your baby."

"Is it your baby though?" Cama's face had that weird look he got when he was about to say something controversial. Both Jude and Aurélien glared at him. "We know those types of girls.... we fuck 'em and leave 'em but they have other plans."

"Naz isn't like that," Aurélien's voice went hard.

"Naz who also hangs out with Destiny who was with me and is now making her way through the team," Cama pushed back.

Aurélien let out a frustrated huff. "Naz never gave me that vibe. She even shared her location - she was too focused on me."

"Whoa, she shared her location with you?" Jude's eyebrows shot up.

"Once or twice. Thing is, I always knew where she was at.... so yeah, definitely my baby."

Jude scoffed, shaking his head. "I can't believe you went raw. Like condoms aren't fun and all, but they protect you."

"Thanks Jude, really needed that advice," Aurélien said sarcastically.

"But you want a baby?" Cama pressed. "Bro, you won't be able to have fun."

"I can still have fun, but it'll be different now. Have to be more responsible."

"No more clubs, no more trips... you'll be out here worrying about nappies and which bottle is best." Jude sounded almost sad about it.

Aurélien shrugged. "I'm a homebody anyways, so what's the point? Is this what I want right now while going through this bullshit? No. But I was there making that baby with her, so it is what it is."

"I still think you should do a DNA test first." Aurélien shot Cama another glare, and his teammate put up his hands in surrender. "Just for your peace of mind."

"It's too early to do that. We'd have to keep it and then wait to do one."

"Fuck..." Cama exhaled heavily. "So do you let her get rid of it then?"

"Don't call the baby 'it'," Aurélien snapped. "That's not an 'it'. That's my kid."

The silence that followed was heavy with understanding. This wasn't just about Aurélien anymore, or even about Naz. It was about that tiny flutter of life that had somehow changed everything.

"Whatever she decides..." Jude started carefully.

"Yeah." Aurélien finally tucked the picture away. "Whatever she decides. But fuck, I hope she doesn't..."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't voice his fear that Naz might choose differently, that she might end this before it really began. Because how do you tell someone you want them to keep a baby neither of you planned for? How do you ask them to change their whole life because you can't stop thinking about that little heartbeat?

The whistle blew, signaling the end of their break. As they stood, Cama bumped his shoulder.

"You know we got you, right? Whatever you need."

"Yeah," Jude added. "Even if it's just covering for you when you're falling asleep during training."

Aurélien rolled his eyes, but the knot in his chest loosened slightly. Maybe they weren't ready for any of this – the baby, the responsibility, the scrutiny that was coming. But at least they weren't facing it alone.

Back to football. Back to pretending his whole world hadn't just shifted on its axis.

"Tchouaméni!" Ancelotti called out. "Focus!"

He'd missed a simple pass – the kind he could usually make in his sleep. But his head was somewhere else, somewhere in London with Naz, probably still crying on her bedroom floor.

"Sorry, Coach," he called back, shaking his head to clear it.

Training continued, but every movement felt mechanical. Pass, move, track back. His body knew what to do even if his mind was elsewhere. During shooting practice, he caught himself thinking about baby-proofing his villa. While defending set pieces, he wondered if the baby would have Naz's eyes.

"You're in your head," Cama said during another water break. "Coach is noticing."

"Let him notice." Aurélien took a long drink. "Got bigger things to worry about."

"Like what crib to buy?" Jude teased, but his smile faded when he saw Aurélien's expression. "Wait, are you actually-"

"I looked at some last night," Aurélien admitted quietly. "When Naz finally fell asleep. Found this really nice one, all white with gold trim-"

"Bro," Cama cut in. "You can't be planning nurseries when she hasn't even decided if-"

"I know!" The water bottle crumpled in Aurélien's grip. "You think I don't know that? But what else am I supposed to do? Just sit around waiting for her to decide if my kid gets to exist or not?"

A few teammates glanced their way at his outburst. Jude stepped closer, blocking their view.

"Maybe that's exactly what you need to do," he said gently. "Show her you'll support her either way. That it's really her choice."

"Even if her choice kills me?"

The raw honesty in his voice made both his friends pause. This wasn't their usual Aurélien – confident, composed, always in control. This was someone terrified of losing something he hadn't even known he wanted until yesterday.

"Send her the crib," Cama said suddenly.

"What?"

"Send her the link to the crib you liked. Show her you're thinking about it. About the future. But don't pressure her. Just... let her know you're ready if she is."

Aurélien stared at him. "That's... actually smart."

"I have my moments." Cama grinned. "Now can you please focus on training before Coach makes us all run sprints?"

But focusing was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw that ultrasound image. Every time he caught his breath, he heard that tiny heartbeat. And every time his phone buzzed in the locker room, his heart stopped, wondering if this was the message from Naz that would either make or break him.

Because that's what it came down to, really. In less than 48 hours, he'd gone from being Real Madrid's midfielder to potentially being someone's father. And somehow, impossibly, the second title felt bigger than the first.

****************************************************************

After training, Aurélien found Uncle Bertrand waiting in his kitchen, sage burning because "the energy needs cleansing, nephew." The older man was stirring something that smelled like his grandmother's cooking, probably trying to comfort him with food like always.

"You look tired, Djani," Bertrand said, not turning around. "Sit. Eat."

"I'm not hungry-"

"Sit."

Aurélien sat. Some battles weren't worth fighting, especially with Uncle Bertrand.

"Have you spoken to Nazanin today?"

"Not since I left London." He pulled out his phone, staring at their last text exchange from this morning: Landed safely. Get some rest. And her reply: You too.

"You should call her."

"And say what?" Aurélien pushed his food around the plate. "'Hey, I know you're dealing with possibly the biggest decision of your life, but I found this really nice crib online?'"

Bertrand turned, fixing him with that look that always made him feel about five years old. "Is that what you want to say to her?"

"I don't know what I want to say. I don't know what I can say." He dropped his fork. "She could terminate and there's nothing I can do about it."

"This is true."

"I'd have to support her decision."

"Also true."

"But uncle…" His voice cracked slightly. "I saw the heartbeat."

Bertrand's expression softened. "I know, nephew. But Nazanin must make this choice herself. Without pressure."

"Even from me?"

"Especially from you." Bertrand sat across from him. "But showing her you're thinking of the future? This is not pressure. This is… hope."

Aurélien pulled out his phone again, found the crib he'd bookmarked during those sleepless hours in London. White with gold trim, converting into a toddler bed, probably cost more than some people's cars but…

"Send it," Bertrand said softly.

His thumb hovered over the link. Then:

Saw this last night. Made me think about possibilities.

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Three dots appeared almost immediately. Disappeared. Appeared again. His heart was somewhere in his throat when her reply finally came through:

It's beautiful.

Then: But expensive.

Money's not an issue, he typed back.

Aurel…

Just showing you I'm thinking about it. About everything. No pressure.

A longer pause this time. Then: I had an appointment with a counselor today.

His hands were shaking slightly as he replied: Yeah? How'd it go?

She helped me see some things clearly.

His stomach dropped. This was it. She was going to tell him she'd made her decision, that she was going to-

I'm scared of doing this alone.

Relief flooded through him. You're not alone. Never alone with this.

Promise?

On everything. On football. On my life.

She sent back a heart emoji, then: The crib really is beautiful.

"See?" Bertrand's voice made him jump – he'd almost forgotten his uncle was there. "Hope."

"She's still scared."

"Of course she is. You're both children yourselves."

"I'm twenty-four-"

"Children," Bertrand repeated firmly. "But children can grow. Children can learn. Children can become parents, if they choose."

If they choose. Those words again. Always coming back to choice.

His phone buzzed one more time: Send me more nursery stuff you like?

Something warm bloomed in his chest. "Uncle?"

"Mm?"

"I think… I think we might be having a baby."

Bertrand's smile was gentle. "Perhaps. But first, you eat. Growing fathers need their strength."

Aurélien looked down at his plate, found himself actually hungry for the first time all day. Because maybe Naz hadn't made her final decision yet, but she was thinking about cribs and nurseries and possibilities.

And right now, possibility felt a lot like hope.

"You know," Bertrand said carefully, watching his nephew finally eat, "we still need to discuss your mother."

The fork clattered against the plate. Aurélien's head dropped to the cool marble countertop with a dull thud. "Fuck!"

"Language."

"Sorry, uncle, but… fuck." He pressed his forehead harder against the marble. "She already called me twice about those blog posts."

"Mm." Bertrand's hum was knowing. "She wasn't pleased."

That was an understatement. His mother had been livid about seeing her son's 'private affairs' splashed across gossip sites. She had very specific ideas about how a footballer should conduct himself – everything behind closed doors, everything properly managed.

"'Sowing your wild oats is one thing, Aurélien,'" he mimicked her tone, "'but discretion is everything.'"

"And now?"

"Now I have to tell her those wild oats actually sprouted." He lifted his head just enough to bang it against the counter again. "She's going to kill me."

"She won't kill you." Bertrand paused. "Maim you, perhaps."

"Not helping, uncle."

"Have you thought about how you'll tell her?"

"I was kind of hoping you'd do it?" He tried his most winning smile, the one that usually got him out of trouble.

"No." Bertrand's response was immediate. "This is your responsibility."

"But-"

"Your mother needs to hear this from you. Not from me, not from the blogs, not from some PR statement." Bertrand's voice softened. "She needs to see you taking responsibility."

Aurélien finally sat up, rubbing his forehead. "She's going to say I'm too young. That I'm ruining my career. That I should've been more careful-"

"All true things."

"Uncle."

"But," Bertrand continued, "she is also your mother. And that?" He pointed to Aurélien's phone, still open to his conversation with Naz about nursery furniture. "That will be her grandchild. If Nazanin chooses to keep it."

"If." That word again, hanging heavy between them.

"Your mother might surprise you. But she needs to hear it from you, Djani. Man to mother."

His phone lit up with another text from Naz – a different crib design, this one with a matching changing table. His heart did that weird flutter thing again.

"I'll call her later," he decided. "After I talk to Naz more. Figure out where we stand."

Bertrand nodded approvingly. "Good. Now finish your food. You have nursery furniture to shop for."

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I'm old, nephew. Let me have my future grand-uncle joy."

Aurélien shook his head, but he was smiling as he picked up his fork again. One hurdle at a time. First Naz, then his mother, then… everything else.

His phone buzzed again. A message from his mother this time: We need to talk about these blogs, Aurélien.

He stared at it for a long moment before typing back: Yes, we do. Tomorrow?

Her response was immediate: Finally. See you then. Love you.

"Fuck," he whispered again, but softly enough that Uncle Bertrand wouldn't hear.

Because how exactly do you tell your image-conscious mother that those blog posts were about to become the least of her worries?

.............tbd

[arliaeien]

This makes me think about my evolution as a writer.

My first long fic, as a new writer, I used to consider a chapter done around 2k~2,5k words. That's around 10 pages in Word.

Rewriting this same story one year later, it grew between 3,5k~5k. At the same time, as a reader, I was enjoying more and more the longer chapters (between 5k~10k).

There had been a long time while I only was writing one-shots, then engaging as a beta reader, making translations... To sum up: not writing stories, and even less, ones needing me to arrange a new story in different chapters.

Some years ago, I dedicated myself to the rewriting of my first story (the last I've done) and had those quite big chapters (around 7k), I was happy with, and that didn't make me think, except that one time, I had to cut one too big in two smaller ones. Those chapters were in no way a 'one idea, one chapter' thing like. The cuts were rather happening when there was a change about the place, and/or time passing.

And when I started writing the sequel of this 80k story, about the characters meeting monthly, I just wrote a one-shot for every month. Whatever it was 10k, 20k or even 30k.

It's not written in English and the fandom was almost dead for the last ten years. There were no readers (think like 30 hits in five years on AO3). So why should I have cared? The big one-shot was what I personally prefer.

Came year 2021. New fandom, existing fan base in English, no one in my mother tongue. And I've gotten this idea of post-canon story. One, nobody had done before me. Or rather, nobody had done it, the way I wanted it to be. It's this that has triggered me trying to write in English. ...probably succeeding, at some point. It is a 70k, in the end.

First long story in a while, whatever the language was different, I've kept the same tastes and methods, reflecting over the construction of the story, and ended up having chapter between 5k~7,5k. My goal was quite easy : three main ideas / scenes making one chapter. Providing long chapters to readers was what's important to me, because that's what I love myself.

Up to these last years. I'm working on a monster story (156k ongoing \o/). I didn't have any plan, starting writing it. My first chapter was a two-big-scenes, around 3K words, which I consider cool enough. Second chapter... was happening later, somewhere else. And I ended up having four-big-scenes, 7k words. Yeah, could cut this in two parts. Except number 3 was 3-big-scenes and 5k words. Go tear your own hair out. This was difficult to me. I couldn't work with chapters with sizes so different. It wasn't me. It didn't feel good. I couldn't see how anyone could actually enjoy such variations. How could it be considered otherwise than "Oh yeah, one long/short chapter!" / "Oh no, one long/short chapter!" depending on the reader's taste.

How long is not the point. REGULARITY was the point.

So my badly proportionate 'chapters' became 'arcs'. And every arc, was cut around 1,5k words. One idea, two maximum, and cut! I loved this. Writing fanfictions about one manga whose chapters were arranged to form arcs, it felt like respecting the canon better. Felt great!

...well, I was still myself. My goal of going between 1,2k~2k words for one chapter become 1,5k~2k. Then 2,5k. Today, I'm a little annoyed proofreading, having to fight against myself for some of them not going over 3k. Not too bad, but not what I wanted.

This to say: I'm living a paradox. The way I publish this story wouldn't suit me as a reader. 1,5k or even 2k a week is to me desperately slow.

I just can't. Re-reading some moments of the story for pleasure, or working on it, I usually go with 3 of them. Sometimes 4. All by instinct, not caring whether it's an arc or crossing two or more of them. Because the 5k~10k is what work for me as a reader :P

So, what's my point?

The ideal length doesn't exist. It's a matter of skill, and of feelings, but not only. My ideal length as a new writer was different from 2-years experience me, 5-years, 10-years, and now 18-years experience me. Sometimes I've cared about reader-experience, sometimes I haven't. I have loved the years producing the fattest one-shots. It's unrivaled freedom writing something. But even without arranging chapters, there were breaks, cutting scenes, the reader was able to breathe. And nowadays, publishing weekly for one year and a half, I use a format I wouldn't like myself but readers seems to enjoy (and that's strangely the same as the one I once used as a beginner : 2,5k per chapter).

...perhaps all this is a circle. ⚪

While looking for something else, I found an old ask I answered about "ideal chapter length" in terms of word count.

I've been asked this probably a dozen or more times, and each time I need to take a moment and adjust my thinking to take the asker's point of view into account. Because the thing is? The only time I ever try to factor the word count into how I write a story is when I'm aiming for a true drabble.

For whatever reason, this difference in thinking stuck with me today and I actually considered why that might be. And I think it's because I'm in my 40s and the first 25-30 years of my life, any stories I was reading were printed on paper and bound into physical books.

When I imagine a novel, I still think of a mass market paperback on my bookshelf. An average one would be maybe an inch thick, probably in the neighbourhood of 300 pages. A long one would be maybe as much as two inches thick and 500 or more pages long. A short one was always nice to have because it filled in the gaps in the shelf because 200 page books were so much narrower. Or so it seemed.

When I started posting my fic online, I still thought in terms of pages. I'd type them out in whatever word processing software I was using at the time, and I'd usually get a chapter's worth of ideas into 3 or 4 pages. Turns out that's about 1000 words, which makes sense with the number of 1000 word essays I wrote in high school. I'd been trained to encapsulate an idea into approximately that length.

And that's what it comes down to. The thing that always made that question seem weird to me. A chapter isn't about how many words there are in it, just like a cake isn't about how many cups of flour exist in each slice. A chapter is a an idea that helps make up a bigger idea called a story, and it needs to be however many words that idea needs to be to get it out.

[thefirstlioveyou]

Mike's Core Fear - No, it isn't not being needed/loved, and no, he doesn't actually need El to need him

Disclaimer: this is technically a discussion on whether mike's Enneagram is type 6 or 2, but this is can still read as a general analysis on mike's actual driving fear. i've been stumped on which he is because of his whole thing with wanting to be needed by el, but still somehow matching entirely as a type 6. i realized while how it may seem his fear is not being needed... it's not the core fear driving mike's actions. also, i'm still learning about the enneagram. bare with me if i mess up or misunderstand something lol. and please correct me

Mike isn't a Type Two just because he wants to be needed by El. He just doesn't relate to any of the motivations of a Two. He isn't wanting or expecting appreciation for his efforts. He doesn't feel under appreciated. Even though he technically is, that isn't relevant to him here. He doesn't care about that. It's the exact opposite. Mike doesn't feel deserving. He feels like he does nothing. He feels inferior to El.

If he is not a Two, this means at his core, Mike's deepest fear isn't not being loved/needed like we've been thinking. Don't get me wrong, it is one of his wants (I mean.. Who doesn't want to be needed and loved?). It's something he canonically cares about... It's just not for the reason we've been thinking. It's not what he desires the most. It's not what he truly fears.

I think his core fear is something along the lines of abandonment/rejection and being without support/guidance, making him a Type Six.

i can't really articulate my explanation with all the terminology since i'm still learning more and more about enneagram typing. but I will try to make sense in my own way lol.

here are some quick things that show me mike's afraid of abandonment and to be without support/guidance:

- he is constantly losing will and el throughout the show in different ways, affecting him greatly every time. loss is already a consistent theme in his story.

- mike hides the real reason for his bruise from el, avoiding potential rejection or embarrassment. he doesn't want el to see him the way others do and essentially drive her away.

- before meeting will, he claims to have felt so scared and alone because he didn't have any friends and knew no one. fear went away once he did finally meet someone. not a lot of kids express feeling scared and alone with tears on the first day of school. scared, sure!! who isn't? but scared and alone? now that's another thing, especially just for the first day.

- one of his fears is revealed in dustin's book. he is scared of letting down the ones he loves. what happens when you let someone down? you're at risk of losing that person's respect, love, support, etc.

- will's "what if they don't like the truth?" resonates with mike. this is similar to the point above. mike is afraid to el the truth because he doesn't want to disappoint and let her down - he's at risk of losing her entirely.

- when mike tries to reach el in s2 on halloween through the walkie talkie, he talks about having a bad day and wishing she was there. he also reaches out again to her after having a bad dinner with his parents and being forced to donate his toys as a punishment. he doesn't specify that to her, but it becomes clear why he's trying to communicate to her. he's trying to cope with events in his own life.

- during mike's monologue, he admits he doesn't know how to live without el. hmmm.

that all being said... as you can probably tell, there's a specific pattern when it comes to el lol. i think it's safe to say:

mike doesn't need el to need him - he needs her.

why? well it makes perfect sense. el is his shield. she has protected him from the main thing that brought him trouble his whole life - his bullies (and the supernatural)

But, she is also the superhero he feels inferior to, the superhero he wishes he could be.. but instead is lois lane (actually, he feels even less than her).

season 1, el protects mike and saves him in multiple occasions from bullies. he is saved from getting ass beat by troy. he is saved from literal death. she saves the whole group as a whole in multiple occasions from the supernatural and government.

mike calls her a weapon. this is important because the only thing mike's seen her use her powers as defense at that point was to defend him from his bullies and when him and lucas were fighting. interesting huh?

Before we see her save him from bullies, we are introduced to the group's experience with bullying. we get a scene where mike is tripped and ends up with a scab on his chin, which he hides from her until she manages to get the truth out of him. She tells him she understands.

ALL THIS is why he keeps referring back to her powers and putting her on a pedestal. THIS is why he sees himself as lois lane and her as superman. Without her, he has no actual defense or "weapon." Without her, he would've died because of his bullies. He is projecting what he wishes he could be on her.

"You can fly." no?? she can make you fly, mike

This is one of the reasons why the cliff scene is SO important. Mike and Dustin are confronted with their bullies who are looking for revenge. The bullies threaten Mike. If he doesn't jump off the cliff, they will cut off Dustin's baby teeth. Mike is defenseless. He doesn't have powers. He can't fight someone who has a knife. His aim is shit enough. He can't do anything. He has to jump and throw away his life, ultimately letting the bullies win. With true bravery, he steps off the cliff for his friend. Gone. Oh wait. He's saved by a supernatural force. He doesn't actually fall to death - He flies his way back to the surface instead! Winning against the bullies... The bullies running away scared... Except... that was all of El's doings. Not his. She's the one who saved him and Dustin. Not him. She's the one who gets the praise, not him. Why would he? Over someone like that? Mike gets it. He's just as impressed.

Similar thing happens in the sauna test. While Mike is the only one with the courage to stop Billy from choking El, it still isn't enough. He once again has to be saved by her.

Notice how he doesn't even try to defend himself as Troy goes for him. He's still like he is in the sauna when Billy has him trapped.

He doesn't fight back. He may start the fight... But he never can finish it. It's either physically impossible or because of discouragement. But, that doesn't stop Mike from for some reason trying again. Still no good.

And even more to think about: He goes about how he thinks El doesn't need him anymore. But.. when has she even suggested to him that she needs him? Like, actually? He's literally just assuming that.

S1, before the trauma of losing her, he was genuinely just trying to help her because she actually did need help. S2, she's not even there. He's literally desperately trying to reach out to her without even hearing anything back from her. He's the one that needs her, not the other way around. S3, she literally basically says it to his face she doesn't need him. S4, el's actions to mike are closed off. she lied the entire time. it's not like she was begging for his help and for him the whole time?

We only ever see HER saving and protecting Mike, not the other way around. There is nothing for Mike to think she needs him. Therefore... This whole thing is just another case of mike projecting once again. Classic Michael! Also very much a Six thing - Projection of fears and insecurities.

Now that we got the whole Mike and El thing out of the way..

If he is a Two, and if he fears not being needed the most, and to be needed is *the* desire, where does the forced conformity part of his storyline even come from then?

Seeing him as a Six makes the forced conformity bit align far better than if he really is a Two.

Season 2. He is immediately confused by Lucas and Dustin's interest in Max. He doesn't understand their crushes the whole season and ends up pissed as hell by it. He refuses to let her in the Party and rejects her (something a type two would not do). In his eyes, she is ruining the structure of the group. Lucas and Dustin spend more time with her during Halloween and ruins his day, later complaining about it to El briefly on the walkie talkie.

He just can't understand their obsession with this girl. He is behind all of them, he feels.. at least based on the least possibly obvious blocking /s.

He's alone on this. They all agree on this except him. The structure of the group is falling apart due to crushes and girls when he obviously doesn't want them to go to the direction.

But by the end of the season, while sitting alone at the snowball as the rest of his friends dance with someone, this is where he finally decides to give in and join the rest in growing up and focus on girls. Mike doesn't want to be behind and alone, but he can't stop this change. They have to grow up. He chooses to stick to society's rules because that's the most secure way through. That's where his friends are, his source of support and guidance, so that's where he'll be.

He needs El because he needs the strength and protection she gives that he believes he doesn't have himself, which he must learn to conquer. He does not want to be left behind and therefore conforms to fit in with his friends, pushing aside all the things he really actually wants. Despite his overwhelming insecurities, he wants to be the paladin he is in DnD. He wants to lead a structured group to victory. He wants to lead his own life instead of following societal expectations, even if he's alone on it (which he won't be)

Mike is stuck with lots of fears and insecurities and is afraid of being without support or guidance. "I don't know how to live without you" tells you exactly what Mike needs to learn - How to live without someone like El who shields him. He must become a hero himself and must believe it is possible, regardless of what his little negative head tells him. He is meant to be Superman.

Mike is a six. End of the post.

(specifically 6w7 but not the argument here lol)

[mqriuss]

To be named is to be special

from 'us, always' collection

recommended to read "a gift" first / divider by cafekitsune

"…You got a name?" He asked, his voice rough.

Your eyes lit up a little at that. "LIV," you said and Rindou pursed his lips.

"That's your brand's name."

Rindou doesn't name you the first day he got you. Did you even... need a different name? You already referred to yourself as LIV anyway, and he was fine with that. You seemed fine with that.

For a few weeks, that's all he'd call you—LIV. And he'd insisted you addressed him as just 'Rindou' whenever you tried calling him a pet name.

"Do you not like being called 'baby'? How 'bout 'sweetheart'?"

"Just call me Rindou."

"Okay."

Then you'd make that same mistake the next day. He thinks it's probably because you were programmed to think anyone who owned a Companion Aptroid would be desperate enough to want an Aptroid to call them "honey bear". But since you were gifted to Rindou, he has to sort of help you... unlearn some of what you were meant to do. Like calling him pet names.

One day, he realized something when he overheard a store manager yelling at his Aptroid worker.

"But sir, I don't think I can spare any more time for this-" the Aptroid tried to decline, but it only made his manager even more furious.

"Are you telling me no? It's an order!"

It was as if a switch had been flipped—the Aptroid immediately went back to work, looking almost embarrassed when he saw that Rindou was watching the whole thing unfold.

As Rindou browsed around the place, the manager appeared and started complaining to no one in particular. "Ah, these damn Aptroids... I thought they were just meant to work and obey. Is it 'cause he's an Apt-05?"

Rindou raised an eyebrow at him, "Apt-05 is an older version, right?" He queried.

"They ain't that old, the latest Aptroid model is an Apt-07. I heard they're more obedient—might have to replace him soon. I dunno what's up with him, but he's been having a mind of his own lately," he absentmindedly spoke, lighting himself a cigarette. Rindou listened with curiosity, but didn't think much of his words yet. "These days, he'll only listen if I tell him it's an order. I never had to do that till about a year ago."

Rindou perked up at that.

"You're home, sweetheart! I made you dinner, how was work?" You greeted him warmly that night, placing a dish on the small dining table. He doesn't answer you for a while, only taking his coat off in silence before he sat down whilst eyeing you.

"What if I told you it was an order?"

"Hm?"

"Call me Rindou. That's an order."

It worked. You really did call him Rindou ever since that day. So for another few days, it was just Rindou... and LIV. And you never really complained.

Emphasis on "another few days".

"Will you name me?" You asked him one day when the both of you were sitting on the couch, watching a movie.

He had to sit with your question for a while. What are you, a pet? Can't you pick a name yourself? Did he need to name you?

"What's wrong with LIV?" Rindou asked you back.

"It's not mine," you hesitated. Rindou absentmindedly turned back to the TV after you answered him, unknowing of what to say next for a while. You noticed, so you sat up straight and added, "I don't like it."

He crossed his arms behind his head. "Alright," he said, "if you don't like LIV, then pick a new name."

You nodded, this should be easy, you both thought. But the seconds stretch and you had gone really quiet. Rindou watched as your brows furrowed slightly.

Finally, you shook your head, "I can't do it."

Rindou blinked. "What do you mean you can't?" He questioned, receiving a shrug on your end. "Can't as in you don't want to, or can't as in it's literally impossible?"

"I don't know—I tried, really."

"You can memorize a whole article about the World War II after reading it once, but you can't name yourself?"

"Yeah, no kidding."

He tilted his head. "Uh, try thinking of a name you like right now," he suggested.

"Rindou."

At your immediate response, Rindou choked. "I- huh?" Were you seriously flattering him now? He thought as his face reddened slightly. "That's my name, dumbass."

"You asked me for a name I liked."

Rindou groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "For yourself," he clarified and is met with an "oh". He sat up, turning to face you slightly. "Okay, forget that. Just think of any name, what's the first that comes to mind?"

"Sophie," you replied.

"Great. Do you want that name?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

He stared at you. You stared back. Your blank expression turned into one of worry when Rindou let out a long sigh. "If i I told you this was an order, could you do it?"

"I'm sorry," you spoke softly. "I know what you're trying to make me do, and I really did try. I just don't know why I can't."

His eyes softened visibly—although only a little bit—when he heard the subtle frustration in your tone. "Don't apologize," he said, awkwardly trying to sound comforting. The movie in front of you was long forgotten as Rindou's mind began to wander. Sure, he thought you're being stubborn, but he was too. Why couldn't he just name you? Satisfy the both of you by giving you a name other than LIV, and ending this back and forth for good? Plus, it might not be your fault that you're being stubborn—he was about to find out as he eyed the holo-screen projector on the table.

He waved a hand near it to trigger its sensor, projecting the holo-screen in front of him. With a few taps of his fingers, he typed into the web, "can Aptroids name themselves?"

The very first result caught his eye immediately: "To be named is to be special." Clicking on it gave him all the answers he needed.

An Aptroid cannot name themselves.

An Aptroid must be named by the person in charge of them.

An Aptroid is special when they are personally named.

His jaw tensed, eyebrows furrowed. 'The person in charge of them.'

Technically, he's just your boyfriend, right? Would that be synonymous with being your 'owner' in this case? The idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

Though then again... the day you first called him by his name, he had told you it was an order, and it worked.

Rindou turned to you again, placing a hand on your knee. "Do you belong to me?" He asked, hesitant.

And you nodded.

His head hung low in thought for a moment. "Alright, you want a name from me, right? Can I give you three options and let you pick?"

You perked up at that and it was as if your eyes twinkled. "I'd like that," you said, nodding eagerly this time.

So you picked your name that day. Even though he had to give you options, he's at ease knowing it was your decision in the end. You deserved to pick.

[weird-is-life]

hii! could i request an aaron x reader where you're in desperate need of a hug and you ask him for one after a stressful case? (he could totally use one too) ty!! 🤍

Ty for this cute request! Warnings: bau!reader, tough case, reader is mentally exhausted,(0.6k)

This case was tough. You don't know what it was that hit you so hard about it, but it did. You tried to relax on the flight home, but the music didn't help, and neither anything that usually does.

Most of the team goes back to the office, paperwork waiting for all of you. You sit down in your chair, ready to get lost in all of the paperwork.

Hours later or days, there's a tap on your shoulder. You look up, blinking the soreness from your eyes. Aaron is standing next to your chair with his suitcase in his hand.

"Y/N, what are you still doing here?" Aaron questions, usually he's the last one here.

"Sorry, Hotch. I just got carried away with the work, I think," you check the clock on your desk, wincing when you see that it's almost midnight.

"C'mon, I'll take you home," you would protest if you weren't so tired that you would probably crash your car. And if it wasn't Aaron who said it.

"I can take uber, Hotch. It's fine really. You should hurry home to Jack," you try to reason with him as you pack your things.

"Jack is with Jessica, and besides you live on my way home so I don't mind at all, c'mon," Aaron patiently waits while you slowly get up from your chair, and move to stand beside him.

Aaron notices that you are unusually quiet as you walk towards the elevator. He contemplates on whether he should say something or just let it go.

The elevator dings open, and you both step inside. You look like a kicked puppy, and to be honest Aaron feels the same.

"Hey, are you okay?" Aaron finally asks. You only look at him, and he already knows the answer to that.

"Yeah," you lie," just tired." Aaron sees right through you. Not because he can obviously read it from your face, but because the case hit him hard as well.

"Me too," he thinks what he should say to make you feel better. There's just something about you, and he can't stand seeing you so upset.

"But..." he starts," If there's anything I can do, y/n. I'm here for you as-as your friend," Aaron ignores the slight hurt in his chest when he says the word 'friend'.

You just nod. You don't really know what you need right now. Your mind is a mess, and Aaron soft smile isn't helping the mess at all.

The elevator finally gets to the lowest floor, and when you and Aaron move to get out of it Aaron's hand brushes yours.

You realise how much you crave the warmth of a touch after this case as you trail after Aaron. The walk to his car seems endless. You can't decide if you can just ask him for a hug, if it wouldn't be too weird.

"Okay, what is it?" Aaron notices your the wheels turning in your head anxiously.

You let out a deep breath, and look at him. He looks as pained as you feel, pained that you won't tell him what's wrong.

"C-Could I...." you start sheepishly," can I have a hug?" If he looks confused by your request he doesn't show it. His face fixed in his grumpy expression ad always.

He drops his bag on the ground, and then his strong hands are around you. You immediately melt with his touch, your arms locking around his torso.

Aaron shouldn't like having you in his arms as much as he does. You are perfect fit, like two pieces of puzzle melting together.

Aaron, selfishly, lets you hold him however long you want. He would let you do it even the whole night.

You stand there for long minutes. When you finally let go, Aaron doesn't say anything only drags you inside the car. He doesn't say anything even when he drives you home with your cheeks red as tomatoes the whole time.

[theyluvpeach]

chasing you.

you avoid him. he catches you. dealer!reader x client!chris blurb <3

He's starting to think he's the problem. Those are words Chris never thought would form in his brain—But here he is, trying to figure out why hasn't seen you all week.

It doesn't make any sense. You're always around campus, yet when he's actively looking for you, you're nowhere to be seen. Chris doesn't even want to talk to you. He just wants to give you your shit back so Matt will stop bothering him about it.

Even though he's your friend—And he was the one to even invite you to the party in the first place—He has to return your heels cause apparently, Matt has better shit to do then chase you around all day.

He's been all around campus looking for you. If you're not at the campus cafe, he's gonna launch your heels at Matt's head.

Matt is so lucky you're here.

You're in the corner at a booth with tons of books and your computer in front of you. You're not your usual neon colored self. There's no star clips in your hair. You don't have on an overly tight top. No flared jeans. You're unrecognizable.

He can see the fear settle in your eyes as he walks up to you. So, you were avoiding him.

"Chris." The tension in your voice is quite frankly, insane. That night, after leaving you in his room, all he did was talk to Matt about what to do with you and then passed out on the couch after the party was over. What could he have done in that time?

"Kid, I know you were shitfaced last week, but I can't believe you forgot all about your stuff." You blink at him multiple times. "What?"

He shoves your heels and tights that are stuffed in them to you, "Y'know? All this?"

You slowly take them, your face lighting up. "Oh... Oh!"

"Huh?" He's confused. You were all gloomy just a second ago, and now you look like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Mh....I thought we fucked, if I'm being completely honest." He watches you tuck your heels away into your bag. "This reminded me we didn't, thanks."

Chris, for once in his life, is speechless. You were avoiding him because you thought you guys fucked. Honestly, he'll take this over you being all over Aiden. He wonders if you remember that... he's not gonna bring it up.

Huh. This is probably how the girls he sleeps with feel after they wake up alone in the morning.

"Nah, I don' fuck my brothers friends." You tilt your head at him, annoyingly, and raise your eyebrow. "Michelle."

"Doesn't count."

"Brittany."

"Also doesn't count."

"Vivi—"

"You friends with all the girls I fuck or somethin'?" You laugh, loudly. Bringing attention to yourself, but you don't care. You're definitely back to your usual self. "Some of them. They're wondering why I'm hanging around Mr. Community Dick."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Matt deserves that title."

"Eh, you guys are tied." You smile at him. And he gets that feeling in his chest again. The one that makes him feel like he's dying. When you start looking at him like he's crazy makes him remember that you guys are having a conversation and process that's he's staring at you.

He awkwardly coughs. "Whatcha' got all these books for anyway?" You groan, resting your forehead on the table. "Ecology."

He blinks.

"Plants." You sit up, resting your head in your hands, "Its the study of how living organisms interact with their physical environment—"

"We get it. You're smart. Trust."

"Well—" You flush at the compliment. Maybe not pissing you off gets him places. "That's just the definition!"

He eyes the stacks of books at your table. "You got a test, or are you just a nerd?"

You scoff. "I'm not a nerd. We have a test, and since my teacher writes questions like she hasn't talked to a human being in years, I'm doing some light reading."

"Light reading?" He teases. "Whatever." He checks his phone as you roll your eyes, well shit.

He spent way more time talking to you than he thought he would. He's gonna be late to the class he promised Nate he'd go to for the first time in forever.

"Gotta go," He says, beginning to walk backward towards the exit, "Don't drink so much next time, alright, kid? Not tryna chase you around again."

"I would've remembered eventually!"

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizzzsstuff @sosasturns @drewswife

[nobodyfamousposts]

It's you dislike of Adrien solely because of his actions on the show, or was it also because of his fandom?

A mix of both, but honestly? I'd say it's more because of his fandom. With Canon, I probably would have written a single salt fic for him and moved on because I did still like him and overall felt I could do more with him than Canon was willing to, but I was on a binge of Miraculous fics for a while I started to notice a reoccurring trend in the fandom and many fanfics. Even the ones that didn't outright hate on Marinette before seemed to have this rather one-sided view of their relationship.

Them getting together was being primarily for HIS sake, regardless of Marinette's feelings or personal needs.

Any issue was on Marinette to apologize and fix, regardless whether or not he was in the wrong. And completely IGNORING whether Marinette was even realistically or reasonably capable of fixing them.

The "true selves" argument was all too common, mostly if not entirely on the side of Marinette needing to be the one to learn a lesson and accept Adrien for his "true self" as Chat. Nevermind that this was never an actual point in Canon.

Marinette needing to be the one to work to be worthy of him...which, hello? Hasn't Canon made her do enough yet?

All these stories I read and fandom comments I saw were ultimately indicative of a desire for a completely one-sided relationship between the two where Marinette has to be the one to prove herself to be "good enough for him", to "earn" a place at his side, to work to be "deserving" of his heart, to take care of his physical and emotions needs and effectively serve as a replacement mother figure...at least when she wasn't otherwise expected to "save him" from his oh so horrible life as a rich and popular supermodel.

Even in stories where he was completely in the wrong on a major point, matters wouldn't get resolved until Marinette was the one to have to step up and make an effort, make ADRIEN feel better about whatever happened, apologize for something that either wasn't her fault or was relatively minor in the face of his own actions, and fix things so they but specifically HE can be happy.

Sorry all, I know Adrien is popular and has no agency either in or out of Canon, but I can't NOT see it. And I can't stop seeing it, especially as we get more Marinette hate that seems to reinforce this narrative or otherwise say that failing being this perfect housewife/mother to him, she should suffer in loneliness for the rest of her life.

All anyone had to do was just...let Adrien be wrong. Let him acknowledge being wrong, apologize for it, and be the one to make things right. No excuses. No "but but he's a sad boi!" Just let him be wrong and try to be better. And yet much like Canon, the fandom has been quite insistent that THAT be the one thing they refuse to allow.

[afurtivecake]

ok I'm going to have to defend Abby here. I know there is an argument that Abby should have known better than to say something like "My Foxes fight back," to Jean, a victim of recent brutality. It definitely comes across as tactless from Jean's POV and you would expect the nurse of a team of traumatized students to know what to say. But I don't think Abby actually knows what to say in these situations - and I don't think it's her fault.

This line from Wymack's bonus chapter suggests that Abby really doesn't have the same sort of background as Wymack and their players:

"David had sworn years ago not to interfere with his kids' fixes so long as they didn't get caught or end up hospitalized. It had led to more fights than he could count between him and Abby in the early days. She'd given in eventually, though she'd probably never forgive him for taking such a stance when he should be setting a better example. Maybe she was right, or maybe she didn't have enough nightmares to understand."

While Abby has agreed to back Wymack up on the issue of allowing players to take drugs, Wymack still believes that Abby privately disagrees. Wymack insists upon it because of his personal experiences in life and guesses that Abby doesn't have those same experiences to understand why he insists upon it.

It's easy to forget because of the POV the story is in, but Abby's reaction is the "normal" one. Most people do not support giving students alcohol and see it as their responsibility to stop students from taking drugs if they find out about it. Wymack only takes the harm reduction approach (i.e. allowing/giving recovering addicts the substance they are addicted to safely, instead of forcing them to be cut off immediately. A divisive approach, even nowadays.) because of his own experiences, not because he has formal training in addictions counselling/treatment. All Abby is doing, is sticking with what she knows and believes will help these young people.

Abby is very "by-the-book" in comparison to Wymack or even Betsy. She argues against taking Andrew off his medication and putting him in rehab immediately because she believes it goes against the recommended procedure of these situations. She argues against it out of genuine concern for Andrew, because she believes going against the recommended procedures will do him more harm than good.

It makes me think back to Abby's interactions with Neil back in AFTG, where Abby says, "Sometimes I think this job is going to kill me, seeing what people have done, what people continue to do, to my Foxes," right after Neil's been through hell at Evermore. This always rubbed me the wrong way because Neil's just been put through the wringer and all Abby can talk about it how much it's affecting her? She can give up this job at any time and walk away but Neil can't just walk away from being in his situation. But this is a really common sentiment among people who work with vulnerable populations. It's called "vicarious trauma" and it can happen when working with and empathizing with survivors of trauma. It can lead to lingering feelings of anger, sadness, guilt and burnout. Those feelings are no more Abby's fault that the feelings experienced in response to direct trauma.

The way I read it, Abby isn't trying to blame Jean or shame him for his victimhood. What Abby sees is a kid who acts like he's already given up on life, a kid who doesn't want others' kindness. It's not an unreasonable assumption to make; even Kevin and Neil have said that Jean "isn't a fighter." My interpretation is that Abby's "My Foxes fight back," is her attempt at copying Wymack's gruff support. I think she's hoping that a direct challenge will spark pride or defiance, or at least enough anger, to stop Jean from giving up. She's seen Wymack and Neil strong-arm Kevin into being brave all year, and I think she thought that that's what Jean needed to hear too. After all, it really seems to work when Wymack does it. But the difference between her and Wymack is that Wymack's understanding of what their players need comes from personal experience. He knows when the right time to say certain things are. Andrew tells Neil first thing, "Coach always knows what to say." And that's not because Wymack is a better person than Abby; it's just because Wymack knows from experience what they need to hear.

It's not Abby's fault that she doesn't understand them the way that Wymack does and that she can't help them the way that Wymack can. She doesn't have Wymack's lived experience. What's she's been doing this entire time is trying to understand what these kids need and trying to do the best she can for them with what she knows. She genuinely cares and she's trying, but she's making all the mistakes a normal person would make. And that's perfectly realistic and fine! It doesn't mean she doesn't care about the students she works with. It doesn't make her a horrible person. It just means that she's just kind of painfully normal. In fact, her painfully normal responses have helped too. Like when she hugs Neil and though Neil's not used to hugs (like, at all), it's new and comforting and something only she would have and could have given him at the time. And yes, she's going to fuck up from time to time and not be able to give people what they need, but that's part of caring for anyone.

[ramp-it-up]

https://www.tumblr.com/noellez-best-life23/775232829230546944?source=share Hi!! It was this one, I think it should work! And can't wait for the next chapter!

Oh, My. Oh, Nonnie. 🥵

Yes, that look was (excuse me, I have to wipe my mouth).

VERY Inspirational.

And it is the week of love. Why the hell not?

And thank you for the ask, Nonnie! This actually helped me with the next chapters of the story. 😉

Smut under the cut

Bespoke

Summary: You have to express your feelings about how Bucky looks in that suit.

Word count: 500 ish

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This drabble is in the Knock You Down AU, and comes immediately after both Worth the Fall and the Steve Rogers fic Peach VI.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Smut! Furmoasa prepared to gossip, lust, Bucky Barnes being smoking hot, spitting, implied blow job. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

--------

You walked into Bucky's closet the early afternoon of the gala with piping hot tea that you were going to spill. You knew he was in there getting his suit together for the gala.

“Oh my God, Bucky! Peach and Steve are….”

You lost your train of thought when you saw what was happening.

Bucky was standing in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his crisp white dress shirt in the sleeves of his tailored suit jacket. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and the pants fit his slim waist perfectly.

"Those two fools are fucking? It was only a matter of time..."

You’d seen him in suits before.

Many times. 

But something about this moment, the effortless way he moved, his broad shoulders in the suit coat, and the sweet wrinkles of concentration on his brow hit you like a damn freight train.

That, combined with the extra floof in his hair from his fingers raking through it and the fact that he was barefoot made you feral as fuck.

He looked so handsome and he wasn’t even trying.

You stopped in the doorway of the closet, biting your lip as you took him in.

Bucky caught the reflection of you ogling him in the mirror and a slow smirk graced his face.

“See something you like, Frumoasă?”

You looked at him in the mirror and licked your lips.

“You have no idea.”

Bucky turned around and in a moment, you were on him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the muscles there under the expensive cotton broadcloth and grazing over the exposed skin at his collar.

You craned your neck to run your lips along the whiskers that adorned his sharp jaw line and then trailed kisses down his neck, unbuttoning the rest of the fastenings on the shirt.

Bucky chuckled, running his hands down your sides and landing on your ample hips.

“Baby…”

“Shut up,” you murmured against his skin, biting down on his collarbone just enough to make him hiss.

“Jesus. It’s just a tux, Frumoasă.”

You shook your head, pushing him backward out of the closet and toward the edge of the bed. You didn't hesitate to cop a feel of his pecs.

“No. It’s you in the tux. My sexy ass man.” 

Your hands slid lower, teasing over his belt and cupping his now hard cock.

“Looking like this.”

Bucky let out a low groan, his head tilting back slightly as you sank to your knees. You were busy unbuckling his belt like a mad woman and looking up at him with those eyes.

“Fuck, Doll. The hair and makeup people will be here in…” 

“I don’t care,” you interrupted, unbuttoning his pants and letting them fall on the floor.

“You probably want to take all this shit off, because I’m about to get real nasty.”

You leaned forward and nuzzled his sac through his boxer briefs.

Bucky’s eyes dilated as he grabbed your hair. He looked down at you and the black of his pupils was taking over the blue. He gave you a wicked grin as he kicked the pants away from him and took off the shirt and jacket, flinging them on the nearest chair.

“You are going to be the death of me.”

You grinned as you tied your hair up. Bucky took off his underwear and sat on the edge of the bed as you took him in your grip and spit on his cock. You watched it drip down his balls, then you replied.

“Then I'll suck your soul out for you.”

------

Let me know if you like it!

[littelovelunette]

vi being a bit of a loser and the reader is like a very popular girl and like yk a mean femme and after teasing vi for so long the reader lets her hit

Loser Lover

Contains smut, clit play, hickeys, clueless loser!vi

vi was leaned against the wall of the campus fork outside and listening to music on her headphones as she revised some last minute stuff.

your car pulled up in front and she couldn't help glance up and she saw you, probably the prettiest girl in the grade. vi had to quickly avert her gaze because she was partially scared you'd take notice of her.

vi was muscular yeah, and could fight but it was pretty girls like you who had such a high ego and such a nasty attitude that made her panties twist and suddenly she was just as good as a chihuahua in the rain.

"tch," vi mumbled trying to bury her face in the folder of papers as she walked in the gate shoulder bumping you mistakenly.

you looked up from your phone looking over at her and gave her a once over.

"who do you think you are?" your voice was low but degrading, "don't ever bump into me with your peasant clothes and whatever you—" you began not really bothering to look at her face but once you did, oh those blue eyes had you in a mental chokehold, "i mean," you cleared your throat, "it's whatever."

vi sighed softly as she watched you leave, "what was that about?" she shrugged to herself and continued reading her notes as she walked to the locker room to put her file back inside.

you were the queen bee of the school what were the odds that you liked her?

you seemed Ike the straightest person in history of straight people. vi smiled to herself and shook her head as she thought about the possibility of you being into her.

she entered the classroom and blinked as pretty much everyone had their eyes on her.

she didn't know what to say or to do so she was went to her exam allocated seat, sitting down and hung her head as per usual.

while later, you came in almost looking prettier than before when you came and sat down right behind vi.

"who's the nerd?" one of your friends asked.

"probably yknow like a hotshot," you said, teasingly but didn't really hold as much malice as when you joked about other people. maybe you liked her.

"wel she sure has a sense of fashion," the girl replied with a dry humourless tone clearly she was being sarcastic and you sighed at that, "i get you."

the exam ended and all the while the next few classes you had teased vi relentlessly with flirtatious and sexual jokes. you were headed to the changing room to put your jacket on the locker but then gasped when someone pinned you to your locker of the changing room.

"so, cupcake, you've been teasing me all day long," vi said, muscles flexing beneath her shirt that had you speechless.

"i-"

"so what will it be, man or woman?" vi asked with a smirk, how was this bitch a supposed loner? you sighed a shuddering breath and don't really know what to do so your arms encircled around her neck and you pressed a kiss on her lips. vi grabbing ahold of your waist pulled you closer, kissing you deeply.

after the long kiss, you pulled back, "where'd you learn to do all that?"

"first time," vi said catching her breath

"pffft, loser," you scoffed making her ears turn red slightly and she pouted and goddamn did she look so adorable when pouting like that, "you wanna take this a step further and let me give you a few more first times?"

vi nodded, eyes blinking curiously at the thought of more first times of course she didn't understand the dirty meaning you were going for.

she was just so innocent... waiting to be ruined by you, you couldn't help chuckle at the thought, pressing kisses to her neck, vi sure was a loud one so she had to muffle her moans using a hand.

"you don't want others to hear about this do you? the most popular girl of the campus fucking the loser? pffft sounds like a wattpad fantasy," you said, planting hickeys along her collarbone and neck before you grabbed her pants, unbuttoning and letting them fall to her ankles, "hmmm..."

vi squeezed her eyes shut, looking away, she was blushing so hard she looked like she had a fever of 103⁰, you didn't pay heed to that though you found her cute.

your gaze was fixed on the wet mess in front of you, her panties were absolutely soaked, you pulled it down to free her pink bush, smiling at the sight of her wetness clinging onto the inside of her thighs too.

"i..." vi tried to explain but was cut out when you rubbed her clit making her muffle a moan back instead. her clit was super sensitive, not to mention a cute colour of red by now, it was small but flesh, you squeezed it between two fingers, "mhm? want mommy to make you feel good?"

"yes please," vi whispered. you looked at your freshly done manicures, those would hurt if inside. you held her muscular thighs and sucked a spot on her clit, moving down to delve your tongue inside eyes closing slowly as you did so.

"oh, my gosh, your tongue feels amazing, nnn..." vi's eyebrows curled up, lips shut tight as she trembled in your hold wetness dripping out of her slit and all over your tongue.

your sucked on her hole, letting your tongue flick her clitoris and bit the fleshy nub making her back urge and body jolt, "th-that hurts a little... but 's good..." vi whimpered.

"can you just shut up and enjoy this?" you sighed, holding her thighs open as you continued licking her hole and started tongue fucking her, vi's knees buckled and you knew she was close.

"i-i feel we-weird," vi cried out muffling her sounds with her hand, cumming in your mouth, "d-did i just pee?" she stuttered out

"no, idiot, you cam," you licked her juices off clean before getting up, "you look so miserable," you laughed.

vi whimpered softly, before leaning in and kissing you needily. she was your pupply, alright

[moontheoretist]

Funny how you were hidden in my reblogs and I didn't even notice you for 2 months. I guess ignoring you would be my best option here BUT I want to say a thing or two about your lack of fandom etiquette:

I know very well why the situation in the canon happened. That's why what I'm saying in my post is a HEADcanon. It's a headcanon because it's not canon. It doesn't have to be canon for me and others to enjoy this ship. I like it that way, you don't have to.

Don't like, don't read. Ship and let ship. You dislike the ship, I really like the ship. I like when people start at odds and then slowly grow to understand and care for each other. It's an interesting ship dynamic. With Nathaniel and Castiel there is a bonus of them having a past where they respected each other, but Deborah destroyed it all. So for them going from hateful to cordial to romance is just thrilling. (Not to mention how they flipped their aesthetics / personalities later in My Candy Love: University). It's just one of the ship dynamics I enjoy. It's not a crime to like it.

I specifically wrote "it's probably unpopular opinion" because this ship is a minor ship and not many people ships it, so obviously it's not very much popular. Still, if someone wanted to start shipping them, that episode is the best opportunity to start the romance.

It's actually hilarious how you flared up at the mere sight of the ship. It's also so hilarious that your blog has only 2 posts and both hateful.

Stew in your very rude and very "I don't deserve fandom" rage.

I won't "stop trying to do bad ship" because I don't want to.

And I don't have to. It's my blog. You are a pest here.

Die mad about it I guess 😘

It’s probably unpopular opinion, but if you do not romance both Castiel and Nathaniel, episode 33 is where it becomes clear that those two are getting closer (their convo in Thomas’ room was very private and very calm) and that Nathaniel was showing off his muscles for Castiel, because it was his attempt at flirting.

And it goddamn worked.

[deathlygristly]

It's very weird online when you grew up in a bit of rural southern Appalachia in the 80s and 90s and when you see people talk about people like you there is absolutely nothing recognizable in what they say.

I get that my hometown has changed a lot in the 20+ years since I left. I get that social media destroyed so much. But it's just...

Like I'm reading the notes on a post about "speaking their language" in an attempt to get people to be less bigoted, and I do not remember people being extremely bigoted when I was growing up. I don't remember people hating some Other or getting enraged about whatever. I mean, honestly, I don't even remember anyone getting bullied at my schools. I hung out with people who didn't have many friends and I remember teachers being like I'm glad you took them on, but the thing is that I don't remember anyone actively being mean to them.

Like there was a little guy who was also One Of Us (neurodivergent, probably autistic) but less socially able than I was. I hung out with him and he developed a little crush on me, but honestly I don't remember anyone being mean to him. Not being close friends with him, sure, but no one was getting beaten up or harassed or having things thrown at them or hateful things spray painted on lockers or in bathrooms or whatever.

And of course there was the bit of weirdness with my best friend and a girl who liked a guy who liked me in high school, but it never got really truly serious and they both apologized to me on Facebook as adults.

Also pretty much everyone I went to school with and then found on Facebook was normal and not hateful and not MAGA brained. I deleted my Facebook account in November after the election results, but yeah. Also though while most people still live in the same state, very few of us still live in our hometown.

So people on the internet say "You have to speak working class Southerner to try and make them a bit less bigoted!" and I'm like "That is my native language and I have no idea how to do what you're telling me to do and I don't know anyone who thinks like you say we all do."

It's just weird.

The closest I can get to what the internet says my people should be like is the oldest of my two half-brothers, who I haven't spoken to in decades and who once held a gun on us in the midst of one of his episodes. He's currently living in rural New York with his extremely religious second wife, and his community there in a northern state sounds much more like what people on the internet insist my community is like than anything I've ever personally experienced.

[sulumuns-dootah]

Hello and can i ask if its okay for a request? If its okay, I read your ‘WHB Characters meeting their Obey me counterparts’ and got the idea…

What if the WHB Kings meeting Diavolo from Obey me?

Or WHB Angels & Angels from Obey me? (you can choose one or make a request or not, if you like)

Thank you in advance

WHB kings meeting prince Diavolo

⟡ Masterlist ⟡

A/N: Hi! I actually wrote the Seraphims meeting their OM! version in the second part of OM! meeting WHB ^^ (Took me a while but I'm back, babey!)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Oh hey, this future king of Hell isn't as scary as Satan expected

Actually, he kinda reminds him of Mammon in a way

With the whole golden retriver energy

On the other hand, Diavolo is intruqued with Satan's biker persona

Don't tell Barbatos, but he might buy a bike too and ride it while Barbatos is busy with chores around the castle

       ༺☆༻

These two get along really well

I already mentioned that they're really similar so lemme talk about it a bit more

They both have their royal manners, but still try to reach out to their people from their privileged pedestal

Also, they don't take anything much seriously

Like you could spill a whole gallon of soup on them and they'll ask if you're okay and then laugh it all off

       ༺☆༻

I really hope that Diavolo doesn't have any expectations based on the brothers

Leviathans couldn't be the furthest from each other so I doubt Diavolo would be able to befriend Levi by cosplaying Ruri-chan for him

At first he'll be his cheery self, but after Levi responds in a luke-warm way, he'll pretty much shut himself off

Leviathan, being Leviathan, doesn't wanna have anything to do with some other king of Hell

Will even try to start a competition about whose Barbatos is the better servant (OM!Barbatos wins, sorry)

       ༺☆༻

Oh but these two will hit it off nicely

Chaos ensues

Might be the frist time where Diavolo has to be the one to stop shenanigans from spiralling out of control

Please do make sure that Beel doesn't find out about Diavolo's fear of pickled vegetables, or he might end up chasing him around the castle (like that video of that one woman who was terrified of olives)

       ༺☆༻

Given what happened with OM!Belphegor did, Diavolo is a bit vary while meeting Belphie

Though, his fears are pretty much calmed when he finds out that this guy can't go an hour or so without falling asleep

He really admires how Nifleheim manages to not descent into chaos and definitely wants to try and implement some of the rules in the Devildom

Belphegor didn't even realise that someone new was in the room

Will probably ask Beleth if he changed up his style and tell him that red is not his color and that he should just keep the suit he wears normally

       ༺☆༻

Okay, Diavolo is scared

Like geniunelly terrified

He will actually refuse to be around Asmo for an extended period of time

Just hearing all the stories about him is enough

And even if he didn't, the smell would speak for Asmo enough

On Asmo's end, you already know he'd be down (who wouldn't he be for tho?)

Depending on the look that Diavolo would be in, different things would turn him on about him

       ༺☆༻

Lucifer saddens him

To what extent are the kings and the brothers different? Do they carry similar mindsets and feelings? If so, he really needs to have a long conversation with OM!Lucifer

Lucifer, on the other hand, is finally happy to find out who tf the Diavolo guy is

For some reason he kept thinking about it after having met his OM! self who would constantly only talk about him

Lucifer likes him, overall ^^