#so I'm trying to think of EVERYTHING the first time so I don't have to constantly be submitting menu items to the fckn county

[thebibliosphere]

My husband and I were discussing how the first felon is defending the FDA and how the quality control of our food is gonna basically disappear and I proceeded to have so much anxiety about it that I didn't sleep last night. How do we prepare for this? Is there a way to make food safe at home? How can we avoid getting poisoned from the grocery store? Sorry for bringing this anxiety to your inbox but I'm exhausted and scared and I'm hoping you've come up with food safety tips what with your general food complications.

I’m afraid I don’t have a solution for something of this scale and am just as equally terrified, but that said:

Check your local state regulations. Some states actually have strict testing that the FDA when it comes to certain things like milk. See if they are listing any recalls.

Stop eating things raw for the foreseeable future. Wash and cook everything thoroughly, even if the bag claims it’s pre-washed, wash it again. Cooking will also help eliminate any remaining pathogens. It means no more salads for a while but that’s okay.

For things like fruit, try to go with things that have an outer skin that can be taken off. If it requires you to cut into it with a knife, give the outer skin a scrub and rinse to reduce the chances of your knife being contaminated by anything like e-coli and then contaminating the insides by cutting it up.

For fruit that can’t be peeled, make sure to inspect and wash them thoroughly. If you are immunocompromised like me, consider cooking it down into a jam or pie filling to reduce further risk. Not as fun as eating it fresh for some people, but it’s a valid way of still getting the flavor and nutrients.

For things like milk, only drink pasteurized and ultra pasteurized. Try to get pasteurized eggs if you can too.

If you don’t have a meat thermometer, now is the time to get one. Make sore everything is cooked to its required internal temperature. For poultry, the recommended temperature is 165°F (74°C), while for beef and pork, the recommended temperature is 145°F (63°C) with a 3-minute rest time. Ground meats should be cooked to 160°F (71°C). Eggs should be cooked until the yolk is set. No more runny egg yolks for a bit until we get a competent source of information back about bird flu.

For things like flour, try to go for reputable brands that have their own independent testing facilities for things like gluten. They also usually test for other things and clean their facilities thoroughly. My go to is King Arthur atm.

Also, stop eating raw cookie dough if you’re not going to toast the flour in the oven first. That’s how a lot of people get sick, not necessarily from the raw egg, though stop eating raw egg right now if you do. Again, bird flu. [Addendum] I learned the flour trick in a job I used to work, but apparently, the pre-defunded FDA didn't think toasting the flour made it safe, so maybe just don't eat raw cookie dough. And I know someone's going to be a cunt in the notes like "I don't care I do what I want" good for you, hope saying that made you feel better.]

This is a dwindling possibility with the tariffs but try to buy food imported from other countries that still have food quality control. I get my masa harina from a small company that imports directly from Colombia. They can’t afford the gluten free label required to be classified as such in the USA, but considering Cheerios in the USA can afford to buy that label and the celiac foundation certification logo and still routinely sells contaminated produce due to not using gluten free oats and a mechanical sorting system that can’t be certified gluten free (1) (2) (3), I’m more inclined to go with other countries labeling right now.

With clean water under threat, use a filter for your drinking water. We currently use the ones by Life Straw. They don’t fit into your faucet but the LS filters are better than most of the ones that can be attached that way and the housing of the jugs and countertop filters are easy to clean. Make sure you do so once a week and change the filters as directed.

Most of this is just basic food hygiene stuff combined with what it’s like to be immunocompromised, but it’s always worth repeating in case someone didn’t know, but especially worth repeating right now with all our rules and regulating bodies going out the window 😞

[stilllivinginthesewers]

Let's go with my second most important OC (should I do it with all of them?)

Name : Riley (i asked ChatGPT until i was satisfied with the name 💀)

Age : 17 years old

Love interests : Some guy named Louie, a really good cook scared of any type of firearms (though he becomes the most dangerous man ever if you spoil his food/bother him while he's cooking)

Favourite food : Red Guacamole (red avocadoes exist in this universe as well as blue and green ones, and red ones are sweet and spicy. Still, spices and ingredients are as important in the recipe)

Job : None, they used to study psychology but then stopped and now they just... Hang out with his group of friends (and a literal god also)

Hobbies : Surfing and paintball, mostly

Best at : helping people, whether it's emotionally or physically. He'd do anything to help anyone, even if he has to get hurt, to skip two whole nights of sleep or clean the blood of your worst enemy. He tries to tank almost everything and often forgets that people sometimes didn't ask for help, and that he's not invincible himself.

Loves/Hate : They love seeing people smile, and they hate seeing people suffer, or simply cry. But nothing really bothers him, as long as he knows everyone is going well, he's happy.

Best memory : One day, before his parents divorced, his dad took him to the city for a whole day when his mom wasn't here. It's the first time he really felt happy, and this day he knew how much he meant for his dad.

Worst memory :

(⚠️TW SUIC_DE, skip this part if you don't wanna read this⚠️)

During his studies in college, he met a girl, Sina. She came from another country (which is common knowing his country had the best universities in the world) and since she didn't know anyone, Riley became friends with her. Both of them had the best times together, in spite of Sina's depression. But one night, he received a goodbye message from Sina, and rushed to her apartment to try something. He couldn't find her at home, and decided to look for her on the rooftop. At the very moment he arrived, he could see her fall from the roof.

✨ End of the TW ✨

Design? : Basically, yes. Long dark hair, tanned skin, always wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a long bermuda short, carrying a white and red surfing board. I didn't really draw him yet so it never really changed.

Inspiration : I don't remember, I think it's because I love helping and I thought about a character who would be like this, but pushing this trait a bit further.

Genre : I'm not sure I understand, but he's one of the protagonists (plz someone tell me if I'm mistaken)

Gender/Sexuality : Riley is a man, and is biromantical/allosexual

Siblings : He has a step brother, 10 years older (his name is Alessandro, and is the most important political figure of another country (although he's just a huge troll and is so laid back he shouldn't have his current post)

Relationship with his parents : Riley visits his dad really often and both love seeing each other, whereas he never talked to his mom since she left, but he's okay with it, it's not like he missed her.

Favourite trait of the OC : HIS HAIRRR I WANT THEM OMGGG

Drawing/writing frequency : I write about them quite often compared to the other OCs

Killing the OC? : We're both aged the same, about the same physical strength, but he's really fast and I have asthma so I guess not.

Phobias : None, he's not really scared of anything

Rival : He has no true rival actually

Duration : It's been about a year, something like that i think

Age of creation : 15 or 16, something like that x)

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[thewertsearch]

One down.

"One Act, right?"

No, not kids! I mean these curtain dealies. I still need to set up, what, like another five of these rigs? God dammit.

Six sub-Acts, then - and the first ended the same way Act 1 did, with a seemingly-fatal explosion at the Egbert/Crocker household.

Sounds to me like these six sub-Acts will be 'remixes' of Acts 1 through 6, with events that 'rhyme' with the B1 session. I doubt we'll be rehashing everything, but I think I can make a couple of educated guesses about the path we'll be treading.

Act 6.1, as we've just seen, was dedicated mostly to wacky shenanigans in our protagonist's home, as well as hints of intrigue surrounding their friends. It ended with our hero in mortal peril - although everyone knows they're not really in any danger. The story just got started, after all!

Act 6.2 will probably be similar, but I expect to see Roxy and Dirk take to the stage with their official introductions. It may also introduce Jane's Exile, which had better be a Problem Sleuth character at this point.

By Act 6.3, most of our heroes are entering the Medium, and we've come to understand their lives a little better. We might finally begin to get a sense of the Guardians' personalities - and if we're lucky, the Earth's First Guardian might finally show its face.

Act 6.4 is when things will go horribly, horribly wrong, as powerful antagonists finally emerge from the woodwork to wreak havoc on the session. It might be Jack, again - but it could just as easily be the Condesce, or Lord English himself. The session, at this point, seems almost unsalvageable.

If we're really lucky, Act 6.5 will bifurcate again, and we'll start with a remixed version of Hivebent - this time, with the pre-Scratch trolls, explaining what really went wrong with their session. Then, 6.5.2 will compose the meat of the B2 session, as the kids rally, and try to salvage this new mess.

Scratching isn't an option this time - or, at least, I don't think it is - so I'm not sure what'll happen here. I definitely expect to see some God Tier ascensions, and I'm sure the B2 kids will have some crackpot solution for whatever's tearing their session apart.

Finally, we come to the end of our story - Act 6.6, where the callbacks begin to get recursive. I have no idea what the shape of this Act is going to be - except that it'll undoubtedly involve kids and trolls from at least four timelines finally coming together to end the English problem once and for all.

And that, ladies and gaydies, is my big-picture prediction for the rest of Homestuck. As always, I'm sure a good chunk of this speculation is way off-base - but I am confident that, broadly speaking, the next six Acts will be reflections of the previous six. I'm here for it!

[satorus-princess]

him, just him

a/n: taking care of satoru because he deserves it <3 (especially after that post)

word count: 1.6k

fem!reader x gojo satoru, sfw

most people would say that gojo is spoiled. he's the strongest, after all - he has all the power anyone could want, fame within the jujutsu society, and money. what else could he want or need?

gojo himself thinks he's spoiled - no, not because of the materialistic things like money and fame, and definitely not because of his burdensome power. it's because of his wife. everything else is put to shame when he has you. he really couldn't want or need anything else.

but to you, he was anything but spoiled. you felt like you could never do enough for him. still, you try to do as much as you can for him, wanting to make his life easier and to bring back the striking light in his cerulean orbs that have dimmed over the years.

so here you are, at two a.m., anticipating your husband's return from a mission. earlier, he messaged you of the estimated time that he will be finished and that should be any minute now. he had also told you not to wait up for him, but now, you are running a soothing bath for him.

the bathroom light is off, a few scented candles planted on the counter and on the edge of the bathtub create a soothing ambience. the smell of chamomile fills the air as you had infused the warm bath water with an oil specific for relaxation.

you had noticed that, recently, his responsibilities between teaching and being called on missions has caught up to him. it was normal for sorcerers to experience burnout, even for gojo, contrary to popular belief. it's expected due to the lack of sleep, the burden of the world on his shoulders, the responsibilities of the teaching and lives of the students, and the stress of the higher-ups.

as you get caught up in your concerned thoughts about gojo, you barely hear the aforementioned man come home. his steps are quiet, his feet practically dragging along the floor due to his exhaustion.

“(y/n)?” he calls softly as he steps into the bedroom, finding the bed made and no one sleeping in it. he frowns slightly, wondering where you could be. did something happen?

before his thoughts could spiral down a negative hole, you appear at the doorway of the bedroom. “i'm here, my love.” you approach him with a loving smile, immediately wrapping your arms around his tall figure. his own arms find their way around you, keeping you in a tight embrace as he closes his eyes to savour your warmth and comfort.

“why aren't you sleeping?” is the first thing he says to you, yet he makes no move to tear away from the hug. of course, he thinks about you before himself.

“come with me,” you say simply, not providing an answer or explanation. you slide your hand down to his, lacing your fingers together and gently tugging him towards the bathroom.

“baby, i really just want to go to--” his voice is husky with fatigue, his sentence getting cut off when you both step into the dimly lit bathroom filled with soothing scents. he pauses, looking between you and the bath setup. “is this for me?”

“mhm, just for you.”

he swallows thickly, standing there as if unfamiliar with the situation. “my sweet...” he trails off, lips parted as if wanting to say something else but the words not formulating.

with a smile, you bring your entwined hands up to your lips, gently kissing the back of his hand. “i know you wouldn't go to a spa, so i brought the spa to you. for a few days.”

the lump in his throat grows larger, choking on his words as he tries to express his appreciation, his thoughts. you give his hand a gentle squeeze in understanding, hoping he knows that he doesn't need to thank you.

despite his appreciation, there's a lingering thought that he has to voice. “and the higher-ups approved of this?”

“hmm, technically no. but when have we ever cared about what they say? you need this, my love, don't think about it. forget about your responsibilities, being the strongest, being gojo satoru. just be you for a few days, okay?” you urge him, your eyes almost pleading as you look up at him.

his beautiful, beautiful eyes become slightly misty in response to your words, a look of adoration and pure, tender love glistening in them. he doesn't respond, rendered speechless again while he keeps his eyes locked onto yours. he doesn't know if he can just be himself, to forget about the identity forced upon him practically since birth.

you notice the uncertainty swirling around in his eyes, revealing the disarray of thoughts in his mind. “my love?” you say softly, withdrawing him from his spiral.

“... sorry.”

you shake your head with a small smile. “there's nothing to apologise for. come on, get in the bath before it gets cold.”

“undress me?” his cheeky smile comes back.

you laugh softly, stepping closer to him. his eyes follow your movements, glancing down at your hand that reaches for the zipper of his dark jacket. you slowly tug it down, revealing the black t-shirt he wears beneath. he takes that off himself, while you work on his trousers and boxers. it's a completely uninhibited, intimate moment. no sense of desire, just complete tenderness as he stands bare before you with a few scars adorning his porcelain skin.

once you're done, he lifts your hand to your lips and kisses each of your fingertips gently. his gaze makes your heart skip a beat; it's so full of intense love and devotion.

you clear your throat before speaking, but your voice still comes out small. “do you need anything else?”

“no, just you. will you join me?”

“if you want me to. i was planning on washing your hair, not necessarily joining you.”

“you can still wash my hair that way.”

he settles into the warm bath, letting out a heavy, contented sigh as it seems to take an immediate effect. he reaches his hand out for you, spreading his legs under the water so that you can take your seat between them. after slipping out of your own clothes, you take his hand and let him help you into the water. once you're sitting, he tugs you against his chest with your back towards him.

“i don't think i can wash your hair this way,” you point out. he leans forward slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your torso as his thumb rubs circles into your skin.

he smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “it's alright. i just wanna hold you like this for a bit.”

the two of you stay like that for a while, tangled limbs and sharing each other's warmth in a serene silence that settles around you. you almost think that gojo fell asleep behind you since he has been quiet the whole time but then, his lips move against the back of your neck. “i love you,” it's the softest of whispers, yet it's so heartfelt and powerful, his tone so soaked in emotion that his voice almost cracks.

“i love you, too, ‘toru,” you murmur, and you feel the beating of his heart quicken as his chest is moulded to your back. “you wanna let me wash your hair now?”

he hums and nods in response, switching your positions so that he is now sitting between your legs with his back leaning against your chest. his eyes flutter closed as he feels warm water rain onto his hair; a quick rinse before you squeeze shampoo into your palm, gently lathering his hair and massaging his scalp.

a gravelly groan rumbles in the depths of his throat as your fingers thread through his hair, ensuring every strand is soapy, and the tips of your fingers manage to soothe every ache in his body.

“feels good,” he mumbles, sounding as if he's on the verge of sleep. trust buzzes between the two of you as he allows you to take care of him in the way you know best.

“i'm glad,” you reply softly with a smile.

asking him to keep his eyes closed and tilt his head back a little more, you begin to wash out the suds from his hair. the gentle manner in which you treat him is something he isn't used to - he feels as if you handle him as something so fragile that if you moved too rashly, he would shatter.

he feels a lump grow in his throat and he traps his lower lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling. taking a deep, shaky breath, a crystal tumbles down the curve of his cheek which catches your attention. your hands freeze in his hair.

“my love?” you utter with such concern. he unlids his eyes once more, and with his head still tipped back, he stares up at you from his upside-down angle, yet you're able to see the emotions swirling in the waves of his ocean eyes. one motion of a wave, and another salty trickle escapes. “hey...” you lean down to brush your lips against his forehead and he tilts his head further into your touch, craving your affection. you trail your lips down to kiss each of his eyelids with the gentleness of a feather.

his lips curve up into a smile, an unsteady one, but a smile nevertheless. he reaches up, fingers rooting themselves on your cheek as his thumb brushes against it.

“i love you,” he whispers once more, “and i love the way you love me.”

[letsdrinkcoffeeinhell]

Beginners deserve better advice, and writing should be more interesting than this.

1. Show don't tell is the most repeated piece of advice you will hear, and it's worthless. Showing is a tool, telling is a tool, deploy them where you think they're most effective. Telling the reader how someone feels is almost always faster than showing them, and sometimes its better to preserve the pace of a scene. Practice doing both.

2. Head hop as much as you want, whenever you want. Third person omniscient is a fun perspective to play with. Explore every feature of your writing to find new techniques and tools to help tell your stories. Practically, you'll probably want at least a paragraph break between "heads," and starting the new paragraph with either the character's name or a lead-in sentence to ease the reader in is usually wise. 3. "Infodumping" is just inelegant exposition. Be elegant with it. If you find yourself having to rely on dialogue for something as foundational as exposition, considering working to strengthening your prose.

4. OP is a coward. If blade runner can start with exposition, so can your book. It's challenging to make that interesting and engaging, yes, but learning how to do that is the entire point of learning how to write. Those are the skills you're trying to gain and improve.

5. If suspense is the only force driving your reader to turn the next page, you've wasted every page before it. They should be invested in your world, your characters, and your story enough to want to continue without you constantly jangling your keys in front of them like the subway surfers gameplay under a tiktok. Discworld doesn't have chapter breaks, and Terry Pratchett is one of the best writers the English language has ever produced. This advice is useful if you're writing a thriller, or if you need to rely on it for the first few pages or chapters while you're still getting people invested. Otherwise, your chapter breaks should serve whatever structural purpose you desire.

6. Subverting expectations is advice for comedians and disgraced game of thrones tv show writers. Sometimes you just want to set aside a scene to describe something beautifully, or to set expectations in the first place. Choose which events or sequences you summarise cautiously: you are erasing opportunities for style and storytelling.

7. Arriving late and leaving early is great if you're wasteful in your prose. Describing a character preparing for and leaving an event does not need to be exclusively a description of just those things. The way characters do things matters, actually. You don't need the pace of your story to be as fast as possible all the time. It's your story.

8. Epithets can tell you as much about the person using them (based on the perspective you're currently occupying) as the person they're used for. If you plan to use multiple perspective characters you can use different epithets to describe the same person. You can do the same thing from the same character's perspective as they progress through their character arc. Like everything else, they are a tool for you to use wherever you find appropriate.

9. Characters are allowed to be aimless if that's what their character arc calls for at some points, and having them shift back and forth from being aimless to having a set goal can be interesting. It's up to you to decide how driven any given character is at all times.

10. If you think a scene is required by the story but you don't think it'll be something you'll enjoy working on, try to rework the scene into something that achieves the same effect but is more engaging for you to write. (I don't disagree with OP on this point, I'm just wording it to be more actionable.)

0. Writing is an art. Be an artist. Don't feel pressured to follow another artist's advice exclusively because they seem more "successful" than you are. Seek out artists who make the kind of art you are inspired by, and try to learn from them and their art.

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[jackce]

I was commissioned by a mysterious person to work on 6 Prussia themed months 🖤🤍🖤 First is February was inspired by Valentines day ofc, but the main focus is Prussia's dissolution 😭 (That's a funeral flower arrangement, he's a prisoner after WW II and has just been informed of his fate) I wrote an small one shot in case you want to read it, it's Prussia's POV (English first / Español al final):

FEBRUARY

— The celebration is not on time, true, but you still have to look presentable.

I didn't ask what was so special about celebrating Valentine's Day on the 25th, in the Soviet Union they don't even celebrate that date, they said it's because it is a capitalist invention, but if you ask me, I think it's because they don't understand what love is.

Is not like I wasn't curious while they cut my hair the way it was when I arrived, while they shaved my beard and handed me a suit that could barely hide the kilos I've lost. But I learned the hard way not to open my mouth too much, something that I'm sure everyone who knows me would have wanted impossible. Ivan is miraculous, I suppose.

— You'll receive the visit you've been waiting for, see? I'm not as bad as you think — Still, Russia seemed eager to pique my curiosity.

"He's playing with me," I tried to convince myself. But when I mentioned it to Ukraine after she brought the first decent meal in years to my cell, she reacted with joy.

— It's your brother for sure!

She doesn't know, but even though my heart twisted with joy, the hope was painful.

But two years had passed already... And even though Russia had played me in other ways, it was the first time he tried too hard to make me look presentable, as if he wanted to cover up the dealings he's been having with me. "You're the only person who has a villain role and who he can vent to," Belarus had excused him once.

I tried not to think, but I still couldn't get rid of that bad habit. I was going to show myself to someone, that was for sure. But who? Maybe it wouldn't be one of us... Maybe just a politician, or even some errand boy. But... What if it was West?

Surely my brother had been asking about me all these years, if there's one thing he has, it's that he's tireless. I'm sure he hasn't given up, I'm sure this little meeting is the fruit of his efforts, just a glance to know that I'm fine, that despite the division of my territory, that every day I'm more just a name... I'm fine.

— I'm fine, West —I murmured to the broken mirror they lent me, joining the theater that Ivan wanted so much to present. Despite everything, I didn't want to worry Ludwig... I didn't want him to see me with pity.

— Let’s go. —Russia in person came for me, and for the first time in a long time I left my cell without chains or ties to hinder me.

He took me to a dining room where three places were set, my heart tortured me again when I confirmed that it was a visit.

Ivan asked me to sit down while he went to get the guest, he knows well that I no longer try to escape, besides, I don't want to escape, not now that I'll see...

— West... —I got up as soon as I heard the door open.

But it was just Russia, his victorious smile.

“I'm so sorry, it seems he's had other more important matters... But don't worry, he sent you a present.” He was hiding something behind his back, but I could see the flowers from there.

I managed not to make any expression, neither anger, nor shame, nor sadness, I wasn't going to give him the pleasure of knowing that his stab was accurate. Braginsky didn't wait for me to say anything and showed me the decoration of lilies and chrysanthemums. It was a wreath that followed the shape of a heart, a ribbon with my name crossed through the center...

I must have lost the ability to hide my emotions, because the smile of the man in front of me widened.

The funeral arrangement could only mean one thing...

... I'm not even a name anymore.

----

FEBRERO

— La celebración se atrasó un poco, sí, pero tienes que estar presentable. No pregunté qué tenía de especial celebrar San Valentín el 25. En la Unión Soviética ni siquiera celebran esa fecha, que por qué es un invento capitalista, pero si me lo preguntan creo que es por qué no entienden lo que es el amor. No era que no sintiera curiosidad mientras me cortaban el cabello a la manera en que lo tenía cuando llegué, mientras rasuraban mi barba y me entregaban un traje que poco podría disimular los kilos que he perdido. Pero aprendí por las malas a no abrir demasiado la boca, algo que seguro todos los que me conocen habrían creído imposible. Iván es milagroso, supongo. — Recibirás la visita que tanto esperabas ¿Ves? No soy tan malo como crees — Aun así Rusia parecía ansioso por pescar mi curiosidad. "Está jugando conmigo" intenté convencerme. Pero cuando se lo mencioné a Ucrania luego de que trajera a mi celda la primer comida decente en años, ella reaccionó con felicidad. — ¡Seguro que es tu hermano! Ella no lo sabe, pero aunque mi corazón se retorció por alegría, la esperanza fue dolorosa. Pero habían pasado ya dos años... Y aunque Rusia había jugado conmigo de otras formas, era la primera vez que se esforzaba demasiado por qué yo me viera presentable, como si quisiera tapar los tratos que ha estado teniendo conmigo. "Eres la única persona que tiene un papel de villano y con quién puede desahogarse", lo había excusado Bielorrusia una vez. Intenté no pensar, pero aún no lograba quitarme esa mala costumbre. Iba a mostrarme ante alguien, eso era seguro ¿Pero quién? Tal vez no fuera con uno de nosotros... Tal vez solo un político, o incluso algún recadero. Pero... ¿Y si si era West? Seguro que mi hermano había estado preguntando por mi todos estos años, si algo tiene él es que es incansable. Seguro que no se ha rendido, seguro que está pequeña reunión es fruto de sus esfuerzos, solo un vistazo para saber que estoy bien, que a pesar de la repartición de mi territorio, que cada día soy más sólo un nombre ... Estoy bien. — Estoy bien, West —Le murmuré al espejo roto que me prestaron, uniéndome al teatro que Iván tanto quería presentar. A pesar de todo, no quería preocupar a Ludwig... No quería que me viera con lastima. — Andando —Rusia en persona vino por mi, y por primera vez en mucho tiempo salí de mi celda sin cadenas o ataduras que me entorpecieran. Me llevó hasta un comedor donde estaban puestos tres lugares, mi corazón volvió a torturarme al confirmar que se trataba de una visita. Ivan me pidió que me sentara en lo que iba por el invitado, sabe bien que ya no intento escapar, además, no quiero escapar, no ahora que veré a... — West... —Me levanté en cuanto escuché que la puerta se abría. Pero solo era Rusia, su sonrisa victoriosa. — Lo siento mucho, parece que ha tenido otros asuntos más importantes ... Pero no te preocupes, te mando un regalo —Escondía algo tras su espalda, pero podía ver las flores desde allí. Conseguí no hacer ninguna expresión, ni rabia, ni vergüenza, ni tristeza, no iba a darle el gusto de saber que su puñal fue certero. Braginski no espero a que dijera nada y me mostró el adorno de lirios y crisantemos. Era una corona de flores que seguía la forma de un corazón, un listón con mi nombre atravesado al centro... Debí haber perdido la habilidad para ocultar mis emociones, por qué la sonrisa del hombre frente a mi se amplió. El arreglo fúnebre solo podía significar una cosa... ... Ya no soy ni siquiera un nombre.

[genshinluvr]

The Boyfriend Brigade

Pairings: Various Love&Deepspace Men x reader

Summary: After being away on a solo mission for quite some time, you return to Linkon City feeling unwell. After failing to respond to text messages, you end up getting unexpected visitors and find yourself in a predicament.

Note: I had this fanfic in the drafts for months and couldn't finish it because of how busy I was ;v; but I finally got to finish it! The next update is another LADS update, but this time, it's a smut fic! I'm not sure if it will be separated by character or if all the men are involved in one smut fic. I'll probably have a spinning wheel choose for me. In case anyone is interested in joining, my Discord server is currently open. If you're interested in joining a small community of people who play LADS alongside Hoyoverse games, I'll provide the server link at the end of this fic. Anyway! I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Mother Nature comes to visit you unannounced, if that counts as one

Word Count: 8.2k

You lean against the tree behind you, trying not to collapse to the ground while in the middle of the woods of a foreign country. You’re exhausted, and things have not been slowing down for you. The metaflux levels are through the roof, and wanderers lurk in every corner, forcing you to stay on high alert (as if you weren’t on high alert already). During the first few weeks of your solo mission, you infiltrated Ever’s secret base two hundred meters from where you’re currently gathering intel on protocores and aether cores. 

Once you have gathered enough information and sent it to the Hunters Association, you continue with your solo mission: handling the wanderers and entering an area with a high protofield. Is it a smart idea to enter a protofield all alone? No, no, it’s not a bright idea, especially now that you’re dealing with endless hordes of wanderers in the woods, sniffing you out like a bloodhound. 

You’re not injured— or at least not horribly injured— but you are feeling under the weather. You barely have the chance to get some rest and sleep. You’re always on your feet, constantly looking over your shoulders to make sure that there aren’t any wanderers ready to strike while you’re trying to take a breather. After what felt like forever, it could be longer than you expected, but you digress— the protofield is stabilized, and you can finally rest after who knows how long. But before you can relax, you decide to return to Linkon City and report to Captain Jenna about your completed mission. On your flight back to Linkon City, you’re knocked out and sleep until one of the flight attendants (bless her heart) wakes you up from your slumber. 

You didn’t inform anyone of your return to Linkon, so you didn’t expect anyone to pick you up from the airport. Usually, it would be Zayne who picks you up from the airport, and sometimes it’s Sylus. So, here you are, sitting at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. 

Your eyelids feel heavy, and you can barely remain conscious. You lean against the bus stop, trying your best not to nod off. You pull your phone out from your pocket and turn it on. Once your phone finally has connection, a slew of notifications pop up on your screen. From text messages to phone calls to video calls, it just keeps popping up now that your phone has a decent connection after who knows how long. 

RAFAYEL:

“Miss Bodyguard, when are you going to be back from your dangerous solo mission? Personally, I don’t think you should be doing this mission alone, but that’s just me.”

“I don’t want to have an art exhibit without you present. You’re my number one supporter and my bodyguard! I can’t go anywhere without you by my side!” 

“Thomas is talking my ears off about it, and I’m trying everything I can to ignore him, but he’s  giving me this look.”

“Miss Bodyguardddddddd. When are you coming home? :(” 

“Are you back yet?”

SYULS:

“Kitten, I will be expecting you to return to Linkon City unscathed. Do not do anything reckless, alright? Always be two steps ahead of your enemies and know their weaknesses.” 

“Kick their asses, and don’t let them kick yours. Show them what I have taught you in the boxing ring.”

“I will see you soon, alright? I want you to return to me safe and sound. If anyone lays their hands on you, tell me who they are, and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Luke and Kieran keep pestering me about your return to the N109 Zone.”

“I found something interesting in Mephisto’s nest today. I believe these are your earrings and bracelets. [PHOTO ATTACHMENT] Mephisto loves shiny things, and he so happens to take a liking to your jewelry.”

ZAYNE:

“How is your mission coming along?”

“Are you resting? Make sure not to overexert yourself, and make sure to eat plenty of food.”

“It’s been a few days since I’ve heard from you. You are safe, right?”

“If you need any assistance, I am one phone call away.”

“Text me back when you get this message.”

XAVIER:

“Make sure not to storm into the protofield recklessly.”

“Let me know when your mission is completed. I want to be the first person you see when you return from your mission.”

“I made sure to water the plants on your balcony and organize the plushies in your room. They are waiting for your return, and I am waiting for your reply.”

“I hope you do not have to resort to this, but if you are in any danger and cannot complete your solo mission, don’t hesitate to call me for help. I will be there in a heartbeat.”

“It’s been a while since I sent my previous message, and I still haven’t heard back from you. Are you alright? Do you need me to step in to help you?”

Before you can unlock your phone to answer any of the text messages you have received, the screen suddenly goes black. You close your eyes and slump in your seat at the bus stop, realizing that you did not charge your phone at all before boarding the plane. Now that your phone is dead, you have no way to contact any of the four men to inform them of your return to Linkon City.

“This is fine,” You mutter, too exhausted to do anything. “I’ll message them once I charge my phone.”

When the bus finally arrives, you sit close to the back of the bus with your belongings and close your eyes. It’ll be a fifteen-minute drive to the nearest bus stop near your apartment, so you might as well sit back and get some shut-eye before arriving home. When the bus arrives at the bus stop a block from your apartment, you nearly miss your stop due to your nap. You stumble off the bus and trudge toward the direction of your apartment, still groggy from your nap on the bus. 

A small gust of air causes you to tense up and shiver. You hug yourself with one arm while dragging your luggage with the other, now realizing how cold you are. Despite feeling like a walking popsicle, your body is also covered in a thin layer of sweat. Dear goodness, you must look like a mess to whoever lays their eyes on you.

Everything is a blur after, and you find yourself collapsing on your couch after closing and locking your apartment door. Your luggage is abandoned next to the shoe rack, while one boot is beside the luggage, and the other lies beside your couch. You’re too tired to change out of your clothes and go to your bedroom. Your entire body is aching, and every limb feels like lead. You shift on the couch, digging your hands into your pockets to take your dead phone out of your pockets before tossing it onto the coffee table.

Once you get that out of the way, you curl up into a fetal position and hug your knees to your chest. Your body wracks with shivers when a wave of chills washes over your body as you slowly drift off to a dreamless sleep.

- Two Days Later -

Rafayel steps out of the elevator and turns to the right, walking towards a specific apartment. Before choosing to stop by his precious bodyguard’s apartment, Rafayel realizes that all of his messages are left on read. Now, Rafayel may not be much of a texter (only when it comes to other people who aren’t you), but seeing his messages being left on read with little to no response drives him up the wall. However, since you’re the cutest and most precious person in the world, Rafayel lets you off the hook. 

“She’s probably busy with the Hunters Association debriefing.” Is what Rafayel would say to himself, trying to bury the clenching feeling in his chest. But as time goes by, Rafayel will find himself opening the message between you and him, staring at the “READ” receipt at the bottom of his message— still no response from you, not even a phone call, voice message, video call, nothing. 

Rafayel doesn’t want to be seen as clingy, but he can’t help but crave for your attention, your voice, your laughter, your touch, you, you, you. Rafayel checks the tracking device he left on you (he did it for your safety) and sees that you’re at your apartment and not in some foreign country the last time he checked! Rafayel pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, letting out a long exhale through his nose.

“I guess she wants me to be the one to stop by this time,” Rafayel mutters before standing up. “Thomas, I’m heading out. It seems like Miss Bodyguard wants me to stop by her place.”

Thomas looks up from his phone, watching the Lemurian man grab his coat and car keys. Before Thomas can say anything, Rafayel is already out the front door, closing the door behind him. Thomas sighs, shaking his head.

As Rafayel approaches closer to your apartment, Rafayel slowly stops in his tracks. Rafayel’s mood worsens after seeing familiar faces in front of your apartment door. Just when Rafayel thinks he’s going to be your first and only visitor after you return from your mission, three other men have the same plan in mind. Rafayel stops before the three men, sensing tension among the trio. 

Zayne chuckles dryly. “I see we all have the same intention,” Zayne mutters, his gaze flickering from Xavier and Sylus to Rafayel. “You three don’t need to be here. As her primary care physician, it is my duty to check up on her to make sure she’s okay.”

Xavier smiles at Zayne and crosses his arms over his chest. “Dr. Zayne, while I understand that you’re [Y/N]’s primary care physician, I’m her coworker and neighbor. I believe that I have every right to check up on her after not hearing back from her in a while.”

Zayne and Xavier continue to stare at each other; both men have fake smiles on their faces. Sylus chuckles, shaking his head while tapping on his temples as he watches the tension rise between your so-called coworker and primary care physician. 

Rafayel narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, puffing his chest out as he nods in Sylus’s direction. “And what about you?”

Sylus looks at Rafayel with amusement, pointing at himself. Rafayel nods, pressing his lips into a thin line as he waits for Sylus to respond. “Oh, [Y/N] and I are—” Sylus is cut off by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. The three men (Sylus, Xavier, and Zayne) take a step back, going silent as they try to hear other things coming from behind the door. Finally! Finally, you’re going to show your cute face to them all, reassuring them you’re okay and that you’re trying to recharge after a draining mission.

In a perfect world, that’s how everything will go down. In each man’s fantasy, they imagine you telling the other men to go home so you and he can spend time together after not seeing each other for a while. However, no one lives in a perfect world, no matter how much they hope. The doorknob wiggles, and a faint click and beep comes from the door. What everyone expects to see is you in a sleepy haze, answering the door in your cozy pajamas with an extreme bedhead, rubbing your eyes, and yawning. What they all did not expect to see is—

“Hello there! Is there anything I can help you all with?” A boy-next-door voice asks.

— A man in his mid-twenties answering your door… the very same door that belongs to your apartment. The man has black hair and French lilac with a hint of rose gold accents in his eyes, and he’s tall, perhaps the same height as Sylus. Maybe a little shorter than the Onychinus leader. Zayne tenses up the minute he and the mysterious black-haired man lock eyes. 

Shit. They didn’t get the wrong apartment, did they? Rafayel quickly glances at the apartment number above the door to make sure he (and the others) didn’t get the wrong apartment, but it’s the correct apartment, and Rafayel can see your signature furniture behind the man’s shoulders.

A look of surprise flashes over the man’s face before being replaced by a wide smile, and he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorframe of your apartment. “Zayne! It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other!” The man says.

Rafayel’s eyes dart between the two black-haired men, looking at them incredulously. “You two know each other!?” Rafayel blurts, grabbing Zayne and the mysterious black-haired man’s attention.

“Of course! We've known each other since we were children,” the black-haired man replies. “Isn’t that right, Zayne?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Zayne’s response.

Zayne nods. “That is correct. Caleb and I have known each other since we were children.”

Silence falls over the five men, no one saying a single thing. Rafayel puffs his cheeks out and sighs, crossing his arms over his chest while leaning on one leg before switching to the other. This Caleb guy is close friends with your primary care physician, but what is Caleb’s relationship with you? Surely you’re not dating this man, are you? Could he be your brother, by chance?

Xavier is the first person to break the silence. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you in [Y/N]’s apartment?”

A look of surprise flashes over Caleb’s face. Caleb smiles and stands straight, propping both hands on his hips. “I’m here to take care of [Y/N]. I messaged her not long ago to let her know that I’m in Linkon, but she never replied. So, I took that as an opportunity to stop by her apartment to check up on her,” Caleb replies.

Sylus raises his eyebrows at Caleb’s reply, eyeing the man from head to toe— almost as if he’s sizing Caleb up. “How did you enter [Y/N]’s apartment? You didn’t happen to, oh, I don’t know, break into her apartment while she’s asleep, did you?” Sylus asks, narrowing his eyes at the black-haired man.

Caleb raises his hand before digging one hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a key. “Me? Breaking into [Y/N]’s apartment? I would never,” Caleb rolls his eyes. “And for your information, she gave me a spare key a while back.”

Sylus briefly glances at the key in Caleb’s hand before continuing what he’s doing prior: sizing Caleb up (or at least that’s what it looks like to others around Sylus). The more Caleb stares at Sylus, the more he notices that Sylus’s eyes have a faint glow. Caleb breaks eye contact with the white-haired man before laughing bitterly.

“I assume you all want to check up on [Y/N]. I’m afraid I cannot let you all into her apartment as of now due to her current condition,” Caleb states, now crossing his arms over his chest.

That catches the four men’s attention immediately. Not only does it bother them that they’re not allowed to see you after not seeing you in a while, but the vagueness of Caleb’s response irks them to no end. 

Xavier takes a step forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean by her current condition? She’s not hurt, is she?” Xavier frowns, his heart pounding in his chest.

Caleb sighs, unsure of whether he should explain the situation to the three unfamiliar men and Zayne. Residents of the apartment weave through the four men in the hallway to get to their apartment and the elevator, grumbling about people taking up space and being inconsiderate. Caleb presses his lips into a thin line before gesturing for the four men to enter the apartment so they wouldn’t block the hallway for the residents. 

After everyone is in the apartment, Caleb closes and locks the apartment door. Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, and Rafayel each take their shoes off and put on the spare slippers on the shoe rack. Caleb observes each man closely, mildly miffed over the fact that they know about the (now) unspoken rule when entering your apartment: shoes are to be taken off and put on house slippers. Everyone slowly migrates to the living room, some sitting on your couch while others refuse to sit. 

Caleb takes a deep breath. “[Y/N]’s sick,” Caleb says. Caleb looks at each person’s face to see their reaction.

The frown on Zayne’s face deepens as he crosses his arms over his chest, eyebrows furrowing with worry. “How long has she been sick?” Zayne demands, his eyes occasionally lingering in the direction of your bedroom. 

“I don’t know how long she’s been like this, but whenever I stopped by not long ago, she was unconscious on the couch. I carried her to her room and made sure she changed into loose and comfortable clothes. Thankfully, she took her medication when I handed her cold medicine. However, it seems her sickness has gotten worse overnight.”

Rafayel’s eyes widen with disbelief and horror. “Worse?! What do you mean by worse? Miss Bodyguar— [Y/N]’s not going to die, is she!?”

Zayne pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head after hearing Rafayel’s ridiculous question. Xavier and Sylus look at Rafayel with a questioning gaze while Caleb chuckles with amusement, shaking his head. 

Xavier crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch. “If she’s sick, then why didn’t she let any of us know about her condition?”

Sylus looks at the coffee table and sees your phone lying face down. “She’s either too drained to reply to our messages to inform us of her whereabouts or…” Sylus trails off, reaching for your phone. Sylus presses the button on the side of your phone, expecting your phone to light up. But alas, your phone doesn’t turn on, even if he presses down the button for ten seconds. “She forgot to charge her phone, and her phone is dead.”

Zayne turns toward Caleb and says, “As her primary care physician, it’s my job to check up on her.”

Caleb holds his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I know that, Zayne. I’m not stopping you from checking up on [Y/N]. She’s still sleeping in her room. I tried getting her to eat something, but she refused. She only took cold medicine before going back to sleep,” Caleb says, frowning.

Caleb gestures for Zayne to follow him before turning around and walking towards your closed bedroom door. Caleb grabs the door handle and quietly opens the door. Zayne and Caleb peek their heads into your bedroom to see you out cold on your bed, buried under mountains of blankets. Caleb opens the door wider before entering your room, with Zayne following close behind. The other three men stand by the doorway, eyes glued on your unconscious body.

“If [Y/N] wanted something to warm her up as she sleeps, she could’ve just asked me,” Rafayel mutters, leaning against the doorframe. 

Zayne kneels at the edge of your bed, eyes scanning your face. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead. You sigh with relief when you feel something cool press up against your hot forehead. You subconsciously lean into Zayne’s cool touch, wanting more of his touch to cool you down.

“You said she hasn’t eaten anything, correct?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb.

Caleb nods wordlessly, his eyes never leaving your face. “She has not, unfortunately. Again, I tried to convince her to eat the congee I’ve cooked, but she just wanted to sleep,” Caleb replies, now standing beside Zayne. 

The chatter around you slowly brings you back to consciousness. You crack your eyes open and look around your bedroom with bleary eyes. You mumble incoherent words, grabbing the attention of the five men around you. Upon seeing you awake, the men remaining at the doorway of your bedroom rush over to where you lie. Your body heat and the mountains of blankets over your body cause you to squirm as you struggle to sit up and push the blankets off your body. 

Xavier and Zayne help you sit on your bed while Rafayel fluffs the pillow behind you, cushioning your back against the bed frame. Sylus hands you a cup of water to drink after seeing you rub your throat while wincing. You weakly smile at Sylus before taking huge gulps of water. 

Xavier chuckles, sitting beside you, and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Careful, now. You wouldn’t want to choke, now, would you?” Xavier murmurs, wiping the droplet of water from the corner of your lips after you downed the cup of water. 

You shakily place the cup on your nightstand, leaning your head against the wall, and stare at your lap. No one says anything as they stare at you, waiting for you to say or do something. You rub your eyes with your knuckles, still groggy from your sleep. It feels nice to finally be home after a long mission, but you’re sick, and you feel like you got hit by a bullet train.

“Are you hungry, pipsqueak?” Caleb asks, rubbing your head affectionately before fixing your bedhead. 

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay.” You lie.

Before anyone can say anything, the silence is broken by a loud rumbling in your stomach. You clear your throat and hug your pillow to your chest, ignoring the gnawing feeling in your gut. You’re starving, but you don’t want to eat. 

Sylus frowns, crossing his arms over his chest as he scrutinizes you. “Sweetie, just because you’re sick and tired doesn’t mean you should starve yourself,” Sylus lectures you, shaking his head with disapproval. “If you don’t eat anything, how else will you recover from your illness, hm?”

You stare at the Onychinus leader with a visible pout on your face. The way you stare at Sylus makes him feel weak at the knees. You resemble a stray kitten found in a downpour— pathetic but cute. 

“Maybe she doesn’t want to eat congee. Is it possible she wants to eat something else?” Rafayel mutters, stroking his chin. “Hey, cutie. What do you want to eat? Definitely not boring old congee, right?” Rafayel jokes.

Caleb raises an eyebrow at Rafayel’s comment, turning to you. You press your lips into a thin line and think for a minute. You don’t mind eating congee since it's easy to stomach, but you’re not entirely sure if you want to eat the same thing over and over until you’re no longer sick. The congee Caleb makes is delicious, but you want something new and easy to eat, similar to congee, but without eating congee itself. 

“How about I make you some chicken soup? It has plenty of nutrients your body needs in order to recover from an illness.” Xavier says, grabbing hold of your hand and gently squeezing them.

Hearing Xavier offer to cook you something to eat nearly has you in tears. It’s not like you don’t want Xavier to cook you food—actually, it is that. You love Xavier and his willingness to cook something for you to eat, but cooking isn’t his best suit. Xavier looks at you worriedly after not hearing a response from you. The puppy dog eyes Xavier has on his face is killing you.

Zayne clears his throat, sighing to himself. “Chicken soup is a good option if you don’t want to eat congee. Caleb can cook the chicken soup while I get your medication. Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus can keep you entertained.”

You nearly cry in relief when Zayne says it’s going to be Caleb who’s going to cook the chicken soup for you to eat (sorry, Xavier). You nod, immediately agreeing to Zayne’s suggestion. After Zayne and Caleb leave your room, you lie back down and hug your pillow. You notice Sylus slip out of your bedroom for a moment, but instead of heading to your living room, he goes straight to your bathroom.

Rafayel pouts, staring at you like an angry toddler. “You don’t want to cuddle me, cutie? After not seeing each other for such a long time, you don’t want to cuddle to make up for the lost time?” Rafayel grumbles, his bottom lip jutting out as he plops down at the edge of your bed.

Xavier glares at Rafayel before looking elsewhere. “It’s not a good idea to cuddle with someone while they’re sick. [Y/N] still has a fever, and cuddling her will only add to the discomfort,” Xavier lectures Rafayel.

Rafayel rolls his eyes before lying down on you, his head resting on your lap as he grabs your hand, completely disregarding Xavier’s lecture and glare. Rafayel laces his fingers with yours and presses a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Nothing is going to stop me from cuddling with you, cutie. Unless you demand personal space, then it’s too bad because I’m here to stay,” Rafayel states, smirking over in Xavier’s direction.

Xavier’s nostrils flare, and his hands clenched into tight fists. “You—”

“Now, now, gentlemen. I believe now is not the right time to be bickering with one another. You two will only make [Y/N]’s headache worse the more you argue with one another. We wouldn’t want that, now would we?” Sylus clicks his tongue with disapproval as he exits your bathroom with a wet cloth in his hand. 

Sylus sits at the edge of your bed near your head, brushing your damp hair away from your face and forehead. You stare at Sylus, watching him fold the small hand towel in half before placing the cool, wet towel over your forehead. 

You sigh with contentment. “That feels really nice,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “Thank you, Sylus.”

“Anything for you, kitten. Now, get some rest. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for you to eat,” Sylus murmurs, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Rafayel and Xavier stare at Sylus with their mouths agape and eyebrows furrowing. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head at their reactions before getting up from your bed. “Make sure to behave, you two. You wouldn’t want another lecture from Dr. Zayne and Caleb, now, would you?”

Rafayel and Xavier glance at each other from the corner of their eyes before watching the leader of Onychinus peer from your bedroom door to see what Zayne and Caleb are doing. You pull the blanket up to your chin and slowly fall into a dreamless sleep.

- 40 Minutes Later -

“How in the world did she fall asleep already?”

“Yeah, she can be a pretty heavy sleeper when she’s sick.” You hear Caleb laugh.

Sylus sighs. “Sweetie, you need to wake up and eat. You can’t skip your meals while you’re sick.”

The voices around you continue to chatter, making it nearly impossible to fall asleep, but not impossible enough to stop you from doing so. You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep, but when you open your eyes, you find yourself sitting on the couch with the blanket draped over your thighs. 

You smack your lips together, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles, almost struggling to lift your arms. You furrow your eyebrows, annoyed you can’t get your limbs to function. Your head is resting on the couch cushion, nearly lulling you to sleep again. 

“Oh, no, you don’t! Don’t fall asleep on us now, cutie.” Rafayel protests, rushing over to your side and gently patting and poking your cheeks to keep you conscious.

You softly whine, struggling to grab hold of Rafayel’s hand. You open your eyes, only to see how close Rafayel’s face is to yours. You stare at him, confused. Rafayel sighs in relief and slowly backs away, now sitting beside you. Your head droops forward as you try to fight off the need to sleep. How in the world did you get on this couch?

Xavier kneels beside you, grabbing your hand. “You don’t remember what happened before you were carried to the living room?” Xavier asks, staring into your bleary eyes.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

Caleb places a food tray on your lap and then sets down a bowl of chicken soup and cutlery in front of you. The bowl has shredded chicken with chicken broth, chopped carrots, and celery. The aroma of the soup is so delicious that it causes your stomach to let out a growl that’s loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

Zayne sits to the right of you. “Do you want to take your medication now, or do you want to take it after you finish your lunch?” Zayne asks, holding up the bottle of cold medicine.

You stare at the bottle, hesitant about taking the medication again. You should really get new cold medicine because the one Zayne is holding makes you feel nauseous every time you take it. Could it be because you took the medication on an empty stomach? You point at the chicken soup before scooping the broth and shredded chicken with the spoon, and begin eating the soup that Caleb cooked for you to eat.

When you pick up a piece of carrot with your chopsticks, Zayne visibly narrows his eyes at the orange vegetable and watches you bite the soft vegetable. Caleb chuckles, shaking his head at Zayne’s reaction to seeing a carrot.

“You still don’t like carrots, Zayne?” Caleb teases, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zayne clears his throat, almost rolling his eyes. “What about you? Do you still hate cilantro?” Zayne mutters, looking at Caleb from the corner of his eye.

Rafayel, Xavier, and Sylus glance at each other while internally questioning the strange interaction between Zayne and Caleb. Caleb and Zayne said they were “childhood friends,” but the way they’re acting with each other says the complete opposite. The others around Caleb and Zayne can almost visibly see electricity spark between the two men, the more they shoot not-so-subtle glares at each other. If this continues, the two could burn down your (and Xavier’s) apartment building.

You set your chopsticks down on the bowl when you feel a sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You try to ignore the pain and grab the spoon, taking small sips of the chicken broth, hoping the warm soup will ease the pain in your abdomen. Your stomach isn’t hurting; in fact, it hasn’t been hurting since you returned to Linkon City. You start listing the possibilities of what can make your abdomen hurt while sipping your soup.

You haven’t eaten much since your return to Linkon City, so the possibility of eating something “bad” is out of the question. But that’s stomach pain, not lower abdominal pain. Wait— When was the last time you had your period? 

Xavier squeezes your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts. “What’s wrong?” He whispers, leaning over and staring at you intently. “Do you not like the soup? Would you prefer for me to cook you something instead?”

You blink at Xavier, slowly shaking your head. “The soup is fine, but…” You trail off, feeling the familiar pain return. “I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this soup.” 

The men around you peek into the bowl to see how much soup you have left, and you barely make a dent in the soup. You’ve probably eaten three slices of carrots and four shredded chicken and sipped the broth around two or three times, but either way, you’re not even close to finishing the chicken soup that Caleb made for you.

“Can you try to finish at least half of the soup? You don’t have to finish the entire thing, but half would suffice,” Sylus suggests, gazing at you worriedly. 

You stare at the soup, sighing. It’s not like you’re full, it’s just that the cramps you’re suddenly feeling are making it hard for you to want to finish your food. The longer you stare at your food, the more you can feel holes being burned into the back of your head from how hard the five men around you are staring at you.

You grab the food tray and place it on the ground before getting up from the couch. Just when you thought the cramps you were feeling a moment ago were bad, they just got worse the minute you stood up. You clear your throat, acting like you’re not being stabbed in the abdomen over and over by a box cutter. You point to the bathroom, letting them know you’ll be right back before sprinting away. During your journey to the bathroom, you feel the familiar sense of dread fall over you when, you’re assuming, blood starts gushing out of your lady bits. 

You accidentally slam the bathroom door shut behind you as you rush to the toilet, pull your pajama pants and underwear down. You grit your teeth and silently groan at the sight. That’s going to leave an ugly stain. 

“Maybe you’re the reason why I’m sick,” you grumble, poking at where your uterus is located. “Dropping by for a week-long visit with no notice ahead of time is absolutely foul.”

You remain on the toilet, letting the blood drip out of you as you wipe the blood from your panties. Well, at least you didn’t bleed through and stain your pajama pants. You reach into the sink cabinet, searching for your pads and tampons, only to find nothing. Your heart falls into the pit of your stomach, causing you to lurch forward on the toilet, peeking your head into the cabinet to double-check if you may have misplaced it somewhere.

You shake your head, in denial. “Fuck. Please tell me I didn’t forget to restock my pads and tampons,” you whisper.

“Everything alright in there, pipsqueak?” Caleb knocks on the door.

You close the sink cabinet with silent defeat, flush the toilet after wiping (a lot of wiping), fold toilet paper, and place it in your underwear as a temporary pad. You pull up your pants and underwear, waddling to the door. You crack the door open, peeking out to see Caleb and the others standing outside the bathroom door. 

You press your lips into a thin line and proceed to push past them, walking straight to your closet to pull out clean clothes to change into after your shower. It’s probably not the best idea to shower while you’re sick, but right now, it’s very much needed. You stop in your tracks, sighing. You still need to restock pads and tampons.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? You look distraught,” Sylus says, approaching you.

God, he’s so tall.

“Huh?” You blink at the Onychinus leader owlishly.

Sylus smirks, letting out an amused laugh, and crosses his arms over his chest. “You really are out of it, aren’t you?” He teases, now standing in front of you, and presses his hands against your forehead. “You shouldn’t be showering when you have a fever, kitten.”

You frown at Sylus, feeling all sorts of emotions hitting you like a brick wall. You’re angry that your period started, you’re also sad because you completely forgot to restock your tampons and pads, you’re humiliated that you stained your panties with your blood and now have to use toilet paper as a temporary pad, but you’re so tired and in so much pain.

You want to cry, but you also want to scream and obliterate the entire planet. Of all people, why you and why now? Sylus tilts his head to get a better look at your face; his gaze softens when he sees the look on your face. Before Sylus can say anything, you drop your clothes and bury your face into his chest, sighing. 

Rafayel takes a cautious step forward. “What’s wrong, cutie? It’s okay if you’re too tired to finish your soup. We won’t force you to eat,” Rafayel says softly.

You press your cheek against Sylus’s chest, peeking at Rafayel and the others with a pout. God, this is making you feel even worse. You shake your head, closing your eyes. You shudder, feeling like a stepped ketchup packet.

Xavier rubs your back, eyebrows knitted together with worry. “Please tell us what’s wrong. You seem to be doing far worse before you went to the bathroom,” Xavier pleads, pulling you away from Sylus.

“You guys know that I’m sick, right?” You mutter, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

The men around you nod, slowly migrating over to your bed.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckle. “Well, turns out, I’m also menstruating! Yippee! Hooray! Someone please kill me and end my suffering.” You plop over on your bed and rub your temples. “Oh, and to top it all off, I completely forgot to restock my tampons and pads! Things just keep getting better and better!”

You grab your pillow, tempted to take yourself out of your misery. Instead, you hold yourself back and hug it against your chest, zoning out. Caleb makes a noise, grabbing your attention. You look over at Caleb to see him staring at his phone, stroking his chin.

“That makes sense on why I’ve been getting notifications about your menstruation cycle nearing,” Caleb says nonchalantly. 

You stare at Caleb owlishly. “You keep track of my period?” You ask with millions of questions running through your mind rapidly.

“I do too,” Rafayel says, waving his phone. “In fact, I just got notified that your period should be starting sometime this week, but it looks like it starts today! I should mark it.”

You sit up, ignoring the feeling of your blood staining your temporary “pad.” Wait, since when did they keep track of your period? 

Noticing the clueless look on your face, Zayne pats your head with a small smile. “In case you forgot, which, judging by the look on your face, you did, you wanted me to keep track of your cycle. By the looks of it, it seems like I’m not the only one who’s tracking your cycle,” Zayne says, looking over at the others.

You stare at the five men blankly, with your mouth agape, when the others show you their phone screens. You look at the ceiling, trying to recall the time when you asked them to keep track of your period. Well, at least you won’t have to worry about forgetting your impending cycle when you have five people who will notify you about it before it happens. Today, however, is different. No warning signs at all— well, maybe you getting sick is the warning of your impending menstrual cycle, and having no pads and tampons stocked in your bathroom is the worst situation to be in. 

Xavier strokes your hair. “If you want, you can go take a shower while we go to the store to buy you some pads and tampons,” Xavier murmurs, gazing at you with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his.

“If we do that, someone’s going to need to stay back and keep watch of [Y/N],” Caleb interjects, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know [Y/N] long enough to know what products she uses.”

You groan and flop over on your stomach. You can’t believe Caleb wants someone to babysit you while they go out to buy you menstrual products. You’re an adult, you can be left alone in your apartment while they’re out shopping at the nearest store. It’s not like you will bleed out and die if they leave you all by yourself. Plus, this isn’t your first rodeo as a menstruating woman, a hunter to be exact. 

After convincing all five of your lovely guests to let you be alone in your apartment while they go out to restock your menstrual products, you find yourself sitting in the shower, staring at the tiles. You watch the blood and shampoo trickle into the drain, wincing when another wave of cramps hits you. You lean against the shower wall, questioning everything. You have no idea how long you’ve been in the shower, but you truly hope that Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel, and Sylus return before you’re done taking a shower.

Meanwhile…

Zayne walks to the cash register with three boxes of pads in one hand and a box of dessert from the store’s bakery in the other. Zayne stops in his tracks when he sees the other four, raising an eyebrow at them as they approach the cardiac surgeon. 

“Five boxes of tampons! [Y/N] won’t have to worry about running out of menstrual products for the next few months!” Rafayel says, looking smug.

Xavier scratches his head, holding up four boxes of both pads and tampons, each one different from the other. “I bought one of each for [Y/N]. If I remember correctly, she said her period flows tend to be different and unpredictable each month and day.”

The others nod and murmur with approval, earning a shy yet satisfied smile from Xavier. Everyone turns to look at Caleb, your childhood friend and Zayne’s childhood and maybe current love rival. 

Caleb laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, all of you went all out. I, on the other hand, got her the period essentials,” he says, holding up a shopping basket that contains pads, tampons, a couple of your favorite snacks, a heatable teddy bear, and a soft throw blanket. 

Zayne hums, mentally critiquing Caleb’s cart. Despite there being differences between Zayne and Caleb, Zayne approves of Caleb’s cart. Everyone turns to look at Sylus, who came empty-handed. Everyone’s silently judging the leader of Onychinus. Sylus chuckles, tapping on his temples before crossing his arms over his chest.

“While you all were shopping around, I put in a bulk order of pads, tampons, and wipes that will be delivered to [Y/N]’s apartment. It should be there by the time we return to her apartment,” Sylus says, glancing at the watch around his wrist.

Rafayel looks at Sylus with wide eyes, a mix of horror and awe. “Bulk order?! Are you implying [Y/N] is going to get warehouse-level type of shipments to her apartment?” Rafayel asks.

“Yes, because I don’t want her to worry about having to run back to the store to restock her menstrual products,” Sylus says nonchalantly, propping his hands on his hips. 

Caleb scrutinizes Sylus, propping one hand on his hip. “Where did you get the money to do all of this, Sylus?”

Sylus smiles, waving off the skeptical looks thrown his way. “I’m just a fruit vendor with a very successful business, that is all.”

- 15 Minutes Later -

You shut off the water and grab your towel, wrapping it around your body. You stand in the shower, debating whether you should step out and get dressed or wait for the others to return with pads and tampons. A knock on the bathroom door interrupts your thoughts, making you nearly cry out in relief. Oh, thank goodness you won’t have to make a temporary pad out of toilet paper!

You leave the shower and walk to the door, unlocking it. You crack the door open and take a peek. Zayne, Caleb, Rafayel, and Xavier are holding bags of pads and tampons. No Sylus in sight. 

Noticing your questioning gaze, Zayne gestures to the door leading to the living room. “Sylus is stocking your storage room. You’ll understand when you’re done with your shower,” Zayne says. 

You sigh in relief. You thanked the four men before grabbing a random bag from one of their hands, closing the door, and getting dressed. After changing and securing your underwear, you unlock and open the bathroom door. Caleb helps you with restocking the pads and tampons in your bathroom while Xavier and Rafayel help Zayne with throwing the boxes away.

“Where is Sylus?” You mutter, closing the sink cabinet door.

Caleb shrugs. “Probably still stocking up the storage room,” Caleb replies. 

Caleb wraps his arm around your shoulders before leaving the bathroom with you. When you and Caleb step into the living room, you stop in your tracks when you see Xavier, Zayne, and Rafayel helping Sylus stock your apartment storage room. You look at Caleb, who shrugs in response to your questioning gaze. 

You leave Caleb’s side, approaching the four men while trying to peek from their shoulders to see what they’re doing. Xavier and Rafayel move out of the way for you to look; your eyes nearly pop out of your skull after seeing your storage room, once empty, now completely full of boxes of pads, tampons, and wet wipes.

You look at Sylus, who reminds you of a smug cat showing his owner his successful hunt. “This was your doing, wasn’t it?” You ask.

“Well, of course it is, sweetie. I don’t want you to worry about restocking your menstrual products for the next few months. If you happen to use up the entire stock, then you can always let me know, and I will have them restocked in no time,” Sylus says.

Next few months?! You look back at the storage room, filled to the brim with boxes of pads, tampons, and wipes. Maybe it’s your period that’s making you emotional, or the fact that these men care about you so much that they would go out of their way to buy as many boxes of pads and tampons for you, you find it very touching. You can’t help but tear up at the sweet gesture, causing mass panic among the five men.

“Cutie, why are you crying?! You’re not in pain, are you!?” Rafayel asks, grabbing you by the shoulders and staring at you with pure panic.

You laugh and cover your face, bending over to avoid their worried stares. Rafayel looks at the others, unsure of what to do aside from pulling you into his arms and cradling you, patting your back. You wipe the tears running down your cheeks and let yourself loosen up in Rafayel’s arms, sighing.

“What do you want to do now, pipsqueak? Do you want to finish your food now or later?” Caleb trails off, stroking your hair.

You continue clinging to Rafayel, peeking over at the untouched (and most likely cold) soup. “Can we watch a movie first? I’m not really in the mood to eat right now. Maybe I’ll be hungry after we finish a movie,” you mutter, peeking at Caleb and the others.

Each man agreed to your proposal and began setting the living room up for the impromptu movie night. When everyone starts to settle down for the movie, they all leave space for you to sit next to them—lots of space. You prop your hands on your hips, unsure of where to sit, while these men subtly glare at each other. 

“Can you guys scoot a little closer?” You ask, gesturing for everyone to move in.

Caleb, Sylus, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel reluctantly scoot closer to each other. When they stop to look at you, you shake your head with disapproval and continue to gesture for them to move closer. Once they’re finally sitting side by side, thighs touching, you nod with approval. You grab the throw blanket that Caleb bought for you and drape the blanket over their laps, ignoring the confused stares thrown your way. You grab a plushie that works as a pillow and place it on Sylus’s lap. You walk to the light switch, turn the living room lights off before returning to where the others are waiting for you, still confused about what you’re plotting. On your way back, you grab the spare plush blanket that hangs from the armrest of the sofa. This is probably the most you’ve moved around since returning from your solo mission. 

You briefly sit on Zayne’s lap before lying down on everyone’s lap. If these men want to fight over who gets to sit beside you while watching the movie, you might as well make them your bed. You lay your head on the plushie pillow on Sylus’s lap, draping your blanket over your body.

Rafayel frowns. “Hey, how come I’m the only one with the short end of the stick?” Rafayel mutters, lightly tickling your feet, making you jolt.

You peek at Rafayel with a playful glare. “Don’t worry, Rafayel. I’ll be switching positions when we start watching another movie after this one,” you reply, getting comfortable. 

About twenty minutes into the movie, you slowly start to doze off. There are many times when you try to force yourself to stay awake during the first few minutes of the movie. But the more the movie drags on, you can’t help but slowly fall asleep. You’re so comfortable: fresh out of the shower, wearing cozy pajamas, lying on top of Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, and Rafayel’s lap with a blanket over you. 

You don’t mind spending your vacation and sick days like this as long as you’re surrounded by the people who cherish you and care about you. Right when you succumb to your slumber, you feel someone press a kiss on your head, and more kisses soon follow after the first.

Note: I can't believe that this is my second fanfic for Love&Deepspace and the next fic is going to be smut 😭 One of my ideas for the smut was going to be based on the Tomorrow Catch-22 memories, but then that (the fic) ended up being the complete opposite of the event and the memories. So, I'm probably going to scrap that idea and come up with a new one for the upcoming smut-fic for my LADS series. If you're interested in joining my Discord server, the invite to my Discord server can be found [HERE]! The Discord server invite links will be different every time I post a new fanfic, and these links have expiration dates. It's a relatively chill server, which I like because the server nearly crashed when it was first created. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows. You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^

[wbbfannnnnn13]

Almost, Always - Chapter 15

paige x azzi

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

A/N: Alright, here it is! We're moving the plot forward little by little... I don't have a whole lot to say, I think I'm tapped out on words after this chapter. I just hope you guys like it :)

WC: 4,246

Chapter 15: That’s My Shooter 

Azzi POV

Timeout. 11 seconds.

She stared at the scoreboard, 86–86, sweat slipping down her neck in thick, salty streams. The crowd at College Park was on its feet — loud and unruly, the kind of noise you could feel in your ribs. But all Azzi could focus on was the ball in her hands, the hush in her head, and the burn still stinging her calves.

Coach pointed at her on the clipboard.

“Clear out. We trust you.”

She didn’t need anything else.

The play unfolded quickly — Aaliyah’s screen, a slip-pass from Georgia, her defender trailing just behind her left shoulder. Azzi barely registered the clock as she stepped back behind the arc, settled her hips, rose up.

Clean release.

Swish.

Silence, for half a beat.

Then the arena cracked open.

The crowd noise swallowed everything — groans from Dallas fans, cheers from a pocket of red up in the nosebleeds, the blare of the buzzer still echoing in her chest. It wasn’t confetti or chaos — just the slow, stunned unravel of a season ending.

They had done it. The Mystics had pulled off the upset in Dallas.

She stayed frozen for a second, her arms still up in the follow-through, before Aaliyah grabbed her in a hug and the bench started pouring onto the court. Shouts, high-fives, and someone smacking the back of her head. She let herself be swept into it, adrenaline still spiking.

But even through the noise, she felt it.

A flicker across the court.

She turned, just in time to catch Paige near half court. The crowd had cleared between them for a moment, long enough to see her.

Blonde ponytail loose. Hands on her hips. Eyes on Azzi.

Paige’s face was unreadable at first—calm, collected—but then her lips parted, and she mouthed the words:

That’s my shooter.

The proud smile that followed landed like a shot to the chest.

It was soft. Familiar. Real. But even in the pride, Azzi could see the ache sitting behind her eyes. The disappointment she was trying so hard to hide. The way her shoulders barely sagged, like she was bracing herself to feel all of it later, in private. That look of pride and heartbreak sitting side by side was so unmistakably Paige.

Azzi’s throat closed.

She wanted to go to her. Even if just for a second. To wrap her arms around her. To say I love you, I’m sorry, we’ll talk. But before she could even take a step, she felt someone slam into her from the side, friendly, teasing.

“Yo, sniper!” Georgia shouted, grabbing her face and shaking her playfully. “Are you even real?”

The moment broke. When Azzi turned back toward mid-court, Paige was already walking away, being ushered toward the locker room by staff.

Gone.

Azzi had done it.

She ended Paige’s season.

And that part hadn’t fully hit her yet.

It didn’t hit until she passed the postgame tunnel, just as the Wings’ locker room door eased shut behind a staffer — quiet, final. The weight of it punched her low in her chest—not regret, not pride. Just the strange ache of something inevitable. She hadn’t seen Paige after the buzzer. No handshake. No eye contact. Just a flash of that familiar blonde ponytail vanishing down the opposite tunnel.

She was halfway to the press room before the adrenaline started to wear off.

By the time she sat down at the table, flanked by Aaliyah and Coach, her body felt heavy. Her knees still buzzed. She pulled the mic closer and braced for it.

First question.

“Azzi, congrats on the win. That was a tough series. What was your mindset heading into tonight?”

She gave a tired smile. “Just trying to stay locked in. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy in their house. Had to stay composed.”

Another.

“That final shot—walk us through that possession. Did you know you were taking it as soon as the timeout was called?”

“Yeah, Coach drew it up. Trusted me to make the read. I knew I’d get a clean look if I stayed patient.”

Aaliyah chimed in on the screen. Coach added something about execution.

More questions followed. Smart ones. Good ones. Azzi talked about defense, chemistry, and next steps. She was settling in, almost letting herself exhale.

Then it turned.

A reporter in the back, mid-30s maybe, clean-cut with a press badge from a sports blog she’d never heard of, leaned into his mic.

“Azzi, obviously this series came with a lot of personal weight. You and Paige, so much history, so much media attention. What was it like going head-to-head in a playoff series against someone you’re so connected to?”

Her grip on the mic tightened.

She offered a careful nod. “It was emotional. Paige is a competitor. We both wanted it. I respect her a lot.”

Another hand shot up.

“Would you say that tonight was about proving anything, especially after so much attention has been on her career the last few seasons?”

Her stomach turned.

She didn’t answer right away.

And that was all the opening they needed.

“Does this win change anything about your relationship dynamic? From the outside, it’s always been Paige in the spotlight—”

Aaliyah shifted beside her.

“Do you feel like you're finally stepping into your own narrative?”

Azzi’s throat felt dry.

She didn’t want to be that player, the one who cracked in front of cameras. She didn’t want to let the wrong thing slip that couldn’t be taken back. But more than that, she didn’t want to be the player always orbiting someone else’s spotlight.

She had hit the shot. She had carried the weight. And still, they couldn’t stop asking about Paige.

The question pressed in like a bruise, and before she could stop herself—

“Can you ask me a question that doesn’t have to do with Paige?”

The silence was instant. Palpable.

She didn’t mean to let it out that way. She really didn’t. It hadn’t even felt like a decision — more like a spark catching dry air, something volatile and buried that found its opening and ignited before she could stop it.

The words were already out there, sharp and bare, hanging in the air like smoke. Lingering. Filling every inch of space around her.

She could feel the room shift — not with gasps or outrage, but something quieter. A pulling back. A recalibration.

The reporters stopped scribbling. The lights felt hotter. Even the moderator blinked twice, like he wasn’t sure whether to move on or apologize for her.

Azzi’s heart thundered in her ears. Her grip tightened around the mic, suddenly aware of how her voice had sounded — tight, thin, too close to breaking.

She didn’t look at Aaliyah. Couldn’t. All she could do was sit in the silence she had created, every second stretching just long enough to wonder if this would be the thing they remembered instead of the shot.

Coach leaned forward, voice firm. “Let’s keep it focused on tonight’s game, please.”

Someone mumbled an apology. The moderator cut in to redirect. But the moment had already shifted. The tension clung to her skin.

The next few questions came in slower, more cautious. Azzi barely registered them. She could feel her chest tightening. Her pulse hammering again, but this time for all the wrong reasons.

Aaliyah didn’t say anything as they stood to leave. She just gave her a long look—confused, maybe a little hurt—like she’d just seen a side of Azzi she didn’t recognize.

Azzi walked fast through the tunnel, past the media swarm and down the corridor where the team buses were waiting. She didn’t stop. Just kept walking until the hallway thinned out and the noise faded behind her.

She was spiraling. She knew she was spiraling.

Paige hadn’t even seen the clip yet. But she would. Twitter would make sure of that. Every headline would frame it the same way: Azzi vs. Paige. As if that was all this ever was.

And Paige… Paige had just lost. On her home court. To her.

This was not how she wanted any of this to go.

—————————

Paige POV 

The locker room was quiet.

Not tense, not angry — just the kind of quiet that comes after you’ve given everything and it still wasn’t enough.

She sat at her locker, shoulders slightly hunched, a towel around her neck. Her jersey was already off, folded neatly on the bench beside her. The compression of her knee sleeves still clung to her skin, the tight grip a lingering reminder of the minutes she’d just logged — every sprint, every cut, every fight for space that wasn’t enough in the end.

She didn’t take them off right away.

Not because they needed to stay on — but because slipping them off would mean the game was really over. The season, too. And right now, she wasn’t ready to let it be final.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end.

And wasn’t that the part that stung the most?

That even when she executed, even when she led, it didn’t change the outcome. She wondered — quietly, secretly — if maybe her ceiling wasn’t what it used to be. If the weight of her name had started to outpace what she could still deliver.

She hated thinking like that. But losses like this? They made the thoughts harder to ignore. 

Azzi had been better.

Paige wasn’t bitter. She just hated losing. Always had. And losing to her — someone she loved more than anything — somehow didn’t make it easier.

It just made it heavier.

She let out a long breath, pulled off her headband, and dropped it into her lap.

The moment after the buzzer kept replaying in her head. Watching that shot go down. Watching Azzi disappear into a sea of teammates. That half-second they’d locked eyes across the court — the look she gave her, the smile she’d forced, the words she mouthed —

That’s my shooter.

She meant it. Every word. But God, it had hurt. It still did.

She hadn’t been able to get to Azzi through the crowd. It had been chaos. She’d started toward her instinctively, but Wings staff had stepped in, ushering her away — gently but firmly, with cameras swarming and fans pressing down near the court.

Someone walked past and squeezed her shoulder. She barely registered it. She peeled off her knee sleeves before heading to the press room. 

The press room wasn’t big, and she didn’t need long to answer their questions.

“Paige, tough loss tonight — what was your sense of how the game slipped away?”

She answered without overthinking. “They executed in the fourth. We had chances, but we didn’t capitalize. Credit to them — they made plays.”

“Anything you’d take back from the final possessions?”

She shook her head. “No regrets. We ran what we believed in. That’s basketball.”

“Obviously, a lot of attention on the matchup between you and Azzi. What was it like sharing the court in a series like this?”

Her tone stayed even. “It’s always special. We’ve been competing with and against each other a long time. Nothing but love and respect.”

The media thanked her. She thanked them back. Clean. Smooth. The kind of postgame availability she’d done a hundred times before.

Heading back to the locker room, she went straight to the showers, water running too hot down her back. By the time she dressed — hoodie over her head, joggers sticking slightly to damp skin — her body felt a little heavier. Not just from soreness, but from the kind of mental weight that didn’t wear off quickly.

A few teammates were still lingering, sitting on benches, scrolling, decompressing. One of them offered her half a protein bar. She waved it off.

Her phone buzzed. 

She picked it up casually, expecting a family group text or a postgame message from a friend.

Instead, she saw the headline:

“Azzi Fudd Snaps at Reporter Over Paige Question After Game-Winner”

Her stomach dropped.

She tapped the video.

Azzi looked tired. Wired and pale and twitchy in the way she always got when her head was spinning, but she hadn’t admitted it to herself yet. The questions started soft — good ones. Paige watched Azzi’s expression soften when she talked about the play call, the defense, and the game.

And then the shift.

She could see it the moment it started to slide sideways — her jaw tightened, her gaze locked, her voice clipped.

“Can you ask me a question that doesn’t have to do with Paige?”

Even on the little screen, Paige could feel the tension. The weight of it all.

Her chest pulled tight.

She didn’t feel offended. She didn’t feel hurt. Not really.

What she felt was worry.

Because she knew Azzi, she knew how hard she tried to hold it all together, how deeply she carried things, how rarely she let it spill.

And now it had.

Paige’s phone buzzed again. This time, a text from KK.

KK: “Did you see it yet?”

KK: “I didn’t say anything but… yeah something’s up. Just be gentle.”

Paige stared at the screen for a second longer.

She didn’t respond.

She just stood, slung her duffel over her shoulder, and moved toward the exit.

——————————

Later that night

Paige moved on instinct.

She didn’t overthink it. Didn’t try to orchestrate the perfect fix. She just started moving — quietly, intentionally — following a pull she didn’t have words for yet.

She ordered from the little Thai place they’d found together last spring, when Azzi came down to help her move into her apartment right after the draft. They’d been exhausted and starving, too tired to unpack, and stumbled into this tiny strip mall spot with handwritten specials and the best noodles either of them had ever tasted.

It had become their spot after that.

Every time Azzi was in town, it was the one thing she craved without fail. Paige didn’t even need to ask her order.

She put in a delivery order before heading home. Paused at a red light, she had just long enough to type out a text.

Paige: Just meet me back at my place.

Simple. No punctuation. No explanation.

She figured Azzi would read into it. Knew the shortness might make her nervous. But it was all she had in her tonight — all she could manage without saying too much too soon.

Because somewhere between the final buzzer and that press clip looping in her head, Paige realized this wasn’t just a media thing. Not just a narrative spun too far. Something deeper was stirring underneath. Something Azzi hadn’t put into words yet. Maybe couldn’t.

And maybe Paige had missed it. 

Or maybe she’d chosen not to look too closely.

She unlocked the door to her apartment, dropped her keys on the counter, and moved through the quiet. The city buzzed outside, but her place felt still. Still enough to breathe. Still enough to set something soft in motion — not a fix, not a performance.

Just a gesture.

One that might remind Azzi she wasn’t alone in whatever this was.

__________________

Azzi POV

The text came in right as she was toweling off her hair.

Paige: Just meet me back at my place.

No heart. No emoji. No you good? Or let’s talk.

Just that.

Azzi stared at it like it might shift into something else if she gave it enough time. She read it once. Twice. Tried to gauge tone from nothing — from the space between letters. It didn’t help.

She knew what this probably was. Damage control. A gentle confrontation. The kind of conversation where someone speaks softly, but the air feels sharp.

Her stomach flipped.

It wasn’t just that they’d lost the moment on the court. It was everything that had come after — the press conference, the headlines, the way Aaliyah had looked at her like she didn’t even know who she was anymore.

She hadn’t meant to make it about Paige.

But somehow it always became about Paige.

And now she had to face her. After taking her season. After saying what she said. After watching her walk off the court with that proud, aching smile and doing nothing, saying nothing, because Georgia had slammed into her a second too soon.

She finished dressing in a blur — hoodie, sweats, sneakers barely tied. She stuffed her travel bag and pulled out her phone again, rereading the text for the fifth time. Her thumbs hovered like she might ask Are you mad? or Is this about the clip?

But she didn’t send anything.

She didn’t know what Paige wanted from her. And maybe worse — she didn’t know what she wanted either.

She walked back into the hallway, flagged down the team manager before she could board the bus. “I’ve got different travel plans. I’ll fly out later this week.”

The manager nodded. She didn’t ask questions. No one did. Everyone in the organization already knew: if Azzi was in Dallas, she wasn’t leaving right away. Not unless she had to.

The ride over was silent. She stared out the window, the city lights smearing across the glass like watercolor. Every stoplight made her heart pound a little harder. Every turn closer to Paige’s apartment made her breath catch.

She replayed the press conference in her head again, every clipped word, every frozen stare from Aaliyah. The questions had blurred together after that one moment—the one where her voice broke before she even realized it. Her palms wouldn’t stop sweating. Her throat still felt raw, like the words had scratched their way out.

Was Paige about to pull away?

Not end things. Paige wouldn’t do that, not outright. But maybe this was the beginning of the slow fade, the kind that didn’t come with a fight or a final sentence. Just smaller gestures. Softer answers. Silence stretched a little longer between texts. Distance that felt polite on the surface but hollow underneath.

Azzi pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Outside, the city moved without her—headlights cutting through intersections, people spilling out of restaurants, everyone on their way somewhere that didn’t feel as heavy as this.

Her breath fogged the glass. She drew a small circle with her fingertip, just to ground herself. It disappeared almost instantly.

She’d never been afraid to face Paige before. But this wasn’t a postgame debrief or a playful walk through what-if scenarios. This was real. Vulnerable. Consequential.

She didn’t know what Paige had seen in that clip. Didn’t know what she’d felt. But Azzi knew what she had felt: the unraveling. The shame. The ache of being seen in a way she hadn’t meant to be seen.

Each stoplight made her heart thud harder. Every turn closer tightened her chest until she could barely breathe

When she finally got there, she didn’t buzz the intercom. She didn’t need to. She still had the code. Still knew the rhythm of the elevator buttons. Still remembered the way the metal doors always shuddered slightly before closing.

Everything felt too quiet. Too normal.

She sent Paige a text — here — and pocketed her phone before she could overthink again.

The elevator doors opened, and suddenly her hands were shaking.

She wasn’t sure why. She’d been here a hundred times. Had memorized the smell of the hallway, the soft carpet, the art on the walls. But now her palms were sweaty, and her chest was tight, and it felt like she was about to walk into something that could shatter her completely.

She stepped off the elevator.

It was… dark.

The only light came from under the door — soft and flickering, like candles maybe, or the muted glow of a lamp.

She hesitated. For half a second.

Then moved forward.

She punched in the code. The door clicked open.

And then she heard it.

Music. Soft. Slow. R&B — something old-school that Paige always played when she cooked or cleaned or needed her head to quiet down.

Azzi stepped inside.

The smell hit her first. Thai food. Her favorite order. Exactly what she would’ve picked. Her throat tightened.

Then her eyes adjusted — and she saw Paige.

Standing in the middle of the living room, brown takeout bag in hand, surrounded by rose petals and low, flickering candlelight. Not saying anything. Just smiling.

That smile.

That look.

The one Azzi knew by heart — the one Paige didn’t hand out easily. Not in interviews. Not to fans. Not even to teammates. It was soft and steady and entirely unguarded. A little shy, like she wasn’t sure if she was doing too much, but brave enough to try anyway. It said I see you. I know you. I love you anyway.

That look was hers.

And it undid her.

Her feet stayed frozen just inside the doorway, the soles of her sneakers glued to the hardwood, like her body couldn’t decide if it was allowed to move toward something this tender. Her heart was pounding so loud she was sure Paige could hear it, each beat a thunderclap in her chest, in her throat, behind her eyes.

Paige didn’t speak.

Didn’t move quickly.

She just held Azzi’s gaze — steady and open, like she was offering something fragile — then slowly walked over to the coffee table and set the takeout bag down with both hands, the kind of careful that meant this mattered.

Azzi couldn’t look away.

Her eyes followed every motion — the softness in Paige’s shoulders, the barely-there tremble in her fingertips, the way her breath caught just slightly before she straightened up again.

And then she saw it.

The jersey.

Faded white mesh. Red block letters across the chest.

TEAM AZZI

She couldn’t breathe.

High school. Phoenix. That tournament where Paige had shown up unannounced, wearing that same jersey. 

Azzi remembered the way Paige had stood in the corner of the gym afterward — not loud or flashy, just waiting. Awkward. Proud. The kind of proud that made her heart race. She’d waited until Azzi finished talking to her teammates, then walked out with her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You looked unstoppable out there,” Paige had said in the parking lot, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s — tentative, testing the line between friendship and something deeper.

Azzi’s cheeks had gone hot. “Only because I saw you first.”

Paige had laughed — that quiet, stunned kind of laugh — and bumped her shoulder. “That’s my shooter.”

Now, standing in Paige’s apartment, her hands shaking and heart too full, the memory landed deeper than it ever had before.

Azzi’s knees almost buckled.

The tears hit before she could stop them — sharp and hot, rising from somewhere deep in her chest that had stayed locked up all week. A small gasp slipped out, sudden and raw — half sob, half prayer — the kind of sound that only escapes when you’ve been holding everything in for too long.

And then Paige was already there.

Closing the space between them.

Pulling her in with arms that wrapped around her like instinct — like memory — like Paige had never forgotten how Azzi fit against her, even when everything else felt tangled and uncertain.

Azzi folded. Completely.

Her hand brushed against the fabric, fingertips grazing the worn mesh like it might dissolve under her touch. The red block letters were slightly faded now, but still bold. Still legible.

TEAM AZZI

She let her fingers pause there, right on the name, the heat of Paige’s body radiating through the thin material. It wasn’t just a jersey. It was a memory stitched into cotton. A declaration pulled from the past and placed here, in the middle of candlelight and takeout, after everything.

Paige hadn’t just kept it. She had chosen it. Chosen to wear it again tonight, in the stillness after the noise, when no one else was watching.

Like she was saying, without speaking:

This is still true. You’re still mine. I still believe in you.

And in that moment, Azzi didn’t just feel seen. She felt known.

Her hoodie bunched under Paige’s hands, fingers gripping tight like she was afraid Azzi might disappear if she let go. Azzi’s face buried into the curve of Paige’s shoulder — that familiar spot just beneath her collarbone where she always seemed to land, like her body remembered before her mind could catch up.

It was the same spot she’d curled into after her first UConn start, when she’d missed three threes and couldn’t stop crying into Paige’s hoodie back in the dorm. The same place she’d leaned her head after they beat South Carolina for the title — equal parts joy and relief.

Paige had always let her land there, no matter the outcome.

She inhaled, and it was Paige. Sweat and clean detergent and something warm beneath it all that smelled like home.

And for the first time all day, she let herself break.

The walls she’d held up through the final possession, through the press conference, through the long ride over — they cracked all at once. Her shoulders shook. Her hands balled into fists against Paige’s back, not to push her away but to hold on harder. She wasn’t even sure what she was crying for anymore — the win, the loss, the fear, the shame, the love of it all.

But Paige didn’t move.

Didn’t rush her.

Just held her there in the quiet, like she had nowhere else to be. Like Azzi’s pain didn’t scare her. Like she still saw her as whole, even in the unraveling.

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Vil Schoenheit - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Beside Mister S's Mystery Shop]

[students clamor outside shop]

Vil: Sigh… What a waste of a trip. This is what happens after I made the effort to come all the way here?

Deuce: Schoenheit-senpai, hello! That was a pretty big sigh… Did something happen?

Vil: I had just come by Sam's shop here to pick up something I ordered and there happens to be a sign posted on the door saying he's not in right now.

Deuce: Eh!? Really? Man… I had some shopping I had to do for my dorm, too.

Vil: It said he'll return within 30 minutes, but I have plans after this already. Unfortunate…

Vil: Especially since I don't have much free time what with the birthday party we're throwing at our dorm tomorrow for my birthday. I guess I'll have to come back another day…

Deuce: Oh, is it your birthday tomorrow? Then, I can pick it up for you!

Deuce: I gotta buy some stuff of my own anyway, so think of me doing this as my gift to you.

Vil: Well now, if you say so, I'd like that. Would you be able to bring my merchandise to my dormitory after classes tomorrow?

Vil: If you time it right, you may even attend my birthday party.

Deuce: The party!? I mean, I guess I am curious what kind of food you guys'd serve… But is it okay that I join, even if I'm from a different dorm?

Vil: I don't mind whatsoever. I'll let the party planner know. I appreciate you picking up my order. See you later, then.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Ballroom]

Vil: ―98, 99, 100! Whew…

[door opens, Rook greets Vil]

Vil: …What terrifyingly perfect timing, Rook. I had just finished my exercises for the day.

Vil: Then, go ahead and start your report. The first matter at hand are the equipment requests? I see. Show me their applications. I'll look over them.

[flips pages]

Vil: ―I see no issues; I'll submit them as is. How are the ballroom reservation requests looking?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: …Oh, there seems to be quite a lot this week. Have you already put out a coordination notice? Good.

Vil: This ballroom is a place that allows our students to refine themselves even further… So we should do what we can so that they can use it as much as possible.

Vil: We can use the schedule you laid out without any changes, Rook. Next topic.

Vil: Have the students who were cited during last week's surprise dorm uniform inspection fixed their attire?

[Rook speaks]

Vil: Everyone successfully passed re-inspection? Good… As proud Pomefiore students, I do hope that no one fails next time.

Vil: Alright, we'll call it there for today. I'll go take a shower and head back to my room.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Vil: …Whew. I dislike how I can't take my time with my skincare regimen while using a shared washroom.

Vil: It's enough of a struggle just trying to spray my lotion enough across my body. I should head back quickly to finish the rest of my care routine.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[door slams, Vil rushes in]

Vil: The sooner I can apply the rest of my skincare after taking a shower, the better my skin will look tomorrow…!

Vil: I took in an abundance of the sun's rays today during flight class, so my top priority would be to mitigate any UV damage!

Vil: I'll apply this beauty cream with a cooling factor thoroughly by hand first… Next comes the face pack.

Vil: The air was rather dry today, so I'll use one with moisturizing cream.

Vil: I need to apply it quickly so as to not let the cream's moisture dry up. Quickly, gently, smoothly… Use a spatula to carefully make everything fall into place…!

Vil: Whew. That should be enough. Now I'll leave it on for 15 minutes…

[sets alarm]

Vil: Now then, time waits for no one. I should finish "this" up while I wait to take off the face pack.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Vil: Improvements, hm… I know I have many things I'd want to ask for. Above all else, I am sorely in need of a shower and washbasin installed in my room.

Vil: I can't say I'm fond of doing only the minimal care I can in that shared space and rushing back to my room to finish everything else.

Vil: I wouldn't even be so egregious as to ask it for every single room. Even if it were only my… the Housewarden's room, that would be enough.

Vil: To be perfectly frank, I would like my own personal ballroom, as well as a heated pool, sauna, and jacuzzi…

Vil: It would be perfect if I could have an oxygen chamber, as well. That is a vital piece of equipment for our dormitory's pursuit of beauty.

Vil: Who knows how seriously that Headmage of ours would be taking the responses to this survey…

Vil: However, nothing will happen if I don't make the request in the first place. "I would like a shower and washbasin in the Housewarden's room."

[alarm beeps]

Vil: Oh, it's time. Time to take off the face pack. I'll soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer, and gently, carefully pull it off… Hum-de-dum♪

Vil: Perfect. I am still so beautiful today. I'll finish with a massage to help with blood circulation.

Vil: Start with the forehead, then around the eyes, nose, mouth and the face line in turn… Gently massage the treatment oil in…

Vil: …That should be it for skincare. Next, I'll focus on each body part individually.

Vil: This body cream doesn't spread very well, does it? I really expected better from this latest product… Well, what a shame.

Vil: ―What a lovely fragrance. This oil can be used for moisturizing both body and hair, I see. It goes on the shelves… Oh, next month. I should make sure to order some in advance.

Vil: …Delicious. Of course, I blended this herbal tea myself, so it's no surprise I like the taste.

Vil: Whew, I'm finally finished with everything. There is simply too much to do after showering...

Vil: However, every little bit of self-care I do lends itself to my growing beauty. I cannot allow myself to go a single day without putting in the effort.

Vil: Now, early to bed is the key. Beauty cannot be made by neglecting good sleep habits.

Vil: I'll just pour some water in the humidifier… And start my sleeping playlist…

Vil: …That was a wonderful effort today. Sleep well, and look to tomorrow.

Vil: Goodnight, me.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Vil's Room]

[alarm rings, turns off]

Vil: Mmm, ah, that was a good night's sleep. I feel completely refreshed both in mind and spirit.

Vil: Ah, I shouldn't dally about. I need to soak a cotton ball with the moisturizer and wipe off the residual skincare products, then…

[takes off cap]

Vil: UV rays may be the antithesis to radiant skin, but there is still a need to soak in some sunlight in order to maintain a healthy appearance.

Vil: All right, time to fully awaken my body. I'll start with stretching my upper body.

Vil: First, bend both elbows and interlock the fingers in front of my chest… Stretch them forward, far away from the body while exhaling.

Vil: One more time, bring the palms back to my chest… Then reach as high up as possible, stretching both the arm and back muscles―

Vil: Whew… In these moments when I can just focus on working my body like this, I can feel just how gradually everything becomes limber.

Vil: Every little bit of effort I can provide for everything under my skin also helps in maintaining my beautiful looks, as well.

Vil: I should wash my face while my circulation finishes warming up.

Vil: Since I don't have a washbasin, I'll fill a bowl with warm water using magic, then lather up a good foam with some facial soap.

Vil: Carefully and gently, so the fine lather stays plump, rest it on the face's T-zone, then spread it to the rest of the face.

Vil: A book I read a while back recommended using cold water when doing this facial, but it didn't suit me well…

Vil: With how my skin looks right now, I think I can get away with not using a hot towel steam face pack today. I'll dive right in to moisturizing…

Vil: Oh, that's right. I should try out the sample skincare booster I received when I last went shopping in Foothill Town.

Vil: Oh, my. This booster has an abundance of reparative ingredients.

Vil: I can see why the sales consultant said it was one of their prime products.

Vil: However… I think this is too much for my taste. It's a shame, but I'll go with my usual one.

Vil: The one I'm currently using isn't anything too high-brand, but it is perfect for my skin especially during a fickle time like spring.

Vil: Of course, I absolutely would be interested in using a more high-quality brand-name skincare product… But this has far more ingredients in it than I would like.

Vil: It could lead to pimples or rashes, so I truly do need to be selective with what I use.

Vil: I should leave the thought of using those highly sought after skincare products for 10 or 20 years down the road.

Vil: I wonder what today's weather looks like…? Oh, clear skies all day. Heh, perhaps the sun is trying to celebrate my birthday, as well?

Vil: It looks like the UV index is fairly high considering the time of year. I should apply a stronger, longer-lasting sunscreen today.

Vil: Alright… This should be good enough.

Vil: Well then, I'll try to bask in some of the sun's rays while jogging…

Vil: Once I finish, I'll take a shower, go through my skincare regimen once more, and then apply my makeup!

Vil: The question then becomes, should I use the special makeup set I received directly from a manufacturer specifically for my birthday, or use the products that I purchased myself?

Vil: There's so many products I want to try; it's a dire shame that I only have one face! I wonder what will suit me best today―

[Main Street]

Deuce: Good morning, Schoenheit-senpai!

Vil: Good morning to you, Deuce. Were you successful in completing my request?

Deuce: Yes, sir! Just as I promised, I'll bring it by your dorm after school. Anyway… Happy Birthday, again!

Vil: Thanks. Do enjoy the party once you've delivered my order.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Hampstead Part 2

Synopsis: Joe finds out you've been hiding something from him or, better yet, someone

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Ex-girlfriend!Reader

Read Part 1 first

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Liked by ciara, theestallion, latto777, hollywoodunlocked, arianagrande, and 3,692,051 others

y/nbailey: late post, but me and my forever valentine 💕

-> ciara: who is this baby, and why does he look like you? 😳

-> summerwalker: he is absolutely precious. welcome to motherhood. you're doing amazing sweetie

-> y/nsource: SO THIS IS WHERE YOU'VE BEEN

-> joeybandy/n: so um I'm just going to say it, is that Joe's baby? 👀👀👀

-

Joe kept refreshing your Instagram page not truly believing what he was currently seeing with his own eyes.

You have a son?

It was obvious by looking at him that he had to have been less than a year old and he looked exactly like you.

There was no denying that he belonged to you.

So, you were pregnant when the two of you were together?

So that could mean only one of two things,

You cheated on him at the same time or your son was also his which he couldn't wrap his head around considering that there was no resemblance.

And if you were pregnant and it was his, why didn't you tell him?

Looking at the time on his phone in the top right corner, he noticed that if he didn't leave his house in the next five minutes that he would be late to dinner with his parents.

Joe had forgotten about the promise that he made to the both of them when you posted that video on your Instagram.

Hampstead.

It held a special place in his heart and mind since that was where the two of you crossed paths for the first time.

Everything was good between the both of you until it wasn’t. And Joe had no one to blame but himself.

He did love you, that much was true and then he got greedy.

He wanted you as well as this new and upcoming model that he had met at least twice before.

That was where he went wrong.

His biggest regret was not running after you when you had caught him red handed.

The bond was too strong. There was no way that you were going to leave him.

Until you did.

You didn't answer his calls for two weeks and when you finally did, you told him that you were coming to get your clothes before promptly hanging up. Not letting him give the sincere apology that he had rehearsed multiple times.

He should have known that you wouldn't want to hear it.

Joe wanted to spend his life with you and told you multiple times, so why did he go out and cheat?

He didn't have an answer.

It was only one time, but that one time changed everything as he knew it.

Regret.

It was felt every day.

That's why he acted so nonchalant and hid behind his Joe Cool persona.

If no one could tell he was hurting on the outside, maybe just maybe it would transfer to the inside too.

Dinner was somewhat awkward and his parents kept looking at one another knowing that something was wrong. Attempting to engage in conversation about what he planned to do during the offseason went nowhere until finally it came to the surface.

“She has a son.” Joe quietly said and both Jimmy and Robin paused mid bite to look at him.

“We know.” Robin replied before taking a sip of her water that was placed to the side of her.

“Wait, how do you two know?”

“Because we met him.” Jimmy added as Joe got a confused look on his face.

“What? And why did no one tell me?” Joe asked as he set his fork down on his plate.

“Don't you remember us telling you for MONTHS to call her and try to talk to her? Oh, and how you ignored her calls because you didn't know what to say to her?”

“Yeah, so?” Joe said as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Why do you think we did that?” Jimmy asked while looking at him.

“He doesn't even look like me.”

“Because he stole his mother's entire face.”

“Wait, what if he's not mine? She could have cheated.”

“Apparently you did enough cheating for the both of you so I highly doubt that.” Robin answered while giving her son the side eye.

“I…” Joe started to say but promptly closed his mouth.

“No matter how you feel about the situation, you need to call her.”

“So in other words she hid an entire child from me? And everyone is acting like this is normal behavior?” He asked, catching an obvious attitude.

“Not exactly, after the way you treated her. Can you honestly blame her? You were supposed to propose, remember?”

–

Once Joe had gotten home, he was currently sitting in his car and because of having an extended period of time to think during the drive, he picked up his phone and stared at it debating on whether to text you or not.

You did answer the last time he had sent a text which basically dismissed him altogether. So, that was good right?

Well not good that you dismissed him but good that you actually answered.

Which he wasn't expecting to begin with.

The bottom line was that he was torn. Torn because you should have told him and torn because he made you feel as though you couldn't tell him.

But, what if this time was different?

After taking a deep breath, he opened up the text thread that was shared between the both of you and slowly began typing.

Joe- Y/N, do you have something to tell me? Better yet SOMEONE to tell me about?

You- Joseph, please don't play on my phone. You ignored me for literal MONTHS. And now you have the nerve to be mad because you found out like everyone else?

Joe- Yes because I apparently have a son who doesn't even know who I am. And you told my parents but not me?

You- Yes because unlike you, they actually wanted to be a part of his life.

Joe- How do I even know he's mine? And you didn't even give me the chance to.

You- Goodnight Joseph and don't bother me again unless you want to have an adult conversation.

Looking down at your phone in disbelief, you moved it to the side as your son had now fallen asleep on your chest. He hadn't been feeling well the past three days and whatever he had caught you had caught it too.

This was probably the most he had slept and you made sure to not move so much since reading the multiple text messages from Joe had you heated. You could tell that your heart rate had increased so therefore so did your breathing.

Only one question loomed in your mind,

How dare he?

[arandomao3user]

Your version of timber is amazing and I need more

Sure!

Tim: I need to be prepared for everything life throws at me.

Bernard: Uh, how can I help..?

Tim: Pretend to divorce me.

Bernard: We aren't even married?

Tim: Oh.

Tim, pulling out a ring and getting on one knee: Elope with me and pretend to divorce me.

Bernard: Sure. We could get divorced for real though and remarry with a proper wedding, that way we kinda know what to expect the first time and then we can do it right the second.

Tim: You're a genius!

—

Jason, groaning with a gun in hand as he opens his door: What the fu.... ck?

Tim, in a dress: Marry us. I know you're certified.

Bernard, also in a dress: We couldn't find a tailor on such short notice so we had to make due with our Mother's wedding dresses.

Tim: This is Martha Wayne's wedding dress. I couldn't fit in my Mom's.

Bernard: Oh, nice.

Jason: . . . Get in 'ere.

Jason grumbling as he grabs a bible and legal documents: stupid f-$&$ Batman bull...

—

Dick: TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE, DID YOU ELOPE WITH BERNARD LAST NIGHT!?

Bruce: What?

Tim, in the manor with Bernard: Yes. Now, Barbara graduated from law school, right?

Barbara: Harvard, actually.

Tim: Cool. Divorce Bernard and I.

Barbara: That is... Not how it works.

Bernard: Please? We are trying to prepare for life.

Barbara: . . . Okay, which one of you is my client?

Tim: Bern's. I already hired Two Face.

Bruce: You did what?

Damian: Gordon against Dent? This will be interesting.

Barbara: I. . . Okay, why is there even a fight if you two are just gonna get remarried and stay living together?

Tim: He's fighting for rights over Damian.

Bruce: But I have legal rights over Damian? Damian is my son! No, no I did this once with Jason, not again.

Damian: What?

Tim: Yeah, that's why I hired Harvey for you. He says he's eager to defend you in court.

Bruce: Oh god...

Damian: Hm. Do I get a choice in the matter?

Bruce: No!

Barbara: Legally? Yes.

Damian: I choose Dowd.

Bruce: Excuse me!?

Damian: He supports my dreams, unlike you.

Bruce: You can't be a doctor in Gotham! The Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Man Bat—

Damian: How little do you think of me!?

Barbara: This is gonna be a hard case...

Bernard: Damian Dowd does have a nice ring to it.

Tim: I just don't know where we're gonna put him in the boat...

Dick, to Jason: I blame you for this.

Jason, watching the chaos unfold: I know, and I'm fine with that.

—

[clavica]

I've been experimenting last year to try to unfuck my life. COVID left me unemployed and with depression, which was a battle on its own and in the aftermath of it, I found myself in a place where my hobbies and interests were left untouched and under a thick layer of dust for more than three years, because fighting for survival doesn't leave much room for anything extra. To find a job and to get my mental health to so-so place was more important than drawing, cleaning or exercising. And after I finally had some mental and energy room for "something extra" I found myself not really wanting to do anything, so scrolling and mindless media consumption was taking that extra bit I fought so hard to get back and honestly, it made me miserable.

So I started to experiment around getting myself to do more than just survival. I wanted to draw, to read, to exercise, take care of myself, to learn something new. And frankly, it sucked, especially in the beginning. Getting my space cleaned regularly was a struggle. I couldn't stay on track with eating healthy and returned back to bad habits quickly. Creativity wasn't coming and anything I've made felt horrible and ugly, especially that over the years some of my skills eroded and comparing to my old art, I was doing worse...

I guess the best take away from my struggles was to if I can't get something done, is to downsize and limit.

I couldn't get myself to do one day of general cleaning, so I broke it down to 15-20 minutes of cleaning everyday before going to work. At first I used a schedule written on a fridge, then switched to an app to keep track of this and additional tasks and appointments I have, but at this point I know the roster by heart. Monday is for cleaning the stove and counters in the kitchen. Tuesday is wiping mirrors and sweeping floor. Wednesday is cleaning toilet and taking out trash. Thursday is to wipe sink and shower. Friday is free. I do laundry as needed and dishes as well. Dishwasher saved my life as I absolutely detest washing dishes.

Second thing was starting to draw everyday. I got a cheap notebook-calendar and I spend 10-15 mins drawing in it everyday. Even if it's a stick figure. Nobody will see it, and tomorrow I will have another chance to draw something else.

Exercise was the worst. I'm not w sporty person and it's catching up to me. I don't like walking when I have no aim and the weather is bad. Fitness bores me and feels pointless. During pandemic, I got a stationary bike that I was using on and off. So far I managed to put the bike in front of tv and watch Netflix while I cycle, tapping to the crave to watch something and tricking myself to not thinking that I'm exercising. I started with 20min anime episodes, one every day. Currently doing one hour long Netflix shows episodes everyday. Cliffhangers help a bit, because I want to know what happens next and I can't watch without bicycling, so gotta bicycle to know, sorry...

Diet is a problem too, since I eat everything on sight after coming back from work. So I stopped eating after 18:00 because I can't be trusted after that. Deleted all apps where I could order food and I keep in fridge water and vegetables and frozen food for lunch next day. The biggest issue is when I'm out, no rules can stop me there, but fortunately that doesn't happen often.

The last tips I might give basing on my journey:

- if something stands in the way and you can get rid of it - get rid of it

- don't underestimate doing something for fifteen minutes every day, even if it's half-assed

- fuck ups will happen, you will fuck up and that doesn't mean the times you didn't fuck up stopped counting

- it's better to focus on what you're doing now than on possible goals you have

- be kind to yourself

- be patient and don't overextend

Of course everybody is different and their journey might be different. If is, I hope you could share it, as I'm still looking for inspiration to unfuck the rest of my life.

how do u have it all. how do u workout and stretch daily and play an instrument and stay drawing and creative and inspired and have a job. i rlly believe some ppl r living this kind of beautiful and balanced life. its achievable. i think. but how. how does it all become second nature. how do you make it all habit. it feels silly to think something like my phone could be standing in the way of all of it. but maybe it is. or maybe u rlly have to be a specific type of freak person.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hi, so I'm not really sure how to ask this idk, it feels very personal and maybe tmi, and I guess it depends on one's level of bottom dysphoria, but basically, do you (or anyone else who wants to share) have any advice or anything with how to cope with having to go through a physical exam for bottom stuff/ a pap smear for the first time?

I'm asking this as someone who has and always has had severe bottom dysphoria to the point that I've never done anything with those parts and literally never even touched myself. I've just lived painfully aware that I have that stuff but simultaneously pretending as much as possible that I don't. So just the thought of "having to" get that done, being touched there by someone etc, makes me sick and gives me anxiety and I just full on do not want to do that. Ever. But apparently I have to if I'm ever gonna get a hysto, which I really really want.

So now I just feel like it's lose/lose. Either I have to let someone touch me in a way that just thinking about me makes me sick, or I can never get a part of transition that I've been wanting forever since I was kid and learned about my anatomy.

And I just.. mentally, emotionally, physically in every way just really don't know how to deal with that.

I guess it's not that big of a deal for people who don't have bottom dysphoria or not that much of it, and honestly sometimes I feel kinda alone (and almost guilty? Like it's wrong somehow?) in how extremely uncomfortable I am with bottom stuff compared to how I've seen other people be chill with it, but yeah.. idk what to do or how to cope with this.

Don't feel bad about feeling bad -- I may like my dick, but that hole gives me panic attacks and I'm not looking forward to my own exam coming up soon. I worry every time that I am going to kick someone in the face by accident. :/

A pelvic exam/pap is not required to begin HRT, but you will need one for most hystos. Plus, it's just good preventative care. Also, if you are young enough, get your HPV vaccine (a 2 shot series, iirc) to help prevent cervical cancer.

Things that have helped me during gyn exams:

Take the entire day off, if you can. Have a treat set up for after your appointment.

Go with a friend, if possible. They may not be able to be with you in the exam room, but they can at least drive you and wait for you.

Be firm that this is hard for you and anything they can do to make it easier will be helpful.

Put your shirt back on after the breast exam. I don't take "no" for an answer here. Having an extra bit of clothing on makes me feel better.

Ask for the "pediatric" speculum -- it's smaller and won't hurt as bad. Insist on it.

Have something you can grip to take your focus off below.

If they want to do a sonogram, refuse the transvaginal one. Do it the old fashioned way, which will require drinking a lot of water. They can deal.

Don't be embarrassed if your self-care afterwards requires crying, or similar. This is an exhausting thing to do, no matter how brave a face you put on in the exam room. I usually just crawl back into bed to sleep it off.

Above all, never take comments like "just man up" or whatever from the medical team. If that happens, be mean back, or simply get up, get dressed, and leave. Find someone else if you have to.

Scripts I have used. Workshop your own and practice them:

"This is my first time. I'm worried this will be a very uncomfortable exam physically and emotionally for me and I would appreciate anything you can do to make it easier. It helps me if you explain everything as we go."

"I do not have penetrative sex, so would like to try the smallest speculum lubed up best you can."

"I am going to put my shirt back on. It will help me be calmer for the rest of the exam."

If they are rude: "You are being unkind and I will walk out of here and find another provider if this attitude continues."

If they insist on a transvag sonogram: "I will only do an external sonogram. We can schedule it another day for me to prep, or give me time to drink the necessary water." (This is hard, btw -- it is enough water to make you vomit.)

Do whatever mental larping you need to do to get through it all. It's important to psych yourself up so you can control as much as possible. Remember, you can stop things whenever you want. If they are mean, all bets are off.

If you're like me, it will suck, but please try not to put it off. But getting through it means you can tackle anything else related to transition, should you go that route. Seriously, if you can do this, you are fucking golden. Take care. <3

(Additional stories/advice are welcome from folks, being trans masc not required!)

[boy-pussyyy]

things task force 141 have heard their gen z nurse say (pt 1)

characters: simon riley (ghost) and price

warnings: mpreg and medical inaccuracies. crack treated seriously (I think I'm using this tag right). no romance with any of the men. gnc reader.

I'm subjecting you all to my brain worms. fyi this isn't my usual style of writing.

price and ghost

the first time they had seen you angry was certainly a memorable one.

they didn't think much of you when you were first introduced. fresh out of school, quiet, and kept to yourself.

Price had no complaints. so as long as you fixed his men up, it was good enough for him.

So when he found out that Ghost had popped his stitches for the third time, Price had sent for you to fix it. again.

The Captain was insistent that he give it a rest and waited till his wound had closed before starting with P.T.

Ghost, on the other hand, did not.

It had been a grueling twenty minutes of you fruitlessly trying to convince the man that if he didn't let the wound heal completely, he'd be back here again with an infection before the week was out.

You'd already been having a bad day, but the final nail in the coffin was when you realised everything you'd been saying to the man had gone in one ear and out the other.

Huffing, you rose to your feet, chair jerking back with a screech. "Lieutenant, I swear to fuck— if you don't stop popping your stitches, I will draw you pregnant!"

Of all the expletives, they'd expected to hear from you... that hadn't been one of them.

Both men blinked owlishly.

"I mean it." You shot him a withering look. "I'll draw you pregnant with the fattest tits known to man that they'll give Gandalf's big naturals a run for their money."

The men seemed to have a silent conversation between them:

Can she do that?

She'll most definitely try.

What are big naturals?

I'm scared to ask.

Ghost broke the silence first. "Lass, I do not think that—"

"Don't test me, Lieutenant. I've done it before and I'll do it again."

Neither one of them wanted to call your bluff.

And so Ghost let you redo the stitches with no complaints, and made sure not to excert himself lest he find a drawing of his likeness outrageously pregnant pasted all over the walls of the base.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

other versions: johnny and kyle

ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3

[respectthepetty]

Wild Ass Theory - Pit Babe 2

I fucked up and didn't block the tag, so I know some stuff based on everyone's reactions to the trailer, but all I really got out of the reactions is Alan is still fine as hell, and if anything happens to him, I will riot.

I also know Barbie and Charles are going to get married, but I could figure that out from the light up ring box since it was shining so damn bright!

So now that I have watched the trailer, muted, and without subs, I'm here to report on what wild ass theory I came up with based solely on colors and vibes . . . starting with the blue.

Charles is a Blue Boy and Barbara is a Black Brooder, so the beginning of the trailer perfectly captures their love.

Because of Blue Boy Charles, Barbara was much lighter by the end of the first season, and that carries over into this season.

BUT in the scene where Charles leaves Barbie, he is fully black.

So my Wild Ass Theory is I don't think Barbie cheats on Charles. I think his darkness comes from making a deal with the devil.

A whole year ago, way back when a second season was announced with a teaser, I thought Tony was going to use Charles since Charles power was absorbing other powers, and in Jeffrey's visions, he saw Charles bleeding.

So knowing Barbie, he would do anything for his man, including going back to the dark (red) side.

The inside of Barbie's car is red, so I think he is even throwing races to protect Charles.

We know the devil is doing experiments on people, so he can figure out how to give them powers, but I think Charles will be the missing piece of his puzzle.

And this is clearly Blue Boy Charles hooked up for experiments in Peter's lab.

His Blue Boy power has to be the special link Tony is missing, right?!

Therefore, I don't think Barbie is sexually interested in the dark void named Willy, but is trying to get information out of Willy about Tony's plan for Charles.

BECAUSE I THINK WILLY ACTUALLY LIKES CHARLES!!!!!

Pink = 💕love💕 which is why Southwest Airlines and Vegas' Hedgehog are kissing underneath it, so I think instead of Willy being a horrible guy, he is basically going to be Waymond and Peter from last season, and just be an idiot in love who is willing to do dumb shit to get close to Charles like race him at night in little go-carts!

So I think Jeffrey is being sabotaged since he can see the future because the only person who would've told Barbie that Charles would be in trouble is Jeffrey.

Therefore, Tony snatches Alan and turns him into a demon (see the horns!!!!) to keep Jeffrey busy, so he won't fuck up his Charles plan.

But here is the thing — there is a lot of white in this trailer as if angels are coming through.

So Kentana has Kimberly and Alan has Jeffrey to save him.

In the previous trailer, I questioned if Southwest Airlines was going to do something funky to gain powers.

But for a boy that was pissing me off in the first season because he could not get his color together, he showed up in the announcement teaser in white, and now in this trailer he is in white, so I think Sonic will be the one to save North if shit goes south (Kimberly was also in white in the announcement trailer).

And even though I think Barbie is trying to save Charles from being used as an experimental lab rat for Tony, I think Charles will be the one to save Barbie, again, from the darkness.

But, more importantly, I think Waymond Christopher will save them all.

Peter, just like Kentana and Barbie, was always a Black Brooder because of his alignment with Tony, but Christopher is lighter than Waymond ever was.

So I think Christopher will be the one to lighten up Peter, and save the day because if they figure out that Charles is the key to everything while fucking, then everyone wins!

So I think there will be a lot of people sacrificing themselves for the others this season solely because there is soooo much white, and the last time someone wore white it was Waymond in the season one finale and he died protecting them!

So we have all these angels trying to rescue their men all because Black Brooder Barbie needs his Blue Boy Charles back safely.

And out of the clutches of darkness.

Let's see how much I'm clownin' when this premieres next month!