#Range overview

[the-alternate-realities]

[the-mononoke-facade]

Waaaaaaait if I'm understanding this setup right it might have some major implications for how Kusu moves through the world holy shit

[apieinvestavimapaprastai]

Discover why Donaldson Company stock is a top investment pick for 2025–2029. Explore its financials, dividend policy, stock price forecast. #DonaldsonCompany #DCI #Donaldsonfinancialperformance #revenuegrowth #dividendyield #Donaldsonstockprice #DCIstockperformance #investorsentiment #Donaldsondividendpolicy #DividendAristocrat #DonaldsonCompanyoverview

[entelodante]

FINALLY finished the fellow sophonts for Styraphant-land. They aren't too closely related to the styraphants and have quiet a few differences. They are small, energized, and hyper carnivorous. Info dump BELOW!

Caltrops live on a mostly tropical continent, with the majority of their range being lush jungle and forests. The continent is pretty new, with the flying ancestors of the Caltrops being some of the first terrestrial creatures to colonize the land. So these guys and their relatives have a pretty intense stranglehold on the niche of megafauna. Caltrops are on the larger side of carnivores there and specialize in catching smaller prey with their creepy face fingers. They also partake in fruits and other treats they can find in the shrubbery.

Or at least they did before they got CIVILIZED. They have a complex and violent history between various peoples and governments that has lead to their current system of shakily aligned states controlling very rigid territories. But things are p chill at the moment! They made contact with the Styraphants a few hundred years ago and they actually have gotten along pretty well, though it is rare to see either living fulltime outside of their native ranges. (See ranges below)

I want to make a more in depth anatomy overview for them, but here are some general notes. They have 'stalk' less eyes, more so the stalk has shortened and become part of the eye itself. They have 6 webbed fingers that cover the majority of their face, including their mouth, nostrils, and secondary fingers. They have NO digits on their front limbs, since they are derived from wings, but they do still have their toesies. That big ass spike above their head is the remnants of their keel, used now for the muscle attachments of their large head. And most importantly is their tail, which like a Styraphant, is grown and dropped to feed their young. Though it is actually the male Caltrop that drops his tail for the kids to eat. Yeah, a good lil STARTER for em. I have another info sheet almost done, but wanted to get them down so I could think on em more.

[electronalytics]

NB-IoT Smart Meter Market

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When Google's slop meets webslop, search stops

Support me this summer in the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop! This summer, I'm writing The Reverse-Centaur's Guide to AI, a short book for Farrar, Straus and Giroux that explains how to be an effective AI critic.

It's been more than a year since I gave up on Google Search (I switched to Kagi.com and never looked back). I don't miss it. It had gotten terrible. It's gotten worse since, thanks to AI (of course):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

Google's a very bad company, of course. I mean, the company has lost three federal antitrust trials in the past 18 months. But that's not why I quit Google Search: I stopped searching with Google because Google Search suuuucked.

In the spring of 2024, it was clear that Google had lost the spam wars. Its search results were full of spammy garbage content whose creators' SEO was a million times better than their content. Every kind of Google Search result was bad, and results that contained the names of products were the worst, an endless cesspit of affiliate link-strewn puffery and scam sites.

It's not that the internet lacks for high-quality, reliable reviews. There are plenty of experts out there who subject a wide range of products to careful assessment, laboratory tests, and extensive comparisons. The sites where these reviews appear are instantly recognizable, and it's a great relief to find them.

One such site is Housefresh.com, whose proprietor, Giselle Navarro, runs a team that produces extremely detailed, objective, high-quality reviews of air purifiers. This is an important product category: if you're someone with bad allergies or an immunocompromising condition, finding the right air purifier can exert enormous influence on your health outcomes.

As good as Housefresh are at reviewing air purifiers, they are far less skilled at tricking Google. The world champions of this are spammers, content farms that produce garbage summaries of Amazon reviews and shovel them into massive, hidden sections of once-reputable websites like Forbes.com and Better Homes and Gardens, and thus dominate the Google results for product review searches:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/03/keyword-swarming/#site-reputation-abuse

Google calls this "site reputation abuse" and has repeatedly vowed to put a stop to it, and has repeatedly, totally failed to do so. What's more, Google has laid off more than 10,000 workers, including "core teams," even while spending tens of billions of dollars on stock manipulation through "buyback" schemes:

https://qz.com/google-is-laying-off-hundreds-as-it-moves-core-jobs-abr-1851449528

Of course, the Housefresh team are smart cookies – hence the high caliber of their air purifier reviews – and they could apply that intelligence to figuring out how to use SEO to trick Google's algorithm. Rather than doing so, they took the high road: they applied all that prodigious analytical talent to researching and publishing on Google's systematic failures – and even collusion – with the spammers who are destroying the web.

This month, Housefresh released its latest report on Google's enshittification, this time with an emphasis on the "AI Overviews" that now surmount every search results page. Google has widely touted these as the future of search, a way to bypass the ad-strewn, popup-obscured, AI-sloppified (!) pages that it is seemingly powerless to filter out of its search corpus:

https://housefresh.com/beware-of-the-google-ai-salesman/

Rather than hunting through these SEO-winning garbage pages, you can simply refer to Google's AI Overview, which will summarize the best the internet has to offer, in hyperlegibile black sans-serif type on a white background, with key phrases helpfully highlighted in bold.

Most critiques of AI Overview have focused on how these AI Overviews are a betrayal of the underlying bargain between the web and its monopoly search engine, whereby we all write the web and let Google index it for free, and in exchange, Google will send us traffic in proportion to the quality of our work:

https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20250611-ai-mode-is-google-about-to-change-the-internet-forever

This is true, as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. Google is a platform, which is to say, a two-sided marketplace that brings together readers and publishers (along with advertisers). The bargain with publishers is that Google will send them traffic in exchange for access to their content. But the deal with readers is that Google will help them answer their questions quickly and accurately.

If Google's marketing pitch for AI Overviews is to be believed, then Google is only shafting publishers in order to double down on its bargain with readers: to give us faster, better access to high-quality information (recall Google's mission statement, "To organize the world's information and make it useful"). If that's true, then Google is the champion of readers in their long battle with publishers, a battle in which they are nearly helpless before publishers' abusive excesses.

This is a very canny move on Google's part. Publishers and advertisers have more concentrated money than readers, but the dominant theory of antitrust since the Reagan administration is something called "consumer welfare," which holds that monopolistic conduct is only to be condemned if it makes consumers worse off. If a company screws its workers or suppliers in order to deliver better products and/or better prices, then "consumer welfare" holds that the government should celebrate and protect the monopolist for improving "efficiency."

But all that is true only if Google AI Overviews are good. And they are very, very bad.

In the Housefresh report, titled "Beware of the Google AI salesman and its cronies," Navarro documents how Google's AI Overview is wildly bad at surfacing high-quality information. Indeed, Google's Gemini chatbot seems to prefer the lowest-quality sources of information on the web, and to actively suppress negative information about products, even when that negative information comes from its favorite information source.

Indeed, Navarro identifies a kind of madlibs template that Gemini uses to assemble an AI overview in response to the query "Is the [name of air purifier] worth it?"

The [model] air purifier is [a worthwhile investment/generally considered a good value for its price/a worthwhile purchase]. It's [praised/well-regarded] for its ability to [clean the air/remove particles/clean large rooms]. Whether the [product] is worth it depends on individual needs and priorities.

This is the shape of the response that Google's AI Overview shits out when you ask about any air purifier, including a model that Wirecutter called "the worst air purifier ever tested":

https://www.nytimes.com/wirecutter/blog/worst-air-purifier-we-ever-tested/

What's more, AI Overview will produce a response like this one even when you ask it about air purifiers that don't exist, like the "Levoit Core 5510," the "Winnix Airmega" and the "Coy Mega 700."

It gets worse, though. Even when you ask Google "What are the cons of [model of air purifier]?" AI Overview simply ignores them. If you persist, AI Overview will give you a result couched in sleazy sales patter, like "While it excels at removing viruses and bacteria, it is not as effective with dust, pet hair, pollen or other common allergens." Sometimes, AI Overview "hallucinates" imaginary cons that don't appear on the pages it cites, like warnings about the dangers of UV lights in purifiers that don't actually have UV lights.

Google argues that AI Overview won't displace traffic to the sites it summarizes. The company points to the fact that the statements in an AI Overview are each linked to the web-page they come from. This is a dubious proposition, predicated on the idea that people looking up a quick answer on a search engine will go on to follow all the footnotes and compare them to the results (this is something that peer reviewers for major scientific journals often fail at, after all).

But the existence of these citations allowed Navarro to compile statistics about the sources that Google relies on most heavily for information about product quality:

43.1% of these statements come from product manufacturers' marketing materials;

19.5% of these statements are sourced from pages that contain no information about the product.

Much of the remainder comes from the same "site reputation abuse" that Google said it would stop prioritizing two years ago. An alarming amount of this material is also AI generated: this is the "coprophagic AI" problem in which an AI ingests another AI's output, producing ever-more nonsensical results:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/inhuman-centipede/#enshittibottification

The balance is primarily drawn from Reddit, who announced a major partnership with Google as part of the company's IPO:

https://blog.google/inside-google/company-announcements/expanded-reddit-partnership/

Adding "reddit" to a Google query is a well-known and still-useful way to get higher quality results out of Google. Redditors is full of real people giving their real opinions about products and services. No wonder that Reddit appears in 97.5% of product review queries:

https://detailed.com/forum-serps/

Obviously, the same SEO scumbags who have been running circles around Google for years are perfecctly capable of colonizing and compromising Reddit, which has been rocked by a series of payola scandals in which the volunteer moderators of huge, reputable subreddit were caught taking bribes to allow SEO scumbags to spam their forums and steal their valor:

https://web.archive.org/web/20250607050622/https://www.reddit.com/r/TheseFuckingAccounts/comments/1kzzsuv/update_reddit_admins_have_escalated_the_paradise/

When it comes to product reviews, Google's AI Overviews consist of irrelevancies, PR nonsense, and affiliate spammer hype – all at the expense of genuine, high-quality information, which is still out there, on the web, waiting for you to find it.

Google CEO Sundar Pichai is unapologetic about the way that AI Overviews blurs the line between commercial pitches and neutral information, telling Bloomberg, "commercial information is information, too":

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/features/2025-03-24/google-s-ai-search-overhaul-racing-chatgpt-for-the-web-s-future

Which raises the question: why is Pichai so eager to enshittify his own service? After all, AI isn't a revenue center for Google – it's a cost center. Every day, Google's AI division takes a blowtorch to the company's balance sheet, incinerating mountains of money while bringing in nothing (less than nothing, if you count all the users who are finding ways to de-Google their lives to escape the endless AI slop):

https://pluralistic.net/2025/06/30/accounting-gaffs/#artificial-income

It's true that AI loses money for Google, but AI earns something far more important (at least from Pichai's perspective): a story about how Google can continue to grow.

Google's current price-to-earnings (PE) ratio is 20:1. That means that for every dollar Google brings in, investors are willing to spend $20 on Google's stock. This is a very high PE ratio, characteristic of "growth stocks" (companies that are growing every year). A high PE ratio tells you that investors anticipate that the company will get (much) bigger in the foreseeable future, and they are "pricing in" that future growth when they trade the company's shares.

Companies with high PE ratios can use their stock in place of money – for example, they can acquire other companies with stock, or with a mix of cash and stock. This lets high PE companies outbid mature companies – companies whose growth phase has ended – because stock is endogeous (it is produced within the company, by typing zeroes into a spreadsheet) and therefore abundant, while dollars are exogenous (produced by the central bank – again, by typing zeroes into a spreadsheet! – and then traded to the company by its customers) and thus scarce.

Google's status as a growth stock has allowed it to buy its way to dominance. After all, Google has repeatedly, continuously failed to create new products in-house, relying on acquisitions of other people's companies for its mobile technology, ad-tech, server management, maps, document collaboration…virtually every successful product the company has (except Search).

For so long as investors believe Google is growing, it can buy other companies with its abundant stock rather than its scarce dollars. It can also use that stock to hire key personnel, which especially important for AI teams, where compensation has blasted through the stratosphere:

https://www.reuters.com/business/zuckerbergs-meta-superintelligence-labs-poaches-top-ai-talent-silicon-valley-2025-07-08/

But that just brings us back to the original question: why build an AI division at all?

Because Google needs to keep up the story that it is growing. Once Google stops growing, it becames a "mature" company and its PE ratio will fall from 20:1 to something more like 4:1, meaning an 80% collapse in the company's share price. This would be very bad news for Googlers (whose personal wealth is disproportionately tied up in Google stock) and for Google itself (because many of its key personnel will depart when the shares they've banked for retirement collapse, and new hires will expect to be paid in scarce dollars, not abundant stock). For a company like Google, "maturity" is unlikely to be a steady state – rather, it's likely to be a prelude to collapse.

Which is why Google is so desperately sweaty to maintain the narrative about its growth. That's a difficult narrative to maintain, though. Google has 90% Search market-share, and nothing short of raising a billion humans to maturity and training them to be Google users (AKA "Google Classroom") will produce any growth in its Search market-share. Google is so desperate to juice its search revenue that it actually made search worse on purpose so that you would have to run multiple searches (and see multiple rounds of ads) before you got the information you were seeking:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/24/naming-names/#prabhakar-raghavan

Investors have metabolized the story that AI will be a gigantic growth area, and so all the tech giants are in a battle to prove to investors that they will dominate AI as they dominated their own niches. You aren't the target for AI, investors are: if they can be convinced that Google's 90% Search market share will soon be joined by a 90% AI market share, they will continue to treat this decidedly tired and run-down company like a prize racehorse at the starting-gate.

This is why you are so often tricked into using AI, by accidentally grazing a part of your screen with a fingertip, summoning up a pestersome chatbot that requires six taps and ten seconds to banish: companies like Google have made their product teams' bonuses contingent on getting normies to "use" AI and "use" is defined as "interact with AI for at least ten seconds." Goodhart's Law ("any metric becomes a target") has turned every product you use into a trap for the unwary:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/05/02/kpis-off/#principal-agentic-ai-problem

There's a cringe army of AI bros who are seemingly convinced that AI is going to become superintelligent and save us from ourselves – they think that AI companies are creating god. But the hundreds of billions being pumped into AI are not driven by this bizarre ideology. Rather, they are the product of material conditions, a system that sends high-flying companies into a nosedive the instant they stop climbing. AI's merits and demerits are irrelevant to this: they pump AI because they must pump. It's why they pumped metaverse and cryptocurrency and every other absurd fad.

None of that changes the fact that Google Search has been terminally enshittified and it is misleading billions of people in service to this perverse narrative adventure. Google Search isn't fit for purpose, and it's hard to see how it ever will be again.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/07/14/pole-star/#gnus-not-utilitarian

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

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Radek Kołakowski (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Warszawski_smog_(22798350941).jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[serpentface]

CAELIN/DELKHIN FOODS: AN EXTREMELY BROAD OVERVIEW

Horselord nomad horking down a blood + seed + cheese sausage while his 4 month old humbly requests a sample. The hard cheeses eaten by some delkhin societies have next to no lactose and can be digested by adults with little issue, but it's too risky for babies. The sausage is too big anyway. It's cooked blood and grasshopper mash for you, son.

Caelin and delkhin are obligate carnivores and can digest very little plant matter (and far less without the use of cooking). The majority of their diets derive from animal protein, and may be supplemented by certain fruits and cooked grains and seeds.

They also have FAR fewer taste receptors than a human and are altogether incapable of tasting sugars. Taste plays a very minimal role in eating to begin with, its function is ultimately a simple matter of determining whether something is safe to be (immediately) swallowed. They have no chewing mechanism whatsoever and swallow food whole.

Because of this, enjoyment of food does not derive from the flavor, which can/will barely be tasted anyway. The more complex and pleasurable aspects of eating stem from visual and tactile interaction with the food before and during swallowing.

The aesthetic qualities of food are very important and sensibilities vary culturally, but an underlying common element is that most 'good looking' food also looks like it can be swallowed whole and will have a pleasing or interesting texture in the process. (IE for the vast majority of sensibilities, a sticky rice ball will look more pleasing than a bowl of rice). To many human sensibilities, some of the most carefully prepared foods might look like an unfortunate chunky meat mash, perhaps strangely sprinkled with petals or insect wings, while an observer from the food's source culture may note the pleasantly contrasting textures and colors, the striking robustness of the meat against the delicacy of its visual seasoning.

Most ‘seasoning’ is for purely visual purposes and plays no role in taste. Prepared meals may be sprinkled non-toxic flower petals or seeds, layered with insect parts (raw or cooked), or dusted with salt for both visual appeal and as a supplement of needed minerals. Pigmented seasonings are very popular and may be slathered across prepared food items for visual flare. Arthropod-derived pigments that may be considered exclusively dyes in other contexts are often used as food coloring by caelin.

Whole meats may be cut to appeal to aesthetic sensibilities, highlighting texture and fat content. ‘Throat-feel’ tends to be important for the shape of cuts, though opinions on what the best throat-feel is varies by culture (the most common denominator seems to be ‘provides a feeling of fullness without any difficulty in swallowing’).

Shaping food items in unique ways also adds both aesthetic and variable throat-feel qualities. Eating meat and cooked grain in meatball or sausage form is very common, ranging from very thick links to almost noodle-like sausages using the intestines of small mammals as casing,

Eating live vertebrates (usually stunned or dying) is more common than in human cultures (both for obvious physiological reasons and because the ancestors of all caelin/delkhin would have done so on the regular as a natural facet of hunting small prey). In some cases this is ultimately a matter of appealing throat-feel, in others it plays a more specified part in specific rites or medicinal practices. Opinions on the acceptability of this practice/what animals are acceptable vary tremendously. Eating live fish tends to be uncontroversial outside of groups with spiritual/ethical objections to consuming anything alive whatsoever, opinions on small reptiles and mammals are more variable.

Caelin have extremely acidic stomachs (a trait somewhat reduced in delkhin) and have significant resistance (though not immunity) to bacteria and parasites in their diet. Eating meat raw is overall Less risky for them than it is for humans, and some cultures will intentionally allow meat to rot to various degrees as a form of delicacy (though some sensibilities consider eating rotten meat to be an act of desperation, or low class). In general, most cultures regularly eat meat in both raw and cooked forms, and the average person will eat most of their meat dried for longterm preservation but will tolerate a mild degree of rot.

Foods are often dipped in oils (usually rendered animal fats) for an appealing sheen and needed extra calories. Blood or wine may serve similar purposes. Where strong liquors are consumed as a regular part of life, they're usually integrated into the diet as a psychoactive dip for meats.

The staple elements of the diet depend on subsistence methods, but insects often play a very large role. Caviar ants are a common staple in warm/wet areas for large societies, as they are the easiest and most productive source of protein to sustain an obligate carnivorous populace. In drier areas, one needs vast amounts of livestock to sustain a large society- most of the biggest caelin and delkhin civilizations are clustered in highly productive grassland for this reason.

Big, livestock-dependent and heavily class-stratified societies are the only contexts in which a large portion of the population is dependent on vegetable matter. Members of lower classes may have a baseline diet consisting of cooked grain (grown predominantly for livestock feed) mixed with blood, supplemented by foraged insects and eggs. This is Survivable, but not healthy and can result in severe malnutrition without being supplemented on a regular basis.

Where large vertebrates are consumed, eating the entirety of the animal is especially vital. All organ meat and flesh will be eaten, tendon and bone not needed for material will be cooked down and pulverized for consumption, etc. Some cultures actively eat small amounts of fur or feathers, seeing it as a means of cleansing the digestive system. Aversions to certain forms of offal are very rare and only tend to develop in class stratified cultures, in which regular consumption of the most favored meats is reserved/only regularly accessible for upper classes (though in these cases, the aversion tends to be towards the more preservable, less nutritious lean muscle meats than nutritious, perishable organs and fatty cuts).

Some caelin societies live as scavenger-nomads, where small family units follow large herds of wild (or semi-domesticated) game, forage the insects they kick up, and eat their dead (either passively waiting for deaths, chasing away predators from kills of their herd, or actively picking off elderly or injured animals). The basis of this subsistence method is ancestral to both caelin and delkhin (prior to the latter becoming flightless in island isolation), and the first anatomically modern caelin and khait essentially domesticated each other via this continuing relationship. This is ultimately the most energy-efficient mode of subsistence for caelin as a species, with the only (debatable) downside being that it does not support large, concentrated populations.

Caelin and delkhin nomadic pastoralists slaughter livestock at a higher rate than most human pastoralists do, as they have fewer options for supplementing their diet outside of their livestock. Total reliance on fast-breeding livestock like horses is more common than dependence on slow-breeding cattle, camala, or khait. The lifestyle still necessitates reliance on living animals as renewable resources and sources of wealth, so most animal protein will still be acquired without slaughter.

Blood can be especially important to nomadic pastoralists as a primary means of consuming their valuable livestock without actually killing them. Livestock can be bled in rotation, minimally injuring the animal and giving each time to heal before being tapped again. Blood is eaten in congealed pastes, sausages, or mashed together with thoroughly cooked grain and seeds to form a patty.

Some pastoralists have relatively unique practices of consuming dairy products. As they are not mammals, caelin/delkhin do not produce the lactase enzymes necessary to digest lactose whatsoever, and their digestive systems will react to milk essentially the same way as a lactose-intolerant human. However, some forms of heavily strained yogurts and hard cheeses have so little lactose that they can pass through a healthy adult’s digestive system without issue (unless eaten in excess). These dairy products are very valuable as high calorie foodstuffs that can be acquired from livestock both without slaughter and without any injury whatsoever.

Dairy products tend to be a divisive subject that plays a role in conflict between settled agriculturalists and pastoralists. A large proportion of settled societies see dairy products as unclean or unnatural for consumption by anything but baby mammals. Some use this as one of many xenophobic justifications for land conflict with nomadic herders, characterizing their consumption of milk as one of many indications that their foes are uncivilized or animalistic.

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Some misc food examples

[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 15 - pick and roll]

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: With Paige out, the team adjusts. But the real shift happens between her and Azzi. They travel together, show up to family events, and move through each other’s lives in a way that feels new. There’s no label on what they are, but it’s there in how they act and in how people start to notice. Whatever this is, it’s real.

Author's note: How is everybody's all-star weekend? Are we still alive with all the contents?

Word Count: 6,772

Valkyries HQ, San Francisco. October 2025. 

The meeting room held the kind of atmosphere built from early starts and measured discipline. Neutral-toned walls framed a long rectangular table, where cups of black coffee and tablets lay beside printed packets and capped pens. 

Conversations had already narrowed to essentials. The usual morning chatter faded into focus the moment Coach Nakase stepped to the front. 

She tapped to the first slide, a diagram of ball movement and adjusted spacing. 

“With Bueckers out, the system changes,” she said.  

Her tone was even, but there was a current of intent behind each word. “We’ve restructured the starting unit. Leite will step into that guard slot. She’s earned the minutes. It’s going to be a different rhythm, but she reads pace well and has the composure we need to start sets clean.” 

She advanced to game tape from the previous week. The clip showed the ball swinging through the high post, Iriafen shifting the defense with a hard cut before Martin drove and kicked out. The possession ended with a made corner three from James. 

“Ball control stays the priority. Martin’s been solid with primary reads, and James is drawing more attention off screens. Leite gives us stability off the catch, especially with our second action. Thornton’s mid-range is opening floor space for Iraifen, and we’re getting better timing out of the horns set.” 

A chart appeared next, tracking defensive shifts. 

“Defensively, we’re late on some switches,” Nakase said, pointing to the gaps between Thornton and Iriafen on help coverage. “That has to tighten. Paige was a communicator. Without her voice on the floor, we need someone stepping into that role. I want more talk from our forwards. Iraifen especially, she’s got the vision.” 

She paused before continuing, her gaze moving across the room. 

“This isn’t about filling shoes. It’s about understanding who we are without Paige. The core holds. James and Martin are controlling tempo. Thornton’s spacing the floor. Iraifen’s ready to take on more. We’re not patching over something but we’re adapting with intent.” 

Her tone carried both direction and belief, a reflection of how she had always led this team. Firm, measured, and with an eye on the long view.  

She nodded toward the far end of the table, where the head of the medical staff had been waiting.  

Evina Westbrook stood, iPad in hand, and navigated to Paige’s treatment overview. 

“We’re working with a Grade 2 lateral sprain,” Evina began, her tone even but purposeful. “There’s moderate ligament damage, but no structural tearing beyond what we expected. Bruising is reducing, inflammation’s localized. She’s been diligent with therapy, responding well to treatment. Range of motion has improved significantly over the past seventy-two hours.” 

She clicked forward to a schedule. “She’s not cleared for court activity. No jogging or weight-bearing drills. But her pain threshold is manageable and consistent. Flight won’t interfere with recovery as long as we keep her ankle supported and she follows a strict icing and elevation routine during transit.” 

There was a pause. Evina gaze scanned the room once more before landing on Coach Nakase. “Medically, she’s cleared to travel if the team wants her in Washington.” 

“If she’s cleared to fly, I want her with us. Hoodie, walking boot, doesn’t matter. The locker room’s different when she’s there. This group holds together better with her in the mix, even if she’s just on the bench.” Coach Nakase said. 

All eyes shifted toward the end of the table, where Azzi sat with one hand resting over her phone.  

The light overhead cast soft shadows under her eyes, a quiet trace of the late nights she'd spent caring for Paige. Her attention drifted, half tethered to the conversation, half elsewhere. 

The pause grew long enough that she looked up, frowning faintly at the sudden attention. 

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Her voice was low, casual, though it caught slightly at the end. 

Nika leaned forward, her grin teasing but kind. “The team’s checking if Paige can make the trip. It’s a long haul to Washington. They’re waiting on your decision.” 

Azzi paused, her chest rising with a slow breath. Hearing Paige’s name spoken aloud always seemed to strike somewhere deeper.  

She glanced down, collected herself. “That’s Lisa’s call. If she gives the go-ahead, then it’s fine with me.” 

Lisa let out a short laugh. “You’re not as slick as you think you are, Miss Fudd.” 

The table responded with laughter that filled the space, the kind that made everything feel a little lighter. 

Then Lisa added, her voice warm, “Whatever’s going on, it suits you. That smile looks good on you, Azzi. You should let it show more often.” 

Azzi looked up, her mouth tipping into something soft. 

Coach Nakase cleared her throat, then glanced across the room.  

“If Paige is going,” she said with deliberate ease, “we’ll need you on that plane too, Miss Fudd.” 

“Me?” 

“It’s less about concern and more about foresight. She’s still recovering. The staff will manage, but let’s be honest, she listens to you.” 

Azzi sat straighter, eyes narrowing faintly as she weighed the statement.  

Before she could respond, Evina stepped in, tone calm but direct. 

“With all due respect, Miss Fudd, we’re not equipped to handle Paige if she decides to push herself too far out there. She’ll pretend everything’s fine, downplay the pain, skip her protocols when no one’s looking.” 

“She’s stubborn,” Lisa added quietly. “And more likely to make a mistake if she feels like she has something to prove.” 

Evina’s eyes settled on Azzi. “But she slows down when you’re around. If we’re taking her on the road, she needs someone she trusts to keep her grounded. That’s you.” 

Lisa gave a small nod, tone gentler now. “We’re okay with it, Azzi. We get it. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. What matters is she’s better when you’re there, and honestly, so are we. I know you have our back and we want you to know you have our full support as well.” 

Azzi held their gaze, the weight of their words landing with quiet force. 

She straightened, steadying the rise in her chest with a slow breath. “Alright, send me the itinerary.” 

- 

Paige’s apartment, Oakland. October 2025.  

Aziaha tested her balance on Paige’s crutches with a half-serious determination, pacing unevenly across the rug while muttering dramatic commentary under her breath. Each step exaggerated, she swung forward and landed with a stomp, earning a groan from Paige who lay stretched across the couch, her leg propped up on a stack of throw pillows. 

“You look ridiculous,” Paige said, her voice dry but fond. 

Aziaha ignored that. “I’m just saying. You’ve got arm strength now. Shoulder gains. This injury might’ve been a blessing.” 

“You want a turn with the boot too?” Paige shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher on her lap. 

Aziaha leaned on the crutches and gave her a look that was more honest than teasing. “For real. How’s it been feeling?” 

Paige hesitated, caught in the weight of the question. “Better. Hurts like hell in the morning. But it’s better.” 

In the kitchen, Kiki tore open one of the takeout bags and peeked inside, pulling out three cartons and setting them on the counter.  

“Why is this place so... adult all of a sudden?” Her gaze swept across the counters, brow raised at the lineup of labeled containers and stacked dishes. “You always this organized or are we in the wrong unit?” 

Kate was crouched at the fridge, still studying the contents. She pulled out a clear box of sliced fruit and held it up. “Okay. Who the hell are you and what did you do with the real Paige Bueckers? These are raspberries. In glass. And they’re fresh.” 

“That’s new,” Kiki agreed. “Last time we were here, you were surviving off cereal and string cheese.” 

Paige tried to wave it off with a shrug, but her ears betrayed her before she could speak. A soft flush crept along her cheeks and she busied herself with adjusting the corner of the blanket. 

Aziaha didn’t miss it. She propped the crutches beside the wall and walked over, her grin widening as the pieces clicked. “Hold up. This you, or someone else making those grocery calls?” 

Paige rubbed at the back of her neck. “Miss Fudd has... strong opinions about nutrition.” 

That was all it took.  

Kiki let out a sharp laugh as she turned around, chopsticks still in hand. “Miss Fudd? Oh, we’re formal now?” 

Kate grinned as she returned the fruit to the fridge. “Miss Fudd sounds like the type to pack leftovers in labeled containers.” 

“She does,” Paige mumbled, barely audible. 

Aziaha let out a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to her chest. “Devastating. Paige Bueckers, domesticated.” 

Paige let her head fall back against the cushion with a groan. “You’re all annoying.” 

But her smile lingered, soft and easy. Their teasing held no bite. It came with a kind of affection that settled deep in her chest—an unspoken way of saying they saw the change in her, and it looked good. 

- 

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. October 2025. 

Nika set the pen down with a little flourish, then leaned back with the kind of grin that always meant trouble.  

“Now that I have your attention,” she said, drawing out the words as if they were part of a performance, “are we finally going to talk about your situationship with Paige?” 

Azzi glanced up from the last page, already half-expecting something like this. “It’s not a situationship.” 

Nika raised her brows, amused. “Alright. Then has she asked you to be her girlfriend?” 

Azzi paused.  

The question wasn’t meant to be sharp, but it landed that way. She turned it over in her mind, flipping through every conversation she and Paige had shared since the night they finally admitted what they felt. 

They had talked about everything—vulnerability, timing, wanting to be better for each other. But there hadn’t been a specific moment. No one had asked anything out loud. Her gaze drifted to the desk as she spoke.  

“No. She hasn’t.” 

The smugness on Nika’s face returned, soft but unmistakable. “Then I hate to break it to you, boss. That’s a situationship.” 

Azzi sat back, her fingers still curled near the edge of the folder they had just signed. 

She had been at Paige’s apartment nearly every day since the injury, cooking, organizing her meds, helping her shower when the pain got too bad. She had washed Paige’s hair in the kitchen sink with a plastic cup and her own hands, drying it with a towel she’d warmed in the dryer.  

Paige had let her in, fully and without ego, and Azzi hadn’t hesitated once. 

This wasn’t casual. It hadn’t been for a long time. 

“Do you think it matters? If we label it?” 

“With you two? After everything?” She gave a small shake of her head, more amused than disapproving. “You’ve been through every version of a relationship without actually naming it. Hookups, fallouts, the on-and-off stage, the weird terms and agreements you had on each other. Honestly, if you told me you were getting married next month, I’d just ask what you’re wearing so I can coordinate.” 

Azzi exhaled slowly, like the words had been waiting. Her hands drifted toward her lap, fingers drawing a line along the seam of her pants before she spoke. 

“I’ve been in relationships,” she said carefully. “I’ve dated people who were good on paper. People who made sense. I’ve had the structured thing, the safe version.”  

Her mouth lifted into something wry, but her eyes didn’t shift away from Nika’s. 

“This isn’t like that,” she went on, quieter now, more certain. “Whatever this is with Paige… it’s different. It makes me feel like everything I’ve built, everything I thought I understood about myself, has been completely undone in the best and most terrifying way. She makes me want things I never used to consider. Makes me question my choices. I used to walk into rooms full of CEOs twice my age and not flinch, and now I lose sleep wondering if I overstepped by asking if she took her meds.” 

Her voice cracked slightly before she caught it. She shook her head once, not to dismiss what she was saying, but to slow herself down. 

“I’ve got degrees. I’ve run entire firms. I was closing multi-million dollar contracts before I turned twenty-three. But with her…” Azzi looked down at her hands again. “With her I feel like a teenager who never learned how to do this part right. I feel ridiculous. Emotional. Vulnerable. And I’m scared out of my mind that I’ll mess it up.” 

Nika didn’t interrupt. She just sat with her, her posture relaxed, her presence steady. Azzi’s shoulders lowered a little as if saying it out loud released some of the tension she carried. Still, the weight of the confession settled deep in her chest. 

“She’s different,” Azzi repeated, softer now. “And I care about her more than I know what to do with.” 

Nika studied her for a moment, her expression hard to pin down. Then she reached into her bag, pulling out a slim folder that had clearly been packed with care. She ran her fingers along the edge of it, hesitating for only a second before placing it on the table between them. 

“I didn’t plan to do this today,” she said, her tone low but certain. “But after that speech? I think it’s time.” 

Azzi glanced down at the folder, brows pulling together. “What is this?” 

Nika sat back and gestured toward it. “Go ahead.” 

Azzi opened it slowly, flipping through the first few pages. Her brow tensed as her eyes moved down the lines. She shifted in her seat, reading faster now. Numbers. Legal terms. Corporate names she knew well. 

“I’m going to get chewed out for giving you this,” Nika said, almost like a warning, though her voice carried something gentler underneath. “But watching you lately, seeing how in love you are? You deserve this.” 

Azzi turned another page, her voice catching slightly as she read aloud. “Fudd Corp. J. Fudd Innovations. Muhl Ventures... These are my brothers’ companies. And your start up.”  

“Yup!” 

Azzi lifted her gaze. “What is this?” 

Nika gave her a look that landed without needing to be explained. “Last page.” 

Azzi flipped it. Her eyes locked on the bolded header near the top. Her lips parted slightly as she read, this time slower. 

“A letter of intent, filed jointly by Fudd Corp, J. Fudd Innovations, and Muhl Ventures, outlining a proposal to acquire the Golden State Valkyries from Fudd Holdings. Valuation is set at two billion dollars.” 

She looked up, stunned. “What?!” 

Then she stared down at the document again, her hand still braced on the folder like she needed to steady it. Her eyes moved across the lines again, tracking the language, the numbers, the names, but her focus fractured under the weight of what it meant.  

She lifted her gaze toward Nika, her voice low but sharpened with disbelief. 

“You and my brothers have been conspiring against me?” 

Nika laughed under her breath, the sound soft and almost affectionate. She reached for the edge of the desk, her fingertips brushing the worn wood as if grounding herself. 

“Not like that,” she said gently. “We talked, yes. But it wasn’t some master plan to cut you out. We’ve all seen what this has been doing to you. The pressure, the expectations, the way people watch everything you and Paige do like it’s a headline waiting to happen.” 

She paused, her expression open and careful. 

“We saw how much you care about her. And how hard you’re trying to hold everything together. I don’t think you even realize how close you are to breaking again. You love this team, Az. No one’s questioning that. But trying to be the owner, public face, protector, and whatever the hell you think you owe the league... it’s too much. You’re burning yourself out trying to keep Paige safe from something she already chose to walk into.” 

Azzi didn’t interrupt. Her fingers had relaxed over the folder, but her posture remained still, watchful. 

“We just want you to be happy,” Nika said. “That’s what we all want. So, we thought... maybe if the team wasn’t one more thing pulling you apart, maybe if you didn’t have to carry the weight of this alone anymore, then you’d have space to just be with her. Without all the noise.” 

Her voice held no pity. Only a kind of clarity that came from watching someone you love suffer for too long. 

“We’re offering you an out. A chance to breathe.” 

Azzi’s fingers skimmed the edge of the paper again, her gaze trailing over the signatures like she still couldn’t quite believe it.  

Her voice came softer this time, edged with something closer to disbelief than protest. “For two billion dollars?” 

“We know the team doesn’t actually hit that number, but figured we’d sweeten the pot a little. Call it a love tax. Maybe toss in a trip to Lake Como. Or Monaco if you’re feeling dramatic. Once your girlfriend’s ankle stops being the main character, maybe in the off-season.” 

A smile crept across Azzi’s face before she could hold it down. “She’s not my girlfriend.” 

“Right,” Nika said, drawing the word out with mock sincerity. “I forgot. Situationship. I meant your non-girlfriend girlfriend.” 

Azzi laughed, shaking her head as she picked up a paper pin from the desk and tossed it at her. It bounced harmlessly off Nika’s shirt, but the expression on Azzi’s face stayed bright, unable to dim. Her shoulders had lifted slightly, like something heavier than she realized had finally been set down. Her chest felt lighter. The kind of lightness that stayed. 

- 

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. October 2025. 

The morning sun filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Azzi’s apartment, casting soft golden light across the furniture. Paige sat propped on the couch, her foot elevated on a pillow, one hand absently tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt as she stared toward the front door. Her expression was already halfway to annoyed.  

The man standing there looked entirely too comfortable for someone who was a stranger in the apartment. 

“Why is this necessary again?” Her voice rose slightly as she called out to Azzi, who was somewhere in the bedroom. 

Azzi emerged with her usual poise, adjusting the cuff of her blouse as she entered the living room with a steady, effortless stride. Her hair was pinned neatly, the clean lines of her outfit giving her that specific energy Paige had come to recognize—the kind that meant she had already made up her mind. 

“What are you whining about at nine-thirty in the morning?” Azzi asked, though her tone carried more amusement than irritation. 

Paige lifted a hand toward the stranger. “Who’s he? Where’s Tony?” 

Azzi’s gaze flicked toward the man in the doorway, then returned to Paige with calm assurance.  

“We talked about this. Tony works for me personally. We’re not sharing him.” Her brow lifted slightly. “Why are you getting attached to Tony, by the way?” 

“I’m not,” Paige said quickly, a little too quickly, folding her arms with a guilty shrug.  

The truth was, she liked Tony. Ever since Azzi had asked him to keep an eye on her while she recovered, they’d developed an easy rhythm. He brought her gummy worms and pistachio ice cream without asking, never judged her Netflix choices, and had surprisingly decent skills in Mario Kart. 

Paige leaned in a little, lowering her voice. “I just don’t like how he looks at me.” 

The room stayed still for a beat. Azzi huffed, brushing past the couch as she crossed toward the hallway. “Jake is harmless.” 

“Jake? As in short for Jacob?” Paige’s nose wrinkled, eyes narrowing. “You’re seriously telling me he has the same name as your ex?” 

Azzi paused at the edge of the hallway. Her expression stayed unreadable, somewhere between entertained and exasperated. “Yes.” 

“I don’t like him.” 

“Because he shares a name with someone I dated?” 

Paige stole another glance at Jake. He stood near the door, arms at his sides, expression neutral. He didn’t look offended. He didn’t look much of anything. Objectively speaking, he wasn’t bad-looking. And he wore a black button-down like someone who knew the importance of presentation. 

Paige shifted her weight on the couch, trying to double down. “It’s not just the name.” 

Azzi stepped forward with a more serious tone, though her voice remained even. “Jake has worked for my family for years. He knows exactly what to do when it comes to security and medical coordination. He’s coming with us to Washington to help you. That’s already settled.” 

Paige opened her mouth to argue, but Azzi’s gaze shifted into something firmer. It was the same expression she used in boardrooms and interviews. Controlled, exact, and unwavering. Paige watched her for a moment, then leaned back against the cushions in surrender. 

Azzi gave a slight nod.  

“That’s what I thought,” she said, then turned and walked back toward the bedroom. 

Once she was gone, Paige let out a breath and looked toward Jake, who was still standing patiently in place.  

She cleared her throat. 

“No offense, man, but I’m calling you Jay.” 

Jake (or Jay) gave the smallest nod. 

- 

CareFirst Arena, Washington. October 2025. 

The arena was loud, but Paige was louder. 

Crutches rested forgotten beside her as she sat on the edge of the Valkyries bench, shouting across the hardwood like she was still in uniform.  

Every steal, every rotation, every bucket earned a reaction—clapping, whistling, half-formed plays called out like muscle memory.  

When Aziaha stripped Brittney Sykes at the top of the key and dished it to Carla in transition, Paige was already halfway upright before Jake or “Jay" placed a hand near her elbow to stop her. Her right leg hovered a second too long. She hissed, dropped back onto the bench, then threw her hands up anyway when Leite buried the three. 

Up in the suite, Lisa Leslie leaned against the railing with a small smile. Her eyes followed the pace of the game, but her attention drifted to the sideline, to Paige’s voice cutting through every timeout. 

“She’s full of energy even when injured,” Lisa said. 

“You have no idea. This is just the tip of the iceberg.” 

Lisa laughed softly, folding her arms. “She’s your problem now.” 

Azzi’s smile was small but present. 

Below them, the game ramped up.  

Washington tried to push the tempo behind Brittney Sykes and Shakira Austin, crashing into the paint with sheer physicality. Sonia Citron hit a contested pull-up jumper to bring the Mystics within four late in the third.  

But the Valkyries answered with discipline. 

Kiki muscled her way into position, taking contact and finishing with her off hand. The next possession, James cut through two defenders, drew help, then swung the ball to Kate at the top of the key.  

Three more points.  

The bench exploded, Paige louder than anyone. 

As the fourth quarter tightened, Carla took control. She directed the offense with poise, slipping a pass inside to Kiki for an easy two, then coming right back to drain a long jumper off the high screen.  

Washington scrambled to adjust, but the damage spread quickly. Every rotation left someone open. James took advantage with a transition layup, then a corner three. 

The clock bled down. Washington fouled to extend it, but the Valkyries hit their free throws. On the final possession, Carla dribbled out the last few seconds before tossing the ball into the air. 

Game 1 belonged to the Valkyries. 

-  

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. October 2025. 

The Valkyries pushed through the semifinals with grit and precision, following up their road victory in Washington with a commanding Game 2 win at home. The sweep earned them a break in the schedule, giving the team a few rare days off while the Indiana Fever and the New York Liberty battled it out on the other side of the bracket. 

Azzi used the downtime to prepare for her niece’s birthday. 

Paige stood in front of the full-length mirror, tugging at the knot of her tie for the third time. It sat crooked again. She exhaled sharply and tried once more, hands unsteady. The shirt clung too stiff across her shoulders, the collar too high. Every movement felt wrong, like the fabric was working against her. 

She paused, studying her reflection, and gave the tie one more pull. It only made the knot worse. 

Behind her, the soft sound of footsteps carried through the room. Azzi stepped in, already reading the tension in Paige’s shoulders, the way her jaw tightened in the mirror’s reflection. 

Without a word, she crossed the space between them, lifted her hands to Paige’s chest, and unknotted the tie with a slow, easy motion. Then she tossed it onto the bed behind them. 

“You look good without it,” Azzi said simply.  

Paige swallowed, still watching the mirror, her hands hovering uselessly in the air. 

Azzi’s fingers lingered at Paige’s collar, smoothing the edge before settling at the top button. She didn’t undo it, just brushed her knuckle lightly there, her gaze soft and amused. 

“You look good in anything,” Azzi said, her tone teasing. “Even better when you’re not trying to win a staring contest with your own tie.” 

Paige let out a frustrated sound. “Your family requested me. Like I’m some rare species.” 

Azzi smiled. “You are kind of rare.” 

“That’s not helping.” 

“You growling on the tie was not helping.” 

Paige narrowed her eyes in the mirror. “That tie was being disrespectful.” 

Azzi laughed, soft and warm, then leaned in just close enough for her lips to graze Paige’s neck. “Relax. It’s a birthday party. For a six-year-old.” 

“That’s what they want me to think,” Paige muttered, eyes narrowing dramatically. “Lull me into a false sense of security, then wham—sudden trivia round on caviar and yacht etiquette.” 

Azzi kissed her, slower, until Paige stopped pretending to panic and melted into it. Paige’s fingers drifted beneath the hem of Azzi’s blouse, thumbs brushing skin. 

“You’re distracting me,” Paige murmured against her lips. 

“I’m deescalating. Completely different.” Azzi smiled, hands skimming up Paige’s back. “You really don’t need to try so hard.” 

“Can I still try a little?” Paige asked, kissing her again before she could answer. 

She tugged Azzi in by the front of her blouse, mouth already chasing hers before she could make another comment.  

The kiss started soft, but it shifted quickly, teeth grazing, hands searching with more intent than restraint. Azzi’s fingers flexed at Paige’s waist, as if trying to decide whether to pull her closer or push her away. Paige tasted like mint and something warmer underneath, something familiar now, and Azzi let herself lean in for another second. 

Then she pulled back, just barely, her lips grazing Paige’s as she spoke. 

“You’re going to make me redo my lipstick.” 

Paige’s grin was slow, teasing. She leaned back only far enough to look her up and down. “Do you want me to make you redo your outfit too?” 

That got a laugh from Azzi, full and low in her throat.  

She shook her head and pressed one hand to Paige’s chest, easing her away. “You’re benched from sex, remember? Doctor’s orders.” 

Paige groaned like the world had ended. She tipped her head back with an exaggerated sigh. “God. You and my orthopedic team are really killing the vibe.” 

Azzi kissed both her cheeks before stepping back, hands lingering for a moment against Paige’s jaw. “Hurry up, rookie. We don’t want to be late and have Tony wait forever in the lobby.” 

Paige perked up instantly. “Tony’s here?” 

Azzi was already halfway to the hall, adjusting her blouse as she walked. “Wow. Replaced by my own driver.” 

“I love you though,” Paige called after her, grinning at the doorway. 

Azzi’s hand lifted in response as she disappeared down the hall, and Paige, still smiling, turned back toward the mirror—tieless, kissed breathless, and slightly more put together than before. 

- 

Fudd Estate, Northern California. October 2025. 

The Fudd Estate buzzed with late-afternoon warmth and the sound of children darting between garden tables.  

Paige stepped through with Azzi beside her, heart pacing faster than she wanted to admit. It looked more like a small wedding reception than a kid’s party. White umbrellas lined the patio, soft jazz played from somewhere near the pool, and pastel balloons floated gently against the breeze. 

James was the first to greet them, stepping away from a conversation near the grill. His shoulders were broad, and he was wearing a tailored short-sleeved shirt that somehow managed to look both laid-back and pressed. The resemblance was immediate, but there was something steadier about his smile, something older. 

“You made it, lil sis,” he said, wrapping Azzi in a hug before turning to Paige. “You must be the baller. I’m James.” 

His handshake was firm, but warm, and Paige relaxed a fraction. “Paige. Thanks for having me.” 

Before James could respond, a high-pitched squeal rang out across the yard. 

“AUNTIE AZZI!” 

Zuri Fudd barreled toward them, ponytail flying behind her, face lit up with pure joy. She crashed into Azzi’s legs and wrapped both arms around her, burying her face in Azzi’s hip. 

“There’s my favorite girl,” Azzi said, crouching to hug her back. “Look at this outfit. You look like a star.” 

“I saved you a cupcake,” Zuri declared with great importance.  

She looked up, grinning. Then her eyes landed on Paige. Her mouth dropped open. “Is that your girlfriend?” 

Azzi gave her a look. “Z!” 

Zuri tilted her head, undeterred. “But Daddy said you were bringing your girlfriend.”  

Then she turned back to Paige, beaming. “You’re really pretty.” 

Paige smiled, resting her weight on one crutch as she leaned in slightly. “I think you’re the prettiest one here. Are you gonna show me where the good snacks are?” 

Zuri stepped in front of Paige with the confidence of someone on a mission. “Do you want to see the unicorn cake? It’s got edible glitter.” 

Paige perked up. “That sounds like something I should probably investigate.” 

Azzi raised a brow. “Babe, you’re supposed to be staying off your feet.” 

“I’m not running laps,” Paige said, giving Azzi a boyish shrug. “I’m just doing some light cake research.” 

Zuri tugged at Paige’s wrist, careful not to pull too hard. “I’ll be your helper. You can hold my shoulder if your leg gets tired.” 

Azzi looked like she was trying not to melt. 

Paige smiled down at Zuri. “Thanks, partner. I like having backup.” 

Zuri beamed. “I saved you a cupcake already. It’s pink. That’s the best one. Daddy said Aunt Azzi’s bringing her girlfriend, so I picked it for you.” 

Paige looked over at Azzi with a crooked grin. “You hear that? She said it twice now. Official title and all.” 

Azzi met her eyes and felt something settle, low and certain. They never put a label on what they had, but hearing Paige say it out loud, proud and sure, filled her with something warm. She smiled, quiet and full. It felt right.  

Then, with a lift of her brows, Paige added, “Guess I just upgraded. Non-girlfriend girlfriend no more.” 

Azzi sighed, trying and failing to look annoyed. “Please don’t teach my niece any of your vocabulary.” 

“Too late. She’s already got great taste.” 

Azzi rolled her eyes, but she lingered, brushing a hand over Paige’s forearm before stepping aside to let them pass.  

Zuri marched ahead like she had a mission. Paige followed behind her slowly, steady on her crutch, glancing back at Azzi once with a look that said everything she wasn’t about to say in front of the birthday girl. 

And Azzi, standing there, found herself smiling. Again. 

James slid in beside her, arms crossed, a knowing grin tugging at his mouth. “Guess she has a new favorite aunt now.” 

Azzi elbowed him lightly without looking away from where Paige limped after Zuri. 

- 

Zuri finished arranging her cupcakes on the plate with exaggerated care, like each sprinkle had its own storyline. Her masterpiece complete, she grabbed Paige’s free hand and tugged. 

“Come on. You have to meet Nana and Papa now,” she said, already marching them toward the far end of the garden. 

Paige shot Azzi a quick who they left at the dessert table, almost panicked look over her shoulder. Azzi’s smirk was subtle, and useless—there would be no saving her from Zuri’s mission. 

The little girl led with confidence, her curls bouncing with each step, one hand gripping Paige’s and the other pointing like a commander on a parade route.  

“This is Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend,” she announced when they reached the patio where Mary and Harvey Fudd sat. “You have to like her.”  

Paige froze for half a second, caught between the crutches beneath her arms and the weight of Zuri’s declaration. Her ears went hot.  

She glanced at Azzi again, half-expecting her to step in, but Azzi only raised an eyebrow like she was curious to see how this would play out. 

Zuri stood proudly in front of her grandparents, like she had just presented a science project.  

“She got hurt but she’s still super fast,” she added. “And she likes strawberry cupcakes best. And she’s funny.” 

Paige cleared her throat, shifting her weight slightly to adjust the crutches.  

“Hi. I’m Paige.” Her voice came out higher than usual, and she smiled a little too wide. “Uh… I play for the Valkyries. I mean, I’m supposed to. Once the ankle cooperates again.” 

Harvey gave a single, amused nod, studying her with the same look one might use to assess a game plan. “Good to meet you. I’ve seen you play. You move well off the ball.” 

“Thanks,” she said, and cleared her throat again. Her hands felt clammy against the grips of her crutches. “I’m, um—Zuri’s been showing me around. The cupcakes were impressive.” 

Mary smiled faintly, eyes tracking every detail, from the way Paige stood to the nervous energy humming just under the surface. “How’s the recovery going?” 

“Slower than I’d like, but getting there. Physical therapy twice a week. Ice baths and a lot of bad TV.” Paige gave a small shrug. “Azzi’s been helping with the good snacks part.” 

Zuri grinned. “And I’m helping with the fun part.” 

“You are,” Paige agreed, grateful for the opening. “Very helpful.” 

Harvey leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the other. “Azzi mentioned you were competitive. Guess we’ll find out when Zuri starts that frosting contest she’s been hyping all day.” 

“Oh, I’m terrified,” Paige said, easing into the humor, though her hands were still tense. “I think she’s got a mean sugar streak.” 

“You’re gonna lose,” Zuri informed her cheerfully, hugging her leg. “But it’s okay. I like you anyway.” 

Before Paige could stammer out a response, Azzi finally made her way over. The sun catching the edge of her curls as she stepped onto the patio. She slid an arm around Paige’s back in a wordless gesture of support, then leaned in to press a quick kiss to the top of Zuri’s head. 

“Causing trouble already?” she murmured to her niece. 

Zuri shrugged. “Paigey likes it.” 

Azzi looked up and smiled at her parents, then stepped forward to embrace them both. Her mother’s hand rested at her back for an extra beat. 

“I figured I’d better come supervise before Zuri started planning the wedding,” Azzi said, and her voice held just enough warmth to soften the teasing. “I wanted to give her a fighting chance.” 

Paige just shook her head, laughing under her breath like she couldn't believe any of it. 

Azzi reached for Paige’s hand next and linked their fingers. “Mom, Dad, this is Paige Bueckers. She plays for the Valkyries... and she’s someone really important to me.” 

Harvey stood first. He gave Paige a long, considering look before offering his hand. His grip was firm but not showy, the kind of handshake that carried approval in its steadiness. 

“You’ve got a good game,” he said. “And I hear you’ve been showing even more heart off the court lately.” 

Paige managed a small smile. “Trying my best, sir.” 

Mary was already rising behind him. She didn’t wait for an opening or a formal cue. Instead, she stepped in and pulled Paige into a careful hug, arms wrapping around her without hesitation. 

Paige stiffened at first, caught off guard. Then she leaned into it, just enough to show she understood what was being offered. 

Mary stepped back with a soft smile.  

“We’re happy to meet you, Paige. Zuri’s been talking about wanting to meet you for weeks. And Azzi…” Her gaze lingered on her daughter, affectionate and a little knowing. “Azzi seems lighter when you’re around.” 

Paige looked over at Azzi, eyes warm. “That’s the best scouting report I’ve gotten so far.” 

From below, Zuri groaned dramatically.  

“Grownups are soooo slow.” She tugged at Paige’s hand. “Can I show you my presents now, pleeease?” 

Paige gave a helpless glance to the group, then started to follow as Zuri tugged insistently. 

“I’m sorry,” she called back. “Apparently, my new boss is six and a menace.” 

Laughter followed her across the lawn, warm and unforced. 

Azzi remained behind with her parents, who both looked at her in a way that made something settle deeper in her chest. 

“She’s lovely,” Mary said simply. “And you look good like this.” 

Harvey nodded. “Balanced. Happy. In fact, very happy.” 

Azzi glanced toward the yard, where Zuri was already shoving a sparkly bag into Paige’s hands. Paige grinned like she belonged. 

“She makes it easy,” Azzi said. 

Mary reached for her husband’s hand. “That’s how you know it’s real.” 

- 

Paige sat on a low patio bench, her injured foot stretched out carefully in its boot, resting on a small pillow James had thoughtfully placed beneath it.  

The afternoon warmth reached just enough under the umbrella’s shade, and her shoulders eased for the first time since the drive over.

Zuri had lined up several gummy worms on a paper plate between them, conducting what she called “the official candy taste test.” 

“This one’s red-cherry,” Zuri said, pointing with a licked finger. “This one’s red-watermelon. And this one’s red-but-actually-kinda-orange.” 

Paige popped the middle one into her mouth and nodded solemnly. “Advanced palate. I respect it.” 

Zuri grinned, wiggling in her seat beside her. “Which one wins?” 

“Haven’t decided,” Paige said, leaning back slightly as she shifted her weight. “But my ankle’s voting for whichever one lets me keep sitting here all day.” 

Zuri giggled and offered her another. “This one’s blue-sour. You have to make the face after.” 

Paige accepted it with a smirk. She was mid-chew when someone grunted—loud, dramatic, and carrying weight. She turned just enough to see a large, glittery pink-wrapped box making its way across the grass.  

“Zuri Faye,” The guy called out, puffing a little as he dropped the huge gift on the grass. “What did I tell you about birthday wishes that require two grown adults, a forklift, and probably a chiropractor?” 

Zuri’s head whipped around. Her eyes lit up. 

“Uncle Trey!” 

She launched off the bench at full speed, candy forgotten, legs pumping until she dove straight into his arms. He caught her on instinct, wobbling a step before locking her in tight. 

“Dang,” he said, hugging her. “You got heavier and bossier.” 

“I’m six now,” she declared proudly. 

Trey chuckled, then looked up—eyes landing on Paige. 

Their gazes met.  

“Oh,” Trey said, brow twitching. “It’s you.” 

Paige gave a half-smile and lifted a gummy between two fingers. “Uh. Hi again?” 

Before Trey could respond, Zuri’s head popped up over his shoulder, wild curls bouncing with the excitement of a new announcement. 

“She’s Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend!” she declared, beaming. “A real one! They kiss and everything!” 

Paige nearly choked on the gummy. 

Trey’s eyebrows shot up. His smirk returned instantly, slow and wicked, like he’d just stumbled onto a winning lottery ticket. 

“Girlfriend, huh?” 

He set Zuri down gently, then looked back at Paige with mock seriousness, nodding once like he was taking mental notes. 

“Well,” he said, stretching the word out, “I guess Auntie Azzi’s girlfriend and Uncle Trey need to have The Talk.” 

Paige swallowed hard, wishing the gummy would work its way on the wrong pipe so she could choke her way out of this. 

[horse-breed-a-day]

Hello, I'm a writer and I've ended up putting myself in an interesting spot involving horses.

You see, I have this fantasy world and there are definitely horses. Except these horses are carnivorous pack-hunters. Which is awesome to think about. And I totally want to make a handful of species/variations so I can give them to different characters as ~characterization~.

My problem is that every time I try to research horse breed types, it's so complicated? Like, with dogs, you've got your toy group, hound group, herding group, etc. But horses????

Could you offer any insights or a general overview of horse types? Or even just a link to a place about horses for dummies?

hello there and absolutely! that concept sounds very cool! (i bet you'll find it interesting that horses -very rarely- are opportunistic carnivores) but yes anything horse related tends to be very complicated :P so here's how i tend to break it down!

ponies, miniature horses, cobs, light horses, light drafts, and drafts

ponies are any horse under 14hh in height they tend to be stocky and stubby

miniature horses are horses that tend to range around 34in in height while still retaining the same proportions as a regular horse (this might help explain further)

cobs are pony-like drafts... or draft-like ponies! theyre often short in stature and have feathered legs (that poofy hair around the hooves you see on big horses like clydesdales)

light horses are the ones you see the most, think thoroughbreds, andalusians, quarter horses, warmbloods etc

light drafts are sort of an in-between of light horses and drafts! they tend to be draft-height while retaining the proportions of a light horse

drafts are the ones that most people on tumblr like and you'll see posts of, think of bretons, ardennes, percherons etc! they often range from 17-21hh in height and are all muscle! they often have crested necks and square snouts making them look very Solid

i hope that helps narrow it down in a more structured way and best of luck on ur writing!

[unhealthyvendetta]

ೃ⁀➷ HOW YOU THINK’S THE KIND OF THING I’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND

✧˚ · . overview. you break it off with gojo due to his carefree attitude and he's livid. part two

⇢ ˗ˏˋ caution. gojo x reader, no use of "y/n", angst, heartbreak, fem reader, eventual fluff, obsessed gojo, not proofread ࿐ྂ

wc: 1.3k

ׂ╰┈➤︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"What the fuck?" Satoru muttered under his breath before springing up from his bed.

"Let's break up, it's better for the both of us. I know you're busy so I have to text it to you." Your text read. You decided to break up with your boyfriend due to his nonchalance and neglect.

Just as you placed your phone down, it started ringing. Who was it? I doubt it's your boyfriend ex.

Oh, but it is.

You felt a little anxious and declined the call, but just as you did, it rang again. What's with this guy? You reluctantly tapped the green button on your phone to Satoru looking at his phone with an upset expression. "Why?" Satoru asked.

"You don't even talk to me, why are you calling me?" You replied as you set up your phone to see him.

"So? I've been busy." Satoru replied.

"Busy doing what? Your location says you're currently at home and haven't left for a mission in a while." You replied with an annoyed expression, "What's the point of lying?"

"God, you're so controlling. Can you stop stalking me?" Satoru replied with sass.

"Do you even care about me? You never call but when I wanna break up you spam call me." You yelled at him. "If I didn't we wouldn't be together, stop being so insecure." Satoru shot back, "If I knew you were so needy I wouldn't have came up to you." He said.

His words hurt, deeply. You just sighed and hung up the phone, surprising Satoru, but he didn't call back.. which hurt even more.

See, Satoru.. he figured you'd come around eventually. He was gonna take you back and things would be normal, right? Wrong. You stopped showing up to his meetings, stopped showing up to the school, you could not be caught in Satoru's general area.

He was confused, was he really dumped? The strongest sorcerer? Dumped? It just sounded grammatically incorrect.

People started asking where you were and Satoru did not want to let the world know that he got dumped by a normal girl. He never told anyone you both broke up, keeping it a secret from everybody.

One day you went out in public and one of Satoru's student's came up to greet you, "Hey! How are you? Is Gojo helping you get better?" They asked, leaving you confused. "Gojo? Better? What do you mean?" You asked.

"Gojo told us you were sick and you weren't going to his events anymore," The student replied.

"Oh, really?" You replied, feeling furious.

Before the student could reply, you walked towards your apartment and called Satoru. He picked up immediately, "What? Aren't we broken up?" He asked with attitude.

"I thought so, but you've been going around telling people we're still together and I'm just sick. So you tell me," You replied as you unlocked your apartment door.

Satoru didn't reply, he was caught in a lie. "What did you want me to do? I can't tell people I was dumped by you, that's embarrassing." Satoru replied.

"What the fuck? Just pop out with another slut like you usually do," You scoffed. "You're jealous, I feel it." Satoru responded. "No, I'm annoyed. I don't want to be associated with you." You refuted. "Just last week you were complaining about how I never give you attention, don't complain now." Satoru scoffed.

"God, you're annoying. Stop telling everyone we're together, okay? That's all I want from you." You replied.

"Stop acting like you don't want me anymore, you were so needy and now you're all distant." Satoru quipped. "Well maybe you should've treated me like your girlfriend and not a fan girl that you have to tolerate." You snapped.

"Women are so complicated," Satoru groaned. "And men are so incompetent," You shot back before hanging up the phone. What the fuck was his problem?

You knew he was an ass, but this was a new type of ass.

Whatever, who needs him? You've been eying your colleague Nanami for the past week, and you might as well try and make a move, right? You knew he went to the local bakery on Fridays, so you decided to stop by to get his attention.

As expected Nanami was there, purchasing bread. You waited outside trying your hardest to look like you were actually doing something when you spot a certain white haired individual you unfortunately knew too well.

"Satoru? What the hell-" You started before Satoru cut you off with a kiss. God, you haven't been kissed by him in what felt like forever. You just wanted to- no, oh my God.. Nanami should be coming out the shop any second!

You pulled away reluctantly and saw Nanami walking away from you and Satoru, shit, he already left?

"Satoru, what the hell?" You yelled at him.

"You can't go out with Nanami," Satoru responded, his eyes filled with anger and jealousy.

"Yes I can, maybe he won't ignore me for weeks like you did!" You scoffed. "And don't kiss me, we're broken up." You added on. "Oh come on, you and I both know this 'break up' can be solved with a conversation." Satoru replied.

"When will you realize that not everyone wants you? That your nonchalance and lack of care isn't hot, but people put up with it because they love you?" You insulted him.

"I know your ego get pretty flimsy whenever someone doesn't want you but you need to grow up. Consider this a wake up call to not be a fucking asshole." You continued before walking away to you car, this time Satoru didn't stop you.

You forget to ask important questions, like how he found you, how he knew what you were up to.. God, you were livid.

You just tried to ignore Satoru and tried going out with Nanami, but you couldn't even speak to him. Satoru was definitely pulling strings per usual, trying to control you. You decided to block Satoru's personal number, that wasn't someone you needed in your life, you just wanted peace, but Satoru just wanted you.

He was regretting ever letting you get away, he needed you in his life and without you he was unstable, he would apologize but there was no amount of apologies he could utter on his knees for you to take him back at this rate. He's an asshole, and he knows that. And God, he wished he could stop being one.

But old habits die hard, okay? So he's outside your apartment, lockpicking the door. It's 10:57 PM on a Friday night, he knew you always partied on Fridays.

He sat there and waited for hours in your living room, he was going to force a conversation with you if you didn't wanna talk to him willingly.

You get home several hours later, and see Satoru at your door.

"Oh my God! You fucking loser! Get out!" You yelled as you pulled up your dress.

Satoru just stared at you, what he once had all to himself. His eyes were filled with longing and desire. "I'm sorry, I know I was an asshole, I know. But I don't know what to do. I just want you back, please. I don't know why I treated you like that, and I swear I'll treasure you like the gem you are."

You looked a little shocked, "Don't just throw this onto me on a Friday night, I'm tipsy." You replied and took off your heels, "Get out Satoru."

"Please. I love you so much, I'll give you everything. I will make time for you, please." Satoru begged. "Get out," You replied as you walked towards your bathroom to take off your makeup.

"I really don't want to lose you," Satoru replied. "You already did," You scoffed.

"I'm not done." Satoru sighed before leaving your apartment, and you wouldn't remember any of this by tomorrow morning.

[mortish-writes]

Here is a comprehensive look at the dynamics system across all story routes. If you already read it on Patreon yesterday nothing has changed, don't torture yourself reading it twice. Also I'll post that Kerach sneak peek tonight, promise!

These are the finalized dynamics, they may look somewhat different from the previous ones although they're largely the same.

It's quite long but I have done my best to format it for readability with icons and styling. I personally struggle reading big walls of text and I imagine you do, too.

Character Key: 🌕 Valdricht | 🌗 Serax | 🌑 Kerach Dynamic Key: ◉ What this looks like | ◎ How to build it | ◈ The appeal/thrill Group Dynamic Key: ▣ Overview | ▢ Intimacy | ▲ Pitfalls Range Key: ⬆️ High values | ↔️ Middle range | ⬇️ Low values Content Key: ※ Important notes

Introduction

In Bride of Shadows, romance isn’t one-size-fits-all. Your choices shape how each love interest treats you. Each path teaches your companions how to respond, be it with dominance, gentleness, restraint, or something in between. The same love interest can become a completely different type of partner depending on who you are.

Think of it like so: Will Valdricht see you as his partner who shrewdly challenges him, or as his precious treasure to protect and cherish? Will Serax find himself drawn to fiery verbal sparring matches with you, or will your gentle nature bring out his softer side? Will Kerach be your midnight lover, or a platonic protector? Your choices create these dynamics organically.

Note that I've removed the traits. I feel like a lot of players were getting hung up on that, particularly trying to figure out how they could play enemies-to-lovers Serax while still be Valdricht's doormat. I see you. Play how you want to play and don't stress about the personality that will resolve itself as the prelude progresses.

Classic Route - Overview

Perfect for: Readers who love balanced polyamorous relationships and want to explore connections with all three love interests. This is the route you play on the public build.

※Special Note: You can mix and match these dynamics freely, there are no constraints. Kerach romance is optional. Serax & Valdricht are mandatory. No Kerach pregnancy.

🌕 Valdricht | Classic | Anointed Dynamic 🌕

◉ What this looks like: You earn Valdricht's respect through your intellect and careful judgment, becoming his trusted confidant. Your relationship is built on mutual admiration, intellectual stimulation, and the slow burn of proving your worth. You respect his authority as leader, but he values your input enough that you don't fear questioning him or (privately) challenging his decisions.

◎ How to build it: Question his authority (respectfully), show intellectual curiosity, maintain your independence even while accepting his protection.

◈ The appeal: Power couple energy. Respect as foreplay. The satisfaction of earning his regard after 2,000+ years of existence.

🌕 Valdricht | Classic | Devotee Dynamic 🌕

◉ What this looks like: You see Valdricht as your divine protector and guide, finding strength through trust and surrender. Your faith in him awakens his most protective instincts. When you look to him for guidance, something tender stirs within him. He becomes your shelter from the storm, and you become his reason to be gentle...only with you.

◎ How to build it: Accept his guidance gracefully, express gratitude for his protection, seek his wisdom, let him care for you.

◈ The appeal: Worship dynamics. Protective devotion. Submission kink.

⬆️ Anointed Dynamic: 75-100%

Trusted confidant who earns the right to question and challenge him, but still respects his superior experience and authority

↔️Balanced Partnership: 25-74%

Sometimes defers to his wisdom, sometimes asserts own perspective

⬇️ Devotee Dynamic: 0-24%

Sees him as her master, seeks his guidance, grateful for protection

🌗 Serax | Classic | Combustive Dynamic 🌗

◉ What this looks like: You and Serax are ice and fire, creating steam wherever you touch. Your relationship thrives on intelligent verbal sparring and the electric tension of two strong personalities who can't quite stay away from each other. Every argument is foreplay, every debate a dance.

◎ How to build it: Match his sarcasm with wit, challenge his cynical worldview, refuse to be intimidated, give as good as you get in verbal exchanges.

◈ The appeal: Enemies-to-lovers energy. Intellectual dueling. The thrill of taming each other.

🌗 Serax | Classic | Kindling Dynamic 🌗

◉ What this looks like: Your gentle nature melts Serax's rough edges, revealing the wounded man beneath the warrior's exterior. He finds himself speaking more softly around you, his touches becoming reverent. You don't fight his fire--you warm yourself by it.

◎ How to build it: Show vulnerability, respond to his pain with compassion, let him protect you, be the calm to his storm.

◈ The appeal: Healing love. Hurt/comfort. Watching a hard man go soft for the right person (metaphorically speaking).

⬆️ Combustive Dynamic: 75-100%

Ice and fire creating steam, thriving on intelligent verbal sparring and electric tension between strong personalities

↔️ Balanced Tension: 25-74%

Mix of challenging banter and moments of gentleness, sometimes sparring and sometimes soothing

⬇️ Kindling Dynamic: 0-24%

Your gentle nature melts his rough edges, drawing out his protective instincts and softer touches

🌑 Kerach | Classic | Entwined Hearts 🌑

◉ What this looks like: You see past Kerach's wolf nature to the man beneath, and he sees past your fragility to the strength within. Your connection is deep, emotional, and surprisingly passionate. You communicate on a level that transcends words.

◎ How to build it: Show tenderness toward his wolf nature, treat him as an equal, recognize his intelligence and nobility.

◈ The appeal: Forbidden love. Slow burn.

🌑 Kerach | Classic | Pack Mate 🌑

◉ What this looks like: Kerach becomes your most loyal companion and protector. Your bond is built on mutual respect, shared survival, and absolute trust. While not romantic, this friendship runs deeper than blood and will last lifetimes.

◎ How to build it: Accept his protection, treat him as a trusted ally, respect his strength without needing more.

◈ The appeal: Ride-or-die friendship. Platonic devotion.

⬆️ Entwined Hearts: 75-100%

Deep emotional and passionate connection that transcends words, seeing past his wolf nature to the man beneath [sexual relationship threshold]

↔️ Loyal Companionship: 25-74%

Strong bond built on mutual respect and trust, with moments of deeper connection hinting at something more [light intimacy, no sexual relationship]

⬇️ Pack Mate: 0-24%

Devoted platonic partnership based on protection and survival, respecting his strength without romantic desire [purely platonic relationship]

Classic Route - Potential Group Dynamics

Here are a few of the potential dynamics I've mapped out to give you a better idea of what your relationship could look like in Act I. This is NOT an exhaustive list but a short overview based on some of my notes.

The Power Trio Anointed Valdricht + Combustive Serax + Entwined Hearts Kerach

▣ Overview: Everyone brings something vital to the table, and decisions get made through passionate debate rather than simple hierarchy.

▢ Intimacy: Even intimate moments involve playful power struggles over positions, timing, and control.

▲ Pitfalls: All three compete for MC's attention through their different strengths, and protection disputes turn into ego battles over who knows best.

The Sanctuary Devotee Valdricht + Kindling Serax + Pack Mate Kerach

▣ Overview: MC becomes the treasured center where three different protective instincts create a cocoon of safety and adoration.

▢ Intimacy: Tender competition over who can care for MC best, with layers of gentle touches and reverent attention.

▲ Pitfalls: Smothering protectiveness that limits MC's freedom, and jealousy when she craves different types of comfort from each partner.

The Volatile Triangle Devotee Valdricht + Combustive Serax + Entwined Hearts Kerach

▣ Overview: MC's bond with Valdricht puts her at the top of the hierarchy. Serax resents MC's favored position even as he craves her, creating volatile undercurrents. Kerach operates outside this power structure entirely, challenging anyone when his instincts demand it.

▢ Intimacy: MC surrenders completely to Valdricht, clashes passionately with Serax before yielding, and matches Kerach's intense desire with equal hunger.

▲ Pitfalls: Serax's frustration at being outranked by MC in Valdricht's affections, and Kerach's willingness to challenge Valdricht creating friction.

Dark Maiden Route - Overview

Perfect for: Readers seeking intense psychological dynamics, Stockholm syndrome themes, and breeding-focused romance.

※ Content Note: This route explores psychological dependency, limited agency, and intense submission themes. All three love interests are mandatory romantic/sexual partners. MMFM. Kerach pregnancy.

※ Special Note: The dynamics are linked. Why? Because this is a linear route. Each decoupling is more writing.

Veiled Mate + Wild Beauty / Bound Mate + Tamed Heart are completely linked. You cannot mix and match them within the current narrative. Pick a lane.

Kerach's Fallen Vestal is loosely linked to Veiled Mate + Wild Beauty but can be decoupled.

🌕 Valdricht | Dark Maiden | Veiled Mate 🌕

◉ What this looks like: Your resistance engages Valdricht rather than frustrates him. Every hesitation becomes a puzzle to solve, every moment of internal conflict proof of your authenticity. He doesn't want mindless compliance--he wants to earn your surrender piece by piece.

◎ How to build it: Show internal struggle with desire, demonstrate reluctance to submission, hide your sexual desire from him.

◈ The thrill: Corruption kink. Earned submission. Watching innocence wrestle with desire.

🌕 Valdricht | Dark Maiden | Bound Mate 🌕

◉ What this looks like: You discover freedom through complete surrender to Valdricht's guidance. He becomes your anchor in the new world you've woken into, and you find peace in letting him carry the weight of decisions. Your trust awakens his most protective instincts.

◎ How to build it: Seek his guidance willingly, express gratitude for his protection, find comfort in his control, let him shoulder your burdens.

◈ The thrill: Total power exchange. Stockholm syndrome. That nightmare you sometimes have after waking at 7am so you can get into work by 9am and then spend the next four hours watching the clock for your lunch break with growing realization that you're a corporate slave and this will be your entire life and you just want to scream and then suddenly a hot guy shows up and drags you from your cubical and declares that you're his mate and he's never going to allow you to work again or do anything that doesn't involve having his babies and reading books in his giant library. Gross.

⬆️ Veiled Mate: 50-100%

Your quiet rebellion engages him and every act of defiance is a game he delights in playing

⬇️ Bound Mate: 0-49%

You find deep satisfaction in complete surrender to his control, discovering freedom through giving up all resistance

※ No middle grounds. Your choices in the prelude will put you on one path or the other, however your unique personality will determine how you react within each dynamic. For example, a Bound Mate with a stoic nature might quietly seek his embrace in the night, whereas one with a tender nature will openly display her affection for him.

🌗 Serax | Dark Maiden | Wild Beauty 🌗

◉ What this looks like: Your internal struggle feeds Serax's predatory instincts. He's drawn to the contradiction of your desire warring with your resistance. The more you fight what you want, the more determined he becomes to draw it out of you.

◎ How to build it: Show conflicted responses to his advances, demonstrate that you want him despite yourself, let your internal battle show through your reactions.

◈ The thrill: Predator/prey dynamics. Corruption through pleasure. Drawing out hidden desire.

🌗 Serax | Dark Maiden | Tamed Heart 🌗

◉ What this looks like: Your willingness to be claimed and sheltered brings out Serax's most possessive instincts. You become his creature to protect and cherish, and he finds satisfaction in being your refuge.

◎ How to build it: Seek comfort in his presence, let him soothe your conflicts, accept his protection, show how his attention calms your struggles.

◈ The thrill: Hurt/comfort. Protective possession. Being someone's safe harbor.

⬆️ Wild Beauty: 50-100%

Your resistance feeds his predatory instincts and he never wants the chase to end

⬇️ Tamed Heart: 0-49%

Your willingness to be claimed brings out his most possessive, caring instincts

※ No middle grounds. Your choices in the prelude will put you on one path or the other, however your unique personality will determine how you react within each dynamic. For example, a Tamed Heart with a provocative nature might boldly seek his attention, whereas one with a demure nature will blush and lower her eyes when he approaches.

🌑 Kerach | Dark Maiden | Fallen Vestal 🌑

◉ What this looks like: Each encounter with Kerach becomes a battle between moral conditioning and growing desire. You know accepting him violates everything you were taught, yet you find yourself unable to resist. The guilt only intensifies the forbidden pleasure.

◎ How to build it: Express internal conflict about intimacy, show shame warring with desire, demonstrate how your moral upbringing clashes with your body's responses.

◈ The thrill: Forbidden desire. Corruption through pleasure. Moral conflict as aphrodisiac.

🌑 Kerach | Dark Maiden | Willing Vessel 🌑

◉ What this looks like: You find empowerment in accepting Kerach's nocturnal visits. Rather than fighting your desires, you embrace them. Your willingness turns encounters into mutual connection rather than mere claiming.

◎ How to build it: Welcome his attention without shame, show curiosity about his nature, demonstrate comfort with intimacy.

◈ The thrill: Empowered submission. Breeding kink. Strength through surrender.

⬆️ Willing Vessel: 50-100%

You welcome him, finding power in acceptance

⬇️ Fallen Vestal: 0-49%

Your faith wars with growing desire as accepting him feels like a bridge too far

※ No middle grounds. Your choices in the prelude will put you on one path or the other, however your unique personality will determine how you react within each dynamic. For example, a Fallen Vestal with a demure nature might hide her face during intimacy to mask her pleasure, whereas one with a provocative nature will be intensely engaged, only to reflect on her shame post-intimacy.

Dark Maiden Route - Potential Group Dynamics

The Emotional Anchor Veiled Mate Valdricht + Wild Beauty Serax + Willing Vessel Kerach

▣ Overview: MC struggles with overwhelming desire and internal conflict around Valdricht and Serax, while finding refuge in Kerach's presence. He becomes her safe harbor during the storm of transformation.

▢ Intimacy: Passionate but conflicted encounters with V&S where pleasure wars with resistance, contrasted by comfort with Kerach who offers solace without judgment.

▲ Pitfalls: Valdricht and Serax may grow jealous of MC's easy intimacy with Kerach, while MC risks using Kerach as an emotional crutch rather than working through her internal conflicts.

The Conflicted Haven Bound Mate Valdricht + Tamed Heart Serax + Fallen Vestal Kerach

▣ Overview: MC finds peace through surrender to Valdricht and Serax, embracing her transformation and leaning on them for comfort. With Kerach, however, her moral conditioning creates internal warfare between duty and desire.

▢ Intimacy: Total submission with V&S, while encounters with Kerach are shadowed by moral conflict.

▲ Pitfalls: MC may struggle with the emotional whiplash of moving between complete surrender with Valdricht and Serax, and her guilt-tinged encounters with Kerach.

Fated Mates Route - Overview

Perfect for: Readers who prefer monogamous romance and don't mind a deliciously problematic love interest.

※ Note: Only Valdricht is a romantic option. You will be able to make him jealous, at the peril of Serax and Kerach.

🌕 Valdricht | Fated Mates | Anchored Maiden 🌕

◉ What this looks like: Despite the mate bond's pull, you refuse to let Valdricht's experience and age intimidate you into blind compliance. You recognize his attempts to guide and shape your responses, meeting them with shrewd observation rather than naive acceptance. Your careful resistance forces him to earn what he wants rather than simply taking it through manipulation.

◎ How to build it: Question his motives, assert your independence, maintain your independence despite attraction.

◈ The thrill: Age gap. Earned submission. Cat and mouse.

🌕 Valdricht | Fated Mates | Drowning Maiden 🌕

◉ What this looks like: The mate bond leaves you vulnerable to Valdricht's centuries of experience. He knows exactly how to guide your responses, using your inexperience and overwhelming attraction to shape your choices. You're drowning in feelings you don't understand, but survival means learning to use your submission as a strength.

◎ How to build it: Accept his guidance without question, show overwhelm at new sensations, demonstrate your inexperience.

◈ The thrill: Worldly/innocent. Power imbalance. Lost little lamb.

⬆️ Anchored Maiden: 50-100%

You refuse to let his experience intimidate you into blind compliance, meeting his manipulation with shrewd observation

⬇️ Drowning Maiden: 0-49%

The mate bond leaves you vulnerable to his centuries of experience as he uses your innocence against you

※ No middle grounds. Your choices in the prelude will put you on one path or the other, however your unique personality will determine how you react within each dynamic. For example, a Drowning Maiden with an idealistic nature might see his guidance as romantic destiny, whereas one with a cynical nature may recognize the manipulations even while being unable to resist his allure.

※ No group dynamics. Too many spoilers, play and find out.

Tips for Players

Building Your Ideal Dynamic

Be consistent: Your early choices set the tone, even in the prelude.

Play your truth: Choose options that feel authentic to how you want your character to respond.

Don't min-max: There are no "wrong" dynamics, only different love stories (and kinks).

Dynamics lock: After the prelude your dynamics are fixed, at least for Act I...

Dynamics evolve: Your dynamic will evolve with each act. More on that later.

Understanding the percentages

Numbers aren't everything: A 30% Devotee dynamic is just as valid and complete as an 80% Anointed dynamic. Once the prelude ends the percentages will disappear and you will be left with a detailed description of your dynamic.

Classic extremes are optional: You can absolutely stay in the middle ranges for more balanced relationships.

DMR & FMR have no middle ground: Your dynamic will be based on your final percentages in the prelude, with some choices (i.e. sleeping with Valdricht pre-Meyrrvik in Fated Mates or eager/reluctant first time with Kerach in Dark Maiden) carrying much steeper weight. Once your dynamic is fixed, your personality determines how your MC operates within the dynamic. No escape, only evolution through acts.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Can you write something fluffy for Tendou? Maybe how you met and how he fell for you or something? I don't really care much what, just lots of fluff please <33

Guess My Feelings

A/N: Thank you for the request! I love writing for Tendou—he's my favorite character—so this was really fun!

synopsis: You transfer to Shiratorizawa in your third year and become the volleyball team's manager, quickly catching the eye of a certain redheaded middle blocker — and just as swiftly as you win his attention, he quietly steals your heart in return.

content/warning: Tendou Satori x fem!reader, fluff, 8.396 words

You stood at the front door of Shiratorizawa Academy, your new uniform still stiff with unfamiliarity and the morning sun casting long shadows across the campus courtyard. It was early spring—cherry blossoms just starting to bloom—and everything felt too big. Too clean. Too new.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and took a slow breath. Third year of high school... new school... new city... new everything. You hadn't expected to transfer for your final year, but life had a way of doing its own thing. Your father's new job had been a great opportunity—"one we couldn't pass up," your mom had said. And Shiratorizawa was a prestigious school, known for its academics, sports, and somewhat intimidating reputation.

So here you were. Starting over.

You navigated the wide hallways, passing students who were already forming their usual cliques. You caught a few curious glances—being new was like wearing a sign on your back—but for the most part, everyone seemed wrapped up in their own lives. That suited you fine. You'd settle in at your own pace.

After orientation, you found yourself wandering the school grounds during lunch, enjoying the crisp breeze and trying to get a feel for your new surroundings. You were just rounding a corner by the athletic wing when you heard it.

"Still no manager for the boys' volleyball team?" a girl's voice floated out from a bench where three girls sat with packed lunches.

"Nope. I mean, would you volunteer to work under Coach Washijo?" another replied, her face scrunched in mock horror.

"Ugh, no way. I heard he made a first-year cry just for misplacing a water bottle."

"And the team's scary too, right? Like... not mean, but intense. No thank you."

You slowed down unconsciously, your ears perking up. Volleyball team. No manager?

Your fingers itched with instinct—familiar, almost nostalgic. At your old school, you'd been the team manager for two years. You loved it. The rhythm of practices, the responsibility, the tiny details that made things run smoothly. Being part of a team, even from the sidelines, had always felt like home.

The thought sparked something in your chest.

After lunch, your curiosity was officially impossible to ignore. The rest of the day passed in a blur—introductions, class overviews, and polite smiles from classmates—but in the back of your mind, one thought kept looping:

Volleyball team. No manager. Coach is scary. Doesn't matter—I want in.

By the time the final bell rang, you had a plan.

You packed up your things slowly, casually turning to the girl sitting beside you. She'd been friendly during roll call and even pointed out the nearest vending machine earlier.

"Hey," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Do you happen to know who I could talk to about the volleyball team?"

She blinked, surprised. "You mean… joining the team?"

You chuckled softly. "Not as a player. I used to be the manager at my old school. I heard they don't have one here."

Her eyebrows lifted, clearly impressed or maybe just intrigued. "Wow. Brave of you." Then she glanced around. "Actually… you're in luck. One of the players is in this class."

Your heart skipped. "Really?"

She leaned closer, lowering her voice slightly. "His name's Soekawa. He's the vice captain. Quiet, but nice enough. That's him over there—see? By the window."

You followed her gaze to a tall, broad-shouldered boy with shaggy brown hair and a calm, serious expression. He was halfway through packing up, earbuds already in, head tilted slightly to the side as if lost in thought.

"Thank you," you said quickly, feeling your nerves stir.

You walked over before you could talk yourself out of it.

"Hi," you said, stopping a short distance away.

Soekawa looked up, pulling out one earbud. His eyes were calm, neutral.

"I'm sorry to bother you," you began. "I'm new here—today was my first day, actually—and I heard the volleyball team doesn't have a manager. I used to manage at my old school, and I was wondering… if you could tell me who I should talk to?"

There was a beat of silence. His expression didn't change much, but his gaze sharpened slightly, assessing.

"You managed a team before?" he asked, voice even.

You nodded. "For almost two years. Practice schedules, hydration, warm-up routines, keeping track of stats mid-match."

He gave a thoughtful hum, standing up fully. He was even taller than he looked seated. "Coach Washijo's really strict. Most people don't last five minutes around him."

"I can handle strict," you replied with a small smile. "I'm used to high expectations."

He actually looked impressed at that, just a flicker. "I'm Soekawa. Vice captain."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

He gave a short nod. "If you're serious, I'll let the coach know. He'll probably want to meet you first."

"That's all I ask."

He looked at you for another moment—measuring your confidence, maybe—but finally gave another nod, this one slower.

"Be at the gym tomorrow after classes. I'll talk to him before practice."

You smiled, grateful and already feeling the thrill of reentering a world you'd missed.

"Thank you. I'll be there."

You showed up at the gym ten minutes early, nerves fluttering in your chest like restless birds. The sharp sound of volleyballs hitting hardwood echoed from inside. You stepped into the open doorway and waited quietly at the edge of the court, observing the tall players warming up and stretching with practiced focus. Their movements were precise, almost mechanical. No wasted energy.

Soekawa spotted you quickly. He jogged over, towel around his neck, and nodded toward the building between the gym and school.

"He's in the office. I told him you were coming."

You gave him a grateful nod and walked toward the room, following the short description Soekawa had given you. Your knuckles tapped gently on the open door.

"Come in," came a gruff, gravelly voice.

You stepped inside.

Coach Washijo sat at his desk, arms folded across his chest, expression unreadable under bushy brows. He looked exactly as you imagined: stern, compact, intense. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, sizing you up.

"So," he said. "You want to be the team's manager?"

"Yes, sir," you answered, hands calmly at your sides.

"You understand this isn't a club of amateurs, don't you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. "Shiratorizawa's volleyball team is not just some after-school hobby. We don't run around for fun here."

"I understand."

"Our team captain—Ushijima Wakatoshi—is one of the top three aces in the country," he said with clear pride. "National-level talent. Do you grasp what that means?"

You nodded. "That you play—and train—at a national level. That the expectations are just as high for everyone, even those supporting from the sidelines."

Washijo studied your face.

"I don't allow dead weight on this team. If you're not diligent, precise, and reliable, you'll be gone by the end of the week."

"I'm not afraid of hard work," you said evenly. "I'm serious about this. I know what it takes to support a team like this."

He narrowed his eyes slightly. "What makes you so sure?"

"I was the manager for Itachiyama Institute before I transferred here," you said simply.

That made him blink. It was subtle, but there was no missing the shift in his expression.

"…Itachiyama, huh?"

"Yes. I worked closely with the team. Organized their travel for last summer's training camp, too. I know what kind of discipline is required. I know how to handle players at a high level."

"Sakusa Kiyoomi's team," Washijo muttered, more to himself than to you. He leaned back in his chair, arms still crossed but less rigid now. "That boy's one of the top three aces too. Only a second year."

You waited, saying nothing more. Letting your resume speak for itself.

After a long moment, he exhaled, almost like a growl.

"Fine. You'll start on probation."

Your heart jumped, but you kept your face calm.

"You'll show up fifteen minutes before every practice, stay until everything's packed, and listen to my instructions the first time. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't make me regret this," he muttered, already reaching for a clipboard.

"I won't."

As you left the office, you spotted Soekawa just outside the gym. He caught your eye, and you gave him a short nod.

You were in.

Not officially.

But almost.

You arrived at the gym fifteen minutes early, nerves tightly wound beneath your composed expression. The polished wood floor reflected the overhead lights, and the air was already heavy with the faint smell of sweat and determination. You had the distinct feeling that something important was about to begin.

Coach Washijo was already there, arms crossed and eyes sharp as ever. He gestured for you to stand beside him near the center of the court. You caught a few glances from players stretching or warming up—brief, curious, sizing you up.

Once most of the team had gathered, he raised his voice.

"Listen up."

Conversations died instantly. All eyes turned forward.

"This is Y/N," he announced, nodding to you. "She'll be acting as our team manager—on probation—until she proves she's worth keeping."

You smiled politely, bowing slightly. "It's nice to meet all of you. I'm looking forward to working with you."

There was a beat of silence—nothing unfriendly, just the kind of quiet that came with high expectations.

"Try not to make her job harder than it already is," Washijo added, voice gruff. Then he turned to you. "You can set up over there by the bench. Practice starts in five."

You nodded and moved quickly, already settling into the routine. Occasional glances came your way—nothing harsh, just curious. After all, you were the newcomer.

But you weren't here to be timid.

This was your world, too.

You started prepping water bottles, lining them up neatly near the bench. Every action had purpose, efficiency. Still, you couldn't help but notice how even the jokes were whispered—muted smiles exchanged behind shoulders, quiet chuckles that never reached Coach Washijo's ears.

You glanced toward the far end of the gym. The coach stood near the net, arms behind his back, eyes like a hawk's. Every time he looked in someone's direction, backs straightened. Conversations died.

Whoa. You'd expected intensity, but this was another level.

They ran drills like machines. Serves, receives, spikes—flawless execution, timed down to the second. And yet, something about it didn't quite sit right. You'd worked with a top-level team before. You knew the difference between focused and tense.

Then, somewhere near the midpoint of practice, the spell broke—just a little.

Coach Washijo stepped out of the gym for a moment, grumbling something about reviewing footage. The moment the door clicked behind him, you saw it.

Shirabu let out a breath and rolled his eyes in exaggerated exhaustion. Kawanishi muttered something sarcastic under his breath, and Goshiki —the only first year to be on the official team — finally relaxed his death-grip on the ball.

And then… laughter. Small and easy.

Semi grinned at someone. You turned to look and—

"Oi oi, you missed that by a mile!" a voice called, full of mock horror and delight.

You spotted the speaker instantly: tall, lanky, with red hair and a sharp grin that didn't seem to leave his face. He was draped over the bench like he had no bones, waving dramatically at Goshiki, who had just messed up a serve.

"Tendou," someone warned with a snort.

"You're breaking the spell," Semi added, amused but tired.

"Spell?" Tendou replied innocently. "I'm just trying to revive the boy's spirit before Coach turns him into a statue."

The mood in the gym shifted. Lighter. More human.

You watched with subtle fascination as the tension drained from the team—just slightly—but enough that you saw it: beneath the hard edges and intense drills, they were still just boys. Young men chasing the dream of winning. Friends, teammates, rivals.

They're not machines after all, you thought with a small smile. Just really, really good at pretending they are when the coach is around.

There was one exception.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

You tried not to stare, but it was impossible to ignore him. Every movement was purposeful, calm. His expression didn't change—at all. You weren't sure he could laugh, much less joke around like the others.

Even when Tendou clapped him on the back with a teasing, "Wakatoshi-kun, loosen up! You look like you're at a funeral," the tall ace didn't so much as blink.

A brick wall. Completely unreadable.

You mentally filed him under "TBD"—for now.

Still, as you handed a towel to one of the players and accepted a quick thank-you in return, you felt it: the shift. You weren't invisible. They had noticed you. And they weren't just intimidating athletes with perfect spikes.

They were a team.

And maybe, if you proved yourself, you could become part of it.

The sharp whistle echoed through the gym one last time as Coach Washijo called an end to practice.

You exhaled quietly, not realizing just how long you'd been holding your breath. The players bowed quickly, murmured their thanks, and immediately shifted into cool-down mode. The once-mechanical atmosphere softened again, conversation resuming now that the coach had retreated to his office.

You stayed in your corner, wiping your hands on a towel and beginning to gather the water bottles. You were about to carry them toward the cart when you noticed someone walking over.

It was Soekawa.

"You doing okay?" he asked, his voice quieter than during your earlier conversation. "That was a pretty intense first day."

You blinked, a little surprised by the gesture. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's definitely different from my last school, but not in a bad way. Just… more structured. Serious."

He nodded, the smallest flicker of a smile on his lips. "That's one way to put it."

Then he turned, clearly satisfied with your answer. "Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need anything," he added, and then jogged off toward the locker rooms with the ease of someone who'd already said everything that needed to be said.

You were just about to turn back to your cleanup when you noticed another presence nearby—less businesslike, more… curious.

"Tired yet?" came a voice, bright and sly.

You looked up.

Tendou.

He leaned casually against a ball cart, watching you with unmistakable interest, red hair slightly damp with sweat and a grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm okay," you replied, trying to match his energy—though something about the way he tilted his head made you feel a little like he was trying to read you.

"So," he said, drawing out the word like a thread. "How long have you been at this school? Just started, right?"

You nodded. "Yeah. We moved here last month so I could acclimate before starting on time for the new school year."

"New girl and the new manager? That's bold," he said, eyes twinkling.

You shrugged lightly. "I've done it before. Figured I might as well jump back into something I actually enjoy."

Tendou looked amused. "Where from?"

"Itachiyama."

That earned a low whistle from him. You noticed a couple of the guys—Semi and Shirabu, mostly—lingering just within earshot, clearly pretending to do cool-down stretches but very much listening.

"You're kidding," Tendou said. "That Itachiyama? As in 'super-tight-defense and Sakusa-is-a-germaphobe' Itachiyama?"

You laughed, genuinely. "The very same. Though Sakusa isn't actually a germaphobe. It's just a rumour because he doesn't like crowds."

He stared at you for a second, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. Then he straightened up slightly. "Okay, now I have to know more. You gonna tell me more about the team or is that classified manager info?"

You smirked. "Depends. You always this nosy?"

"Only when I'm intrigued."

His words weren't flirtatious exactly—just honest in that weirdly offbeat Tendou way. You didn't mind. It was… nice. The attention didn't feel overwhelming. Just curious. Playful.

Before you could answer, he added, "Don't worry. I'll be good. I won't scare you off."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that something you do often?"

"More than I'd like," he said, grin faltering for just a split second before it returned. "But you don't seem the easily scared type."

You tilted your head slightly. "Neither do you."

He blinked, like that answer caught him off guard—and then he laughed. Loud and sharp but not unkind.

"Touché."

There was a brief, comfortable pause. Somewhere behind you, Semi muttered something under his breath and nudged Shirabu toward the lockers. The eavesdroppers were finally retreating.

Tendou leaned a little closer, though not enough to cross a line. Just enough to let you know this moment wasn't quite over.

"Glad you're here, Manager-chan," he said, almost sincerely. "I think you'll make things interesting."

You smiled. "Glad to be here."

It started with a folded set of clothes laid neatly on top of your bag after practice a few weeks later.

A soft plum-colored jacket with white sleeves and Shiratorizawa Gakuen High stitched in crisp letters across the back. A clean collared shirt and track pants in the school colors, folded with near military precision. And tucked into the pocket—a note, in Coach Washijo's unmistakable sharp handwriting:

"You've proven yourself useful. Keep it that way. — W"

You stared at it for a moment, unable to stop the small grin tugging at your lips.

You were in.

No more "probation," no more careful watching for mistakes. You had earned your place.

When you walked into the next practice in your official team uniform, Tendou was the first to notice. He let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like he was in a soap opera.

"Our little manager's all grown up," he said, mock-sobbing into a towel. "Look at you, all official now!"

"Congrats," Semi called from where he was setting up cones. "About time, honestly."

Even Coach Washijo gave you a small, approving nod as you handed him the attendance list that day—a quiet gesture of acknowledgment that somehow meant more than any congratulations.

From that day forward, something shifted.

You weren't just "the new girl" anymore. You were the manager. Part of the team.

You got used to Tendou's strange tangents and weird energy—actually, you started to look forward to them. He brought a kind of chaotic comfort to the court, throwing jokes like volleyballs and weaving lightness into even the most grueling drills.

He'd trail beside you during breaks, pointing out which teammates had the worst taste in snacks, or leaning over your clipboard just to scribble "guess monster strikes again" next to one of his stats. He always made you laugh, even when you were exhausted. Especially then.

But there were serious moments too. Especially with Ushijima.

You quickly learned that as team captain, he took your role very seriously.

Every week before a match, he would seek you out—always with the same line.

"Let's go over strategy."

He was blunt. Always direct. But never unkind. He asked for efficiency reports, stamina trends, tendencies in other teams' rotations. At first, the silence between you felt… heavy.

But over time, you found a rhythm. He'd listen carefully to your insights and nod at your assessments, occasionally asking follow-ups with the same calm intensity he brought to the court.

One day, after you'd shown him a chart you'd put together tracking their recent practice intensity versus performance in mock games, he gave a rare, quiet response:

"Good work."

That was it.

But coming from Ushijima Wakatoshi, that felt like being handed a trophy.

You were growing into your role, and it showed—not just in your work, but in the way the team treated you. Goshiki came to you for pep talks when his confidence wavered. Kawanishi asked you to double-check his form footage. Even Shirabu, who rarely trusted anyone's judgment but his own, started pausing to ask, "Did you log that set? What did it look like from your angle?"

But through all of it, Tendou remained your most frequent and chaotic visitor.

He showed up by your side like a specter—half the time scaring you, the other half offering gummy worms or odd bits of trivia.

And you didn't mind.

Not at all.

You were halfway across campus, clutching a clipboard and a fresh sheet of lineup notes, when you heard your name.

"Hey, Manager-chan!"

You stopped and turned, spotting two guys from your parallel class leaning against a vending machine near the athletics building. You recognized them vaguely—neither unfriendly nor particularly important in your life. Still, you offered a polite smile.

"Hi."

One of them gave a dramatic stretch. "Heard you're managing the volleyball team now. That's gotta be intense, right? With that coach?"

"Coach Washijo?" you asked, arching a brow. "He's strict, yeah, but he's fair. He just expects people to take the sport seriously. Which they should."

The other guy snorted. "Still, isn't it exhausting being around all those egos? I'd fold in five minutes."

You kept your expression polite, if a little guarded. "I like it. They're a good team. Very dedicated."

That should have been the end of it, but one of them tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Even that one weird dude—what's his name again?" he said. "Tendou? The red-haired one? Man, he creeps me out."

"Yeah," the other added, "people call him the Guess Monster for a reason, right? Don't tell me you're comfortable hanging around that guy all the time."

You froze.

Your grip on the clipboard tightened.

And for a moment, something inside you snapped.

You didn't raise your voice. You didn't make a scene. But your tone cut sharp as a blade.

"Actually," you said coldly, "Tendou is one of the kindest, funniest, and most genuine people I've met since transferring here. He works harder than most of you probably ever have, and he still finds time to make everyone laugh even when he's exhausted."

They both blinked at your sudden change in demeanor, stunned.

"So if you're done talking behind someone's back, maybe try actually watching a match before judging someone who's twice the athlete you'll ever be."

Neither of them had anything to say after that. Just awkward glances and a mumbled "...jeez, okay."

You turned on your heel, storming off toward the gym, blood hot in your veins.

You'd known, in the back of your mind, that Tendou wasn't exactly popular. He made jokes about it sometimes—offhand mentions of being "the creepy one," of kids back in middle school who called him a monster, laughed at his voice, flinched at his grin.

And yeah, you'd heard the other version of his nickname too—the cruel one whispered between students who didn't know a single thing about him.

But it wasn't until now, hearing it with your own ears, that you realized just how much it pissed you off.

Not just because the comment was unfair. But because it was about him.

And maybe that was the moment it really hit you:

You liked Tendou.

More than the others. More than you probably should.

And it made your chest tighten painfully, because he didn't even seem to notice how bright he was. He didn't seem to realize that someone could look at him and feel their heartbeat stutter—not out of fear or discomfort, but because they wanted to be closer.

You pushed open the gym door, already trying to shake off the frustration before the team saw it.

What you didn't realize—what you couldn't have known—was that just behind the shrub-lined path leading to the entrance, two teammates had stopped to let your conversation pass.

Tendou and Ushijima stood in silence.

Tendou's eyes were wide, lips parted slightly, like he wasn't quite sure he'd actually heard what he thought he heard.

Ushijima, in his usual fashion, simply said:

"She defended you."

Tendou blinked once. Then again.

A quiet flush rose to his ears.

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop.

He'd just… paused, hearing your voice, and then couldn't move once the words started coming.

Now, standing in the shadow of a tree with his heart pounding louder than the cicadas in the summer air, he could barely breathe.

You had defended him.

Not with pity. Not to score points.

With fire.

The gym was filled with its usual sounds—sneakers squeaking on polished floors, volleyballs echoing like thunderclaps against the walls, the occasional sharp whistle from Coach Washijo cutting through the air.

On the outside, you looked the same as always.

Focused. Efficient. Clipboard in hand, eyes on drills, scribbling down performance notes and hydration reminders. You made sure to hand towels out, fill water bottles, call out the time remaining on intervals like clockwork.

But inside?

You were still fuming.

The words those guys said kept replaying in your head—how casual they were about it. Like calling someone a monster was nothing. Like it was a joke.

You knew it shouldn't be bothering you this much. You'd stood up for him. You'd said what needed to be said. But still… the unfairness of it lodged under your ribs like a splinter.

He had been nothing but kind to you. Honest and a little strange, sure, but in a way that made the world feel more interesting. He brought you snacks he claimed "tasted cursed" just to see your reaction. He made you laugh until your stomach hurt during team dinners. And he always noticed when you were feeling off—even before you noticed yourself.

So why did people look at him like that?

You blinked back to the present when someone waved a hand in front of your face.

"Earth to Manager-chan," Tendou grinned, voice light and lilting. "If you stare at Shirabu that hard, he might combust."

You blinked. "What?"

He nodded sagely. "Boom. Right there on the court. One second we have a reliable setter, next second—charcoal briquette."

Despite yourself, your lips twitched.

You quickly looked down at your clipboard, hiding the hint of a smile. "I'm not staring at Shirabu."

"Hmm, denial. Classic sign of combustion plotting," he said dramatically, spinning his towel like a cape before hopping up to sit beside you on the edge of the bench.

He stayed there for a few minutes, talking nonsense.

A conspiracy theory about how Kawanishi was secretly a lizard person based on his snack preferences. A completely false trivia fact about the original volleyballs being filled with goat hair. Something about offering you a cursed potato chip that could grant one wish—but only if you licked it first.

You didn't say much in return.

But you smiled more than you meant to.

And he didn't leave your side.

Even later, as drills got harder and the team pushed through Washijo's punishing endurance circuit, Tendou kept glancing back your way.

Making faces from across the court. Winking when he caught you frowning. Mimicking Ushijima's stoic blocking form so precisely that Goshiki had to stop mid-serve to hold back laughter.

You chalked it up to him just being Tendou.

But what you didn't know—what you couldn't have known—was that he was trying.

Trying harder than usual.

Because he'd heard you defend him.

Because it still echoed in his ears like a dream he was scared to wake up from.

"Tendou is one of the kindest, funniest..."

He hadn't expected it. Not from you. Not from anyone.

And he didn't know what to do with how warm it made his chest feel—so he tried to make you laugh.

Because maybe, just maybe, if he could make you smile again… he could pretend that someone like you might actually think someone like him was worth standing up for.

Valentine's Day at Shiratorizawa wasn't anything special—at least, not in the way it might've been at a more laid-back school. Classes ran like usual. The hallways still buzzed with gossip, test scores, and club announcements. The only sign of the date was the occasional girl clutching a heart-shaped box or the flustered first-years whispering in corners.

But for you, it was different this time.

You had gone home that weekend instead of staying in the dorms. Your mom had greeted you with a knowing smile and a wink when you shyly mentioned your idea. Of course, she helped. She always loved baking—especially for a "cause" as pure as this.

Together, you had filled the kitchen with the smell of melting chocolate and warm sugar. You shaped and decorated each piece carefully, even labeling the gift boxes with tiny notes. You'd made something for everyone: players, the coaches, and even Washijo himself. It just felt right. You weren't about to exclude someone who contributed to the team's spirit—even if that spirit came with a terrifying glare and a whistle.

When Monday morning arrived, you carried the boxes to the gym in a large paper bag, your heart thudding nervously in your chest.

It wasn't romantic. Not yet. It was just encouragement, appreciation—team spirit.

That's what you kept telling yourself.

By the time practice ended, you waited just long enough for everyone to gather by the benches before pulling the paper bag from where you'd tucked it safely beside your gear.

"Uhm—can I get your attention for a sec?" you asked, raising your voice slightly.

Tendou looked up from where he was juggling a volleyball with his knees like a soccer ball, and the others slowly turned to you, some with curious expressions, some already guessing.

You cleared your throat, then reached into the bag, pulling out the first box—white with a neat red ribbon.

"I… know it's Valentine's Day," you began, voice a little shaky. "And I just wanted to say thank you. You've all been really great to me since I transferred, and I figured—what better way to boost morale than sugar?"

A pause.

Tendou's eyes lit up immediately. "No way."

"Manager-chan made us chocolates?" Goshiki gasped, as if you had presented him with an Olympic medal.

"Even me?" Coach Saito asked, somewhat amused.

You nodded, cheeks warming. "Even you, Coach. You're part of the team."

"And me?" Washijo's voice boomed from the sidelines, arms crossed.

You gulped—he'd been the one you worried about most.

"Yes, Coach Washijo," you said, giving a respectful bow as you handed him a small box. "Thank you for letting me be part of this team."

He stared at it for a long moment. Then, with a huff and a nod that could almost be mistaken for approval, he accepted it.

"Don't think this'll get you out of laps if you slack off," he muttered.

You smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Soon, the rest of the team was diving into their boxes, laughter and exaggerated reactions filling the air. Even Ushijima gave you an approving nod as he inspected the handmade chocolate bark you'd included in each set.

Tendou, meanwhile, held his box like it was made of glass.

His grin was wide—genuine, no teasing this time—as he peeked inside and saw the careful arrangement of chocolates, each molded into playful, irregular shapes. He looked at you, then back at the sweets, then back at you again, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to be this happy about something so small.

You caught his eye, offered a soft smile, and quickly turned away before you melted on the spot.

The warmth in your chest lingered, though.

Because this? This was just the beginning.

What came next... was for him.

As everyone began to leave, you stayed behind to finish cleaning the gym—just like always.

Wiping down benches. Picking up forgotten water bottles. Gathering towels for laundry. It had become part of your rhythm, and Tendou had slipped into that rhythm too, in his own way.

He sat cross-legged on the bench, elbows on knees, chatting aimlessly as he waited for you.

"So I asked Goshiki if he knew what aphrodisiac meant and he choked on a protein bar," Tendou laughed, eyes crinkling with delight. "I thought Semi was going to kill me for real this time."

You smiled, but it was a little dimmer than usual.

You finished folding the last towel and stood, stretching your back with a soft sigh. Tendou watched you, eyes flicking over your face. He didn't say anything right away, but you could feel it—the way he was studying you a little more carefully than normal.

You switched off the lights, the gym echoing softly as the doors clicked shut behind you both.

It was just the two of you in the hallway now, the buzz of the overhead lights faintly humming above your heads as your footsteps echoed in sync down the corridor.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced sideways. "You're quieter than usual, Manager-chan. Chocolate-related exhaustion or... emotional sugar crash?"

You huffed a soft breath through your nose, not looking at him. "No, nothing like that. Just... thinking."

Tendou didn't press, though his eyes lingered.

The night air greeted you when you stepped out of the building, a soft chill brushing over your arms. The walk back to the dorms was familiar by now, the path lit with soft lamps and the low rustle of trees.

You kept walking beside him, neither of you rushing. This part—just the two of you walking back—had become so regular it felt like a quiet tradition.

But tonight, your hands were clenched a little too tightly around the straps of your bag.

And when the moment came—where you'd usually wave and say "see you tomorrow"—you hesitated instead.

"Wait," you said, stopping him before he turned toward the boys' wing.

Tendou blinked, curious.

You fished into your bag again, this time pulling out a much smaller box. Not fancy, not decorated with ribbons. Just a small container wrapped in soft tissue paper. Handmade and simple.

You held it out with both hands, eyes on the ground.

"This one's for you," you said quietly. "Only you."

Tendou stared.

He didn't reach for it at first. Didn't move.

"Didn't I already get chocolate from you?" he asked, a lopsided grin tugging at the corner of his mouth—but it didn't reach his eyes.

You swallowed. "That was for the team. This one... isn't."

He finally took it, carefully, as if he was afraid it might crumble in his hands. He looked at the box, then at you—searching.

You forced a nervous laugh, shifting from foot to foot. "I mean, it's not much. I just… I remembered you like the strawberry-filled ones. And the weirdly spicy ones? So I made a mix. Just... thought you might like it."

Your voice had gone a little too fast near the end.

And before he could say anything, before you had to see whatever reaction might cross his face—you dipped your head in a flustered goodbye.

"Anyway, night! Sleep well!"

Then you turned on your heel, walking briskly away toward your dorm before your legs could betray how shaky you actually felt.

You didn't see the way he stood frozen for a moment longer, staring at the little box like it might vanish if he blinked.

Didn't see the way his hands trembled—just a little.

And you definitely didn't see the figure of Semi, standing just down the path, arms crossed and smirking knowingly.

Tendou stood there a little longer than he probably should have, watching your figure disappear toward the girls' dorm building, the small box of chocolates still clutched in his hands.

He hadn't even opened it yet.

He was afraid to.

"Wow," a voice drawled from behind, laced with amusement. "Didn't know Valentine's Day came with a personal encore."

Tendou jolted slightly, turning around just as Semi stepped out from the shadowed edge of the path, hands shoved in his pockets and an all-too-knowing grin playing on his lips.

"Semi-semi," Tendou blinked, his tone too casual, too flat. He straightened, box tucked swiftly behind his back like he could pretend nothing happened—even though Semi had clearly seen everything.

"She made that just for you, huh?" Semi said, tilting his head slightly. "Didn't see anyone else get a second helping."

Tendou huffed a weak laugh, shrugging. "I dunno. Maybe she felt bad for me."

Semi gave him a look. "She blushed like she was going to combust, Tendou."

"Maybe she was embarrassed about her chocolate," he tried again, brushing it off, voice thinner this time.

Semi rolled his eyes. "Come on. She basically spelled it out. And don't act like you haven't been attached to her hip since day one."

Tendou's heart gave a sharp twist. "So?"

"So," Semi smirked, "she likes you, idiot. Like, likes you. Unless you're telling me she spent extra time making your favorite chocolates just because you're a weirdo she pities."

Tendou flinched—not visibly, but deep under his skin, where no one could see it.

His grip on the box tightened.

He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to.

But belief came with risk. And Tendou Satori knew rejection. He knew it well—too well. It lived in the curve of every whispered insult he'd learned to ignore, every stare that lingered just a beat too long, every time someone recoiled from his smile.

He swallowed. "People say things they don't mean all the time."

"Do you really think she's that kind of person?" Semi asked, the teasing gone from his voice now, replaced with quiet sincerity.

That stopped him.

No.

No, you weren't.

You were kind. You were honest. You looked at him—really looked at him—and never once flinched.

He felt a weight lodge itself in his throat.

"She might've meant it," Tendou said softly. "But that doesn't mean I get to believe it."

Semi sighed, but didn't push. "You don't have to believe it," he said, already turning to head to the dorms. "Just… don't be stupid and let it slip away."

Tendou stayed there, unmoving, staring down at the box in his hand.

Maybe it did mean something.

Maybe that shaky, nervous laugh and the warmth in your eyes wasn't just kindness.

Maybe… just maybe, someone saw him and didn't want to turn away.

And that hope—that dangerous, beautiful thing—settled into his chest like a flickering flame.

He wasn't ready to believe it.

But he wanted to.

And that, for now, was more than enough to make his feet move.

Half an hour and a shower later, Tendou stood outside your dorm room door, unmoving.

The corridor was quiet now, the faint hum of the heater the only sound around him. His hand hovered just inches from the wood, clenched into a loose fist he hadn't managed to lift.

He'd been standing there for at least three minutes.

Maybe more.

Any reasonable person would have either knocked by now… or turned around. But he couldn't do either. He just stood there—heart hammering, thoughts a blur.

What if he'd misread it all?

What if the extra chocolates were just a thank-you?

What if Semi was wrong and he was just a delusional freak again, seeing things that weren't there—hoping for things that didn't exist?

He was used to rejection. He could take it.

But somehow, with you… he wasn't sure he could.

It would be different with you.

Because you were real. You were warm and kind and you laughed at his stupid jokes like you meant it. You looked him in the eyes. You never treated him like he was a monster.

And the thought of you telling him gently, kindly, that it wasn't what he thought—it made his chest ache in a way he hadn't expected.

He wasn't used to wanting something this badly.

But if he left now… if he didn't find out…

He'd regret it. That scared him even more.

So without thinking about it further—without letting himself stop—he knocked.

Once. Twice. Softly.

Then silence.

He heard a muffled shuffle, the creak of a bedframe, and a few seconds later the door cracked open.

And then there you were.

Not in your uniform anymore.

In cozy sweatpants, a slightly oversized hoodie that fell off one shoulder, hair tied up loosely like you'd just been lounging or studying or maybe both. You looked relaxed and warm and safe.

Tendou felt his brain short-circuit.

You looked… adorable. Like home. Like everything soft and good and impossible.

Something in his chest squeezed so tightly it was almost painful.

You blinked at him in surprise, tilting your head slightly. "Tendou?"

Your voice was quiet, a little raspy from not speaking for a while, and it dragged him straight back to the present.

His eyes widened. Crap. He was staring.

Mouth slightly open. Hands frozen at his sides. Just… stuck.

"…Uhh…" he finally managed, voice cracking slightly. "Hi."

You blinked again, then smiled gently. "Hi."

He felt his ears burn.

"I was—um," he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly hyperaware of how awkward he probably looked. "Just. I. Wanted to talk."

You stepped back without hesitation, opening the door wider. "Of course. Come in."

That single gesture—so easy, so you—nearly broke him.

You didn't hesitate.

Not for a second.

He stepped in slowly, the box of chocolates still tucked in his hoodie pocket, his heartbeat so loud he was sure you could hear it.

And even though he still wasn't sure if it meant what he desperately hoped it did, for the first time since knocking…

He started to believe that maybe—maybe—he hadn't imagined it all.

Tendou settled into the desk chair slowly, like he was trying not to disturb the air between you. His long limbs folded awkwardly beneath him, hands resting in his lap, fidgeting ever so slightly.

You sat on the edge of your bed, legs crossed, your hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands like a nervous reflex. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable… but it was heavy. Loaded with things neither of you had said yet.

Tendou's eyes flicked around the room — to your desk, your small shelf of books and snacks, the soft string of fairy lights outlining the window. Then to the empty bed on the other side of the room.

"Where's your roommate?" he asked, clearing his throat softly.

You smiled faintly. "On a date."

Tendou's brows lifted. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "Apparently the guy she likes finally grew a spine and asked her out. So she's gone for the night. Snuck off campus."

Tendou snorted, a little surprised. "Risky move."

You chuckled. "She said it was worth it."

A pause.

Then: "So… does that mean we're alone?" he asked, his voice playful — but there was a nervous edge underneath.

You met his gaze, a little warmth creeping up your neck. "Looks like it."

His fingers twitched in his lap.

Another long pause.

He didn't know how to start this.

How do you ask someone if they meant it? How do you bring up the moment you've been replaying in your head nonstop since it happened?

Finally, you broke the silence with a soft voice. "Is everything okay?"

Tendou looked up quickly, blinking like you'd caught him off guard. "What?"

"You're acting a little… weird," you said, your voice gentle but honest.

He let out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. I guess I am."

You tilted your head, encouraging him to go on, but gave him space.

He rubbed his hands over his jeans, then pulled the little chocolate box out of his hoodie pocket and set it carefully on your desk. Like it was something fragile. Something that had been weighing him down.

"You gave me this," he said slowly, eyes on the box. "After practice. When no one else was around."

You nodded. "Yeah. It's only been, like, what—an hour ago? I do recall giving you this."

"Half an hour," he mumbled. His gaze flicked up to yours, and his voice dropped to a quieter register. "Why?"

Your breath caught.

There it was.

No beating around it. No jokes to mask the nerves. Just him — quiet, serious, vulnerable.

You swallowed. "Because… it was for you."

"I already got chocolates from you," he said, but not accusingly. Just carefully.

"That was for the team," you said, folding your hands together. "This one was just for you."

Tendou stared at you, wide-eyed, searching for something in your expression. You could see the disbelief in his face — like he was scared to name what he was hoping to hear.

So you gave it to him.

"I like you, Tendou," you said softly. "I have for a while now. And I wanted to tell you, but I was… nervous. So I made chocolate instead."

His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but no sound came out. His eyes were locked on yours, and in them, you saw the storm — surprise, fear, something almost like grief, and underneath it all… wonder.

You offered a nervous smile. "It's totally okay if you don't feel the same. Really—no pressure. I know you've got a lot going on with the team and everything. I just… I figured I should at least say something. Better that than always wondering, 'What if I'd just said it,' you know?"

"You like me?" He whispered, staring at you in disbelief. 

You nodded. "I do."

He let out a shaky breath — one that sounded like he'd been holding it for years.

"…Why?"

Your chest ached. "Because you're kind. And funny. You made me feel welcome here when I didn't know anyone. You never made me feel out of place, even when the rest of the team was still sizing me up. You're weird — in the best way. And you make me laugh every single day."

He still looked stunned.

"I know you've probably heard a lot of awful things before," you added, voice softer now. "And I know people can be… mean. But I never thought you were scary, Tendou. Not once."

He laughed — a quiet, broken sound — and his hands came up to cover his face.

And that's when you saw it.

His shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

You moved before thinking, standing up and stepping over to him, kneeling down beside the chair. "Hey—Tendou, are you—?"

He looked down at you, tears caught in his lashes, a trembling smile on his lips.

"I thought I'd dreamed it," he whispered. "That someone like you could… like someone like me."

You reached for his hand and held it gently. "It's not a dream."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything.

Then, with a laugh that sounded like joy and disbelief mixed together, he dropped to his knees beside you. "…Best Valentine's Day ever."

And with that, he wrapped you in a tight hug, squeezing you close to his chest as if he never planned on letting you go again.

Tendou's arms were locked around you, not too tight — just right — as if he was terrified to let go but equally afraid of crushing you in his excitement. You could feel his breath against your shoulder, shaky with leftover nerves, with relief, with something tender that had been locked away in his chest for too long.

You buried your face against his neck, heart still thudding erratically. The silence was soft now, no longer heavy. Just the hush of two people finally close enough to hear the other's heartbeat.

"I feel like if I let go, you'll disappear," he mumbled against your shoulder.

You smiled, your arms tightening around him in response. "I'm not going anywhere."

Tendou shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still a little pink at the edges, but the look in them had changed — open, warm, happy. Really, truly happy.

"I want to take you out," he said, his voice suddenly steadier than you expected. "Like, officially."

You blinked. "You mean… a date?"

"Yeah. A real one." He gave a soft, almost sheepish grin. "Not just walking to practice together and sharing snacks after training — though I'd keep doing that forever too."

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest. "You really want to?"

He nodded. "So badly. I wanna take you somewhere nice. Somewhere you'd like. Maybe the bookstore in town you told me about that one time? With the bakery next door? I heard they've got those cookies you like."

You blinked, surprised that he remembered. "You remembered that?"

"Of course I did," he said, nudging your forehead lightly with his own. "I remember everything you say."

Your face grew warm again, and Tendou laughed softly, pleased with himself.

"I mean, I might not be super experienced at this whole dating thing," he went on, "but I want to treat you right. Like a queen. Like you deserve."

You reached up, cupping his cheek. "You already do."

He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment like the contact alone was grounding him. Then he opened them again, gaze clear.

"Still," he whispered, "I wanna try even harder. Just so you never doubt how much I like you. Or how lucky I feel right now."

You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his. "You're the sweetest guy I know, Tendou."

"Don't say that," he murmured, eyes scrunching slightly.

"Why not?"

"Because I'll melt again and you'll have to mop me off the floor."

You giggled, and he laughed too — that unmistakable, offbeat, boyish laugh that always tugged at your heart.

The kind of laugh you'd fallen for.

You stayed like that for a while longer — kneeling in the middle of your dorm room floor, just talking in hushed tones. Making soft plans. Promising little things. A movie night when the team had a day off. Cookies he'd try baking for you. A date at that tiny bookstore café. A life made out of small, sweet moments.

And when you finally stood up together, he gently took your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and looked at you like you were something out of a dream.

Only this time, he believed it was real.

And it was his.

Masterlist

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

no one is allowed to argue with me about zionism unless they can:

explain the difference between zionism and kahanism

name and describe at least 3 distinct branches of zionism

name and describe at least 2 distinct fringes of zionism. I will accept fringe groups that existed in the past but are no longer here.

properly explain the difference between zionism, nonzionism, and antizionism

explain the difference between zionism as a political movement and zionism as a cultural/spiritual aspect of judaism.

be able to explain at what time zionism (political) and zionism (cultural/spiritual) began. no need for exact dates bc this isnt history class, but a knowledge of the general time period is necessary.

tell me how many jews, percentage-wise, feel as if israel is important to them in some way. a range of numbers is acceptable.

name one jewish prayer that has the word "israel" in it (hint for goyim: if you have to think too hard, maybe you dont know enough about judaism)

you must be able to articulate all of this in your own words. using sources is heavily, heavily encouraged as well as providing the sources that you used. however, if I find youre taking your answers from the first result on google or the AI overview without even opening a singular article, the conversation ends immediately.

[honeytonedhottie]

getting it together⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍡

it feels GOOD to have all ur assignments done. to actively pursue ur dreams and goals. to be consistent and in turn -> see results. it feels good to give meaning to ur time and experience sustained satisfaction. this post will give an overview/guide of the BASICS of getting it together. that way whenever u get off track (cuz we're all human) u can easily reference this and get it TOGETHER.

SLEEP SCHEDULE - how does ur sleep schedule look? is it all over the place? fix it. the plan is to get between the range of 8-10 hours of sleep every single night (yes even on the weekends) and to wake up no later than 8 in the morning.

i recommend formulating a "get ready for bed" routine. mine is set with a soothing playlist, a cup of tea, and copious time for self care and meditating on my manifestations. ur night time routine is customizable to YOU, however the goal is to get away from screens or anything that'll tempt you to stay up at unhealthy hours.

THE MORNING ROUTINE - i think that the most influential and important time of the day is the morning. bcuz for me that sets the mood of my whole entire day, so i take my mornings SERIOUSLY and i think you should too.

for me in the morning, i do a light pilates workout/stretch to get my blood pumping, and i feel like it gives me such a boost of energy and sets the mood for the whole day so if u haven't tried i rly recommend working out in the morning. however since this post is for when you've gotten off track start SMALL. a short 5-10 minute stretch or pilates routine is more than enough.

THE IMPORTANCE OF GETTING READY - and i'll STAND ON THIS. even if ur not going anywhere at all that day, make an effort to get ready. make casual glamor a HABIT. getting ready is like, the best part of my day. its so therapeutic, something about the meticulous attention and the amount of time that i pour into myself it feels AMAZING. when u look good -> you feel good

A TO DO LIST - plan out ur week, plan out ur day, ur month. make a super cute calendar or agenda so that way you can get ur tasks done. im someone who needs super detailed instructions of what TO do, so when ik what im supposed to do i can get it done and i can get it done well. and instead of thinking of it as a to-do list, think of it as like a quest or something. tasks that u need to do and then -> you get something in return

ik it sounds rly dumb but sometimes when theres a mundane task that i know i must do, i imagine that im like a SIMS character who has no choice. or i imagine myself as a video game character who is doing it as a task cuz its part of the game. the point of me sharing that hot tip is to make it FUN for yourself. give urself something to look forward to afterwards too. like an episode of ur favorite drama, or a sweet treat.

CLEAN UP - a cluttered space = a cluttered mind. take 20 minutes aside everyday to tidy up so that then u can avoid the day-long cleaning on the weekend and actually enjoy it. when ur space is neat and organized, so is ur mind and it translates to how u view/respect urself. u show that you respect urself when u dwell in a place that it is neat and tidy.

PROPEL YOURSELF - when i've been rotting for a couple days, my go-to routine to propel myself back into my usual swing is : shower (an everything shower is a bit ambitious so go for it if u want) -> drink a COLDDD large glass of water -> do the process of getting ready and then do at least 3 tasks and 2 smaller tasks)

[cloudcountry]

attention tokyo debunker fandom! would you like to participate in a genderbent event?

. . . if so, you've come to the right place!

i'd like to host a creative event where the entire fandom can come together and get inspired to create pieces for a niche within the fandom C:

both writers and artists are encouraged to participate! i just want people to have fun, and i myself would like to try something new.

RUN TIME: this event will run from june 7th to june 28th! but you are more than welcome to post your pieces before then if you are finished or after if something came up!

i do not mean for this range to be a deadline, more of a guideline if you would like to start!

when finished, please tag your works with tokyo girlbunker (tag courtesy of my friend amari SDJJSD) so people can have an overview of the event's wonderful talent!

the event rules . . . (there aren't many!!)

no nsfw content, i want minors to be able to participate as well if they want to.

any content is welcome aside from that! it can be romantic, familial, platonic, it can include mc or not!

you are allowed to express genderbent versions of the characters in any way you see fit, i am not policing you here. the goal is simply to be creative!!

the rules are open to be modified if anyone brings up a question!!

(∩^o^)⊃━[ PROMPT LIST !! ] please have mercy this is my first time coming up with prompts im so sorry

FIRST WEEK - INTRODUCTIONS!! takes place june 7th - june 14th.

draw or write a piece (or however many you want) introducing your interpretation of the ghoul(s) of your choice!!

SECOND WEEK - INDIVIDUAL PROMPTS: takes place june 15th - june 21st

How would their fashion sense & style change?

What about room decor?

What’s their relationship with the MC like? How does it change, if at all? (genderbent inspector or not, whichever you want.)

Their reaction to a like dove!

Design a genderbent mission outfit / Write about your choice of ghoul(s) going on a mission + receiving their outfit!

What voicelines do you think would change / Come up with your own voice lines!

WILD CARD! Share any individual headcanon <3

THIRD WEEK - INTERACTIONS WITH OTHERS: takes place june 22nd - june 28th

Who do you think they’d be better friends with (or just friends in general)?

How do they like to spend time with friends on campus?

Create your own campus interaction.

Girls talk! How would they and their friends talk about the inspector? (genderbent inspector or not, whichever you want.)

What kind of outing would she want to take her friends on with an R&R permit?

Who is the number one ghoul you would want your choice to interact with for whatever reason? Make them interact!

WILD CARD! Share any interactions headcanon you have <3

[unhealthyvendetta]

☆ YOU'RE A NEEDY GUY, BUT I GUESS I KIND OF LIKE THAT ☆

♡ overview. you broke up with your boyfriend who always treated you like dirt. now that you're gone he can't seem to live without you

♡ caution. satoru x reader, toxic relationship, cheating, angst, new and improved reader, not proof-read, no use of Y/N, sadist reader

➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩➩

You held a huge gift in your hand. It wasn't expensive, no, but it had sentimental value.

Satoru always talked about how much he loved gifts like that, ones that came from the heart; at least that's what he said. It was your wedding anniversary and you wanted to do something for him.

You crept towards his office when you heard Satoru and his friends having a chat. "When are you going to divorce her? She's so cheesy and corny. It makes me sick!" One of his friends scoffed. Your heart dropped to your feet.

"Exactly. Why would you marry her?" His other friend snickered.

"I love her but this mundane life is boring." Satoru sighed, "I know a divorce would break her heart, so I'll just have to be secretive."

You stood frozen, looking through the cracks of the door. You probably would've confronted him, but to be honest your marriage was filled with holes that you desperately attempted to fill.

Satoru had been acting odd for the past year now, but you loved this man to death. So you ignored the countless girl "best friends" he had and the amount of times he came home with the scent of womens perfume on his shirt.

What could you do? Nothing.

But to come face to face with the thought of divorcing him was something that could make you deathly ill.

You quickly tried to think of something to do, anything ti get your mind off of this. Without thinking, you grabbed your car keys headed toward your car and started driving.

You kept driving, your hands shaking with anger and pure sadness.

You stopped at your parents house and knocked on the door. Your mother opened the door and looked surprised and excited to see you, although it was cut short due to the expression that you wore.

Before she could ask if you were okay, you burst into tears and gave her a huge hug.

After explaining the situation with your mother, she let you stay for as long as you needed. You thanked her and walked into your old bedroom.

It was a hit of nostalgia and sadness. You wished you never met Satoru. If you didn't you'd still be here, in this very bedroom.

Just then, your phone rang. Satoru was calling.

You reluctantly answered the call. "Honey, where are you? Your location is off." He asked, feigning anxiousness.

"I'm at my parents," You answered dryly. "Is everything okay?" Satoru asked, picking up on your dry response. "I don't want to call right now." You said bluntly. Satoru didn't speak for a few seconds, probably due to shock.

"That's okay, bye babe." Satoru assured, making your stomach twist with anger. He was playing in your face like a jackass.

You hung up, feeling nothing but rage. You decided to ignore your feelings and just go to bed, it was late after all.

Your eyes fluttered open but were quickly shut from the sudden sunlight. Once your eyes got used to the brightness you sat up and stretched. "How'd you sleep?" A familiar voice asked.

You turnt your head and saw your (soon to be ex) husband Satoru.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You yelled, which made him laugh. "I was worried about you, you can't just leave like that." He smiled.

Satoru went to kiss your hand but you pulled away before thinking, making his smile drop.

"Hey.. is something wrong?" Satoru asked, looking almost hurt at the fact you pulled away. The sight made you feel.. almost satisfied? You decided to ignore him and he looked disappointed.

'"Hey, come on.. don't do that.. what'd I do?" Satoru asked with a frown. "Nothing, I'm just tired, okay?" You replied coldly. "No, no, come on.. don't be this way.. are you mad at me?" Satoru whined. "Leave me alone," You said as you got up from the bed.

Satoru looked so confused. Why do you keep pulling away from him like that?

You went downstairs to question why your mom would let Satoru in after you told her what happened but you saw your dad instead. "Awh," Your father sighed contently as he saw you. "It's been so long, I wish you told me you were visiting!" He smiled greatly.

You smiled back but your happiness was cut short by Satoru coming downstairs as well.

Your father went to greet him so you took this time to quickly slip out the door. You got in your car and tried to calm yourself. Why would Satoru follow you? What a jackass. You checked your phone and saw several missed calls from Satoru at the ass crack of dawn.

You decided to get out the car for a moment and saw Satoru. "We should head home," He said.

"I don't want to," You replied sharply. "Why are you so angry at me? I can feel tension between us. Please don't ignore me like this." Satoru confronted anxiously. You scoffed at him and ignored him, making him place his hands on your shoulders.

"Please talk to me, w-we can work some-" Satoru stuttered before you cut him off. "There's nothing wrong." You scoffed, making Satoru frown. "Let's just go home at least." Satoru suggested.

You would say no, but you miss your cat, so you reluctantly agreed.

You walked into your house and went to cuddle your cat and Satoru tried to talk to you, but as usual you made it difficult.

Eventually when nighttime came by, you reluctantly slept next to Satoru, or so you thought. He was gone. Where? You checked the closet and saw his suit missing. You checked his location and saw that he was at a restaurant. Just then, a notification popped up. Satoru uploaded a new story, which wasn't shocking.

You accidentally clicked the notification which pissed you off but we move.

But your anger subsided once you saw him taking a selfie with a girl which obviously wasn't you. You didn't really care, but quickly the post was taken down; accompanied with a facetime call you let ring.

You didn't even wanna think about his bullshit, so you went to sleep. But unfortunately you woke up to a suprise breakfast in bed from Satoru. You gave a slight frown, "I'm not hungry." You rejected, making him frown too.

"You're mad at me," Satoru said. "I'm just tired," You replied. Satoru eventually gave up and left you alone.

He invited his friends over and you knew they were probably going to talk about you again so you quietly peeked through the door and tried hearing their conversation.

"She's been acting weird, huh? Maybe she's playing hard to get?" His friend suggested. "But why would she? Do you think she heard or went through my phone?" Satoru asked. "Did we leave the door open?" His friend asked. He turned towards the door and before you could run away, he opened it and saw you.

Satoru looked really shocked to see you and you both stared at each other for a few moments.

"What.. what were you doing here?" Satoru asked as if he didn't already have an answer.

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hi guys.. i know it's been like 2 months and i apologize! i've been so busy :(( i know this sucks and! frankly i feel like i lost by ability to write but this kind of took forever so pretend its good for my ego pls :') anyways, hi guys!!