#in like the most plain words possible. fast and to the point

[miesozernacma]

watched inside out 2.

what ive learned thus far is im actually being controlled a whole lot by my personified anxiety head creature because im so often lost in potential scenarios its actually quite detrimental to my existence actually

[strangunddurm]

Gyltig

Pairing: Michael Robinavich x reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, possessive, toxic behaviour, oral! male receiving, established relationship, age gap, angst, alluding to child loss, breeding, pregnancy.

Summary: Michael has a secret that he was too guilty to tell anybody about. Especially Heather Collins.

A/N: I think this might be a mix of everything I personally like when reading a fic hahaha. A complete mess but oh well 🤗

Guilty (adj.) - Originates from the Old English form gyltig "crime, sin, fault, fine, in debt".

Michael Robinavitch felt guilty. Hearing Heather bare her heart to him, her struggle, their shared cluster of cells that never got to be. The possibility that he could have been a father to her child. How different would his life had been? He felt bad because he wouldn’t mourn it. Wouldn’t grieve over the potential what-ifs that would plague her.

And then he had you. The happiness you brought him. The guilt he felt everyday for the life growing within you despite being the happiest he had ever been. Seeing you swell, your body change because of him had awaken a primal need inside of him that he was unfamiliar with up until that point. Sure, he had Jake and he loved Jake like his own but it was different this time around.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of you. He was ashamed of the fact that he should’ve known better. He had robbed you of your youth, the supposed best years of your life, just for you to end up stuck with him. You and him would share a bond that could never be broken from now on.

Should he have told her? Told Heather about how his life would never be the same again whilst hers was… empty. It was crude and crass. Mean in a way he never wanted to be but it was the truth. Within his hands he held what she wanted the most, and he hadn’t even wanted it for the first few fleeting moments of knowing. That had filled him with guilt as well. How could he regret something so precious?

Those thoughts scared him. He was scared of the concequences. Of the potential karma, middah k’neged middah, that could come back to bite him in the ass for even thinking like that in the first place.

It was a coincidence that he met you. He wasn’t meant to. He should’ve been at work, he was always at work, but then he actually got to leave on time for the first time in weeks. As he was tiredly making his way up his front steps he was startled by an unfamiliar voice calling out his name, causing him to swivel around dangerously fast.

“Whoa, there.” You let out a giggle as you reached out in an attempt to steady him.

He didn���t know you. Had never seen you before. But god did he want to know you.

“Do I know you or-?” He let his voice trail of as he furrowed his brown in contemplation.

“Definitely not, sorry. My nana lives a couple of doors down. She insisted I left some of the cookies we made on your doorstep, didn’t think you’d be home!”

“Nana?”

“On number 4?” You waved your hand down the drive and he understood. That sweet old lady that was always kind to him, always checked in, always admired him for the work he did.

“Thank you.” He smiled tiredly as he accepted the plate of caramel cookies, his stomach rumbling appreciatively.

“You just coming back from work?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Busy day.” He laughed awkwardly as he studied you. You were beautiful to put it plain and simply. A face he would never be able to forget. A body he would think about as he fisted himself that night.

“I can image. Could never do that. Be a doctor.” You smiled again and he sighed.

“You visit your nana a lot?” He shouldn’t have asked. Should’ve left it at that, turned around and crawl back into his cave but you had captivated him in those few simple moments. Ensnared him in your being. Trapped him in between your loins without you even knowing it.

It had been inevitable after that. He sought you out. Spent more time on his lawn that he had never cared for before. Made sure to leave work on time whenever he could. It had been a welcomed change, a good change, he felt better for it but yet those thoughts still plagued him. The guilt for wanting to sink his dick into a girl that was too young for him to be thinking about. He wanted to hear you whine in his ear. To taste your slick as you gushed around his fingers. To melt into your entire being without abandon. And he would, eventually, and you would welcome him.

The first time he got you in his bed was one month after the first time he had seen you. You had been stopping by after you’d visited your Nana every Thursday and Sunday. Sometimes it was just for a chat. Sometimes he would invite you in for a cold beverage. And, eventually, it became so much more.

It was you who’d let yourself in after he worked a long shift, creeping through his house that you had grown more familiar with as you searched for him. He was sitting on the couch, hunched over his own lap with his head in his hands after another long shift, breathing heavily as he tried to will the adrenaline to leave his body.

“Long day?” Your hands slid over his shoulders as you asked your question in a way that was far too alluring for a question asked between simple friends.

“You have no idea.” Michael sighed as he leaned back, welcoming the way your hands moved to his shoulders, rubbing them firmly.

“You wanna tell me about it?” His eyes opened to meet yours as you moved to face him. He should’ve left it there. Should’ve talked to you, unload some of his burden through words yet he couldn’t do it. Instead, his hand grabbed onto your shirt, pulling you down so each of your legs rested on either side of him. You let out a giggle over his actions because they didn’t startle you, you had been greatly anticipating them. You had seen the way he would watch you, eyes heavy with lust whenever your shirt would ride just a little bit too low or your skirt would rise too high to still be decent.

“Do *you* want me to tell you about it?”

“Of course.” You ran your hand over his hair, caressing it as your hand came to rest on the back of his neck, watching as his eyes traced your face with wonder.

“Maybe later.” He murmured before reaching up to connect his lips with your own. It was like Michael could never get enough of you, biting and pulling at your lips. His tongue explored your mouth with a delighted moan. You couldn’t help but grind your hips down into his lap, gasping as you felt the large growing bulge that pushed against you. His lips found their way to your neck, suckling and leaving wet kisses in his wake. You grew wetter with every nibble.

Michael guided you to his bedroom, pushing and pulling at your clothes to undress you as you went before pushing you down on the bed as he hurriedly worked on pulling off his own shirt and jeans.

“I’ve had a really stressful day, honey. You gonna make it all better for me?” Michael asked as he gazed down at you, already dazed as you laid there on his bed. The bed that smelled like him, that was soft against your skin, and you never wanted to leave.

“Yeah.” You nodded eagerly. He was still in his boxers, hands running over your legs, up and down as he memorised the way you felt.

“You’re so sweet to me, honey, aren’t you?” He mumbled before crawling over you, his stiff cock rubbing against your thighs through his boxers as he went. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out, and a small smile grew on Michael’s face as he heard it. Your moans were a symphony, singing through his house as he admired it.

As his lips connected with yours again, your hand trailed down, rubbing him through the material. The thickness overwhelmed you, your breath hitching as you pushed the fabric down frantically, need ing to feel it.

“Aren’t you an eager girl?” Michael pressed a kiss to your cheek, letting out a moan as you finally wrapped your fingers around him. Somehow, he felt thicker this way, long and throbbing for you as you pumped him timidly.

“God, you feel so good.” Something came over him as he heard you puff out those words, seeding with anticipation. He never thought he’d hear you say them and it awoke something in him that he couldn’t entirely control.

“You wanna have a taste, sweetheart?”

You were eager as you moved slightly to the side so he could lay down, sinking into the pillows as you came to your knees between his parted legs. Of course, you were compliant, eagerly opening your mouth to take him in. You rested your hands on his thighs to steady yourself.

He was quick to rest his hand on the back of your head, guiding you as you took him in your mouth. There was no easing into it. Not this time. Not when your mouth practically watered over the thought of tasting him, of feeling the slight tangy saltiness of him on your tongue.

Michael softly encouraged you to take him, the length of his shaft being swallowed as far as you could go, gagging around him as he hit the back of your throat.

“Shh… gentle, honey. Don’t hurt yourself.” He muttered softly, caressing your head before getting lost in the feeling of your hot mouth wrapped around him, moans and groans slipping out through his clenched teeth.

Your eyes watered as his hips almost involuntarily bucked to meet your mouth, but you loved the taste of him and couldn’t get enough of him as you hollowed your cheeks, trying to take him even further.

‘*Fuck!*’ He groaned out. You were watching him from under hooded eyelids and his gaze was intense as he stared back, eyes practically glowing with lust.

“You’re doing so well for me.”

You moaned around him, a small dollop of drool trailing down your chin. One of your hands moved from his thigh to gently play with his balls and he moaned before giving a final, small thrust into your mouth and then withdrawing himself from you.

There were tears of pleasure trickling down your cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as you wiped your mouth clean with the back of your hand.

“Come here.” Michael went to take your hand but you drew it back, shaking your head as you smiled at him. You didn’t say anything as you turned around on the bed, sinking your front down and spreading your knees for him. Your face was down, ass up as you glanced at him over your shoulder, wiggling slightly to tease him. You needed him inside of you. You were already so unbelievably wet, practically dripping onto the sheets as your walls clamped down on nothing again.

He was admiring you. Taking his sweet time as he thought this would be the only time he would do so. You weren’t enjoying it as much as he appeared to be. You *needed* to be touched. There was this incredible yearning inside of you, it felt like your entire body was buzzing from how horny you were and the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable. You couldn’t help but slide your fingers closer to your core, ready to plunge them into yourself to get some kind of relief. He stopped you before you could get any further though, caressing your fingers as he used his other hand to sit up behind you.

“You’re too perfect.” He muttered it quietly to himself but you still heard him, causing your body to flush with further heat.

You were hyper-aware of his proximity, he was so close you could feel his heat against the back of your thighs, and you were ready to beg for any kind of touch, you just needed to *feel* him. But you didn’t need to beg for Michael to slide his massive fingers down the curve of your spine just a few moments later. He palmed your ass, kneading your cheeks with both hands.

“So gorgeous.” He breathed out shakily, completely enamoured at the sight of you presented for him.

“Could keep you like this for days. Fucking you until you swell.” His words sent a shiver down your spine and you were flooded with wetness again. Your thighs almost jerked as you impulsively moved backwards, seeking some sort of further contact.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes! Please, Michael, please.” You could’ve started sobbing from the need right there and then, you couldn’t take the wait any longer.

Michael spread you wide in front of him, lining up his knees with your own as he gently and slowly dragged his thick cock through your folds, coating it in your slickness. You were sure that he enjoyed torturing you; your entire body was close to convulsions caused by the anticipation, it felt like it was eating you up, swallowing you whole.

“You sure, honey?” Michael teased you, sounding far too calm and unaffected by the situation, “You sure you want an old man like me?” He started withdrawing himself from you, hands leaving your flesh, but you reacted quickly, sitting up and grabbing a hold of his wrist before he was too far away.

“No, no, no, please, Michael. Only want you, only you, please just-“You usually weren’t one to plead but it was impossible not to, you needed him more than you’d ever needed anyone before.

Michael loved hearing you beg; it was obvious from the satisfied look that flashed across his face. It was so painfully obvious that you were ready to do just about anything for his cock.

He motioned for you to get back into your previous position on all fours and then, *finally*, he pushed in, in one slow, agonising thrust, burying his thick shaft to the hilt inside of you. The entire room practically shook from the loud groan he let out as he split you open.

“Jesus Christ, you take me so fucking well.” Michael sounded like he was almost in disbelief, ecstatic from the sight of his throbbing cock disappearing into the sweetness that was you, buried deep inside your slick warmth. The burn from the stretch was welcomed as pure bliss and you couldn’t help letting out a shuddering gasp.

He let you adjust, pressing himself into you and just resting there for a moment. The way you pulsed around him was killing him. He could feel the way your body urged his to move and all he could do was heed. He moved with small, shallow thrusts before he lost the small threads of the semblance of control he had managed to somehow maintain. He pulled back, his cock leaving you entirely for a moment before he started pounding into you.

You cried out, hands bunching up his sheets as bliss ran through you.

“Feels so good.” You breathe out shakily between urgent thrusts.

“Yeah?” Michael cooed as he pulled back out. “You like my cock? I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He promised.

His thrusts were sharp and precise with an unrelenting and frenzied tempo. His grip on your hips was so becoming almost painfully tight as he used it to slam you back against him, but you didn’t care, too lost in the waves that were overtaking you. You would cherish any marks left by him on your body.

“You feel so good around my cock, honey.” He praised in a murmur. “So fucking tight.” Michael grabbed a hold of your arms, pulling you up as he continued pumping into your sweet cunt. He had you pressed flush against his chest, back arching as the sound of skin slapping and the wet squelches of your sopping wet pussy echoed around the room. It made you even more drenched; the mixture of your pleasure pooling around the base of his cock, running down the inside of your thighs.

One of Michael’s hands shifted to palm gently at your breast while the other travelled downward to roll and lightly pinch at your clit while rolling his hips and you writhed against him.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum around me?” He asked lowly in your ear. “You gonna beg me to cum inside you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, please, Michael.”

Michael pushed you down onto the bed, unsheathing himself from you.

You didn’t even have to begin to miss the feeling of him before he had wrestled you into the position he wanted you in with legs wrapped around his waist and back to the bed so that he could easily drill into you in deep but short strokes.

You felt yourself slowly losing whatever composure you had left as your muscles tighten over the coiling tension. Your walls gripped him tighter and tighter until finally, your eyes rolled back as you reached your peak, walls spasming and moan bouncing around the room. You were seeing stars as your legs shook uncontrollably from the overwhelming feeling.

Michael was relentless as he continued pumping into you throughout your convulsing climax, determined to make you feel the best you ever had, although the pace was much slower than previously. His breaths were coming out in short pants whilst your own breathy moans as you trembled.

You reached up, treading your fingers through his hair to pull him down slightly to connect your lips in a kiss. It was soft. A sort of ‘thank you for making me come’.

“You haven’t begged yet.” He murmured after a few pecks, picking up the pace of his hips once again, balls swinging as they slapped against you every time he fucked into you.

His pelvis was rubbing against your clit in a delicious way, driving you toward the edge again but you were conscious enough in your own thoughts, not yet completely lost in the pleasure again, to follow his command.

“Please, Michael, cum inside of me. I need it.” You pleaded in his ear, causing him to let out a hissed groan.

“Fuck, honey. You sound so good when you beg. He praised with a wet kiss to your lips.

You were sure he was just about to cum, but then he surprised you, flipping you over so that you were on top. Michael placed his hands behind his head, studying you with a bold look.

“Wanna make me cum, honey?” He asked and you were more than happy to comply, quickly moving to the right position so you could easily bounce up and down his cock. Was it possible for him to be as deep as he was? Your hips snapped down over and over, hands stabilizing you on his chest. You loved it when Michael was in control but seeing the way you made his mind hazy underneath you were a sight for sore eyes.

Michael’s orgasm washed over him with a deep jerk upward, spilling deeply into you with a deep groan. Your previously vigorous bounces became softer as your walls milked him dry of every last drop. You bite your lip with a smile, running your hands over his chest for comfort. He was so solid beneath you, ropes of muscles flexing involuntarily.

“You look so pretty just like that.” Michael caressed your cheek sweetly.

Now, here you were. Months later and swelled with his child. With his love. With his devotion. You would so often tell him that he made you the happiest you had ever been but he didn’t know if he truly believed you. Jealousy plagued him whenever you would go out together and he would see the way others looked at you. You were an **enigma**, lusted after by many. And that green, sickly little monster that steadily grew beneath his skin roared its ugly head whenever he would catch their eyes lingering longer than appropriate. He’d placed his heavy hand at your waist, place a kiss beind your ear, and caress the skin of your arms when he did so, showing them that you were claimed by him.

He knew what they all thought. That he was too old, you were too pretty, it would never work. But he knew you. You wanted this life with him more than anything, basking in the happiness of sweet domesticity that had enveloped you and your little family. It was forever you and him until the end, you both had ensured that.

It would be foolish to think that others hadn’t noticed the change in Robby’s demeanour. The weight that had rested on his shoulders for the last few years was lighter. Glaringly obviously so. As much as he thought he could hide it before, the act of no longer trying was abundantly clear. Michael Robinavich had found his way back to happiness.

Yet, he did not tell them why. They could guess, muse over what they thought the cause to be. Maybe he started going to a new therapist? Tried a new workout form? Finally got laid?

No matter how relentless the questions where, the teasing glances, he never let them know. Not until you happened to walk into the E.R. on a Thursday afternoon.

You waltzed in to the Pitt with a smile that tasted of sunshine, with glee evident in every stride. Your hips swayed under the weight of your belly, yet the literal pep in your step couldn’t even be held down by it. You had slinked in through the ambulance bay, just as he’d instructed if ever you needed to. as much as he wanted to keep you all to himself, to never tell anybody of his precious, he couldn’t bring himself to stop you from seeing him whenever you wanted to or needed to.

Dana saw you first. Eyebrows raising slightly over the apparent audacity of sneaking in and then furrowing with worry when she saw your belly, concerned that something was wrong with you.

“Miss, can I help you?”

Her voice had startled you for a moment, mouth forming into an ‘o’ as you abandoned your search for something she wasn’t quite sure about.

“Oh, yes please! I’m looking for Michael.” You smiled and Dana was puzzled.

“Michael?”

“Doctor Robinavich?”

“I think he’s busy right now. Perhaps one of our other doctors can look you over? Is something wrong with the baby?” Dana led you over to one of the chairs in the hallway, nudging you to sit down as you cradled your stomach, letting out a small huff as you did so.

“No, I don’t think so?” You were puzzled, too tired to understand why she was concerned.

“It’s best if somebody has a look.” She said with a tone of finality that left you speechless, nodding your head as she apparently knew best.

It was a rush and tumble of limbs as Doctor McKay introduced herself to you, pulled you up with a helping arm, and had you ushered into a room and onto a gurney in the huff of a breath.

“How far along are you?”

”Oh, ehm… 32 weeks” McKay pressed gently and firmly on your stomach as he asked you some routine questions that you tried to answer to the best of your ability.

“Have you had any pain or tenderness today?”

“Could you get Dr. Robinavich?” Your question caused her to pause in her movements, a contemplative look being shared between her and Dana.

“Have you been to the E.R. recently?”

“No?” You looked unsure over your own answer.

“Dr. McKay, do you need help in here?” Michael’s voice carried through the room with a startle, yet it didn’t scare you. He pushed the curtain aside, pausing as he saw you laid there with your round stomach bared to the world, his child inside of you, and all sense of composure left his body. Your name left him almost breathlessly as he felt a cold shiver of fear run through him.

“Hi!” You chirped, happy to see him despite the situation you had somehow found yourself in. “I brought your lunch.” You motioned to the bag you had been lugging with you that was now resting on the floor.

“Lunch?” It wasn’t he that asked, it was McKay who had taken a step back from you, looking even more bewildered than before.

“Mhmm… I made lasagna.” You smiled at her.

“Lasagna.” Dana inserted herself, looking at Robby with an expression that was clearly asking for an explanation. “You said you were hurt?” She questioned you and Robby felt dizzy again over the possibility.

“No, I don’t think I said that…” You sounded unsure once more, hands smoothing over your belly as if yo check.

“You hurt yourself?” Michael asked you, ignoring his coworkers that were watching the situation unfold.

“You left before I gave you your lunch.” Your voice sounded small and Michael felt his heart ache. He crossed the small space, coming up beside you, taking your hand in both of his.

“I’m sorry.” He gave you a small smile, overwhelmed by the way you *cared* for him. He hadn’t felt that in a while, not in this way.

“Baby okay then?”

“Yeah, baby okay.” You nodded your head.

Dana and McKay watched as Robby caressed your stomach in a way that was too familiar, looked down at you with a softness in his eyes and a too sweet smile for you to be just a patient.

He helped you up and they quite slinked out through the curtains, sharing a look that screamed “what-the-fuck” before Dana looked around as if wondering if she had imagined it all.

“What the hell is going on today?” It was a rhetorical question. Asked to herself more than anyone else. Had she overworked her self so much that she was imagining things? But, of course, she wasn’t. Not to that extent. She hadn’t been alone with you and Robby.

The curtain was drawn back with a startle. Ronny walking out and you followed behind him, stomach tucked away in your shirt but it was still there. Still real.

“Sorry about that, ladies.” Dana almost wanted to laugh at Robby’s attempt to brush them aside. She knew that he knew she wouldn’t just let this slide.

“Let me follow you out.” Michael murmured to you, placing a tender hand on your lower back as he steered you toward the exit.

“I’m sorry.” You said as the two of you came to a standstill outside of the Pitt, looking down at your shoes with uncertainty.

“You don’t need to apologise, honey.” Michael let out a small laugh as he encircled you in his arms.

“But I- your colleagues thought…”

“They needed something to talk about anyways, today’s been to quite.”

“I don’t think you should say that word.”

“No, probably not.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you for lunch.”

“I made lasagna.”

“So I heard. You ate, too?”

“Mhmm, baby was hungry.”

“Good.” Another kiss, another caress to your stomach, feeling his baby kick before you were on your way back home to the house you now shared.

Robby watched you go long after you had disappeared, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions that would face him once he entered back through those doors. His hands rested on his shoulders, massaging the invisible knots in his neck before he spun around on his heels.

He had barely had a chance to sit down before Dana materialised in front of him.

“Something you wanna tell me, Robby?” Dana asked, looking at him with feigned disapproval.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Robby pretended to be far too invested in the screen in front of him.

“No? You don’t happen to be more than half way to being a daddy? I doubt it’s somebody else’s kid in there.”

Robby glowered over the thought that somebody else had made you the way that you were. It was his doing. His achievement. He was the one that had fucked you until tears leaked from your eyes, over and over again. He was the one that had filled your womb with his cum as he grunted and groaned, fucking into you without abandon and pumping his cum into you to make sure it stayed. He’d wanted it to stick then, a baseless fantasy that eventually became reality.

“See, that look on your face tells me everything I need to know.” Dana let out a sharp laugh.

“Look, I don’t-“

“You think I’m stupid or something? She looked awfully young.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then what the hell?”

“I know it’s wrong, I know I’m a dirty old bastard, alright? I just- it felt… it was never the right time to say anything about it. Not here.” He leaned toward her, whispering the words as he glanced around the E.R. He knew the sight of you and him and yours had stirred the surface of the gossiping pool. The nurses didn’t even have to hide it as they eagerly tried to listen to the words their chief and charge nurse were exchanging.

And then he saw her. Heather. Michael Robinavich didn’t want to share his joy because he knew about her pain. It wasn’t because he still loved her or had lingering feelings of any kind. He just didn’t want to cause her more heartache. And then the guilt came rushing back. For everything, over nothing.

Heather watched him from afar, teeth gnawing on her bottom lip as somebody whispered his secret in her ear. And he wished he could have told her first. Robby felt as if he had owed her that much at least. But it was too late and he didn’t know if he wanted to see whether she’d be happy for him or broken. So, he looked away.

“I hope you know you owe me a pay raise for keeping that from me, you dirty old man.” Dana slapped a hand against his shoulder as she let out a laugh, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

He grumbled, putting his glasses back on to return to his work.

“So, how did you two meet anyways? You snatched her from a kindergarten?”

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 1 - The One About That Weird Ass Cressida Post

This is my first blog entry and, before you start reading, let me just drop in this little disclaimer: 

You will find that I bounce between fact and speculation with a mix of sarcasm and [I hope] level-headedness, common sense, and deductive reasoning.

I am a Lukola. Plain and simple. You will not change my mind. It’s an all or nothing thing for me. How I got here, I’m not exactly sure – wait, no I do know how I got here (thank you Nicola and Luke for being so fucking charming).

Of course, I knew what Bridgerton was before I joined the Lukola fandom. In fact, I watched both Seasons 1 and 2, and they were okay. Yes, just okay.

I knew that Season 3 was about Penelope – the only character I found remotely interesting – so when I saw an article on People’s page showing Nicola and her costar holdings hands, I admit I was intrigued.

Were they dating?

Let’s ask Mr. Google and find out.

No, apparently, they were not.

Okay, fine.

I then made the mistake of clicking on a video of Nicola and Luke being interviewed in Australia. And, motherfuck, they were like lightning in a bottle! Luke – being asked if he believed in friends to lovers – responded in a way that left me feeling a bit blindsided. My immediate thought was: “He fell in love with Nicola the moment he met her.” It’s funny how many people I’ve spoken to since who had an identical reaction and, to be honest, Luke’s response won’t make your heart flutter. But, it was something in the way he said it.

Now, let me explain my feelings about love at first sight. Actually, Nicola explained it best when she said lust at first sight is often mistaken for love at first sight. This, I agree with wholeheartedly. To me, love at first sight does not have to be lusty. It can be, sure, but it can also be something entirely different. Maybe it’s a fleeting feeling of recognizing someone in a way you cannot possibly articulate out loud. Maybe it’s a palpitation of your heartbeat. Maybe it feels like home. Regardless, when you experience it, you’ll know it.

That, my friends, is how I got here, and why I [sometimes begrudgingly] stay here – walking alongside this rather long, winding, and often pothole-filled road waiting for two people to admit to the general public – whether it be in a blatant or subtle manner – that they are, in fact, together.

I’ve noticed in this fandom we seem to have three types of people.  We have the Sincerely Ignorant, the Conscientiously Stupid, and the Fact Finders.

The Sincerely Ignorant are those that are easily persuaded. They are like sheep following their shepherd. In fact, the Sincerely Ignorant are the most dangerous as they tend to spiral hard and fast – and often without reason.

Next, we have the Conscientiously Stupid. These are the shippers that choose to live in error because it fits their narrative. We are all a bit Conscientiously Stupid but there are those that push an idea so hard that they omit certain truths from their storyboard. The danger here is obvious and their victims always include the Sincerely Ignorant.

Lastly, we have the Fact Finders. The people who track information – key players, side characters, dates, places, statements, etc. These are the people who often find themselves pulling the Sincerely Ignorant out of the water when they spiral, usually due to narratives being pushed by the Conscientiously Stupid.

I am a Fact Finder. Am I perfect? Fuck no, but I do find it fun to collect and analyze information and share it with my fellow Fact Finders. Plus, collecting data helps me maintain some indifference towards the USS Lukola because, let’s face it, this god-damned ship has been blasted by quite a few cannonballs at this point. Some days, I’m surprised we’re still afloat.

Let’s start with Cannonball No. 1. Pap-fucking-smear. June 12/13, 2024. What a fucking shit show. Who shows up to the London premiere? Antonia, Luke’s – I honestly don’t even know what word to use here because I have a lot of different thoughts but out of [a small amount of] respect I will call her – “girl friend” [yes, that space was intentional]. We all know the story, Luke was papped outside his hotel with Antonia on premiere night and he was pegged an overnight dumpster fire.

And, oh my God, the Sincerely Ignorant and Conscientiously Stupid ran with it. I mean, they practically became wild dogs chasing down a fox under the command of Nicola the Huntsman. However, Nicola, almost immediately, came to Luke’s rescue by posting an “in support of” style story to her IG. I’m not saying Nicola wasn’t affected by this mishap. At the very least, the post-premiere PR efforts were dumped squarely on her tiny shoulders. At the worst, she’d had her heart broken.

I never liked the Papsmear pictures. Not because I disliked what they depicted but because there was something “off” about them. Luke didn’t look like a man happy to be out with his lady friend. He looked like a man who had been hoodwinked and whether that was because he knew he’d just made a major PR misstep or because he knew the narrative that would follow was false doesn’t really matter because it’s all speculative. But, what makes me believe it was the latter is what Luke did next.

On June 15, Luke put a story on his IG promoting Season 3. That isn’t all that interesting but the scene it depicted made me do a double take.

Could it be?

No…no way…

But…it was.

It was the scene in Ep. 6 where Cressida entered the Mondrich Ball and Colin pulled Penelope aside and told her he wouldn’t let Cressida ruin their evening.

What in the hot fuck? I mean, really, what in the hot fuck??

Did Luke really just blast out an IG story where his character tells Nicola’s character not to let the Cressida character ruin their evening? Was Cressida…Antonia?

Because that’s fucking loud.

I mean, of all the scenes over four episodes, Luke chose THAT one to promote Pt. 2?

Surely, Antonia or one of her friends or family members would have picked up on this, right? And, told Antonia.

No one is going to convince me that Luke and Antonia were in a blissful relationship after that IG story was posted. Why? Because the deductive reasoning part of my brain tells me Luke chose Nicola straight outta Pap-gate.

The Conscientiously Stupid may [rather they WILL] argue that it was just for PR. Okay, but that would mean Antonia accepted the comparison between Cressida, the Evening-Ruiner, and herself. Take a moment and put yourself in Antonia’s shoes. Would you accept this from your partner? (P.S. If you said yes, you have bigger problems in life than following real people’s relationships.)  We know Antonia accepted this role to some extent because we have evidence she attended events with Luke over the summer. So, what the fuck?

In my opinion, Luke’s IG story is a defining moment in the Lukola narrative, but one that was overlooked in June and one that continues to be overlooked – and ignored – now.

Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Let me repeat that again for you:  Luke’s character is telling Nicola’s character he won’t let another woman ruin their evening.

Now wrap your head around that.

[s-4pphics]

the art of chasing. (e.w.) part I.

synopsis: how to: lose a lover.

word count: 9.5K

warnings: bratbaby!ellie who’s a math prodigy :), baby!oc who’s not but craves approval, SARAH IS ALIVE, mentions of: ANGST, time jump, joel is everyone’s dad — adoption, dead parents, narc parenting, internalized homophobia, outward homophobia, enemies to ?, idiots to ?, alcoholism, ellie’s a hopeless romantic, so is oc but she doesn’t know it, rebellious teenagers, FLUFF :)

a/n: heyyy. this idea came to me very randomly in january and i’ve been drafting it since then. it’s a two parter with a possible intermission but idk we’ll see. also, i hit 4k followers? thanks THE FAWK?

BYEEE

Since age ten, you’ve hated Ellie Williams.

You were naive like most children; too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to manage, running amuck and causing any wreckage you could with your pudgy little hands. You lived to explore, much to your father’s dismay. He’s a stickler with too much sense, exactly like your irritating, speckle-faced classmate. Stubborn with an ego large enough to topple mountains. 

The first time you met her, you’d been sobbing at the sight of blood on your skin. 

You weren’t the fastest runner on the playground, but your classmates knew to never play hide and seek with you. You’d squeeze into the smallest crevices of your school's hallways and sit until recess was over and you were crowned the winner by your classmates when the bell rang. Your victory streak felt everlasting, three months of invisibility, it seemed until one day, a boy approached you — Jesse, a few inches taller and annoying, made it a challenge to discover your hiding spot. Younger you accepted any competition with grace, even moreso when Jesse’s friends bet that he’d pay you if he failed to complete the challenge… Your dad was very confused when you returned home with twenty bucks and a bag of Warheads that Friday. You don’t gamble, but what’s a little reward for upholding your legacy as the Best Hider? Your tactic was masterful, and while your classmates failed to find you, your piggy bank grew in size. 

For the first term of fifth grade, recess was yours. Students of all grade levels were on a manhunt for you after lunch. The excessive searches got so bad that they limited your 10 second head start to 5, then 3, and even then, you were never caught. 

Until Ellie. 

You decided to switch it up one day: instead of going to your go-to hiding spot — in between the two giant pillars that separated the first and second grade classrooms — you decided to rush back towards the cafeteria and wait by the lunch tables. Call it hiding in plain sight. No one ever returned there after they finished eating; They were too busy pushing each other down the slide or searching for you on the field. 

Your fall could’ve been caused by anything: an untied shoelace, your mind moving too fast for your feet, a crack in the blacktop. All you recall was laughing maniacally one second then sobbing harshly with a bloody knee the next. It barely hurt from your adrenaline, but blood had always freaked you out. You searched for anyone — a supervisor, a teacher, another classmate — but your cries weren’t loud enough to draw attention. 

No one was a witness except the freakishly smart nerd that sat at the back of the classroom. 

Ellie had been alone at the lunch tables, dirty sneakers kicked up with a sticker book in hand while she watched you cry completely stoic.

When you finally noticed her sitting there, you hoped your teary eyes would push her to get you some help, but when she squatted beside you with a taunting glance and pitying hand on your shoulder, you knew she sucked. Sucked really badly.

“That’s what you get for cheating. Everyone knows the lunch area’s off limits during recess.” 

And then she hollered over Jesse and all his loser friends, exclaiming that she found you and everyone owed her whatever rewards they planned to give you. From that point on, you hated her. Whenever she spoke in class, won a tetherball match with her man hands, laughed too loud, you returned home with a chip on your shoulder and the urge to swing on her. Not only did Ellie take your money and treats, she dimmed your glory. The crown on your head was placed onto hers in a heartbeat, title going from Best Hider to Best Seeker, and all it took was one accident. Ellie swiftly became your obsession after that. How could such a loser loner be that snarky? Losers are often desperate for any form of human contact, so why wasn’t she? Everyone thought she was the coolest person ever yet she didn’t care. Her routine stayed the same: silently sit in class and obnoxiously be the smartest person in the room then walk exactly 20 feet in front of you when the day is over. 

You’ll never forget the disgusted churns in your gut when you discovered she lives right across the street from you, and apparently had since you both were in kindergarten. If anyone at school found out that you religiously watched Ellie ride and fall(once) off her skateboard for a month straight, they’d probably group you too together for being the wackiest bitches in the neighborhood. 

It’s been five years since that day by the lunch area, and still, Ellie’s mission of making you feel like gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe rages on. Every test, every presentation, every spelling bee, every race, she shows you up without breaking a sweat while you drag behind her using every bit of willpower you have left, and still, it’s never enough. She surpasses you in ways that almost seem impossible, your brain can barely grasp it. 

She’s still mechanically organized, even as a teenager. On honor roll and a dickface. Isn’t high school the time to find yourself and not be a loser? Talk to boys and get a job and start driving— 

“You look psycho. She’s not thinking about you. Give it a rest.” 

Your best friend’s right as always, but your glare doesn’t get any softer. In fact, it hardens when Riley scoots directly in front of your vision so your eyes are on her and not Ellie. 

“If I killed someone, would you help me hide the body?” You say, exasperated. 

“No, bitch I wouldn’t,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re risking life in prison because she ruined the curve for our biology test?” 

“She gotta 98. I dunno how campus isn’t up in flames right now. All these bitches are weak,” you shove a carrot in your mouth, “my dad’s gonna kill me.” 

“I’ll come to the funeral.”

“That’s not funny. You know how he is! He’s gonna blow a fuse when my grade gets posted.” 

Riley’s eyes shadow with sympathy. “Maybe you can ask for a retake? Mr. Johnson’s not as fucked up as—“

“Ms. Robinson.” You and Riley both shudder in disgust. Your first bio teacher had it out for you so bad, it seemed. Last semester was stupid rough because of her pop quizzes and accusations of cheating. If she hadn’t fell down the stairs and broken her hip, you’d be on academic probation by now. 

“I’m not reliving that, Jesus… Are you comin’ later? Everyone’s asking where you’ve been.” 

Every reminder that you're locked in your room while your friends cause ruckus throughout the town is like a knife to the chest. “Tell 'em I'll seem them inna month,” you smile sarcastically, “I can’t go anywhere until I get my D up in math… and English—“

“Bitch how do you have a D in English when we speak it everyday—“

“I know, okay, I hate essays! My brain can’t… I can’t sit there and write for too long. I feel like I’ll start going crazy looking at those little ass words! I needa stress reliever bad.” 

Riley pouts and reaches for your hand, “I'll find you one and send it to your place, promise.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t. My dad might set it on fire to taunt me.” You snort, but Riley doesn’t. She never does when you talk about your dad. The sad look she always gives makes you uncomfortable. Your gaze falls onto your tray when she squeezes your hand. 

“If you need to stay with me, you can. You know that, right?” 

“… Yeah. Thanks.” 

Riley’s a wishful thinker. Her family’s the sweetest: always inviting you over for holidays, her birthdays, sometimes your birthday when your dad deems you undeserving of celebration. They embrace you openly, and you’re forever grateful for their warmth, but the peace you experience in her household always ends in tears when your dad picks you. He’ll scream at you until his voice goes hoarse for running away even though you always ask for permission before going anywhere. The grudge he held onto after you snuck out one time in junior high weighs both of you down. 

Your father doesn’t trust you, and sometimes when it’s late and you hear delirious mumbling in the hallways, you question whether or not to trust him. 

The bell pulls you from your thoughts, and for once, you’re grateful that lunch is over. Riley’s gentle aura has a way of disarming you. You’re always unprepared whenever you trek the stairs to your porch; exposed and vulnerable. 

Riley allows you to wallow in silence all the way back to class. Your academic reputation was never stellar, but you always believed you were smart enough to make it into college and find your purpose, but every year that passes, your attention span suffers, and no one understands how draining it is except you. You were naive to think you’d be able to confide in your dad about something like that. 

Riley gives your hand one last squeeze before sliding through the door next to yours. Annoyance stabs in your spine when you catch Ellie already sat at the front of the room with her stupid fucking glasses and notebooks and sharpened pencils laid neatly on her desk. It’s like she lives her life to taunt you, force you to remember that you’ll never be as clever as she is. You’re sick just looking at her. 

You fall onto your designated seat in the last row, the last bits of students clabbering in just as the second bell rings. Mr. Thomas is already scribbling a bunch of Xs and Ys on the board and attendance hasn’t even been taken. It’s one of those days, one of frantic note taking while you attempt to catch all the information he throws at you while Ellie glides through the lesson like knives through butter. 

“Just like we reviewed last week, everyone! A point is a solution to a system of equations—“

You’re betting you won’t have a wrist by the end of class. What use are your notes if they end up looking like chicken scratch? You should know all of this, you’ve read these lessons so many times, so why’re you blanking when the question comes back to you?

“If we plug (3, 6) into our equations, will we have a solution?” Mr. Thomas points directly at you. It’s a simple yes or no question, and in retrospect, the equations aren’t that fucking hard but you can’t do it. Why can’t you solve this? 

Y and X and equal signs mock you all across the white board. Just guess! There’s a 50% chance you’ll get it right. A betted yes is still a yes, anyway! 

Exactly how a betted no is still a no. You’re fucked. 

“Um…”

Say anything! Who gives a fuck if it’s wrong or right or whatever! So what if you can’t do algebra! When you leave here, you'll be so extraordinarily incredible at your job that you won’t need any of it! Most of the things you learn in school all go to waste anyway! 

“… No?” You answer meekly, and your teacher’s eyes brighten. 

“Correct!—“

Thank God, I thought I was gonna die— 

“—Can you explain how?”

Oh, fuck my life

“Um… well… Uh…”

Your face burns from the stares of your classmates and your teacher and God himself. You stumble over your answer, saying a bunch of shit that you can hardly understand, all while the light in Mr. Thomas’ eyes slowly distinguish. 

“I’m… not sure, Mr. Thomas.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat when he gives you a pitying glance before asking, “That's alright! Does anyone wanna help our friend out?” 

And of course, Ellie’s hand flies up just to spite you, and your efforts crash and burn. 

“Yes, Ellie?” 

“If 6 is Y, then the equation has to equal 6. 2 times 3 is 6 but adding 1 makes it 7. So no…” 

“We don’t have a solution.” Her tone is so secure it strains in your ears. You might as well stand at the front of the class and let everyone shoot you with spitballs. That’d be less humiliating. 

“Great job, Ellie! So that means—“

Frankly, you don’t give a shit what it means, you just want to leave. Be anywhere but here. Being home would actually feel more safe, despite the small voice in your mind claiming that’s a fallacy. 

Class drags on and so does your writing. Whatever burst of energy you had at the start of class has been wrung to hell, finishing with a whopping one and a half pages of notes. Better than yesterday. Small victories. 

After what feels like ages, the bell rings, and students disperse to wherever they're supposed to be. You throw your backpack over your shoulder, your feet carrying you even faster towards the door when the Devil speaks. 

“—Thanks, Mr. Thomas. See you!”

“Bye, Ellie! See you tomorrow.” 

She makes it to the door before you, already vanishing into the crowded hallways before a calm timbre yanks you back. You spin with the brightest smile. “Yes, Mr. Thomas?” 

He stares disapprovingly, and you groan, “Can I go, please? I’m gonna be late—“

“I’ll write you a slip. I need to talk to you.” 

Your lax demeanor masks the pounding in your chest well enough. Mr. Thomas crosses his arms over his chest before sighing, “what’s going on with you? You’re not usually this…”

“What, stupid?” You tort humorlessly. 

“No! Not at all… Distracted, I suppose, but never stupid. Don’t say that again.” 

“C’mon, Thomas, everyone knows it, it’s not a big deal. Some people are smart and some are dumb. It’s just how life goes.” 

“There’s no such thing as a dumb student. Everyone learns at their own pace. That’s how life goes.” He scolds, “Do you need some extra tutoring—“

“No, actually, I don’t, thanks.” 

He sends you a look that’s very father-like and you almost vomit, “I want to see you succeed, that’s why I’m here. There’s so many resources available that could be of use, yet you never take them. Why is that?” 

You shrug in agitation, “I don’t know, Mr. Thomas. I’m trying, okay? I can handle whatever distractions I have on my own.” 

“You know some of your friends can tutor you, right? It doesn’t have to be some strict meeting with a teacher. Some students in here are tutors. Ellie’s on a roll with—“

“Can we not discuss how much smarter my classmates are than me? I'd really appreciate it.” 

He sighs disapprovingly, “That’s not my intention and you know it. There’s no shame in asking for help from people around you.” 

“Is this a therapy session?” 

“No, but the semester’s almost over. If you don’t pass your midterm and your final, you’ll fail the class, and you’ll be stuck with me for another year.” 

You scoff at the insinuation of your demise, “Wow, thanks so much, Mr. Thomas,” His gaze turns sorrowful — pitying. Your feet already carry you towards the door. “Don’t worry about that slip by the way!” 

You ignore the calls of your name before getting shoved into the ocean of students. There’s only one more class you have to sit through and you’re fucking free. Ellie’s not the only one you should look out for. Even teachers are becoming biased pests.

Just when you thought the walk home from school would be peaceful, mainly due to the fact that Ellie was nowhere to be found — not twenty feet ahead or behind you. You hoped her dad’s car got stuck in the open trench by the gas station. 

But no, she’s already made it home — to your home, squatted beside her stupid blue bike with a flat tire, tirelessly reviving her ride with a pump that looks awfully familiar. She’s practically blocking the entire walkway. Your day cannot get any fucking worse. 

You stand in front of her in annoyance, “Can you move?” She doesn’t reply, barely acknowledges you. 

“Hellooo, Earth to dickhead, I’m trying to get home.” 

“Go around.” She nods towards the street.

“What, so I can get hit by a car?” 

“Hopefully.” 

“Go away! You live over there!” Your finger jabs to her dungeon. “You could’ve pumped your own goddamn tire away from my domain!” 

“I don’t wanna walk all the way back.” 

“Back where?”

“To your house. Your dad let me use your guys’ pump.” 

Red alarms sound in your head. Your dad allowed the enemy into your dominion? Rage explodes within you when playful green eyes pan over your entire form. 

“That bothers you?” 

“You bother me. I hate your guts and I always will. You know what you did to me.” You stomp around her worksite. Before you can kick your front door in, she hollers at you. 

“I don’t actually, but alright. Make sure to let Thomas know.”

Your head whips in her direction, gaze searing trails of fire onto the sidewalk. 

“What does Thomas have to do with anything?” 

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly, “He emailed me earlier. Asked me to tutor you. Said you could use some extra guidance.”

She uses your shock to her advantage, pins you where you stand before rising to her full height. Her dirty fucking shoes pan through the dead grass of your yard. 

“If you wanna flunk, keep doing what you’re doing. Stay up all night and read until your eyes bleed only to forget everything the second you get to class because you’re scared of being wrong,” her teeth shine underneath the afternoon sun, “nobody’s rooting for you, not even yourself. I’m your last shot at making a comeback. I’ll get you that C if you want it. All you have to do is say please.” 

Flames of humiliation engulf you from head to toe. Never in your life have you had a stranger degrade you this strongly. Insults from family are always painful but after a certain point, you grow used to hearing what they don’t like about you. Ellie doesn’t know anything about you yet she’s reading you like that stupid scientology novel she always has in her backpack. 

You don’t even have the wind to tell her to go fuck herself before yanking the front door open and flinging yourself inside. It slams when you fall back against it and you swear you hear scoffing from outside. 

“Hey.”

Does he not notice your distress or is he simply uncaring? “… Hi, dad.”

“How was school?” 

“Fun.”

“Sounds like it. I made pizza.” Little does he know, food is the last bit of your worries. 

“Thanks.” 

“Mhm.”

“Dad?” 

“Yeah, hun.”

Am I a disappoint? Do you regret having me? Do you like me… I know you love me, but do you like me?

“… Did you buy some more hot honey?” 

“Course, baby. On the counter.”

“Thanks.”

He nods at you before refocusing on the match. That’s as much conversation you’ll get from him until tomorrow. You reheat your pizza silently, mind focused on the fucking aggravating genius right outside your doorstep. You don’t want to be in range when she gives the bike pump back. The both of them might team up to demean you together. 

Days like today remind Ellie why she misses her skateboard. Twelve-year-old her must’ve been in denial or incredibly lost when she begged Joel for a bicycle. 

She hardly ever rides it anymore, it just sits in the corner of the garage collecting dust and cobwebs, but nostalgia hit her harder than usual today. Could be due to the change in weather, the cold always takes her back to those family getaways in the mountains. Not a day goes past where she doesn’t think about that deer she found laying in the snow when she was eight. 

There aren’t many moments where Ellie gets to decompress: she’s always busy, drowned to the knee with novels and notebooks and annotation assignments or helping a classmate proofread their final papers. She doesn’t remember the last time she got home and simply wasted away doing nothing. There are parts of her that envy students who have that privilege, but every time her schedule slows for any reason, she grows antsy and her fingers twitch with eagerness to solve something. 

That’s why she pulled this stupid bike out of the garage. She assumed taking a lap or two around the block would pass time, but she hardly made it down the driveway before her front tire started stuttering. 

Why the hell did she think asking your dad for that pump was a good idea? Not that Ellie cares if you do or not, but it definitely wasn’t her smartest moment. She’ll get you one of these days. Catch you when you least expect it and press about your fucking issue with her because, frankly, she’s been confused for half a decade. 

Not that you’d ever care, but you’re not Ellie’s cup of tea either. You’ve been the same since you were five: loud and reckless with unpredictable mood swings. You just… do shit, and Ellie despises nothing more than people that just do shit; Your brain runs on impulse. You never see the world past your little bubble, and there’s a reason why people are so prone to pop it for you. Every move you make feels spiteful, especially if Ellie catches you in the act. You’re always there, staring at her, watching her with conviction. She’s provoked every time. 

It's gotten easy to ignore your bombarding personality. You’re ignorable, but you got her out of character today. She hates stooping down to your level but you took her there once again, and she’ll resent you for that like always. 

She feels hollow knocking on your front door. Her brain won’t stop replaying what you said and what she said and this is why she loathes interacting with you. 

The door opens and she realizes she was holding her breath. 

“Hey, Ellie! Your bike alright?” 

“Yeah, I uhh… yeah, sorry,” she extends the pump and your dad accepts it graciously, “Thanks.” 

“Anytime… Hey, you have class with my daughter, right?” 

A few every year. It sucks. She nods. 

“How’s she doin’? She looked real down today.” 

Yeah. Because she sucks. “I’m not sure. I don’t really pay that much attention to be honest.” 

“Of course, ‘cause you actually do what you’re supposed to in class! I wish she was more like you!” He’s laughing but Ellie’s not, hiding her discomfort with a stiff smile. 

“Thanks again,” she points towards the bike pump before shifting away from the door, “have a good night.” 

“You, too!” He grins, “if you see anything outta the ordinary, don’t hesitate to let me know!” Ellie nods with a stiff wave. Her feet couldn’t carry her off your porch fast enough. 

The door shuts, and Ellie releases the second breath she’s held since speaking to you. There’s an icky feeling in her stomach, distaste in her mouth, but she can’t pin where from. Her bike wheels whine the entire walk back to her house. 40 feet suddenly feels like 10 miles. 

She uncaringly drops her bike beside her dad’s truck before entering the house. 

“Is the alien invasion upon us?” 

Ellie’s replies dryly, “Could be.” 

“I’ll be damned! Come in here for a second, Ellie. I need your help with somethin’.”

She sighs before reluctantly entering the kitchen where Joel leans, practically bent over the counter with a rubber-gloved hand shoved down the drain. 

“Compromising position.” 

“Shut up, c’mere… I may or may not’ve dropped a fork in here ‘n I can’t reach it…”

“Dude, again?” Ellie grabs the lone rubber glove that rests on the counter. 

“Don’t give me that! I’ve had enough shit-talkin’ from Sarah.”

Ellie’s eyes go sparkly, “She here?”

“Not yet, kiddo. She just called earlier, she misses you.”

“She didn’t call me.” Ellie pouts. It’s weird, to go from living across the hall from somebody for so many years then only seeing them twice a year if that. When Sarah left for college, Ellie was devastated, excited, anxious, sad all over again. She’s everything Ellie desires to be: intelligent, talented, tall, pretty. In some ways, Sarah’s filled the vacancy that was reserved for Ellie’s mother. Joel’s a great parent and she loves him to death, but he’s not a girl, and there will always be something that he simply doesn’t understand no matter how hard he tries. Sarah will always be Ellie’s greatest blessing. Home is home — home is comfort, but without Sarah… there’s an emptiness in these four walls that fit the shape of her perfectly. Joel feels her absence, too. Ellie notices his longing whenever she catches him searching Sarah’s old room when they’re folding laundry.

“Compromising position.” Joel mocks when Ellie’s smaller hand shoves inside the garbage disposal in search for the missing fork. She throws him a middle finger and he laughs, deep and hearty. 

“You’re quiet today.” He says suddenly, and Ellie stiffens a bit, eyes glued onto clean stainless steel. 

“Always quiet, old man.” 

“Well, yeah… something’s bothering you. What happened?” 

“Just school stuff, nothing crazy.” She definitely won’t, and she partially blames herself for her own damning. You seemed so upset before you slammed the door in her face. It didn’t matter if you were on your last legs, ever since middle school, you’ve always gotten the last word, and Ellie’s always caught scrabbling for a rebuttal. 

Joel hums. Ellie nearly chokes on air when he inquiries, 

“What, you gotta girlfriend?” 

“What the hell, no, of course not, are you serious—“

“Damn… I was kiddin’ but I think you actually might, you’re all cherry-faced! What’s her name! Is she coming over for Christmas!—“ 

Ellie pulls the butchered fork free from the disposal with all her strength before tossing it and the glove on the counter. Joel’s hysteria weighs his shoulders down,  wiping the joyful tears from his eyes. 

“I’m going to bed.” Ellie states stoically. 

“AWW, C’MON! IT’S NOT EVEN 6 YET!” She rolls her eyes when his wheezing starts back up. 

Ellie leaves trails of fire all the way up the stairs, Joel’s giggly apologies and begs for her to come back silencing when her door shuts. Her palms find the caves of her eyes. Her body betrays her, brain pleading to climb underneath her mattress and sleep away the stress of today while her fingers itch to craft or sketch or repair anything. 

… She should’ve been nicer to you. Fuck. 

Her thoughts leap from point A to B: go apologize, help you pass math, go your separate ways for the rest of forever. But you could’ve been nicer to her, also. Why won’t you just be nice? 

Ellie goes against her better judgement and nearly sprints to her window. When she yanks her blinds down just enough to peep through, she locates the glass that guards your room. 

She swears she’s not some fucking weird pervert. She’s just checking to see if you’re alive and ripping up your favorite posters like you always do when you’re mad about something. But there’s no movement from your end and it’s dark where you stay. Are you sleeping? Are you on your phone? Are you… 

Did she make you sad? 

Anger is different — that comes about as naturally as being happy for you, but she hasn’t seen you cry since elementary school. Why does her heart start thrashing when she envisions your red eyes and tear-soaked pillow? Ellie doesn’t like you but she doesn’t want that. Maybe she desired to see you crack when you were little but that was because… 

Ellie doesn’t fucking know what she felt at the time. Agitated that everyone liked you so much, annoyed at how loud you laughed in class. Envious of your light. You were so bright — annoyingly so, shining your blasphemous rays everywhere, blinding everyone in your vicinity. There’s no way you’d give anyone the power to dim your shine.

That aggravating feeling blooms in her chest when she thinks about the amount of times she’s tried to do just that, and something tickles in her throat. It’s too thick to swallow down and she takes that as a sign. Enough sight-seeing for today. 

She plummets face first into her mattress, groaning in annoyance when her cheeks catch flame. You drive her insane. You and your adorable fucking nose. 

Just when she thinks she’s calmed down, knocks echo from outside her door. 

“Kid… Can I come in?” 

Ellie’s tempted to say not right now, but she forces herself up to open the door for him. Sorrow flashes in Joel’s vision. “M’sorry, kiddo, ‘bout earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” 

“You didn’t, today just sucked.” 

“Talk t’me.” He implores gently. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just…” Ellie shrugs lamely. Why is it so easy to talk to him about everything but you? “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I will, but not now.”

He sighs, and she knows he’s concerned, but he doesn’t pry. “Okay, baby—”

“Can I have a hug?” Ellie coughs to mask the crack in her timbre, and Joel embraces her without hesitation. His hold is strong and it brings her solace. For the time being her mind silences, and shoulders aren’t as tense. 

Hold onto this until tomorrow. 

Until she sees you again. 

School has always been predictable. 

You come in, you sit for hours and run for one, and you leave with nothing, everything, and the little specks in between. You knew math would be a little awkward after your conversation with Mr. Thomas — you expected him to call on you more often to answer questions or say your name obnoxiously loud during attendance, but the patronizing never came. You took it as him sparing you until the following day until you received an email from him during your last period asking to speak with you. Much to your mistake, you accepted. 

Never during your entire high school career did you think that you’d be stuck getting scolded by your favorite teacher with Ellie Williams sitting right next to you. What a turn of fucking events. 

“You’re not spending another year with me. You’re going to do better,” Mr. Thomas’ tone is gentle with a sharp edge, but it’s not degrading, “my friend here is willing to help you get to where you want to be. I feel this will be beneficial for both of you.” 

Your teacher gestures to Ellie who’s annoyingly fidgety: messing with the loose strings from the slits in her jeans. You’re doing a stellar job at keeping your distaste in check. No need for another scolding. 

“Tell you what. If you pass the midterm, I’ll throw a pizza party.” 

“I hate tomatoes.”

“… Then we’ll have a to-be-determined party.” 

“Hooray.” You grab your stuff and stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “anything else, Thomas?” 

“Yes. Be nice to each other. We’re all friends here.” For once, his statement is for both of you. It’s a little comforting. At least you’re not the only one being corrected for adjustment. 

“Let’s go.” You say to Ellie who follows in your lead. You’re already out the door before she can finish saying her goodbyes. 

You only slow when rushing feet pitter from behind. When Ellie catches up, neither of you speak. You guess you don’t have to. She’s only scheduled to study with you for an hour anyway, there’s no need to waste it on pointless conversation. 

You only set one boundary. 

“Can we study at your place?”

Ellie pauses before nodding. The silence upholds the entire walk to Ellie’s house. She takes a deep breath before unlocking her front door. “My dad’s working, so… yeah. It’ll actually be quiet when we’re studying.” 

You say nothing. You set your backpack on the kitchen table to grab your math book and pencils. Ellie takes a seat beside you with her own notebook, opening it to the lesson from today. 

“Midterms are usually easier than finals, there's not as much to remember, so… um, what area are you struggling in?” 

An insecure itch squiggles in your nose and you scratch it. You shrug and play with your eraser. 

“We can do,” she flips through her pages, “x,y solutions if you wanna, just to start. They were from Thomas’ review the other day.” 

Your cheeks heat at the memory. Suddenly there’s thirty pairs of eyes on you all over again. “Sure, Ellie.” 

“Okay.” She turns to a fresh page before scribbling and her handwriting is perfect. The equation is familiar and easy. You were half expecting her to give you some crazy shit to kick off. She slides her notebook beside you and you don’t hesitate to input the values. You allow her to examine your work with a dry mouth. 

“That’s right.” 

Goosebumps rise on your skin and your cheeks go warm and you don't know why.

“Uh, good job, I’ll give you something harder.” 

She adds another equation onto the page for you to complete but you’re not paying attention. Ellie’s hands are very large. She’s always had freakish man hands but the definition in her veins is much more prominent than in sixth grade. What the fuck? Her pencil looks like a needle in between her fingers. They look so out of place on her dainty wrist, not that you care. 

“Uhh… hello.”

“What.”

“You can do it now. Solve it.”

“… Okay.” 

The question in front of you is the same format as the first one, but the numbers are bigger and there’s even more letters and addition signs and your chest plummets onto the hardwood. Your eyes anxiously find Ellie’s who stares back in confusion. 

“What’s the matter? Need help?”

You swallow and almost choke from the dryness. You just did this problem. The structure is the same, the process of solving is the same, but you're too focused on how Ellie’s going to react to you messing up. She’ll probably brag about how it’s not that hard and berate you about how you’re not that stupid. Perfectionists like her — like your dad are ruthless. Their superiority complex makes them yell and scream insults at you because you’ll never be where they are. You'll never be a match for their genius and in turn, they choose to resent you. 

So you wait for the low blows, the hollering, the threats of punishment. You wait and wait but she doesn’t say anything until she does. 

“Hey… you okay?” 

“What do you think, Ellie?” 

Tension pulls at her brows, “what do you mean?” 

In hindsight, she’s done nothing wrong up until this point, she's staring a little too hard for your liking. She’s the only one here, you have no choice but to give her the spotlight she loves so badly. Anything to get it off you.

“This is probably fun for you, watching me fuck up in real time. Is that why you agreed to do this for me? For an ego boost?” 

Why does she say your name like you’re hurting her? She’s never sounded so wounded; always prepared to strike back whenever you give her unfiltered attitude, retaliating until she’s blue in the face and you’re storming off in the opposing direction. 

“I don’t care if you mess up. I’m here to help you, why don’t you get that?”

“Because when have you ever given a shit if I do well or not? I’ve been a delinquent since we met, why are you so interested now?”

She scoffs and tosses her pencil in annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Apparently I’m the only one that missed the memo of hating your guts. News fucking flash, I don’t and I never did. Whatever shit you made up about me in your head isn’t my problem to fix,” she closes her notebook with more force than necessary, “if you don’t want my help then tell Thomas so he can get off my back about it. Find somebody else to teach you or don’t or whatever, I don’t care anymore.” 

...

… Oh.

It could be the way she’s staring at you: eyes stern, self-assured and her voice heavy, a bit deeper than expected when she’s aggravated, and the spots on her face compliment the red hot that burns in her cheeks, but you have very little — actually nothing to say, and it’s not for the reason you expected. You’re stunned into silence, and that confuses her: she half-expected you to take that pencil you hold and stab her through the neck, but you don’t. You don’t storm off, you don’t talk shit, you just sit and examine her face with a faraway look she’s never seen from you before. 

“What?” She implores when you stare too long for comfort, and there’s a lengthy, tender tug in your chest. 

You’re positive the end of the world is coming in the next ten seconds. None of the Earthly shit you’ve experienced will matter in the afterlife and the world you know will cease to exist and you’re thankful for that. You don’t think you’d be able to live any longer with the knowledge that you viewed Ellie in an incredibly different manner during her winded, angered dialogue. There’s a weird fluttering sensation in your stomach and your heart sits at the base of your throat. It waves over your body with an unfamiliar intensity and all you can do is gawk at the girl who took your breath.

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what? What’s wrong with you?” 

“I’m… I think I should go.” You’re already shoveling your things into your backpack, and Ellie’s insanely puzzled. 

“Wh—“

“Sorry. I just got lightheaded all of a sudden,” you sling your back over your shoulder before neatly pushing the dining chair in. You’ve never pushed in a chair in your life. 

“Are you… are you good? Do you need me to walk you back?” 

Her concern makes your tummy burst into flutters, “I'll be fine. Same time tomorrow?” You force down the dreaminess in your voice as Ellie follows close behind. 

“Um… okay? I guess, I thought you—“

“I think we should start over.”

It’s almost comedic how far Ellie’s eyes bulge from her skull. Why do you feel so featherlight all of a sudden? “Let’s forget today ever happened and start fresh tomorrow? Is that cool?” Never once in your life have you cared if Ellie was cool with any of your plans. Who are you right now? 

“I — well, yeah… cool, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting really fucking weird right no—“ 

You squeeze the lone book closer to your chest. “I’m fine, trust me. Goodnight.” 

When you open the door, Ellie’s dad is on the other side struggling to find his keys in his work bag. He smiles down at you in surprise. 

“Hey, kid! It’s been a while, how’ve you been! How’s dad?” Only Ellie notices the wavering looks he shares between you and her. You smile, “been good, dad’s fine. I was just heading out. Thanks again, Ellie.” You say one last time before politely brushing past Mr. Miller, leaving Ellie to simmer and question what the fuck you took before you got here. 

When you're finally out of sight, Joel gives Ellie a knowing look, and she almost throws up from giddy nerves. Or full fleshed anxiety. Whichever ones worse. 

Is it possible to lose your mind before its fully developed?

You knew something was off when you set an alarm for five-thirty in the morning to get ready for school despite getting two hours of sleep in, yet still, you felt rejuvenated. You freshened up with your favorite body wash, plucked your brows, did a facemask, wore something that wasn’t the prior evening's pajamas. For the first time in your life since elementary school, you were excited to start the day and be productive. You don’t know why. 

Purposefully ignoring your change in attitude due to your neighbor is your favorite pass-time. 

You’re not sure what the hell happened to you at Ellie’s house, but it definitely solidified that you’re clinically insane. Delusional enough that whenever she meets your eyes in class your breathing pattern goes wonky. She nodded at you in greeting during English class and you nearly fainted. What the fuck has happened to you? 

Ellie was everything you detested less than 48 hours ago and now she’s leaving you with unrest that isn’t entirely displeasent. It makes you warm and tingly like a cup of warm tea on a cold morning. That’s not what you expected forgiveness to feel like, but it’s nice. Comforting. 

You didn’t see Ellie during lunch, and much to Riley’s confusion, you were disappointed. You and Ellie are nowhere near friends, but you’re trying, and she seems to be receptive to your efforts. In her own little geeky, awkward way. Might as well show your appreciation. She’s helping you out after all. 

After years of depending on Riley for emotional stability, you could use someone new.

So you wait perched up against the front of the school for your tutor. The anticipation makes you jittery, pacing across the small grass plain, kicking lone rocks, telling yourself to calm the fuck down because you’ve walked home with her since you were nine only this time around you’re not seperate but together—

“Sup.” 

You whip around at the call of your name, “hi.” You’re cheesing, can’t help it. Forgiveness is a great feeling. Ellie barely smiles back but it’s a start. 

“Um, we’re still at your house, right?” 

“Mhm, why, wanna go to yours?” 

“No!” 

Ellie flinches, and you scramble to recover. “I mean… I’d rather not, sorry. I’d just… rather not.” 

She eyes you skeptically before relenting. “… Okay.” 

“Shall we?” You gesture to the path to your neighborhood, but before you can lead the way, a hand clamps around your bicep, firm and stilling with something softer. You can’t move, and you don’t want to, the only proof of life being the constant palpitations in your ribcage. 

“Are you listening?” 

Nope. “Sorry, what?” 

“I asked if we’re, like… I don't know, good? Are we okay? I don’t know what’s happening, you’ve been so…” Her sentence trails, unsure of how to describe the arc you’re on. The arc of forgiveness. 

“Ellie… I forgive you for what happened in fifth grade. And everything after.” 

She squints. “What?” 

“I forgive you… I’m just hoping you forgive me, too?” 

“Uh… yeah… I forgive you, sure.” And she wears it so well. Her dirty shoes don’t bother you as much anymore. Joy thrums from the deep workings of your heart. “Friends?” 

“… Sure?” 

“C’mon then, friend. We got some math to do.” You squeal and throw your arms around her. She tenses but doesn’t push you off. 

You hold her the entire walk, and some time during, she relaxed into you. 

Ellie never thought she’d fall victim to an alien abduction and end up trapped in another dimension with a nice you, but she’s here, and surprisingly, she’s enjoying it. The one secret she’ll never tell. 

She’s not sure where this switch up came from, and honestly, she’s scared to find out, but she can’t help but be drawn to the shyer, timid side of you. Whenever she encourages or applauds your efforts on paper, your eyes go wide and glossy, and her heart squeezes in delight. 

There are times when she’s speaking, like now— light introductions about graphing parabolas, where she catches you mindlessly glancing over her features. She didn’t mind it initially — merely assumed that staring was your studying tic, but the longer she teaches, the deeper your gaze becomes, and the more uncomfortable she grows, even more than her disappointment whenever you look away. 

“Does that make sense?” She finally croaks when she finishes her graph, and you nod like you have no idea what she just said but simply can’t be bothered. She can’t help the upturn of her lips. 

“Can I test you?” She asks, and her heart thumps when your lashes flutter. She doesn’t wait for your response before creating a function table on the spot — albeit more complicated, but she needs to see if you’re progressing. 

When you take the pencil out of her hand and start scribbling, she can’t help but stare now. She watches you work silently, eyes cascading over your focused vision, each twitch of your nose, how you bite your bottom lip in thought. You erase and correct whatever mistake you’ve written and Ellie can’t the tiny smile that rises in her cheeks. Recognizing that something could be wrong is a telling sign of improvement. The kitchen is suddenly awfully warm. 

You exhale before setting the pencil flat on the table and sliding Ellie the graphing paper. 

“Don’t be nervous.” She comments when you start fidgeting with your eraser. 

You scoff, “can’t help it.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes before scanning your work. When she notices the messy erasing on your graph lines, she snickers — she’s not grading you on how perfect the lines are but that didn’t stop you from fixing them at least seven times. 

“What, I failed?”

“Nhm… it’s correct actually. Impressive.” 

“Impressive. What are you, 50?” You mock playfully. 

“Shut up, people see graphs and start pissing themselves, you did good.” 

“I was one of those people.” 

“And now you’re not, just needed a little elbow grease.”

“Elbow grease! You are 50, good God almighty.” 

Ellie scoffs. “Elbow grease isn’t an old saying! It’s used in every hard-working context.” 

“Oh, brotherr—“

“Shut up!” You and Ellie’s laughter blend together. The rest of your lesson resumes with such and Ellie couldn’t be more grateful. 

Time passes with delight, and before either of you know it, Joel is unlocking the front door while Ellie helps you organize your books. Neither of you notice his observing, and he’s thankful; Ellie would probably throw a fit if she caught him lurking, but he can’t help the glee he feels whenever Ellie laughs, and she's in hysterics with every joke you crack. Out of all the students that have visited the house, you’re the only one that’s garnered such a reaction out of his daughter. She's usually serious in a school-related setting, but you encourage her benevolence. 

“Hey Mr. Miller!” You wave and Ellie sighs. 

“Hey, kid… how’s the lesson going?” 

“Fine. We just finished.” Ellie says with the hopes that he’ll relocate so she can walk you out without hassle. 

“I think I’m getting smarter, Miller!” 

“You were already smart.” He charms, and you blow a playful raspberry. Your bag strap rests on your shoulder and Ellie leads you to her front door. 

“We should do something fun, Ellie.” Her and Joel’s ear perk at the same time at your invitation. The two of you cautiously eye the older man who scurries into the living room. 

“… Like what?” She’s suddenly nervous, eyes flitting wherever yours aren’t. 

“I don’t know, but I’ve been grounded and I’m bored. If I show my dad some of the work we’ve been doing he’ll probably let me off! Do you like arcades?” 

A noise reminiscent of a heart monitor flatlining blares in Ellie’s head at your inquiry. You’re asking her to spend time with you outside of school? She fucking loves arcades but she can’t say that because her jaw’s on the floor. 

“… Ellie?” You say, and she nods stupidly, but that doesn’t soothe the small flash of dejection in your eyes. “You don’t have to go. I was just asking.” 

“NO!” 

You flinch away from her and Joel hollers for Ellie from the living room to check in. 

“I’M FINE!” She screams before looking at you, “Not no, I mean yes… I mean I’d love to! I’d love to go to an arcade,” her lips snap shut before she allows a with you to escape, “They, uh… there’s one not too far from school. We can just walk there after.” 

When you smile, her heart throbs. Every time you smile at her, the organ cracks open in her chest to leave a spot just for you. She’s already plotting her own academic bribery so your dad can release you from confinement. 

“Cool. I’ll ask Riley if she wants to come.” 

Ellie’s mind whirs at the mention of a third. Riley’s nice; you all share English together, and though she and Riley don’t speak often, she never fails to give Ellie kutos on her writing skills whenever they peer edit. Riley is nice. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed that you’re bringing a friend on your…

She’s too ahead of herself. She was stupid enough to think that you’d wanna go on a date with her after a decade of bickering bullshit. That’s a result of swallowing down your crush for years out of fear of being rejected. She doesn’t even know if you like girls. She doesn’t know if you like anyone. If you do, you never disclose it. 

“… You good?” 

Ellie blinks rapidly, “Yeah, m’good, sorry. That sounds fun.” 

With your phone already in hand, you say, “gimme your number.” You don’t comment on the shakiness in Ellie’s voice when she recites her digits. When her phone dings on the table, you mumble, “Text me, okay?”

“Yeah… promise.” 

Is this flirting? Ellie doesn’t know — granted, she couldn’t tell the difference between right and left with a compass at the moment, but the fuzziness in her head is enough to convince her that your smile is more than friendly. Or she’s fucking delusional, could be one or the other. Both or neither. Regardless, she really doesn’t want you to go—

Wait, what. 

“Night,” you say so softly she almost misses it, and she replies just the same. When the door clicks shut, Ellie’s forced to sit with the irreversible concave you’ve left in her chest. Her head rests against the door to gather herself, long enough to garner the attention of her dad. 

“Somethin’ you wanna tell me?” 

“I don’t think want is the right word.” 

Who wants to come clean about their repressed infatuation with their sorta friend? Certainly no one sane, but Ellie hasn’t felt normal since the beginning of the month. 

When she finally picks herself up, she finds Joel propped against the wall with his arms folded, an inquisitive look in his eye. You’ve piqued his interest. Fuck. 

“We’ve never really talked about those lessons.” 

“Nothing to talk about.” 

“… Alright.” He sighs in mock defeat, “you know I won’t push you, but Christmas is ‘round the corner and I think it’d be best to plan somethin’ for your new frie—“

“I think I like her.” 

It’s said with such anguish; a fear of unrequited affection that slammed into her out of the blue, but it’s unrepairable now. Her next breath wobbles and Joel’s by her in an instant, large hands cradling her scorching cheeks. Her eyes water in embarrassment so she keeps them glued downward. 

“C’mon now, darling, look here.” Joel encourages softly, and Ellie reluctantly matches his gaze, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to catch it with his thumb. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is a hundred percent normal. I’ve never seen you like this about somebody, it’s meant to be.” 

“… What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I don’t think that's the problem, baby. She goes all doe-eyed when you’re explaining… quantum theory or whatever the hell—“

Ellie can’t hold her laugh, and her shine cracks Joel’s smile even wider. 

“Wanna call Sarah?” He suggests gently, and Ellie nods.

“C’mon, we got some story to tell.”

Two weeks until your incoming doom. Or midterms if simplified. Fuck.

The closer the day gets, the more anxiety-riddled your lessons with Ellie become. Your new friend is incredibly reassuring, especially after you nearly toppled her to the ground in celebration of your D turning into a D+ after your last 3 assignment postings. Not only did you complete your math homework by yourself, but your answers were correct without cheating. 

Your dad told you ‘good job’ during breakfast this morning and you cried on the way to school. Happy tears. Accomplished tears. He finally thinks your efforts are worth something. 

… Maybe even worth a trip to the arcade? 

You don’t discuss your tutoring sessions with him that often, but he’s aware that Ellie’s aiding you to success. You know he respects her — sometimes you think more than you, but whatever — so maybe, just maybe, he won’t be against pausing your punishment for one night. 

You use your text threads with Ellie as an emotion stabilizer on the walk home. Fried memes and screen recordings of her Roblox fights are doing wonders for your thrashing heart. You can see your home and your dad’s truck in the driveway. 

Each step up the porch stairs is torture. 

You’re not shocked to find your dad on the couch eating popcorn. It’s routine at this point, and somehow, that makes your nerves worse. 

“Hey, hon. Hungry? I made mac and cheese.” 

Your stomach growls as if commanded. 

“Um… can we eat together?” 

His eyes unglued from the television and fell onto you, widened with shock at your proposal. Neither of you remember the last time you ate at the same table. 

He pauses before mumbling.

“Of course we can.” 

Something kick starts within your dad; he’s up and setting the table with a nice cloth and decorative plates, the fancy golden forks and spoons that are reserved for guests that never show, thick napkins, all with the dish of crusted mac and cheese set in the middle. 

You both have washed up and changed, in fresh pjs and clean hands. Your dad eagerly fixes your plate first. 

“How was school, honey?” 

A pang hits deeps in your chest at the empty memory. It’d been your mother’s birthday and you and your dad had planned a celebratory dinner for her. The same exact meal; mac and cheese, broccoli, and chicken, then pie for dessert because she hated cake. Served the exact same way every year until it was no longer necessary. 

“Great.” Because for once, school is great. School is cordial. 

“I checked your grades.” 

Your chest plummets but you reach for your fork to mask it. You’re aware of where your grades lie due to your obsessive reviewing. 

“My grades aren’t accurate, not yet at least,” you begin rambling in efforts to appease, “there’s still assignments that haven’t been graded yet—“

“You’re making a comeback. Good job.” 

… Shit. 

Two praises in one day? The only time you’ve felt this accomplished was when you’d ridden your scooter for the first time without eating dirt. He bought you ice cream after. 

You were seven. It couldn’t have been that long without some form of encouragement. 

Could it?

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.” 

“M’kay.” 

“You know Ellie’s been tutoring me, and uh, she’s really good at it. Obviously...” 

He’s nodding but his eyes are piercing. 

“I… I thought I’d thank her. I’m on a really good track because of what she’s been doing and… yeah.” 

“How are you going to thank her?” 

You swallow down any hesitance. 

“The arcade after school. Her… her ‘n me. And Riley.” 

“And Riley.” He repeats detachedly. 

The fire in your cheeks is enough warning that this was a mistake. 

“When were you planning on going?” 

“Um… Friday night.” 

“What time.” 

“After school.” 

“And when would you be back?” 

“Um… it closes at 8… so 8:30?” 

His gaze drops down to his untouched plate, then yours. He relishes in the silence while you decay right in front of him. 

“Seven.” 

“Huh?” 

“Be home by seven.” 

Your chest flurries with excitement and appreciation and everything you haven’t felt for your father in so long. 

“Thank yo—“

“I need you to understand something.” His sternness crushes your smile. 

“This isn’t some pass for you to go behind my back and do bullshit. The second you get home, the routine is back. You go and study with her and come back here. No funny shit, do you understand me?” 

“Yes.” 

Your meekness doesn’t satisfy him. “Do you understand me?” 

“I understand, dad.” 

He nods once before grabbing his fork. 

“Eat your food.” 

[nanamis-princess]

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Asking them to peel an orange for you; strawhat addition

Synopsis: they peel an orange for youuu<3

Genre: fluffy fluff fluff

T/w: 🤔 I don’t think there is any, lmk if I’m wrong. Possibly misspelled words I’m sleepy lolll.

Luffy, zoro, nami, sanji & usopp (separate) X reader

Luffy

-he’s sitting out on the deck drawing as you guys are heading to you next destination. You come and plop down next to him, he turns smiling at your presence. “Look y/n! I’m drawing a fish.” He holds up the drawing so you can see better. Smiling at his drawing you look towards him before he goes back to drawing “luffy can you peel this for me?” You ask innocently.

-he sets down his pencil and sketchbook before taking the orange from your hands, “yeah sure!” He begins working away.

-he gets done peeling it fast and tries getting the bigger pieces of the orange strings off for you. He also steels a little piece of the orange before handing it to you with a bright smile. “Here you go!”

-once you begin eating your now peeled orange, Luffy tries a small piece of the outer orange. His face twists in discomfort, humming in discomfort he gets up and goes to the railing spitting the rind into the sea.

Zoro

-He just got comfortable in his hammock after struggling with his swords to cooperate. Laying back with his eyes closed listening to the way the boat rocks softly with the waves. Hearing you make you way to him, he opens one eye. His arms are crossed behind his head. “Mhm?” He hums as he scans over your face for any signs of discomfort.

-you hold the tangerine second guessing if maybe you shouldn’t ask, he looks comfortable. “I was going to ask if you could peel this for me” you say looking at the tangerine. “Are your fingers broken?”he asks as his attention is on you now. You let out a little huff “no I just didn’t want to get all the stickiness on my hands” you say feeling a little dumb for asking him now

-just as your about to turn to leave he holds out his hand for the orange

-it doesn’t take him long to peel it, he gets off some of the white strands but then hands it to you. “Bon appétit” he says in a plain sarcastic tone, mocking Sanji in the process with a small grin on his face.

Nami

-shes sitting in the kitchen with a book and a cup of tea while you guys are docked somewhere. Just you two on the ship, keeping an eye on it. She turns her page as she acknowledges you coming in, her eyes look up from her book as you sit across from her. “What’s up?” She asks as her eyes go back to her book.

- “I want this tangerine but I don’t feel like peeling it,” you say hoping she gets the hint. She looks at you above her glasses with a tsk noise leaving her, she puts her book mark in place and closes her book.

-she takes the orange and begins peeling it as the citrus smell fills the space between you. She picks her tea cup, placing it on the table so she has a place to put your orange. She get most of the white strings off, peeling an orange is mussel memory at this point. She splits it in half for you.

- before siding the plate to you she takes three little piece of the orange, she eats a slice and smiles at you. “preparing tax” she motions to the small piece she took before opening her book.

Sanji

-he just got done with the lunch rush and luffy’s big appetite, sitting out on the deck enjoying his cigarette. He notices you out the corner of his eye as you are walking to him, he smiles brightly at you as he puts out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Hello sweetheart” he says as you stand across from him. “Hi Sanji, I wanted to tell you that lunch was good, I never got to tell you earlier” you say with the orange in your hand.

- “I’m glad you liked it my sweet” he says with a small smile as he admires you. He takes note of the orange and nods towards it before holding out his hand. “I can peel that for you” he looks up at you and takes it once you hand it to him.

-he’s swift and makes it look so easy, he even gets a majority of the white strands off for you. He makes it so they are just little pieces, you don’t even have to rip it apart. Handing the pieces back to you “here you are my love” he says with a smile before getting up to discard of the rind.

-he comes back out to sit with you as you watch Luffy and usopp try to catch dinner.

Usopp

-you find him sitting down fidgeting with his slingshot and making more ammo. It takes him a moment to realize you are sitting across from him but he smiles when he sees you. He gives you a brief yet detailed rundown about how he’s going to take down bad guys with his weapon.

- “I was wondering if you could peel this for me?” You ask looking at him as he dusts off his hands. Usopp nods “yeah yeah, I got you” he says as he takes the orange. He works away a the rind then the stringy parts.

- he splits it in half for you, one of the small pieces come off and he holds it up to his mouth it make it look like a smile. He smiles whiling holding it up to his lips then eats it before holding out the rest for you.

[morlock-holmes]

Still thinking about that Astral Codex Ten AI Art Turing test...

I mean... Obviously the one on the right is the human one. Is this some kind of prank? Am I on candid camera?

My suspicion is that what this test demonstrates most conclusively is that we are so thoroughly bombarded with images that we have developed the defensive measure of paying as little attention to them as possible.

We get the gist and then move on as quickly as possible.

Here's someone who did much better than I did on this test explaining their results.

This demonstrates fairly conclusively that nearly all the AI images Alexander chose do in fact, have "tells" which are extremely plain when you attend closely to the details.

In fact, I managed to get 2 out of every 3 correct even with an incredibly lazy and fast-paced assessment carried out on my phone without much recourse to fine detail.

There are two trends I noticed in the comments of the results post.

First, a significant number of ACX posters harbor a suspicion and resentment towards art and good taste, which leads them to suspect that all artistic judgement is essentially arbitrary and based on clout. They don't notice the difference, so there must not be a difference.

Second, a number of people who are clearly AI skeptics gave ground and accepted the idea that the AI images were lacking in "tells" and were especially good, and instead attempted to attack the test on the grounds that this kind of curation was itself unfair.

Both responses indicate, to me, both a fascination with images and a kind of, for lack of a better word, illiteracy about them.

And perhaps most interestingly this illiteracy doesn't seem to obviously vary between pro and anti-AI readers.

To go back to the side by side landscapes up there, the landscape on the left probably has the fewest obvious "tells" of AI art, maybe of all the AI images.

It's also just, you know, a much worse piece of art than the one on the right?

To go back to what I said in an earlier post, the painting on the right draws the eye down the hill. The two figures on the path are expertly set off so that even though they are barely suggested with just a couple of brush strokes, they immediately stand out and draw the eye, causing you to follow the same path they are taking down into the village.

Contrast the image on the left. Which part of the painting is your eye drawn to first? It could really by almost anywhere. No part of the picture is more important than any other, there's very little contrast between, say, the village on the right and the wildflowers on the left. What detail there is is largely because, well, otherwise there wouldn't be a painting.

If you asked 100 art critics which of those paintings was by a renowned master and which one you found hanging in a dentist's office I think all 100 would give you the same answer.

Or take this one:

If you really, really zoom in on the hand on our right, the anatomy is probably wonky, but I didn't notice that, I just thought,

"Okay, but, like, what is this angel, like... Doing?"

This figure, painted in this style, is rife with symbolism. Most likely an angel, or at the very least Icarus, it ought to be extremely clear what sort of emotional/cultural/allegorical/etc. meaning is being communicated, but it is just sort of... looking off yearningly towards nothing.

Culturally, it's just not something that a human would paint as a finished piece.

Actually in general AI seems to tend to either not have a clear focal point, or to have one extremely obvious subject placed right smack dab in the center of the frame.

One of the subtle visual gags in Monty Python and The Holy Grail is that the peasants are often doing things that look, on very cursory examination, as though they are some kind of agricultural activity, but actually they are just hitting random patches of ground with a stick or sitting on the ground and moving mud into a big pile.

And same with this Angel; it looks, at casual glance, to be doing "Angel type stuff" and if you just keep moving you leave with the impression that everything was fine.

But if you stop yourself, go back, and ask, "Wait, specifically what is it doing?" you really can't come up with anything more specific than, "Angel type stuff".

This sort of vagueness is also a tell of AI art.

If what I'm saying sounds a bit frustrated or mean-spirited I think it's because looking at this test has solidified something that I haven't really been able to articulate before, which sort of sums up to the vast majority of talk about AI, regardless of what the conclusion is, evidences a strong emotional investment in images paradoxically combined with a sort of estrangement from them and often even a strong resentment towards them.

Both pro and anti-AI imagery camps contain a tremendous number of people who feel imagery as a kind of imposition, with AI as either an emancipatory force aimed at a tyrannical art world bent on crushing us with arbitrary, incomprehensible images or, on the other hand, as a tyrannical force set to flood us helplessly with a set of incomprehensible images almost entirely against our will.

[sehtoast]

Forget Me Not (Homelander x Reader)

1.4k words | gender neutral reader

Ask Prompt: HL x gn reader. Where hl loses his memory and runs away to another state where he meets the reader 🙏

You were totally prepared to swing first and ask questions later. Of course, that was before you saw him. Standing there drinking from your milk carton at three in the morning, fridge light illuminating him against the darkness of your kitchen, was The Homelander himself

You hide the baseball bat before he turns to you, a droplet of milk dribbling down his chin. 

“You should really invest in whole milk,” he says, sloshing what little was left inside the carton. “Tastes way better.”

You could hardly believe the night had been real when you woke up the next morning.  But, sure enough, he was still there.

“So, how did I end up with The Homelander of all people in my house,” you’d asked nervously. Reality had finally set in and you both sat at the table to talk.

He looked at you like you had seven heads.

“What’s a ‘Homelander?’”

Yeah… That really did happen. If not for the fact he looked entirely serious with such a genuine curiosity in his tone, you’d have thought he was bullshitting you.

Somehow, some way, he’d lost his memory.  Ran away from wherever he was, showed up at your house out of all possible others.  He said it seemed more inviting, but he couldn’t quite explain why.  

You’d tried to explain to him how to find his way back to New York, how to find Vought Tower so that he could go home and get some help, but he seemed too afraid to leave.

“What if I get lost?”  He’d asked, eyes twinkling with nervous energy.  “You said it’s north-east, but aren't there a lot of things north-east? What if I get the wrong place?”

You don’t know what possessed you, but you decided to let him stay.  Let him borrow some spare clothes that made him look much less… well, like a superhero.  You’re sure Vought would come looking for him eventually, so you might as well keep him safe and sound, right?

After helping him out of that suit, you can’t help but wonder if all super suits are total death traps.  If most heroes are padded up to look larger than life, but are really just plain as can be underneath.

Before he falls asleep in your spare room, he tells you the one thing he can remember.

“My name’s John…”

The next day, he follows you around everywhere.  You work remotely from home, and he sits next to you on the couch while you do.  The TV plays in the background while you cycle through tasks and emails, but his attention seems fixed on you entirely.  The clickety-clack of your keyboard fascinates him and he ends up curious as to how you type so fast, what you’re doing, what your code inputs mean.

He’s an interesting fella, curious by nature to the point he’s a total snoop.  You catch him in your bedroom on the third day, fingers trailing over your blankets as his gaze pans around the whole room.  It seems innocent enough, and he’s given you no reason to feel he’s out to hurt you.

When you ask him what he’s up to, he just shrugs, saying something… interesting.

“I wish I would've had a nice room when I was little…”

It conflicts with what you know to be true about him, but also makes you wonder if he’s starting to remember things.  You ask him to elaborate, but he can’t.  He presses his palm to his forehead as if he’s in pain and just shakes his head.  

“I don’t know. I just know I didn’t…”  He trails off, and you’re there to press a soothing touch to his shoulder.

You tell him not to worry too much.

You take him out grocery shopping one day.  He’s like a fish out of water.

He doesn’t know the first thing about navigating a store and doesn’t do much more than follow you like a lost puppy.  Hell, at the end, he doesn’t even know how to help the cashier with bagging.

He is, however, incredibly helpful when it comes to bringing everything in.  He is quite literally the one trip wonder, dangling every single bag from his arms and walking in as though they weigh nothing.

You could get used to that.

You cook a proper dinner that night and he helps.  Well, ‘help’ is a strong word.  More like he watches and hands you the occasional ingredient.

You’re fascinated by him.  He seems oblivious to normal living skills, but a part of him seems to genuinely want to learn them.  More than that, he seems so… peaceful.  You recall his recent erratic behaviors in the public eye, his meltdown on his birthday, his snippiness with interviewers…

But he seems so much less tense now.  Maybe it was the memory loss.  Maybe he just likes the quiet.  Who knows?

What you do know is, by the second week, you hope he never leaves.  You’re almost praying that his memory never returns despite knowing that's selfish.

It’s nice to share your space with someone.  It’s nice to have him around.

He’s sweet despite his dramatics.  Helpful and eager.  He’s company, and it’s been… a very long time since you’ve felt like you weren’t alone.  You didn’t quite live in bumfuck nowhere, but it was close enough that he was a blessing.

Your heart sinks on the day he comes downstairs wearing his suit.

He looks at you with those big blue eyes, but within them is a sadness. 

There is recognition floating around in there, swirling with that determined fire that you’ve seen on so many screens before. Yet he still looks so melancholy.

You offer him his morning coffee, a shared routine between you both for the past two months, and he sips at it quietly.

He used to hate it, but now..?

“Are you going back?” You ask after some time, not daring to meet his eyes.

Your heart sinks when he tells you he is.

“I’ll miss you…”

He struggles to reciprocate the words properly, but… he leaves you with a tight hug before his departure.

You don’t know why you cry so hard when he goes.  No, no…

That’s a lie.  You do know.

You miss him terribly.  

You miss him for days, for weeks.  

You watch the celebrations for his return.  You touch the screen of your laptop, wishing he was still at your side, still peering over your shoulder, still riding alongside you in your car.

But he isn’t.

And you don’t think he ever will be again.

You learn to breathe again after some time.  You feel good enough to crawl out of bed, collected enough to clean up the house a little.  You fall into your hobbies again, but nothing feels right.

It’s all just… dull.

And you hate that you know why.

You hate that you pray every night to hear your fridge door shutting, to hear the clinking of glass in your cabinets, to hear him step on that creaky floorboard on the steps.

But you don’t.

You don’t hear any of it.

Eventually you just stop listening.

Which means you don’t hear what slips through your window.  There are no footsteps, no creaks or cracks.  You don’t hear his nervous breaths.

You only feel when he lowers himself onto the other side of your bed.  You about jump out of your skin, ready to reach for the bat by your nightstand until you realize just who has come to see you.

You throw yourself at him entirely, hugging him tight, arms and legs wrapping around him to squeeze and squeeze and never let go.  He holds you close, nuzzling into your neck.

He tells you how much he’s missed you.  That he misses the quiet of your life together, that it was the nicest thing to happen to him in… well, his whole life, really.  He thanks you for taking care of him, tells you he wants to do the same for you.

Over the next few days, you have a visitor every night.

Within a few weeks, he kisses you for the first time.

After six months, you are a resident of Vought Tower, living with him in his penthouse.

He is different in this environment.  More demanding, more intense, but not to you. 

No.

When he comes back, when he comes home, he falls into your arms much like you did the night he came back to you.  He leaves his burdens at the door, safe and sound with you.

The peace didn’t necessarily come from losing his memory. It didn’t come from the solitude of your old home, nor the routine of domesticity.

It came from you.

He found his peace with you.

[iridesky-the-writer]

aaa!!! Your writing is so good!! Can you do yandere Italy x reader who a yandere as well but in a more pathetic way. Like they give off wet cat energy and they're just trying their best but they're obsessed with him and very in love.

Headcanons plz, thanks (⁠≧v⁠≦⁠)

A/N: HEYHEYHEY! Sorry this took a while to answer. I've been busy with a lotta stuff, but I finally got time to write, so here ya go! Ciao ~ ♡ !

☆ Bella, Bella, Bella! ☆

|| Yandere! Pathetic! (Lololol) Feliciano x G/N! Reader headcanons ||

|| Contains: Feliciano being pathetic (of course)...ally in love with you,, kidnapping,, concussion mention,, Feliciano being insanely clingy and touchy,, a liiiiittle bit suggestive at the end if you squint (because c'mon, it's Feliciano) but could also be interpreted as just plain Yandere insanity or Feliciano's typical dumbassery,, speaking of which, Feliciano's usual dumbass activities,, and also implied murder. Which may or may not fall under the category of the previous content tag. ||

☆ So, so, SO CUTE!!!!

☆ Feliciano was always the type to fall in love at first sight--he usually follows his heart, not his head! And when he saw you, his heart just pumped faster right in your direction. He fell harder and farther than Alice down the Rabbit Hole.

☆ And so, naturally, he didn't even hesitate to run up to you without any regard for how he'd look doing it. His heart was rushing so fast-- you must be the one, right?? Right?????

☆ "Bella!!! Bella!!! Bella!!! Hellooo!! Can you hear me? Can we get dinner? Pleeeaaase?"

☆ He greeted you excitedly and tried to introduce himself, if not a bit awkwardly, though most definitely passionately. He wanted to get to know you so bad, even though he only knew you existed for less than a minute.

☆ You were probably a bit taken aback by his sudden request, though he'd be very relieved if you agree...

☆ ...Though, if you refuse, then he'd keep on pressing and pressing. It may get to the point where he starts quite literally begging on his knees.

☆ ...You're likely not cruel enough to make him go that far. Then again, it's Feliciano, who fell into deeply pathetic love with you the moment he saw you--he would probably drop to his knees the moment you say refuse a second time.

☆ And once he finally starts to get emotionally close to you (or, at least, you exchange names or at least make plans--to Feli, that's close enough), then that's when he gets clingy.

☆ Yes, Feliciano is the clingiest boy alive. Whether it's holding your hand and swinging it back and forth a bit as you walk or wrapping his arm around your waist from the side and placing his head on your shoulder, after you two officially become friends Feliciano will never let go of you--at least, if he can help it.

☆ Tearing Feliciano off of you is the equivalent of pushing away a sleepy cat from your lap; you'd need to push him off of you have plans and things to do, though you'll likely feel rather guilty doing it--then again, he's incredibly persistent in staying right where he is, and in the end, you might just let him stay either way. After all, how could you say no to that cute little face?

☆ Feliciano would try his best to court you in the best way he can--or, at the very least, knows. He tries to figure out everything about you, while also trying to get closer and closer...he just really, really wants to be close to you, you know.

☆ If you had dinner with him that night you met, then probably wouldn't stop talking and asking questions--he'd blabber on and stumble over his words, leaving him with cheeks painted a darker shade of red than before. He'd only stop to listen to you, during which he'd sport the biggest, dumbest smile possible.

☆ "Bella?? Where's your favorite place to go during the day? It wouldn't happen to be anywhere in my place, would it...?? Oh! No, no!! I meant Italy, me--my country! The place on the Earth!!"

☆ And once the dinner is over, Feliciano would steel himself, a sheepish smile on his face. This is it!! Now he can hug you or kiss you!! That's what he can do once the date is over, right? Oh, Feliciano has had lots of lovers, though he always gets scatterbrained around the end of the usual routine...

☆ As the two of you get up to leave the restaurant ( Feliciano paid for the whole -- with a complete disregard for what that might do to his savings... ) Feliciano gently taps you on the shoulder with a trembling hand, fluttering his long eyelashes in order to dry his treacle eyes.

☆ "...a-ah...Bella...can I have a kiss? Just one!! Pleeeaaaase!!"

☆ Before you know it, his lips are on yours--it's a very shy kiss, very brief, and when he pulls away again he's as red as a tomato.

☆ "I'm sorry!!! I'm sorry!!! I'm sorry!! Ahhhh, I can't go on like this!"

☆ And with that he dashes away.

☆ He forgot that he didn't get your number in the first place.

☆ And so, Feliciano, being the hot mess that he is, decided that the best course of action to see you again was stand out in the place where he first saw you and wait there until he happens to catch sight of you again.

☆ For days on end.

☆ You know, Feliciano can be airheaded, but when he puts his mind to finding the Bella of his dreams again he's more focused than a brain surgeon.

☆ Doesn't matter how long he has to wait. He will stand out in the cold until he spots you again.

☆ And about a week or so later, he sees you again and is practically euphoric.

☆ You'd be minding your own business when a pair of very familiar arms squeeze around your waist.

☆ "Bella!! I found you again! Never ever leave me again!!"

☆ And from then on he was clingier than ever. He was holding on to your for dear life--no matter how much you could try to shake him off, he just wouldn't budge.

☆ And that's when you were thrown to the ground, your head hit the pavement, and you got knocked out.

☆ You know, you've really got some bad luck here...

☆ You wake up in his little house, morning sunlight streaming through an open window. You're laid out on his couch. Thank goodness you were visiting Italy at the time...poor Feliciano would've had to answer so many questions at the airport to get you back to Italy...

☆ You hear the sound of clanging pots and pans from outside of the room-- you assume it's in the kitchen.

☆ One of Feli's love languages is cooking. He may not look the type, but he's good at it. Just...disorganized.

☆ Another clatter from the kitchen--and a scream that you've definitely heard before. You'd get up to see the commotion, but your head is killing you. You might have a concussion...

☆ If you have a concussion, you really shouldn't close your eyes again... you try your best to lay down and hope that you won't be alone for too long.

☆ Your prayers are answered by Feliciano passing through the doorway. And he looks messy and lightly...burnt?

☆ His expression is neutral until he sees your eyes open, and suddenly, he's all smiles. He skips over to you and leans down to hug you tight--when you wince, he tentatively lowers the pressure.

☆ "Bella!! You're alive!!! I was so so scared!! I told you not to leave me again!!! I was scared I would have to explain another dead body..."

☆ Another?

☆ "Oh, uh-huh-ha... let's not think about that!! All it was was just one less thing to worry about!! You know, you getting a concussion and all, some people shouldn't see, uhhhhh, someone may have gotten pushed off a pier...no matter! Don't ask questions!!!"

☆ He hugged you tighter and buried his face into the crook of your neck, tiny kisses fluttering across your skin like the rain of summer showers before you could argue.

☆ "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorryyy..." He whined. Auburn hair tickled your cheek, and wobbly hands toyed with the back of your shirt's collar.

☆ When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed, but also carried a confident smile.

☆ "Anyway, Bella! You must be hurt, buuut I know just how to fix that! Uncle Rome taught me all about it, I have something cooking in the kitchennn~! You won't even want to leave!! I promise!"

☆ It was then that you noticed that your wrists were bound at your front. Feliciano's eyes follow the path of your own, his face flushed. His hand still is gripping on to your shoulder, though it's now started to shake.

☆ "Uuuuh... you'll never want to leave! ...r-right, Bella?"

Thank you for reading!!

Like and reblog if you enjoyed! :)

[bachissidehoe]

no vacancy

chapter 2 of it's classy not classic

“Bachira? Hello?” Isagi panics into the phone, pacing around his bedroom in a plain white t-shirt and boxers for the second morning in a row. 

“Hey boyfriend.” Bachira’s groggy voice comes through on the other end. It sounds like he’s still in bed.

“So you’ve seen it.” 

“Yeah I saw it, it was sent to me like 50 times.” He yawns. 

“I’m so sorry. I can’t even believ- I’m really sorry I’ll tell everyone-” Isagi rushes through his words, speaking so fast that it doesn’t even sound like real sentences. 

“Calm down, calm down. Sheesh.” Bachira replies, sounding much too casual about this situation. It sounds like he’s just calmly stretching in his bed, while Isagi continues his panicked routine. 

“I need to tell everyone that’s not true, I can’t believe I dragged you into this-”

“You really don’t wanna date me that much?” Bachira giggles. How can he be so normal about this? 

“That’s not-” 

“It’s alright Isagi, it’s not a big deal. Some people took pictures of us together and it wasn’t hard to make the jump- you know, I just got out of a relationship and the breakup was pretty publicized in my circles.” Bachira explains.

Isagi holds his phone in front of them, scrolling through the tweets and articles about he and Bachira’s little date yesterday. Looking at it from an outside perspective, Isagi can completely understand why people may think that Bachira sipping from Isagi’s drink may indicate something more than a normal friendship. But anyone who knows Bachira personally would understand that these little quirks of his are just part of his personality.

“Oh- I didn’t even know.” 

“I know, my ex already texted me about it to ask what’s going on.” He chuckles. 

A situation like that would make Isagi even more panicked, but once again, Bachira just takes everything in his stride. 

“What? What did you say to her?” Isagi asked.

“You mean him? I didn’t respond to him yet.” Bachira replies.

Isagi pauses, nearly choking on air. That makes even more sense. “I didn’t know you were gay.” He blurts out. How did they hang out and it never came up? Especially because of the topic of conversation. But all things considered, that makes even more sense as to why the public seems to assume the two of them are in a relationship.

Bachira just laughs. “I’m bi.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said it like-” 

“Yeah. In my community it’s very known, so it makes sense that people would see me with you, and you just “came out”, and assume something’s going on.” Bachira sighs. “I probably should have thought of that.” 

“Well-” Isagi pauses. “What are you gonna say to him?” 

It’s not necessarily surprising that Bachira Meguru is bisexual. Isagi wouldn’t think anything of it if he weren’t involved in this current situation. But honestly, Isagi feels bad that his friend identifies this way at this specific point in time. Because if Bachira were straight, that would be an easy fix. 

“Not sure.” 

Isagi just sighs. “I’m sorry man.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ll make a public post and clear everything up.” 

“Actually.” Bachira pauses. Isagi can hear him shuffling around, possibly leaving his bed. “I don’t think you should.” 

“Huh?”

“I think you should wait. It might not be worth explaining.” He continues. 

“Are you-”

“I’m saying we should just fake it. I’m in Tokyo for a couple months for work, we fake date until I move away, and then we fake break up because I’m moving and you’re a pro player and all.” He suggests. He says it so casually too, like it’s not the most insane idea Isagi has ever heard. “You know, just like the movies!” 

“You’re insane.” Isagi replies. It’s really all he can say. This can’t possibly be real life. 

“I’m so serious.” Bachira laughs. “Hold on, I’m coming over. Send me your address.”

“What the fuck is even happening?” Isagi feels his body shaking, he’s sweating yet freezing. He’s probably having a stress reaction. He might have to end up in a mental hospital. How the absolute fuck is he going to be able to show up to practice today?

“We have to make a plan. So I’m coming over. I’ll bring some food.” Bachira says, explaining his intentions as if they’re spies planning the heist of the century. Like it’s some game they have to win. Even after so many years, Bachira’s Blue Lock ego still hasn’t wavered. 

Isagi agrees, since he doesn’t really see himself having another option, but the entirety of the situation still doesn’t feel at all real. Back in Blue Lock, Isagi truly felt like his friendship with Bachira was special, like even though they hardly knew each other, they were on the same wavelength from the start. He assumed both of them would make it out, and he still believes they would have if not for Bachira’s injury. 

After that, Isagi was too embarrassed to talk to Bachira as often anymore. He felt guilty, like he didn’t earn his title over someone as talented as Bachira. It felt too weird to maintain their closeness. But now, it’s like it’s all back to normal, where Bachira is just as comfortable with him as he was six years ago. 

But that’s just how Bachira is. Clearly Isagi hasn’t respected Bachira’s ability to innocently trust the world. 

“Hey there!” 

Isagi opens the door to a smiling Bachira Meguru, holding multiple bags of takeout.

“That’s a lot of food.”

“Is it?” Bachira giggles. “I don’t know what you liked so I picked one of everything. Except the stuff I hate.”

“Geez. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He lets himself in, placing the bags of food on Isagi’s dining table. “I have more money than I know what to do with anyway.” 

“I get that.” Isagi replies. It’s true, being 22 years old doesn’t really require as much money as the two of them make- Isagi being a pro soccer player and Bachira being a successful artist. They can pay their bills, buy their own food, donate to charities and whatever else will make them look good to the general public, give some money to their families, and they still seem to have a lot of it. Neither of them are used to it. “Thanks.”

“Think of it like a date. Our second date.” 

“Stop it.” Isagi looks away, feeling his face flush. He doesn’t understand how Bachira can still be so casual about this despite being caught up in a blatant lie. Isagi can’t help but assume that the worst will happen, that he’ll be outed for being a liar and a horrible person and fired from being a pro player. Bachira, on the other hand, seems like he couldn’t care less. 

“So let’s talk about it.” Bachira sits at the table, making himself at home as he starts unpacking some of the food. “I think we should just keep giving the public what they want, we can hang out and go on “dates” and stuff, go to each other’s events, and it’ll die down on its own.” 

“You’re being so normal about this.” Isagi replies. 

Isagi figured he couldn’t eat with how much stress he’s under, but those pork buns smell good enough to convince him to sit across from his friend and try one. 

Bachira shrugs, shoveling a few chopsticks full of rice in his mouth. “Well, it’s not as big of a deal as you think it is.” 

“Huh? I trapped you in this with me because I lied on an interview. Now you have to pretend like you’re my boyfriend and I’m not even gay, I don’t know if you’re trying to fix things with your ex or whatever, and if you weren’t but wanted to date other people your entire time in Tokyo is just ruined because you wouldn’t be able to date if everyone thinks you’re dating m-” 

Bachira flicks a grain of rice at Isagi, hitting him in the nose. 

“What the fuck Bachira?” Isagi swipes the rice away, meeting the gaze of his smirking friend. 

“Just say you don’t wanna date me.” He giggles. 

“Can you be for fucking real for one second?” 

“Fine, fine.” He picks the face-rice off the table and tosses it in an empty bag. “I don’t care that you’re straight, I like hanging out with you and this would just mean hanging out with you more. I am definitely not trying to get back with Hiro, and after that relationship, I’m also not trying to date or fuck anyone else for the forseeable future.” Bachira explains. “I think that covers everything you were concerned about.” 

Though much of Bachira Meguru’s cutesy, eccentric personality remains the same as it was back in Blue Lock, much about him has changed as well. Isagi can tell that he prefers to be lighthearted, but that he’s also matured a lot. He’s put together, he dresses nice, it’s clear he’s maintained his physique and takes care of himself, and he’s obviously working hard. 

“Any of that could change, though.” Isagi says, but much quieter and less confident than before. 

“Stop making it seem like you’re ruining my life.” Bachira smiles, softer this time. 

Isagi sighs. It doesn’t seem like a big deal to Bachira now, but anything could change in the next couple of months. 

“Fine.” He says after a while. “It’s not different than just hanging out with you, I guess.” 

“Yippee!” Bachira raises his chopsticks into the air. “My new classy relationship, Blue Lock best friends to lovers, rich boys from different worlds-” 

“Damn don’t get too excited.” Isagi jokes. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Bachira leans in as if there could be anyone listening in Isagi’s completely empty apartment. 

“Uh, ye-”

“I sort of want Hiro to be jealous.” He admits. 

“Oh-”

“Anyway!” Bachira quickly shoves some more food in his mouth. “Moving on.” 

“O-kay?” Isagi finds it best if he just lets Bachira lead the conversation. It’s always been that way, with Bachira doing whatever he wants and Isagi simply letting him. 

“I have to ask, have you ever even dated anyone? Sorry if it’s too personal.” 

“No, no, I guess we should make sure we know things about each other.” Isagi answers. “I’ve dated here and there, but never a serious relationship.” 

“So you’ve kissed girls?”

“I mean yeah-”

“Have you had sex before?”

“Not super often but occasionally-” 

“Ah.”

Isagi answers the barrage of questions quickly, but it’s clear Bachira needs some additional context. They’re definitely personal questions, but nothing Isagi is super uncomfortable sharing with him. They’re “dating” now, after all. He decides to elaborate.

“I just can’t saddle anyone with being in a relationship with me. Any girl would always be second to soccer. There’s no vacancy in my life for a person to come between what I really love. I just don’t think it’s possible for me, so it wouldn’t be fair to her, you know?” Isagi explains, looking down at his untouched pork bun. Now’s as good a time as any to actually start eating. 

He makes a mental note to ask Bachira where he ordered from later. This food is damn good. 

“Do you know that girls are interested in you?” Bachira inquires further.

“Yeah, I mean of course. But like I said, there’s no room for anyone between me and soccer. It’s the only thing I care about that deeply, I guess it’s like my one true love or whatever.” Isagi answers, taking another bite. 

Bachira chuckles. “I totally get it, but I think you’d be surprised.” 

“Hm?”

“You’d be surprised how simple it can be to have two loves at the same time, where both of them are number 1.” He smiles. 

[jillsandwhichs]

Cleon - OneShots/AUs Fanfiction, Chapter 17, Exploration

Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Redfield & Leon Kennedy

Summary: Claire & Leon explore an abandoned and supposedly haunted house together

Status of their relationship in this one shot: Friends with clear feelings

WC: 3.0k

Type: SFW

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

Beneath Claire as she walked was the sound of leaves crunching and branches breaking. The entire yard was riddled with both. Occasionally, Claire could swear she heard movement so there's a possibility the area has wildlife scattered around it too. Most likely little animals such as chipmunks or raccoons, nothing major.

She wasn't the one holding a flashlight, that was Leon. For her, it was a bit darker, Leon was a few feet in front of her, paving the way for the two of them. Maybe this was a stupid idea. They were bored and free, the idea of checking out some creepy abandoned house that has rumors of being haunted sounded daunting and entertaining. They are full grown adults though so this is rather childish in her perception.

Nevertheless though, she's enjoying herself.

On the car ride here, they got some dinner and ate it before venturing out to this rundown place. When Leon first pulled his car in, the headlights shined down upon the building and immediately it had an eerie attachment to it-as if there were spirits already on an uprise. Claire isn't sure on whether or not she believes in ghosts but she guesses she'll find that out by tonight.

Claire & Leon don't hang out together alone often, they're usually with someone or they simply don't chill together. Lately, they've been very busy and when the opportunity to visit each other striked, they didn't take it for granted. Claire likes being around Leon. He brings a new sense of emotion into her life. He's a great guy and well, they've bonded over time surely, especially considering they endured the RC incident together.

The two circled the entire yard for an entry way-nothing. The front door had been blocked off by some boards and tape which in all honesty should've been the first red flag. But Claire & Leon being the dare devils they are, they'll proceed onwards. "Well, what should we do? There's no entrance." Leon chuckled, shining his light all around. "Ha, yeah, well, maybe break a window?" Claire was only joking; Leon didn't realize that.

Without saying a word, Leon picked a brick up off of the ground (There were multiple around the house) and he chuckled it at the large back window, earning a shocked yelp from Claire. "Leon! Are you crazy!?" She covered her mouth, stunned by his actions. "What? You just said to-" "I was obviously kidding!" Claire giggled. "Oh." Leon said with a monotone voice, making Claire snicker furthermore.

Curiosity killed the cat though-Claire peered into the window-it was pitch black. "Shine your light in there." Claire pointed at the window. She was leaning forwards, trying to get a decent view into the horrid house. Leon did and the sight was plain but exciting. Leon must've threw the brick through the living room because there were dusty old couches in there and items scattered all around. "Maybe a quick look wouldn't be so bad...?" Claire thought aloud. "We'll be fast." Leon was just as mischievous.

The two of them both agreed they'd check it out. Claire felt like a teenager again, doing something she shouldn't be. She's so used to serving justice and being a good girl, so what's a little bit of bad going to do? Leon and Claire inched towards the window-an oddly familiar smell filling their nostrils. It gave Claire a hint of nostalgia, but the smell is just a mixture of dust and copper, maybe antiques too. "I'll help you in." Leon stated. Leon jumped down first, it was only about a three foot drop. "I'll catch you." Leon said kindly. The drop wasn't a problem for Claire though.

From where she was, Claire hopped down and Leon grabbed her hips. He was a gentleman. He didn't want to take a risk of her falling. They both have to be careful in this place, who knows how dangerous it is. "Thanks." "Yeah." Leon spoke with a monotone voice. His hands lingered on her waist before she ultimately pulled away, ready to explore.

Claire analyzed the room, it was in fact a living room. There were couches, old antiques, a table and some dusty old bookshelves. Claire was coughing alongside Leon, but they kept it low. "This place has to be decades old." "Most likely." Leon responded. Claire didn't want to touch anything, but it all looked so interesting. "Let's keep touching things to a minimal, then we can wash up once we're home." They already established that after this, they'll go home to their own places.

Leon was on the other side of the room, checking out some old grandfather clock as Claire admired the bookshelf. It was packed full of old books, all in which Claire was reading the titles of. She recognized a few, but they were all from before the 2000s even began-that verifies her theory. She grabbed one book and checked it out. The dust from it coated her hands but she simply ignored it. The book was wrinkly, as if water has damaged it. She opened it up and was surprised to see a janky old bookmark on page 75-she wonders if anyone ever got to finish this book.

Putting the book back, Claire turned around and watched Leon. He was messing with the clock, seeming in awe with it. "What's so eye capturing about that hunk-a-junk?" Claire giggled, strutting towards him and standing beside him. "Nothing much, I just think it looks cool." "It does." Claire agreed. Claire wouldn't dare touch the furniture, she wanted to leave it alone and she presumes Leon feels the same.

To Claire's left, there was a door. It was super run down. There isn't even a door handle on it from what Claire can see.

"Wanna go see what's in there?" "Sure, yeah." Leon nodded and followed behind her. Claire headed to the door and used her foot to moderately open it. With old establishments like these, you have to pay mind to the fact they've been structured forever. Messing with something too quickly could earn you a collapse. Luckily, nothing bad happened and the door slid open just fine.

Both Claire and Leon were wrong-the room they were in was not a living room because now, that's where they are and it's connected to a kitchen. They must have just been in a study or library of sorts. The living room & kitchen were connected and the area had lots of open room.

The living room homed a large, elegant couch with a fire place that looks as if its falling apart. Between the couch and fireplace is a table-its legs are snapped but it's somehow upholding itself. Behind the couch was an entire cabinet of figures and more vintage antiques. It was similar to the study but more fancy and large in the sense of room size and amount of stuff.

The kitchen was small but packed full. There was an island counter in the center with counters along the corner wall too. There was a built in oven and sink-both of which looked ages old. The fridge had it's bottom door ripped off and the racks teared out too, it was strange. The countertops were so very dirty, you couldn't tell what their original color was. The cabinet doors were off too, which was also weird.

Claire shuffled through the shitty cabinets. All that was left behind inside of them were cans of food and dank glasses. Nothing in this place has been used for decades. Leon was rummaging through some drawers, being very cautious whilst doing so. "A lot of canned food, like a crap ton." Claire snorted, picking one up-canned corn. "These drawers just have silverware and rags, nothing special." Leon spoke as he closed the last drawer. "Hmm." Claire mumbled, setting the can back down.

She's very curious as to what went down at this place. Why is it so-called haunted? Did people pass away here? So many questions to be left with unknown answers.

"I wonder what this place looked like years ago, when people still resided in it." "Yeah, me too. I bet it was a gorgeous and that's just going by size." "Definitely." Claire replied softly. She ambled towards where the front door was and pushed on it-it feels literally impossible to open from the inside and the outside. "I am also curious as to why this place is boarded up." "To keep people like us out." Leon laughed. Claire giggled, "Great answer."

Leon is a humorous man.

"These rooms are boring, let's go upstairs." Leon pointed at the wooden, worn out staircase. Is this man crazy? Whatever gets the adrenaline pumping. "Uhm..." "Oh Claire, don't chicken out on me now, I'll protect you." Leon leaned down towards her face with a grin. Admittedly, Claire felt speechless; Leon's never been that close to her before. "Mm, well, I can protect myself." Claire retorted. "No doubt in my mind, Red." Leon teased and chuckled before backing away.

Leon was the first to stroll to the stairs. He stopped at the first step and glanced at Claire; "Ladies first." Such an ass. "I think you're the lady here." "I am nothing but a gentleman." Leon joked. Claire rolled her eyes playfully and took the first step-so far so good.

The first couple steps were fine, not a single creak or crack. This surprised Claire. This house-which is practically a mansion-had a decent set of stairs! Wow! Claire was light on her feet, being so careful to the point Leon was ready to just pick her up and carry her himself. "I don't think it'd kill you to move a bit faster." "Bite me." "Don't tempt me." This man...

Claire reached the fourth step before the final one when suddenly, a pair of hands went to her waist. Claire shrieked as Leon lifted her up as if she was a feather. He set her down on the top floor with a snicker. "Leon!" "Claire!" He mocked her, squeezing her hips before letting them go. "What if the stairs broke?" "Your butt would've protected you." Leon shrugged. "Right. Very funny." Claire smacked his upper shoulder.

There were only three doors upstairs.

One to their right and left and one directly down the hall. "Where to first?" "Anywhere but a bathroom, I don't want to contract a disease." Claire giggled and Leon sorted. "Right door it is then." Leon pushed the door open.

The room was completely empty aside from a bed, which had nothing on it and a dresser which has two drawers missing from its base. There was also a picture on top of the dresser-maybe it has some answers. With Leon behind her, Claire picked up the frame for the both of them to view. It showed what appeared to be a husband and wife, their dog and a young child, a girl Claire assumes.

"They must've been the precious owners." "Yeah." "It feels so... Saddening? Knowing these people once lived here and now they're all gone and all that remains of them is this home." "Don't get all sappy on me." "Leon, seriously, it's sad." Claire was being serious. One of her biggest fears is being left alone and dying-this case covers that. Leon sighed deeply and set his hand on her lower back, "Sorry Claire. You're very empathetic-it's charming." "Don't mock me." "I'm not. I mean it." Leon said sincerely.

Eventually, after gazing at it for a bit, Claire put the photo down, wanting to respect it.

Looking over at the bed, Claire could only guess this was once the parent's bedroom. "I wish there was a way to know what year these folks lived here." "I know, me too." Leon responded. Claire got on her knees for a short second to look under the bed-nothing though. This night has been rather uneventful but still fun nonetheless. "Is the bathroom still a no-go?" "Yep. We can check the other room though, I assume it's the one across from here." "I'll go see." Leon murmured.

Leon exited the room and checked out the other room. It was indeed a young childs room, specifically a girl's. The walls were a deep, rosey pink color and the floor was carpeted although some were patchy and didn't have carpeting. There was a lofted bed without a mattress and beneath it was a collection of wrinkled stuffed animals. It looked as though water had got on them and they've been dried out for years. The sight was sad to say the least.

"That the bathroom?" Claire shouted from the other room. "Nope, a little girl's room." Those words pulled at Claire's heart strings.

She slowly left the parents room and joined Leon in the daughters bedroom. "God this is depressing." "Sure is." Leon picked a stuffed dinosaur up, checking it out before gently putting it back down and glancing over at Claire. "We should probably leave this place soon, I feel weird being in here." "Same, I have the jitters." Claire spoke with a low voice. She looked at some old crinkled drawings in awe. The little girl who once housed this bedroom clearly enjoying coloring.

There were six pages in total, all of which drawn on and covered in all sorts of colors. Claire found it to be amusing and adorable. "Check these out." She handed them to Leon. He looked through all six and snickered, "Quite the artist we have on our hands." He admired the little girl's work. It was a sweet sight to see. Claire took them back from Leon shortly after and put them back in the exact spot she found them. She doesn't want to misplace anything in this house-she doesn't want any bad juju.

As for this house being haunted, no. They haven't experienced anything paranormal. This place is more somber than scary. Claire hopes this family is still somewhere out there or passed peacefully. A tragedy is something Claire prays didn't happen.

Claire viewed the outside world through the large window on the wall. There were no signs of life or anything. The atmosphere was low and tranquil, Claire figured this was a decent time to get going.

"I'm getting the heebie-jeebies, we should head out." "Ok." Leon was all for it.

The two of them made their way down the stairs and carefully at that. One wrong move and boom, the home is on top of them. Claire took a final good look at the interior of this home. Everything about this place hosts bad vibes. Not necessarily because it's quote on quote "haunted" but because there was once a loving family here and they're suddenly gone-all of their personal belongings left behind. It's freakish and Claire doesn't want to stay to much longer. It's time to go.

As Claire went to enter the study so she and Leon could leave through where they entered, she checked her shoulder and noticed Leon wasn't there. She got frightened, she won't deny it. "Leon?" Claire called out, jogging back to the staircase to see if he was on the steps, he wasn't though. Did he go into another room and she just didn't realize? "Leon? Hey, let's go!" Claire yelled. Her voice was shakier than before.

Claire ambled to the kitchen counter, looking around it to see if he was attempting to play some sort of sick joke on her but he wasn't there either. Horror coursed through her veins.

"This seriously isn't funny." Claire shouted, checking behind each couch-still nothing. There's no way he could've vanished into thin air.

She decided to check the study, maybe he slipped past her without her noticing.

Making way to the door, Claire was trembling. She couldn't keep her hands still. She wasn't just scared, she was more-so worried. She's been in a lot more scarier places than this house. She just wants Leon to be alright. And she swears, if he's playing some kind of trick on her, she's gonna get furious.

Claire opened the door and stepped into the study, looking to her right first. That was a big mistake. "Boo!" Leon yelled, grabbing her upper elbows from behind her. Claire nearly peed herself as she screamed, immediately covering her lips to keep herself silent. She turned around instantly and had a look of fear on her face. Leon began to chuckle. His hands were now on her shoulders. He did feel slightly bad considering he could see and hear how worried she was but still, he's getting quite the kick out of this.

"That was NOT funny!" Claire shouted, slapping his arm hard. He stepped back and chortled, rubbing his arm. "Damn Claire, my bad." Leon mumbled, gazing down at her. "I was so worried!" "I know, I know, sorry. I shouldn't have upset you... Forgive me?" He hummed. His voice was so gentle & low. Claire looked into his eyes, her face still pouting. "Hmm." She murmured. Leon tilted his head, looking like a lost puppy. Dammit... "Ugh, yes, fine, you're forgiven." "Good." Leon laughed.

Leon's eyes darted to the window they came in through and he heaved. "I really shouldn't have broken the window." "Ya think?" Claire spat out sarcastically. "Hey, you're the one who gave the indication." "Nope." Claire shot his words down as she made way to the window. "Now, let's actually go home-enough of your games." "For now." Leon winked and jumped up onto the grass outside before he then kindly helped Claire up as well.

"So kind, thank you very much." "Don't give yourself false hope, I still bite." "You have your ways." Claire giggled and the two of them made way back to the car...

[tonysolomon4jc]

The satanic Illuminati runs the television industry, music industry, fashion industry, financial industry, health care industry, video game industry, and many other industries, because they want all of the money while promoting the 7 deadly sins of pride, lust, jealously, greed, gluttony, sloth (laziness), and wrath (sinful anger). They also promote fear, violence,, witchcraft, drugs and alcohol. They are not anti religion. They are antichrist. Meaning that they do as much as possible to get us to avoid promoting and obeying the teachings of Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ is the only way to God the Father. Turn off your TV. They study what causes you to sin. Switch to Christian music. Stop being programmed by satan. Be holy and stay pure. You were bought at a price by your God. You will be judged for your words, thoughts and actions. Fasting and praying breaks demonic strongholds. Repent or perish. Luke 13:3 Confess your sins and be forgiven. 1 John 1:9 Keep the faith in Jesus Christ until you die. No matter how bad things get on Earth. God loves you and will never leave a true follower of Jesus Christ. Get the gotquestions app and a Bible app that reads to you. Study the Holy Bible. We're in the end times. Stay holy, pure, sober, humble, loving and meek. Obey Jesus Christ over every person. Be blessed and bless others with love. The satanic Illuminati is anti-Christ & they love the numbers 13 & 33. Revelation 13 is the chapter that talks about the 1st & 2nd Beast (the Antichrist & the False Prophet) demanding the Mark of the Beast.

Mark 13:13 says that we will be hated for the name of Jesus, but if we endure as followers of Jesus Christ until the end then we will be saved from damnation in Hell.

They love the number 33, because Jesus possibly died at 33 & 33% of the angels were kicked out of heaven with satan & turned into fallen angels/demons that are condemned to the eternal Lake of Fire. We'll get the crown of eternal life if we keep our faith in Jesus Christ until we die. Watch how often news or movie statistics have 13 or 33 in them. M is the13th letter in the alphabet. Look for M, W, 13 & 33. A vast amount of satanic Illuminati symbolism can be found in probably every corporate logo, superbowl halftime show, music & movie award show, cartoon & movie. For instance, the Taco Bell logo has a 666 in it. It consists of 3 6's (a pink 6, a blue 6 & a yellow 6). The yellow 6 also represents satan's eye (like on the top of the pyramid on the $1 bill). Most celebrities show us the one-eyed salute of allegiance to satan when they get their photo taken. They purposefully hide one of their eyes. Thus giving satan the one-eyed salute of allegiance. Google "celebrities one eye Illuminati photo". They also thow up devil horns or the OK hand sign since to them it is the 666 sign. Presidents do to. They often take photos with the 666 hand sign over their eye. Many corporations are named after pagan gods, AKA demons. Nike was a pagan god. Walt Disney, Kellogg, Monster energy drinks, Google chrome, & Coca-Cola are a few logos with 666 hidden in them. The satanic Illuminati controls the major corporations. There are many websites that show us the corporate logos with triple 6's, stars, pyramids, lightning (because Jesus said that he saw satan fall like lightning), suns, moons, Satan's eye & other Illuminati symbols hidden in plain view. Get the gotquestions app and a Bible app that reads to you. Study God's word daily and stay holy. Be rapture ready & preach Jesus Christ!! The satanic Illuminati like the letter X. It is getting more popular in culture. Like Twitter's new name and x-men. It reminds the NWO of the square & compass & skull & crossbones. The immune systems are already weakened, from the mRNA. Messiah 2030 shows how 53 Bible prophecies point to 2030. That means that 2030 is really going to be The Great Reset. The WEF is talking about The Great Reset of the World in 2030. That means that disease X is part of the 7 year tribulation period from Revelation, which may have just begun in 2024. Study God's word daily. Repent. Obey Jesus Christ. Keep your faith in Jesus no matter how bad things get. Guard your eyes, ears and heart. Please God with your thoughts and behavior. Trust God's perfect will, word and timing. Praise Jesus with your music. Preach repentance and The Gospel of Jesus Christ. Pray to God only. Pray in complete faith in Jesus' name. Be blessed and bless others with love. 🙏

[hughungrybear]

Me watching Only Friends Ep. 9:

1. For this ep, I just want Sand to run as far away as possible from Ray (although based on previous ep's preview, I know that wouldn't happen) 😔

2. I don't know, it's too unrealistic for Top to change that fast. I do think that he is just not used to losing anything, which is why he is trying hard to win Mew back. As for Mew, I guess it is also the first time that he was wrong about someone (although, I pretty much doubt that) especially when he prides himself of "knowing how to accurately read" people (see episodes 1 and 2). I still see these two people trying to prove to themselves that their sense of self is not entirely wrong.

3. I'm beginning to think that Sand is either a hopeless romantic or an effing masochist. Wtf. He already knows Ray is toxic. He KNOWS RAY WILL CONTINUE TO HURT HIM (and himself). If he has any self-respect, he will walk away.

4. <on videoing Ray making out with Sand) There's the Top I know.

5. I still don't know Atom's angle in this scene. I mean from being in a cis relationship then jumping straight to gay s*x. With Boston, of all people. Why? I don't think he is fuelled with plain ole curiosity. He practically seduced Boston (although let's face it, it doesn't take much to get Boston h*rny)

6. I think I can recognise Pisaeng's (BMF) campervan lol. Hurray, for Team Second Option! Get an effing move on, gods dammit. Well, at least Sand is aware he is a masochist lol 😅

7. Yo and Mew. Really, don't start relationships that you actually don't want. The fvck. 😑

8. I love Khaotung, but Ray. Ray is trash. At this point, he is using his pain as excuse to be a manipulative, little sh*t to everyone. Also, I guess Mew's brain has been addled badly with drugs and alcohol to believe that Ray's "the word love makes most sense with you" is anything but a confession of Ray's toxic dependency on him.

9. Frankly, I don't think these kids should have romantic relationships. Especially Ray. Ray should just stop dragging everyone to his personal hell.

10. Atom is acting like a possessive bf. AFTER AN EXPERIMENTAL ONE-NIGHT STAND. I can't believe I am siding with Boston in this argument 😂😂😂😂 but fvck, here we are.

11. Maybe Sand and Nick could try it as a couple. I mean, they are both decent people. Maybe they can work it out. 😅 <after 5 seconds> ooof, Nick read my mind lol. Too bad, the kiss started nothing 😅😅😅😅

12. I just want the mums to smack some sense into Mew. Maybe, it would also get rid some of his self-righteousness and feelings of moral superiority 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

13. No, Nick. You left Sand to be fed to a smug, manipulative wolf.

14. Can I push Ray in to that lake? Right now, I have a strong urge to drown Ray and leave his dead body in that mountain top. I mean, Ray is making Top looked good IN MY EYES. Pretty sure the mums prefer Top at this point too. The fvck.

15. Is it just me, or Dan just feels creepy? This show is triggering all my paranoid senses lol 😅😅😅 Also, Nick is not known for his good judgement, he lets his hormones lead the way.

16. Oh, Nick. You poor, crazy sod. Why are you still following Boston??? Your need for closure is driving me nuts. 😑

17. Waiiit. Is Boston actually regretful? Really? Boston? Or is the sight of Nick smiling with somebody else triggering him too?

18. Is this a premonition? Will Ray die at the end of this series? 🤔🤔🤔 I mean, Ray is perpertually high, drunk, and destructive. Pretty sure he is heading to an early death at this rate.

19. Ah, Sand. You really should stop sticking your d*ck in crazy.

20. Ray, Mew looks okay even though you technically cheated on him. Should be your cue to understanding that only you thought you were boyfriends. Mew just needed a rebound.

21. Ngl, I was expecting Mixx in that elevator, not Mond! What is he doing here anyway? Is he another one of Top's exes???

We are almost at the finish line and I'm undecided who needs a sharp smack in the head the most lol. I guess, with Mew and Ray 'breaking up', there's a chance that Sand will not be a sad boy anymore. Although, I still have a strong urge to m*rder Ray after all was said and done.

I still don't know what Atom's deal is. It just seems so sudden that he is in "love" with Boston. Looks like Boston will do some self-reflection but why is Nick still there? I guess, the man just loves the hurt. Also, looks like Mond will play the ex, Boeing. I always thought it was gonna be Mixx.

Well, one thing's for sure — the show is about to get messier. I think Im'ma need to go to church now 😂😂😂😂

[selodka-pod-shuboy]

listen

"the distortionist" by ghost and pals fits Helen so well

we dont know if once entering the mirror she broke it (mag 047), but if we interpret like she did (which can be seen as a big stretch, i will admit) the song fits almost perfectly: while she is a victim of distortion, the Helen that is left is no longer her, and although she does help the main crew throught seasons 4 and 5, she is not doing that with no ill intent. its all just a facade for her lies. most lyrics can be her telling the archivist her last words, her excuseon why she shouldnt be obliterated by the ceasless watcher.

"In all this madness, it's madness Oh-ho, it's sickening, it's sickening You know it's unfair, it's unfair How you distorted my reflection You know it's too late"

could be her interpretation of what happened to her the second time she was in the corridors and the moment she opens her own door for the first time.

"You're lost in a world of funhouse mirrors, twisted for eternity Bending light in a way that shows refraction of hypocrisy"

just her first encounter with the corridors.

"Whimsical, dear, your lies are clear, now, who the hell would've ever guessed? Play my games and abide my ways, there's no way you can compensate (One, two, three, break)"

could be Jon saying his last words to her and the first time this lyric appeares can be how she tells him that he cant do anything in her own domain, and:

"And sure, I'm the one who swung the metal bat But hey, I can't control the urge! Nobody's gonna blame me for that"

could be Jon knowing there are no dire consequences for destroying Helen, which also circles back to how Helen freed Jon from Micheal in her first appearance as the distortion

anyway thank you for reading through my ramblings i just think its really neat whenever songs fit certain characters/situations and had to share. id love to hear if you have anything to add. also i know that you're not really into tma as you were a few months ago and i know you did playlists regarding the fears but i cant seem to find them so i apologise if you added this one already and did an analysis for a possible interpretation but it has not left for a quite a bit now

Thank you so much for sharing this, dear friend!

Feel free to drop more of those, they are a delight to read! I agree on almost every point, except for the last one - I would argue that it's in fact still Helen, trying to convince Jon, that it's in her very nature to distort and lie, and that he, or anybody on their level (watchers) can't be mad or judgemental at her for potentially having ill intent (she so does).

Similarly to this she also would use:

"Ignorant atrocities and colorless apologies

This isn't what it looks to be

I'm not as cruel as you see me"

I would like to add some other thoughts on the lyrics

"The truth projected through a lens with nothing proving otherwise"

Like, only way Jon was able to kill her so fast, was due to her accidentally burping out a genuine lie, that was not in any way distorted or concealed, nor cleverly and nicely folded into paranoia. It could as well be plain truth to him, and the lens that he was looking through.

"Stuck in a spotlight brighter than the smile no one ever saw"

Giving The Great Twisting and Sanikov Land

[quantum-bliss]

Day 10 of Heartbreak

Revelation. Yesterday I wasn't sober. It took being intoxicated for me to see who I was. This entire time I only side one side of things, which lets me know the truth was far from me. The truth is now closer to me than any of the other days.

Day 1 and Day 2 of heartbreak are missing from my writings, they are missing for a reason. It was my anger that made me severe our relationship and I could not possibly write what was I feeling in that state of mind. It would be evil to even put such words into the universe.

Fast forward to now, I realize how deceived I was in my initial heartbreak. I truly believed you had become this awful who cared nothing about the 5 years we spent together. I felt like you did everything just to hurt to me. Now I know I was nothing but a fool to believe such a thing.

Truth is, you triggered something in me that I havent seen in myself in a long time... vulnerability. Vulnerability can mean alot of things, but for me ill define as being in a position to be hurt.

It had been so long since I allowed anyone close enough to hurt me. Not one friend, not one lover, not one family memeber could get to me. I hid myself in plain sight, never sharing too much, never depending too much, never opening my heart too much, and never being vulnerable.

So when you finally did something that hurt me, it was as if the safe world I had spent so long building had come crashing down. I felt everything all at once. Every disappointment, every betrayal, every loss, every rejection, every pain I hid from myself came rushing in.

I had no where to run, no where to hide, no where to find safety. The wall on my heart had been compromised.

Even worse, somewhere in my mind I felt like I was waiting for you to slip up, just so that self-sabotaging voice could say 'see I told you. You cant trust anyone.' This is what I meant when I told you that you are not fully responsible for what I felt. My heart had been broken a million times before you, but so has yours.

I finally realize this why most people have such dysfunctional relationships. We are all suffering from decades of internal bleeding. Instead of addressing our wounds, we keep reaching out and hoping someone or something will heal us. But, in the end, we just end up hurting the people we love and hurting ourselves.

Now I understand the meaning of love hurts. It has nothing to do with love actually hurting, it is the fact that we are so imperfect that theres no way were not going to hurt each other when get close to another person.

You and I were both broken when we met, we were just broken in different ways. I cant judge you for your form of brokeness, nor can I judge myself. Since we know at some point we will get hurt, I guess its up to us to decide in what ways are we okay with being hurt and what ways are we not.

Anyway, today I calm. I feel confident in my future. I am not angry, sad, distracted, or numb, I just am. I thought the day my heart stops hurting would be the day I began to forgot you, but thats not true. In fact, I think I love you more now than ever. That is because, for the first time im my life I am beginning to truly heal. My heart feels healthier and more capable of loving, which means it is also more capable of forgiving.

I am beginning to forgive both your actions and my own, and even those who hurt me before you. I wish you had met this version of me, but im just glad I am meeting this version of myself.

As always life changes daily, but for the first time in this treacherous cycle of heartbreak, I can truly say im glad this happened. I hope one day you can say the same.

[bibislut]

Handmade, With Love.

Summary: Harry likes handmade gifts. Draco likes Harry. With Potter's birthday fast approaching, Draco needs to work quickly to finish his present, and maybe win his heart?

Words: 1874

Warnings: Swearing, making out.

Read on Ao3

Potter liked homemade gifts. At first, Draco had thought that the Gryffindor was just humouring his godson’s sweet-yet-awfully-made presents he would present him with every so often. But then Granger gleefully pointed out Potter’s scarf one night at the Leaky Cauldron, an apparent result of Mrs Weasley’s attempts at teaching her daughter-in-law how to knit. And then, one evening, as they all crowded in Potter’s living room, drinks in hand, he noticed one of Luna’s mugs amongst the glasses, the hand-moulded clay the only remaining clean drinking receptacle. 

So when the darker man had dropped into Draco’s haberdashery and couturier one day in early July to ask if he’d repair a tear in his favourite shirt in time for his birthday party - “none of that mates rates bollocks Malfoy, I’m happy to pay” - the blond was struck with an idea. One he hoped would perhaps truly convey his feelings to his friend.

The shirt in question was rather plain, somewhere between merlot red and sangria purple. But Draco could see why it was Potter’s favourite; it hugged his muscles deliciously, the sleeves rolled up perfectly to show the veins on his scarred Auror arms, his rough fingers working the buttons on the cuff easily. 

“You can’t possibly be thinking of wearing that suit again, Potter.” Draco drawled, as he took the darker man’s measurements. 

“You can’t possibly think I care enough to actually go out of my way to buy a new one, Malfoy.” Harry copied his tone, patiently holding his arms up as the blond ran the tape measure along his back. The suit in question was the most plain black ensemble Draco had ever laid eyes on. And Potter had had the audacity to wear it to two Ministry galas.  Thankfully, Draco had only been Pansy’s plus-one at one of the two, the sordid details of the second being recounted the following evening over a glass of wine that looked remarkably like Potter’s shirt. 

“What are you doing right now?” Draco’s hands only lingered a fraction longer than they should have on Harry’s warm body. What a tremendous display of self-control, he thought.

“I- I thought you needed my measurements. For my shirt.” 

Draco rolled his eyes as he knelt in front of him, trying not to let his heart race at the positioning. “Just admit you like my face by your crotch, Potter. It’ll save us both time.” He ran the tape down his leg, trying to keep as respectable a distance as he could with his hand mere inches from Potter’s cock. Draco winked at him, and Harry held his gaze as he swallowed hard. Draco watched his Adam's apple bob up and down and was filled with the urge to lick his neck. He stood again. “I don’t need your measurements for a patch job.” He ignored the way Potter licked his lips.

“So what-?”

“I’m making you a new suit,” Draco cut him off. “No need to thank me. It can be a birthday present.”

Potter frowned, pulling his hoodie over his head. “A present? Aren’t these things usually really expensive?”

Draco watched him shake out his curls as he wound up his tape measure. “Don’t worry about it.” And then, when Harry’s frown deepened; “You can always point people in my direction when they no doubt compliment your new attire.”

“Ah, so this is a Slytherin plot!” 

“Keep thinking that if it helps you, Potter. Heaven forbid I do something good-natured.” Draco rolled his eyes, but kept a small smile on his face. He knew Harry was only joking. 

“I had heard it was illegal for a Malfoy to be selfless.”

Draco snorted. “Maybe I’ve got Wrackspurts in my ears.”

“Hmm. You’d better get that checked out.”

They shared a smile before Draco waved him away. “Get out of my shop, Potter. I can’t have people thinking I let hooligans in.”

—

Draco Lucius Malfoy came from a long line of purebloods. Muggle-hating purebloods. He wondered what his ancestors would think now, as he slowly unfurled his fist from around his wand, taking a deep breath and trying to remember why it wasn’t a good idea to send up his new sewing machine in the hot flames of an incendio. 

Why had he decided to make Potter’s new suit the muggle way? Because Harry likes hand-made gifts and you like Harry, a voice chimed in, very unhelpfully, for the tenth time that day. 

It was two weeks until Potter’s birthday, and Draco sat surrounded by various mannequins in different versions of the Auror’s new suit, all in a state that Draco would describe as only being loved the way a parent would love their 8-year old’s first attempt at something. It wasn’t looking as promising as he’d hoped. 

But he’d told Harry he’d make him a new suit, and he’d told himself that he would do it by hand, and that was that. He wouldn’t settle for less than perfection. If that meant a few late nights, and a few more wide-eye potions, then that was fine. If he was going to do this, he would do it right.

—

Draco ignored the urge to fiddle with the bow on Potter’s present as he waited for him to answer the door. The warm summer evening was just settling in, and Draco had insisted on arriving early to Harry’s birthday party to give him his shirt himself. 

Finally, Potter opened the door. His tshirt was damp, and he smelt strongly of mint and chamomile, evidently fresh out the shower. Draco swallowed the moan that threatened to escape.

“Come in, come in.” Harry held the door open for him. They made their way down the hall into the living room. “I just need to finish setting up. Did you bring the shirt? Of course you did. You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t. You’re never forgetful like I am - oh! A present!” Harry had yanked the parcel from Draco before he could stop him.

The blond opened his mouth to protest, but the paper was already falling to the floor. Harry held the suit up before him with a sharp inhale. 

The shirt was white and crisp, the burgundy waistcoat matching the blazer. The material was rich, embroidered with varying shades of red flowers, with faint gold thread throughout. The jacket was long, lined with dark gold buttons, held fastened with a gold chain, the cravat made from the same material, accented with a black and gold clasp. It looked almost regal. 

“And you made it by hand?” Harry’s voice was quiet, he looked stunned.

Draco drew his eyebrows together. “How did you- does- does it look bad?” He had been so proud of his work, but now… Was it so clear that he had never done this before? His heart only raced louder as Harry said nothing. And then:

“What? No. No!” He seemed to come back down to earth. “I’m just so used to detecting magic at work that it’s quite jarring when it's not there all of a sudden.” He finally drew his eyes away from the suit, placing it over the back of a chair. “It looks incredible, Draco. Really. I can’t believe you did this for me.” Harry grasped Draco’s hands in his.

Draco couldn’t hide his blush at Harry’s words, the use of his first name, and more importantly, the tight, warm grip Harry had on his hands. He swallowed thickly. “Well, I couldn’t have you turning up to another gala in that ratty old suit, could I?” He tried to sound light-hearted, but the way Harry’s eyes bore into his had his voice faltering.

“You made me an entire suit. Without magic.” Potter’s voice was quiet but steady. His grip tightened every so slightly.

The blond felt like a deer in the headlights, unable to move as Harry inched closer.

“Because I like hand-made gifts.” Harry continued. Draco couldn’t remember how to breathe. If he blinked Harry would be there, inches away from him, close enough that he could touch his face. “And you like me.”

Draco stopped breathing altogether, his eyes focused on the way Harry’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “You’re a lot quicker than you were back in school.” Draco whispered.

“You like me,” Harry murmured. 

“I like you.” The admission wasn’t even a whisper, but Harry heard him.

Harry leant in to press his lips to Draco’s ear, his breath tickling his neck. “I like you too.”

“Fuck.” The word escaped on a breath before Draco could stop it, and Harry chuckled quietly, pulling back to look at him. 

“I think you’re jumping the gun a bit, Draco. You haven’t even asked me out yet.” Harry’s smile was cocky, his eyes bright, but Draco knew the bravado was only a front.

No, this time, it would be Draco’s bravery that took the spotlight. The blond reached out and rubbed Harry’s earlobe, listening to his breath hitch in his chest as Draco crowded his space. “You’ve fucked yourself over, Potter,” he whispered, “Your admission is practically an invitation.” Draco was leaning so close that his lips ghosted over Harry’s as he spoke.

The darker man closed his eyes, gripping Draco’s arm in anticipation. It sent a thrill through the blond, seeing so clearly that Harry’s words were true; he liked Draco too, and he wanted to kiss him.

Harry’s reaction was the reward for Draco’s bravery, but the prize lay before him. 

Draco slowly pressed his lips against Harry’s, and the darker man groaned into his mouth, pushing the kiss further until it became desperate and heated. Harry took control, pushing Draco back against the wall and pulling his blond hair until he opened his mouth to let Harry explore it. 

Everything each of them had been holding back was rushing to the surface, and Draco reached underneath Harry’s tshirt to drag his nails over Harry’s skin, making them both groan into the kiss. Harry pulled away with a growl, pulling his shirt over his head quickly before diving back into Draco’s mouth, trapping the blond between the wall and his body. Draco let his hands roam over Harry’s back and arms, his shoulders and chest. This was everything he had dreamed about, but better.

And then the doorbell rang. Because it’s Harry’s birthday. Because they’re expecting to see their friends any moment. 

“Fuck.” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead against Draco’s as they caught their breath.

Draco smirked. “I thought we agreed to go on a date first.”

Harry pressed his hungry lips against Draco’s again. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, kissing down Draco’s jaw. 

The whole evening had gone even better than Draco could have hoped for. Not only did Harry like him back, but fuck, did it feel good to touch him, kiss him.

The doorbell rang again, impatient. Harry pulled away but Draco kissed him again, more sweetly this time.

Harry grinned, squeezing Draco’s hand before picking his tshirt up and pulling it back on.

He spent the rest of the evening showing all of their friends the new suit that Draco had made him, pointing out all of the detail and work that went into it.

And Draco, for one, couldn’t have been happier.

----

Suit inspo from Aristocracy London <3

[theevolvingimportanceofmedic]

Bridging the Gap: How to Write User-Friendly Medical Content

Bridging the Gap: How to Write User-Friendly Medical Content

by Turacoz | Medical Writing, Medical Publishing

Are you finding it challenging to make your medical communications clear and engaging?

Navigating the world of medical content can sometimes feel like deciphering a foreign language, even for seasoned professionals. The goal of this blog is to help you create content that is clear, engaging, and most importantly, user-friendly. Let’s dive into some tips to help you communicate more effectively with your audience, whether they are healthcare professionals or patients.

Know Your Audience

First and foremost, understanding your audience is crucial. Are you writing for healthcare professionals (HCPs) or patients?

The language and level of detail you use will differ greatly. For HCPs, you can use more technical terms and delve into complex details. For patients, however, it is essential to use plain language and avoid jargon. Always keep in mind who you are speaking to and tailor your message accordingly.

Clarity is Key

Medical information can be complex, but your job is to make it as clear as possible. Use simple, straightforward language, and avoid long, convoluted sentences. Break down complex ideas into manageable chunks. Remember, the clearer your content, the easier it will be for your audience to understand and retain the information.

Engage with Stories and Analogies

People love stories. They make information more relatable and memorable. Use real-life examples, patient stories, or analogies to explain complex medical concepts. For instance, describing the immune system as a “security system” that protects the body from intruders can make the concept more accessible to a layperson.

Read More: How to Write Medical Content That Ranks on Search Engines?

Use Visual Aids

A picture is worth a thousand words, especially in medical communications. Diagrams, infographics, and videos can help illustrate your points and make your content more engaging. Visual aids are particularly helpful when explaining procedures, anatomy, or the effects of certain medications. Just make sure that your visuals are clear and accurately represent the information you are conveying.

Make It Interactive

Interactive content can greatly enhance user engagement. Consider incorporating quizzes, interactive diagrams, or clickable links that provide additional information. Interactive elements can help reinforce learning and keep your audience engaged. For example, a quiz at the end of an article about diabetes management could help patients assess their understanding and encourage them to learn more.

Keep It Crisp

In today’s fast-paced world, attention spans are short. Keep your content concise and to the point. Avoid unnecessary fluff, and focus on delivering valuable information. Bullet points, numbered lists, and short paragraphs can help break up the text and make it more digestible.

Provide Clear Calls to Action

Whether you want your readers to schedule an appointment, read more about a condition, or follow a treatment plan, make sure your calls to action are clear and easy to follow. Use direct language and provide easy-to-follow instructions. For example, “Click here to book your appointment” is more effective than a vague “Learn more.”

Be Empathetic and Supportive

Empathy goes a long way in medical communications. Acknowledge the emotional and physical challenges your audience may be facing, and offer support and encouragement. Use a friendly and reassuring tone. For example, instead of saying, “You must take your medication daily,” try, “Taking your medication daily can help you feel better and stay healthy. We’re here to support you every step of the way.”

Seek Feedback and Improve

Finally, don’t be afraid to ask for feedback. Whether through surveys, comment sections, or direct conversations, gather insights from your audience about what works and what doesn’t. Use this feedback to continuously improve your content and better meet the needs of your readers.

In conclusion, making your medical content user-friendly is all about clarity, engagement, and empathy. By knowing your audience, using simple language, incorporating visuals, and being supportive, you can create content that truly resonates with your readers.

Happy writing!

For more information or assistance, feel free to reach out to us at info@turacoz.com.