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[tejuskumar13]

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[tamara-on-the-go]

THEY MUST BE SO UPSET WITH ME- NIGHTLIFE/BLEACHING: Micomlan

[shapewoods]

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[deepspacenova]

Under Pressure

running into your main lads man (boyfriend) while you're out with your second favorite lads man (as a friend) and how they would react.

➻➻ ABOUT | 1700 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | banter. tension. jealousy. possessive sylus.

NOTE: Written for this round robin/challenge by the lovely @jinwoosbabyboo -- it's open for anyone, by the way, so consider yourself tagged if you're interested! (:

The smell of antiseptic mingled with the earthy scent of Vagrant's Land while the pop-up clinic buzzed with organized chaos. Patients with various illnesses and injuries stood around waiting for the moment they'd be called back and have their ailments treated or cured.

The welcome tent’s fabric flapped in the soft breeze as you let the nurse manning the check-ins know why you were there. When you were shown inside, you noticed the open space had been outfitted with portable medical equipment to create a busy hive of treatment cubicles and testing areas.

You glanced around the crowded space until you found him. Taller than most of the room, intent on his work, and confidently in his element, Dr. Zayne scribbled onto the clipboard a nurse was holding toward him. Finishing his last marking, he looked up, cool hazel eyes thawing ever-so-slightly and dented with a happy crinkle as he straightened and dismissed your escort.

"Right on time," he murmured, grabbing two latex gloves, a yellow file folder, and his medical bag.

"Miracles can happen when you least expect them," you teased with a grin.

Zayne started to usher you toward a makeshift examination corner since all the cubicle curtains were closed. "Medical miracles, maybe," he quipped. "But you being on time? That’s a phenomenon even science can’t explain."

You laughed softly, sitting down as he gestured to a folding chair and rested his medical bag on the wobbly table next to him. "Careful, Dr. Zayne, your bedside manner is slipping."

With an amused shake of his head, he reassured, "This shouldn't take long. Just a quick exam, same as always."

You nodded, rolling up your sleeve as he pressed his cool fingers to the inside of your wrist and got started. His touch was warm but impersonal, his attention fixed on his readings. He moved methodically, pressing the tips of his fingers over your heart and chest.

Though the process was clinical, you couldn't help but study Zayne with fondness — the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his nostrils flared when a loud noise interrupted him, the way his breath became a tickle on your cheek when he leaned in to adjust his stethoscope.

That was the moment you heard his voice.

“Don't tell me you're afraid now,” Sylus demanded from the clinic's entrance, making nurses and bystanders alike stand to attention, as if they couldn't help but wait for his next directive. “I could put you two into far worse situations.”

Two hooded boys in medical masks shuffled in behind him, the defiant puff of their chests doing little to hide their apprehension. At Sylus' words Luke scowled but didn’t argue while Kieran kept glancing toward the exit like a cornered animal. Giving them a pointed look toward the nurse they were supposed to follow, he took a few steps forward before his eyes landed on you.

The vision of the leader of Onychinus halting in place with a satisfied smirk spreading across his face was unnerving enough to straighten every spine in the vicinity. But he barely noticed as he waved off the boys and made his way toward you.

Then his eyes flicked to the person next to you. To the stern yet striking man whose face was so close to yours he was practically stealing your fucking air from you.

Jaw tightening — the only outward sign of his discomfiture—Sylus strode toward you with deliberate, measured steps, his posture casual but predatory.

A fluttering of wings had taken flight in your stomach as soon as you'd heard Sylus' gravelly voice, but for the sake of Zayne's time and not raising any eyebrows in the semi-public setting, you'd resolved to find Sylus after your check-up. Unfortunately for you, Sylus never much cared about the concept of discretion when it came to you.

Stopping behind you, he placed the edge of his palm on your shoulders, spreading his fingers across your chest in a rather over-the-top display of possessiveness.

Doctor Zayne hadn't even looked up at the interruption and had moved on to digging for a tool in his medical bag when the hand-shaped barrier blocked his access to your heart.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?" Though the words were casual, his tone was wrapped in barbed wire.

"Sylus!" You said, hoping the breathlessness in your voice wasn't too noticeable. Looking up at his sharp features, which managed to be frustratingly beautiful even upside down, you smiled and moved his hands from your chest to your biceps, patting the tops of them twice. "I didn't know this is what you meant when you said you were taking care of some business with Luke and Kieran. Shouldn't you be with them?"

A low chuckle emerged from his throat, laced with both amusement and menace. "I was, sweetie. That is, until someone else piqued my... curiosity." His hands slid slowly down to the crooks of your elbows and then disappeared. Suddenly, the chair next to you was occupied with your boyfriend's imposing form, eyes boring into Zayne's unflappable figure. "I didn't realize doctors from Linkon City made special appointments when they visited Vagrant's Land."

“I volunteer here once a month,” Zayne said matter-of-factly. He didn’t look up as he re-focused on his examination of you, ignoring Sylus' eyes — one, a muted scarlet, the other an angry vermillion — trained on every movement. “It’s a good way to reach those who can’t make it to a hospital.”

Sylus’s gaze darkened, his lips curving into a tight smile. “How noble of you. I see you're very—” His eyes lingered on Zayne’s hand, still resting against your chest. “—thorough with your patients.”

"Sylus," you cut in quickly. "Have you met my childhood friend, Zayne? We recently reconnected when he became my doctor."

But Sylus' attention didn't move from Zayne.

“Any good doctor is thorough,” Zayne replied, turning to jot down notes into your file. His voice was calm, almost bored, as if Sylus’s presence barely registered. “If something's off, it's important to work on her as soon as possible."

“I’ll bet it is,” Sylus muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

Recognizing the simmering menace in his tone, you jam your elbow into Sylus' narrowing your eyes in a silent warning. Your string of bad luck continued however, when, after he placed a dramatic hand over his elbow, Sylus went back to watching your childhood friend with the kind of intensity that made most people fear for their lives.

Zayne, of course, was not most people.

“Do you mind?” Zayne asked, flicking a quick glance at Sylus through his lashes. “I’m trying to work.”

“Not at all,” Sylus replied smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Another tense few minutes pass, and the balloon of pressure in your chest expanded second by second as the tension between Sylus and Zayne crackled like static.

You were caught between irritation with Sylus for his uncharacteristically territorial behavior or shock with Zayne, who was acting more aloof than usual, almost like he was... purposefully fueling Sylus' ire.

“So, Sylus,” you said brightly, trying again to diffuse the situation. “Why'd you bring Luke and Kieran here?”

“Do they seem like the guys who'd show up to update their vaccines if I didn't drag them myself?” he shot back with a smirk, jerking his head toward the cubicle Luke and Kieran were in.

“That’s admirable,” Zayne remarked, his tone neutral. “More people should take an interest in the well-being of others.”

“That's me, a real caretaker," Sylus drawled, eyes narrowed. And just like that, any hope for the peace you'd been building toward popped like a bubble. "Though I can't say I'm as hands-on as you, doctor. At least... not in public."

"A shame." Zayne raised an eyebrow, his expression faintly amused. “Hands-on can be very effective when done correctly.”

The implication hung in the air, subtle but deliberate. You groaned internally, feeling like a rope in an increasingly taut tug-of-war.

“Alright, enough,” you snapped, looking down at them with your hands on your hips. “Sylus, this is just a check-up. Zayne, stop provoking.”

Both men fell silent, though the charged atmosphere lingered.

Sylus had the nerve to look almost... chagrined for the first time in his life, which alone worked wonders on your frustration — though from the way he stood and rested his hand on the back of your neck, it might've been more placating than chagrined.

Zayne, who also stood up, simply adjusted his glasses, his composure as unshaken as ever.

“I’m done here,” Zayne said, handing you a slip of paper. “I've updated the schedule according to your upcoming work trips. Other than that, you're fine.”

“Thank you, Zayne,” you smile warmly, stuffing the paper into your bag.

Zayne nodded, then turned to Sylus and held out his hand in a begrudging truce. “She’s in good health. You can relax.”

For a moment, you stared at Sylus' stoic expression and worried all hell would break loose in Vagrant's Land. Then, he linked his hand with Zayne's and gave it a firm, business-like shake, turned you around, and led you back to the entrance to wait for Luke and Kieran.

You couldn’t help but glance back at Zayne as you walked. He'd already moved onto his next patient, but caught your eye when you look around. And you could've sworn that Zayne, Doctor Zayne, your childhood friend, winked at you.

Once you were far enough to feel the afternoon breeze sweep over you, Sylus' gaze softened as he searched your face. “You feeling alright?” he asked, looking at the place where her aether core rested. His voice was quieter now, the edges of his tone no longer sounding so ruffled.

“I don't know. How should I feel after I've been pissed on by my boyfriend at my doctor's appointment?” Though you try to sound angry, it comes out as nothing but pure amusement.

At your smile, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corner of his lips curved. "Pissed on? I'd never do something so crass, kitten." He leaned down, his breath gliding over the crook of your neck like a feather, and rasped, "You know I'm more of a biter."

[muchomango]

Found apartment for 700 because my mom keeps making these "jokes" about raising my rent and I'm like okay well wtf am I even here for since you tricked me into moving in with you 🧍 like sorry I'm jumping to leave with your ratty ass boyfriend and dog ugh

She's always harping on the shit I buy on Amazon as if she can't see exactly what I'm buying which is school supplies.... And other things I share with her for FREEEEEEEEE like what are you actually doing for me plus I see what she orders too since she uses my account and she's ordering sex toys shoes and all sorts of useless shit she buys a new phone case every week it's fucking insane

[thesvnandthemooon]

i can't help but imagine their reaction to a second pregnancy!! how do you think nat will react?

okay just to be clear: this one is entirely hypothetical. i don’t think they’d have a second baby lmao, especially not while they’re still in college. that being said, i love the idea of it:

˙⋆ how you find out ˙⋆

you start breastfeeding less when niko turns 8 months old. he’s old enough to try solid foods now — applesauce, puréed carrots, oatmeal with mashed banana. you get your period back not too long after.

natasha and you are careful. usually. mostly. fine, you’re careful sometimes. but there’s this myth that you can’t get pregnant while breastfeeding, and you both stupidly believe it without doing your research, so you aren’t too worried whenever you notice that you had unprotected sex.

cue you two months later, nauseous and tired. but not sleep deprivation-tired. no, it’s the kind of exhaustion you experienced when you got pregnant with niko. the one that makes you fall asleep as soon as you lay (or even sit) down, that makes you take naps in the most random places. when you wake up in the library, a sticky note stuck to your cheek and niko screeching in the portable playpen you brought along, you realize how unsettlingly familiar this is.

the nausea. the fatigue. the way you got breathless just walking up the stairs to the study area.

‘no way’, is your first thought. ‘absolutely not’. and, with a glance at niko: ‘i just pushed you out.’

you don’t want to believe it. you don’t want to think about it. you don’t want to talk to natasha about it, or even take a test.

do you have a choice? no. so you grab niko, sit down in your car and drive to the first establishment that sells pregnancy tests.

the cashier stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head. to be fair, it is a ridiculous situation — you, in sweats and a top with spit-up on it, a baby on your hip, sliding a pregnancy test across the counter. you give him a glare, your cheeks warming up, and nod at the test.

“just scan it”, you mutter. then, you add: “my girlfriend is six feet tall.”

he quickly scans the test, grabs the money you toss at him, and wishes you good luck. you don’t spare him a single glance.

natasha just got home from practice when you enter the apartment. she’s in the kitchen, wearing the very same shorts you ripped off her about a month and a half ago, a bowl of protein porridge in her hand. she smiles and walks up to you to scoop niko into her arms, but the look on your face makes her pause.

“what?”

“nothing”, you brush it off. “can you change him? please?”

she nods, already on her way to the changing table. you make your way into the bathroom and pee on the stick.

a ‘+’ appears. you stare at it for a solid five minutes, then natasha calls for help because niko won’t stop squirming.

˙⋆ your & nat’s reaction ˙⋆

you step into the living room, pregnancy test in hand. natasha found a solution to niko’s worm-imitation and changed him on the floor instead. she looks up, spooning porridge into her mouth, and lifts her eyebrows.

“you good?”, she asks. niko gurgles, trying to grab the edge of the coffee table and pull himself up. “what happened?”

“uh-“

niko screeches again, like a baby pterodactyl. he hurls a teething ring across the room. you pull out the pregnancy test and show it to her.

natasha full on malfunctions. spoonful of porridge hovering in the air and dripping into the bowl in her lap, eyes zeroed in on the little plus, body frozen. niko slaps the spoon and makes porridge splatter everywhere.

“is this a joke??”

“does it look like a joke?”

she stares up at you. you, in your sweats, socks mismatched and hair in a quick bun. dark rings under your eyes. no, no it doesn’t.

“we were careful”, natasha says dumbly, still in shock. “i pulled out.”

“you didn’t. you were hyper fixating on my tits, you idiot.”

“…right.”

you wait if she’ll say anything else. she doesn’t. she just puts down her bowl, grabs the baby wipes, and cleans the porridge off her arms and lap. niko crawls over to her and pats her thigh, as if silently soothing her. ‘if you can handle me, you can handle a second baby as well.’

natasha’s not sure that’s true, and neither are you. the apartment? a mess. your clothes? full of spit-up. natasha? juggling family and college and basketball. both of you? sleep-deprived ever since niko was born. tired and at your limits. another baby doesn’t fit into this situation.

but then again, you made niko fit. you adjusted your lives. and looking at the little guy, who’s clapping over the fact that he managed to tug off his own socks, you’re starting to believe it might work again.

“how much sleep does a human need again?”

you rub your temple. “more than this.”

“how much more?”

“google it.”

she does. “okay. great. we’ll survive, but we’ll probably be dead by 50. fine. whatever.”

you lift your eyebrows. niko crawls over to you and tugs at the leg of your sweatpants, demanding to be picked up. you almost scoop him into your arms, but natasha swiftly intervenes and cradles him. he lets out a grunt of protest.

you know why she did it without having to ask. no heavy lifting while pregnant.

“you want us to keep the baby?”

she frowns, using one arm to scoop the baby into her lap. he babbles and slaps her chest.

“well, we kept the first one.”

you stare at her like elaborate, please. she gets up, gesturing at niko and then at you.

“it worked out, didn’t it?”

“natasha, i haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a year.”

“but you’re happy.”

“we smell like sour milk.”

“you’re gorgeous. stunning.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “that’s the mommy issues talking.”

she scoffs. niko squeals and squirms in her arms, then goes stiff and starts wailing. she puts him back down.

“look”, she says, stepping closer. you don’t miss how her hand brushes against your stomach. “you’re the one going through this bullshit, not me. if you don’t want to keep it? fine. you got my full support, babe. but if you do keep it, just know i’ll love them just as much as i love niko.”

niko, hearing his name, looks up. green big eyes, just like natasha’s. the red tuft of hair. the rosy cheeks. how much can a second baby hurt?

(spoiler: you’ll regret this foolish, naive thought even years later.)

natasha tilts her head, bites her lip. you nod tentatively. suddenly, you’re in her arms and the room is spinning.

˙⋆ conclusion ˙⋆

being a pregnant college student with a baby-recently-turned-toddler is not for the weak.

there’s always something happening. vomiting. exams. kid’s sick. you and niko both vomiting because you’re pregnant and he’s got the flu. nat’s sick. homework. pop quiz + a one year old who’s crawling through the room and opening people’s bags. new apartment, because the current one is not big enough for two babies.

natasha’s somewhere between excitement and sheer panic. one moment, she’s bouncing niko and musing about which clothes you’ll pass down to his little sibling, the next she’s sobbing into a cold cup of espresso because she’s tired and the baby’s screaming and you’re crying too and soon four people will be sitting in this apartment and wailing about different things.

then, nighttime comes. niko looks like a cherub when he’s asleep. your baby bump has grown enough for natasha to be back in that ‘my girl is growing my baby and i’m swooning and i’ll do anything for her’-phase. you’re exhausted, but stay awake long enough to watch her push up your top and press sleepy kisses to your stomach.

“you’re happy?”, you murmur, eyes drooping shut.

“couldn’t be happier.”

“…we still smell like sour milk.”

“don’t care. worth it. we’ll shower before niko wakes up.”

(no, you don’t. you accidentally sleep in, because you’re too sleep-deprived to actually set the alarm. you end up hopping into the shower together, all three of you, and scramble to class in old sweats and your hair still damp.)

you don’t have time for anything. you’re always in a hurry. but it gets even worse when your daughter arrives. suddenly, you’re juggling college, a newborn and a toddler. at this point, every single professor has seen you nurse at least one of the kids. you’re famous on campus (because who else managed to have two back-to-back babies? nobody. just you.)

you’re a hot mess. constantly. somehow, you make it work. you take turns with the babies; you find babysitters; you live off caffeine, willpower and love.

[httpsserene]

see you next summer — 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒 poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader fluff. mild suggestiveness. world-building and backstory. my no sabo spanish.

synopsis: you can't complain about being paid to soak up the heat of the spanish sun and serve drinks. however, you have until the end of the day to decide if this summer will be the last time you work on the course.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. just a little teaser, a lil prologue, to establish the vibes and vague characteristics of the reader ! i’m using my light understanding of spanish (as an unfortunate no sabo kid) to get through this, so pls ignore thx.

⌕ join taglist | reqs & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents | next ↻

The sweat beading along your hairline causes your edges to curl and lift. The cooling effects of the portable fan dangling around your neck are negated by the suffocating humidity of a mid-August summer day, yet it enhances the scent of sweat, sunscreen, and the hints of your faded perfume. Your appreciation for the dry-fit fabric of your uniform is refreshed; if it wasn’t moisture-wicking, your resignation email would’ve been submitted with haste.

But, the uniform does its best to protect you from the Spanish heat, and the pay (and tips) are satisfying. You make enough money to live frugally and cover any expenses that your financial aid and scholarships don’t during the school year. This meant you didn’t have to juggle being a full-time student and a full-time worker to survive. Working the beverage cart is perfect—you can’t be mad about serving drinks to men who have more money than they know what to do with, and even though you despise the fact that they freely flirt (terribly, at that) with a wedding band shining bright on their left ring finger—it pays your bills. As much as that disgusts you, this was always meant to be a temporary job, a stepping stone. You weren’t planning to continue working here after you got your undergraduate degree. And now, after graduating, a fancy company has hired you and is offering to pay for you to get a PhD. So, of course, you accepted their offer of free education and a job. This means there’s no reason for you to continue working as a cart girl at Golf La Moraleja in Madrid.

But, it’s Spain! Summer in Spain, at that, it’s a massive difference from a monotonous school year back in America. And, you don’t even have to pay for an apartment in Madrid (which is out of your tight budget, anyway) because your parents live here, and they’re always desperate to have you at home rather than out living on your own. The shining summer sun keeps your melanin strong, too. You’ve made friends out of colleagues, good friends. You’ve made good memories, a good resume, stupid choices, near-death experiences—you’ve made a time out of your early twenty-somethings. You don’t want to let it go.

Yet, it seems like it’s time. You don’t need the money, even though having extra income would be terrific in this economy. It would probably exhaust you during a break that’s supposed to be relaxing from your PhD studies. You’ve regained all fluency in the Spanish language that you lost growing up in the States. You’ve been a cart girl for four years, maybe it’s time to start a new chapter and leave this behind. The cart bounces over a bump in the pavement and breaks your train of thought. Your body tenses at the sound of the cans and bottles clinking together louder than you’d like. You do not want to stay late on your last day cleaning out melted sticky alcohol from the cooler. It’s ironic—you would think that with your four summers of experience, you wouldn’t let your mind wander while driving. The clock beeps its warning of fifteen minutes till the end of your shift, and you sigh. Directing the cart back towards the first hole of Course One, you’re aware that if there’s anybody present who wants a cold drink, they will be your last customer of this season or even your last customer for forever.

You lift your foot off the gas pedal as you see three figures become visible on the green, readying yourself for what could be your final service. You halt the cart, turning off the engine and smoothing out the skirt of your uniform as you stand and walk out a few steps.

“¿Qué puedo servirles de beber?”

You catch the attention of one of the men, an older gentleman who greets you kindly and informs you that he needs something strong if he’s going to be dealing with the other two for eighteen holes. You laugh politely, glancing at the men who have yet to notice your presence. The taller brunette is annoying the shorter, poking and prodding at his stance, seemingly teasing him about his form. Your smile brightens at the sight before you redirect your focus to your current client, and you begin to talk him through his options for the stronger alcohol you’re carrying today.

He easily downs a shot of whiskey and takes a bottle of beer with a lime off your hands before he turns to gather the others’ attention.

“¡Mijos!” The men at this point, have dissolved into boyish squabbling that carries over to where the two of you are standing by the cart. They silence easily at the older man’s call, heads snapping in your direction with widened eyes. Oh fuck, that is what your brain thinks at the view.

The taller, tanner one, is handsome. He’s built—broad shoulders, plush lips, a strong nose, wide brown eyes, and long eyelashes that he has no reason to have. The shorter, paler one, is beautiful. Pretty, even. He’s not quite grown into himself yet, you can tell. But, the youthful mischief lingering in his blue eyes is alluring, especially when paired with his cute sunburnt cheeks, and the big grin showing the cute gap in his teeth—did you say he’s cute already?

As they near the cart, you notice that Brown-eyes (you’ve decided on using descriptors because of the lack of names) shares the same eye shape as the older man you’ve served. He must be his son, or related to him at least. Blue-eyes must be a friend, or family, you suppose, if he acquired all the recessive traits during his genetic raffle. You exchange greetings with the two, dismissing the shakiness of the younger’s voice as shyness.

“¿Algo que quieran beber, señores?”

“Can you ask her if she has anything non-alcoholic?” The British-accented English spills from Blue-eyes’s mouth, and you understand that his greeting sounded nervous because of his lack of fluency.

“I do have a selection of non-alcoholic drinks—,” you start, smiling as all three men look surprised at your code-switching, “—That I can tell you about in English if you’d like?”

“Oh, I would like that very much, please,” the words tumble from Blue-eyes in one breath, the Spanish men laughing at his relief of being able to communicate in his native tongue.

“Not fluent in Spanish yet, huh?” You tease him lightly, with a soft smile to communicate your lightheartedness.

“I have terrible teachers,” Blue-eyes laughs pitchily, and both Spaniards gasp in faux-dismay of his words as he continues, “If you couldn’t tell.”

“I am not a terrible teacher,” Brown-eyes clarifies, accent curling around his words,  “You just do not listen to me when I try to teach you!”

“That’s not my fault! How am I supposed to stay focused when I’m talking to you?”

Brown-eyes seems surprised at that response, his eyes appearing to widen even more at the words. Blue-eyes realizes what he said during the pause of banter, his cheeks flushing even redder beneath his sun-baked skin.

“Well,” you clear your throat, eager to dismiss whatever that was about, “While I don’t know if he’s a bad teacher or not—I can assure you that I’m a great teacher when it comes to the non-alcoholic drinks I can serve you today!”

All three men seem to relax at your seamless dismissal, and you can feel Brown-eyes look at you thoughtfully as you ramble a relaxed script about what you're carrying to Blue-eyes. There’s a brief moment where Blue-eyes turns to his(?) father, for his opinion on what he should order, and you look away, making eye contact with Brown-eyes. His eyes are softer, and he nods at you, as if in thanks for your earlier redirection. You do the same, and shrug your shoulders lightly as if to say, “All good.”

Blue-eyes’ voice calls for your attention as he orders a refreshing virgin cocktail, and you turn to start mixing it for him.

“You know,” you think aloud, “If you ordered an alcoholic drink, I wouldn’t believe you’re old enough to be served?”

“Hey! I’m twenty-one, I can even drink in America now!”

You turn to look at him with narrowed eyes, tilting your head to the side dramatically before shaking your head as if you don’t believe him. Brown-eyes and his dad (you’re confident in their relationship), chuckle at this interaction, in a way that leads you to believe they’ve heard it before.

“Aww,” you coo, as you salt the rim of his plastic cup, “Twenty-one! You’re such a baby! I would think your I.D. is fake if I ever saw it.”

“I’m not a baby,” Blue-eyes pouts, his eyes brightening as he thinks of a response, “Wait—well, you look too young to be serving alcohol!”

“I’m taking that as a compliment, not an insult since I’m older than you. Beautiful brown skin like mine doesn’t show age, at least that’s what my mom says. Anyways—there’s nothing wrong with being baby-faced, it means you look young for longer.”

Blue-eyes ponders that train of thought as you add a slice of lime as garnish. You hand the drink off to him, waiting for him to take a sip to see if it’s to his liking. His eyes flutter shut as he swallows, with a tiny moan of approval following, and wow, that sounded like a different type of moan. It’s enough to cause your mind to drift to other scenarios where you may be blessed to hear that noise in, and you make the mistake of letting your gaze cross Brown-eyes again. 

There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and his eyebrow is raised at you slightly—like he’s aware of your train of thought. Hmm, you think, is that because he’s experienced the same train of thought as yourself, or is it because he’s gotten to hear that beautiful sound in the way you want to? It’s also possible that he thinks you’re just desperate, too. You blink at him, forcing your expression to remain innocent, before Blue-eyes speaks gleefully, breaking the tension once more. 

“This is the best drink I’ve ever had!”

You’ve heard those words hundreds of times on the course, but hearing them from him has you suddenly feeling bashful, waving his words away with a hand before you address Brown-eyes.

“¿Para beber, señor?”

“Please, cálmate. I thought you were talking to my father,” he responds, and the older gentlemen, confirming your suspicions about his relation, laughs.

“And—there’s no need to call me sir. Not in this context.”

Blue-eyes chokes on his drink next to you and it’s enough to distract you from responding to whatever that was supposed to imply. Okay, you panic internally, you’re either just a freak, or these two fine men are freaks themselves, and they’re not hiding it. Maybe, they even want you to join—okay, calm down you harlot. The men roughly pat his back to clear his airways and Blue-eyes reddens, you hope it’s due to embarrassment and not lack of oxygen. When it’s clear that he isn’t at risk for dying, Brown-eyes does take a bottle of beer off your hands.

“Have you been working here for a while?” The dad inquires, pulling you away from that mind-boggling exchange and into another bout of small talk while you dispose of the bottle caps.

“Sí, señor. This is my fourth summer here.”

“What?!” The two younger men, both exclaim, shocked at your answer.

“We’ve been coming here regularly since 2019 and we’ve never run into you before?” Blue-eyes continues, perplexed.

“Really? Wow, that’s terrible luck. I guess I’ve only worked shifts when you all aren’t here,” you theorize, cleaning out the shaker you used for his mocktail. 

“Why would it be ‘terrible luck?’” Brown-eyes asks with a painfully cute, confused tilt to his brows.

“It might be my last day,” you nod sadly, as all three men indulge you with sounds of dissent, “I know, sad, isn’t it?”

“But, why?” asks the dad, “Are they treating you badly here? Because I’ll talk to them for you. You seem like such a hardworking young woman.”

“Nonono, they treat me very well, there’s no need for threats! I’m just too hardworking. It’s just—I think it might be time for a change, you know?”

“We don’t know, actually,” Blue-eyes, offers smartly, “But, I wanna know. I like you, I think you’re interesting, and I’m invested now.”

You force the urge to giggle hysterically down as your brain screams, He said he likes you! That sounds like he’s in love with you! The cacophony of your subconscious gnawing at the bars of its enclosure rattles around your skull. 

You stare at them for a second, determining whether or not you should share your personal life with three strangers you're being paid to serve drinks to on a golf course. So, of course, you explain your very simple dilemma to the men. Do you quit your summer job because you’re afraid it might be too much to handle on top of getting your PhD and working an office job? Or, do you continue to work on the green because you’ve genuinely only ever enjoyed your time here, because it’s extra money in your pocket, because you’ve fallen in love with Spain, and because it keeps you near your family?

“I think you should stay.”

“Obviously, stay.”

“Sí, stay.”

You laugh abruptly at the answers. You’re ninety-five percent sure their answers are drenched with an ulterior motive—well, the two younger men's responses are.

“You like it here,” Blue-eyes starts earnestly, “I figure that getting a PhD is a lot of hard work, but why don’t you at least try it out for one more summer? If it’s too much, you don’t have to come back after that, right?”

The clock inside the cart blares its alarm for the end of your shift. You reach inside and shut it off before turning back to look at Blue-eyes thoughtfully, “I guess you’re right.”

“And…if you stay for another summer, there’s a chance we will see you again, no?” Brown-eyes jumps in.

“I would say the odds are pretty low, as this is the first time I’ve served you guys over four summers,” you joke back. That’s the reality of the situation, though. The first time you run into hot men who are your type and around your age range. You have to cope with the fact that you’ll never see them again. You’re the one with the terrible luck.

You tap the ledge of the cart off-handedly as you begin to ring up their drinks in the mobile register, pausing briefly to look up with a polite smile, “Is there anything else I can get for anybody before I head out today?”

Blue-eyes and Brown-eyes turn to whisper to each other, the older gentleman snorts, exchanging thanks with you and well wishes for your future before he walks back over to their equipment, leaving the younger men to close out the tab.

“Yes,” Blue-eyes clears his throat, “Can I have a ‘Sip of Sunshine?’”

You can’t recall ever carrying any beverage with that name and telling him as such, “Sorry, I don’t think we sell that. Is it a beer, or a cocktail—”

“You’re the sip of sunshine,” Brown-eyes interrupts you, twin smiles of pride painted on both men’s faces.

You laugh freely. It’s the most pleasant experience you’ve had being flirted with on the green. “I think that was the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard!”

Brown-eyes rolls his eyes at your response lightly, giving you his credit card to pay, while Blue-eyes cheeses at you, “It made you laugh though. And, I think it made you blush too.”

“It did, but, the blush might be more of sunburn though,” you grin back at him, handing the mobile register to Brown-eyes for him to sign and tip, if he chooses. You avoid looking at the screen as he hands it back, placing it securely in the cart.

“Wait,” Brown-eyes calls, as you slide into the driver’s seat, “We never got your name?”

“You mean you never read the name tag that’s been clipped to my collar the entire time we’ve been talking?” You pester back, amused.

“We were too busy being distracted by how pretty you are,” Blue-eyes counters.

“Ah, that’s unfortunate,” you giggle, your flushed cheeks a definite result of the conversation and not the radiating sun, “I never got your names either?”

“Carlos,” Brown-eyes answers, “He’s Lando.”

“I can speak for myself you know,” Blue-eyes, Lando, sasses back. He pinches Carlos’ arm, causing the man to yelp and pull away from his side, and Lando takes the chance to address you again, “Will we see you next summer?”

“Oh, I hope not,” Carlos and Lando���s mouths drop open incredulously, “I don’t know how much more of your terrible flirting I can take!”

You smile at your own words, starting the cart and driving away from the green with a self-satisfied wave in their direction. You pray for your boss to still be in his office—you need to let him know that you’ve finally come to a decision about returning next year.

© httpsserene - photo in header from pinterest (edited by me). dividers by @cafekitsune.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Not sure if y'all need any more reason not to support this unproven quackery

There are hundreds of studies showing the safety and efficacy of HOCl while there are zero scientific studies of the Nukit's safety and efficacy. The studies the company claims prove the utility of their overpriced product are based on multiple lamps about 40x as big running on mains voltage. Independent testing of Nukit's lamps show their effects stretching in centimeters, not even across a table as we often see them deployed. Follow the science and invest in well-proven air filtration and masks, not unproven snake oil sold by unstable people with covert racist tendencies. You could buy two high-power portable AirFanta filters for the same price as a Nukit kit.

[itsnesss]

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 | max verstappen

dad!max who becomes the ultimate bodyguard:

From the moment he finds out, Max transforms into your personal protector. He won’t let you carry anything heavy, not even the grocery bags, and if anyone looks at you funny, he shoots them a glare that could stop a car at 300 km/h.

dad!max who studies everything about pregnancy:

Even though he says he's not much of a reader, Max devours books and articles on pregnancy. He becomes a mini-expert on what you can and can’t eat, the best sleeping positions, how to massage your back, and how to soothe the baby with his voice.

dad!max who constantly kisses and talks to the baby (and you):

Every night, he hugs you from behind, places his hand on your belly, and talks to the baby. Sometimes in English, sometimes in Dutch, and he even tells the baby about races and what it’ll be like when they visit Monaco for the first time.

dad!max who takes “cravings” as a mission:

If you crave strawberries at 2 a.m., Max is out the door before you even finish the sentence. If there’s none at home, he’ll search the farthest gas station. No matter how busy his race week is, he makes sure your cravings are taken care of.

dad!max who makes sure you’re pampered at the races:

If you decide to join him at the paddock, he ensures there’s shade, a portable fan, snacks, water, and a comfy place for you to rest. If anyone dares to ask why you're there when you’re pregnant, Max gives them a “she can be wherever she wants, end of story” look.

dad!max who turns baby names into a full debate:

Max suggests names inspired by famous drivers or cars. You firmly tell him that no way the baby is going to be called Ayrton or Niki. Eventually, you both make a list and he ends up choosing the one you like the most, even though he’ll always say it was his idea first.

dad!max who’s excited but nervous at the same time:

Sometimes you catch him in a quiet moment, just absorbing everything. He finds it hard to put his feelings into words, but when he does, he tells you, “I don’t know if I’ll be the best dad, but I promise I’ll give it everything I’ve got—just like I do on the track.”

dad!max who has a secret picture in his helmet:

Max keeps a photo of you with the ultrasound inside his racing helmet. He doesn’t tell anyone, but before each race, he looks at it and smiles because he knows he’s racing not just for himself, but for both of you now.

dad!max who becomes the king of baby shopping (even if he doesn’t admit it):

At first, he says he doesn’t want to go overboard with unnecessary stuff, but then he gets way too excited. He starts picking out the latest stroller models, a car seat that’s safer than a Red Bull car, and even compares baby bottles like they’re racing parts.

dad!max who becomes the architect of the baby’s room:

He insists on building everything himself: the crib, the changing table, the décor. And even though some parts don’t fit or he gets frustrated, he refuses help. In the end, he makes it perfect, with a small Dutch lion plush in the corner.

dad!max who gets a little jealous... of the ultrasound:

When you first get an ultrasound and the doctor puts the gel on your belly, Max stares at it like, “Okay, stay calm… it’s a doctor… professional... breathe…” Later, when you're at home, he laughs at himself but hugs you even tighter.

dad!max who fights the media for you:

If any journalist dares to ask intrusive questions about your pregnancy, his “don’t go there” look says it all. And if someone on social media comments something rude… Max blocks them without a second thought. His family is his number one priority now.

dad!max who goes into full nesting mode:

Before the baby arrives, Max enters full-on “extreme preparation” mode. He checks the bags, the stroller, the routes to the hospital, and even makes a list of things you might forget just in case. He takes this role as seriously as a pit stop: quick, efficient, and on point.

dad!max who shares stories of you and the baby on social media:

His Instagram, once filled with race cars and podiums, now features pictures of you, selfies with your belly, and captions like: “Counting down the days.” Even though he’s not one to overshare, something about you makes him want to let the world know.

dad!max who whispers to you in the middle of the night:

When you can’t sleep (thanks to the baby kicking or the heat), he gently massages your back, sings to you softly in Dutch, and reassures you that everything will be fine, that he’s there, and that he loves you more than ever.

dad!max who cries at the baby’s first cry:

When the baby is born and he hears their first cry, Max breaks down. Tears well up in his eyes, he looks at you, kisses your forehead, and whispers, “You were incredible.” And for the first time, Max Verstappen feels like he’s won something far bigger than a championship.

[tejuskumar13]

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[enflixx]

halfway there - jake sim

summary: After 4 semesters of immersing yourself into Stanford, you start dating Ni-Ki, to briefly distract you from the ache of losing Jake. But as your relationship with Ni-Ki fades and you transfer to CSU Long Beach for nursing, Jake quietly watches your life from afar while chasing his basketball dreams in Melbourne. When he’s drafted as the number one NBA pick and you reconnect on social media, you realize that some dreams were never meant to be pursued alone.

note: this is a part 3 to letters from stanford, but could be read alone!

genre: angst

warning(s): none!

word count: 4547

You were lonelier than you expected. Even surrounded by the hum of Stanford life, the laughter at the dining hall, the countless weekend beach trips, and the late-night study sessions in the library, you still felt it. That emptiness in your chest that used to be filled by Jake’s quiet gestures: the way he’d wait to FaceTime you during your walks across campus, how he’d always remember to keep up with your favorite shows without asking, the way he listened. Really listened.

You already knew Ni-Ki. He was someone who floated easily through campus social circles, bright, spontaneous, magnetic. And funny. Always joking, always turning everything into a laugh. He made you forget the ache for a moment.

You weren’t sure when it happened, but you started dating. Maybe it was the way he texted you silly memes at 2 a.m., or how he just tied himself into your daily life so seamlessly. He’d wait outside your lecture hall, not because he had class nearby, but just because. He brought you matcha during midterms, let you wear his oversized denim jacket, called you “my nurse-in-training.” It was sweet, for a while.

One night, you sat in his dorm room, your head on his shoulder as he scrolled endlessly through TikTok. You were exhausted, emotionally and physically, and you whispered, “I really miss home today.”

He laughed, nudging you. “You’re just being dramatic, babe. We’ve got matcha, memes, and me. What else do you need?”

You smiled, because you didn’t know what else to do.

There were good moments. Like the time he dragged you out of bed for an impromptu midnight picnic by the lake, complete with leftover dining hall cookies and his portable speaker. Or the way he made everyone at the table laugh during brunch, always the center of attention, always full of energy. It felt easy. Effortless.

But something was missing.

He didn’t ask about your day with the same care Jake did. He didn’t notice when you were quiet. He brushed off your anxieties with a joke, deflecting emotion like it was too heavy to carry. When you mentioned feeling behind in your classes, he chuckled, “That’s just your nursing brain stressing again. Just skip a lecture or two, it’s not that deep.”

You tried to explain the pressure, the clinical hours, exams, and the looming transfer, but he would roll his eyes and say, “You always stress about the future. Live in the now, babe.”

Once, during a particularly bad week, you texted him that you felt overwhelmed and could really use someone to talk to. His reply was, “Damn, same. I got a D on my fashion theory quiz. Want to come over and just vibe?”

You went. But you left feeling lonelier than before.

One night, you curled up next to him, scrolling through Pinterest boards for future apartments.

"I want to study abroad in Tokyo," he said, grinning. "Work with a fashion label or launch my own fashion brand. Something sick."

You smiled, trying to match his energy. "That sounds amazing. I think I’ll be transferring to CSU Long Beach. Their nursing program is really solid. I want to work in pediatrics eventually."

He blinked. "Damn. That’s... pretty intense. Don’t you get, like, no sleep doing that?"

You laughed quietly, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

You started noticing more. The way he was only present when it was convenient. How he could spend hours planning his brand’s future aesthetic but never ask about your upcoming pathophysiology quiz. How he’d tell his friends about your nursing plans like it was a quirky trait, not a dream you were working tirelessly to build.

By spring, the relationship lost its shine. Ni-Ki still made you laugh, but the connection felt shallow, like a song stuck on replay. You missed feeling understood. You missed Jake.

The end came on a quiet evening, when you both sat on the floor of his dorm room, the flickering light from the TV casting shadows on the walls. It was one of those nights where nothing felt right, and everything seemed too loud, too empty.

"I’ve been thinking," you said, breaking the silence. "About us."

He looked up from his phone, his usual smirk gone. "What about us?"

"I don’t think we’re a good fit anymore," you said, the words tasting strange on your tongue. "You’re always joking around, and I just… I need more than that. I need someone who understands me, who’s there when I’m stressed or overwhelmed, not just someone who makes everything a joke."

He scoffed, sitting up straight. "What? So, I’m not enough now?"

"It’s not that," you tried to explain, your voice softening. "I just feel like we’re not on the same page anymore. We want different things."

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. "So, that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away from us because of a few differences?"

You felt the sting of regret, but you knew it was the right decision. "I think we’ve been growing apart for a while now. You’re looking at the future like it’s all one big joke, but I’m working hard for something serious. I’m transferring to CSU Long Beach for nursing school, Ni-Ki. That’s not a small thing for me."

He stood up abruptly, pacing across the room. "Yeah, well, I’m trying to build something too. But you just can’t see it, can you? You can’t see past your damn textbooks and clinical hours."

You stood up, too, trying to hold your ground. "I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is going to work. I need someone who gets me. Who sees me for more than just someone who’s always working toward the next thing."

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, muttering under his breath, "Fine. Whatever. If that’s how you feel, then I guess we’re done."

You didn’t look back as you left his room that night, a hollow feeling in your chest, but a quiet relief, too. You didn’t know if you were making the right choice, but you knew you couldn’t keep pretending.

Jake never stopped checking your stories. Each post of you with Ni-Ki made his chest tighten. He would scroll through your pictures and videos, his finger hovering over the screen as a dull ache gnawed at him. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t stop. He knew he should be happy for you, but seeing you with someone else, especially someone like Ni-Ki, stung more than he expected.

He mentally noted how he would’ve seen it coming. Ni-Ki was always there laughing with you, always easy to be around, always offering something light when things got heavy. The kind of guy who could distract, make you forget the weight of the world, just like he had done to him before. But now, looking at you with him, he realized Ni-Ki was a type of temporary relief. He wasn’t what you needed long-term.

What hurt even more was how he never could’ve been the one to fill that void. He wished he had been more present. Wished he hadn’t let distance pull them apart. But the truth was, he was still wrestling with his own demons, his own dreams, and that didn’t leave much room for anyone else.

He threw himself into basketball like never before. Early morning practices, weight training, extra drills. He focused on the game, on pushing through the exhaustion. But each time he pushed harder, he found his mind wandering to you, to how things ended between you, to how he hadn’t been enough for you when you needed him most.

He stopped at the court late one night, when the city was still and the echo of basketballs bouncing off the pavement seemed like the only sound in the world. He lined up shots, one after the other. Swish. Swish. Swish. His mind drifted back to high school, when he would stand on the court, his eyes fixed on the basket, and whisper to himself, “This is for you.” He would always imagine you there, sitting in the bleachers, cheering him on, proud of him. Back then, he didn’t need much more than that. The way you would be there for him, no matter what. It was simple, effortless.

He missed that. Missed having someone who believed in him unconditionally. Missed being the one to offer you that same unwavering support. In high school, he was always the one pushing you to follow your dreams, telling you that you could do anything. He remembered how you’d smile at him, how you’d talk about your future with such excitement, and how he’d promise to be by your side every step of the way.

Now, he was the one alone, pushing himself toward a future that felt empty without you.

Swish. Another shot. His chest tightened as the ball hit the rim and bounced back. It wasn’t perfect. But nothing ever felt perfect without you by his side.

His coach noticed. So did the scouts.

Jake’s growth both mentally and physically was undeniable. He wasn’t just playing for the NBA anymore; he was playing to forget. Forget the mistakes. Forget the regret. Forget how he still loved you. He told himself he was moving on, that basketball was his only focus now. But whenever he watched you post about your clinicals, your late-night study sessions, your dedication to becoming a nurse, he felt a sharp pang in his chest.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed seeing your determination, how much he admired the quiet strength you carried. You were so damn capable, pushing through, doing something that mattered. You had found your path, and he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed at his own.

Seeing you work so hard, even from a distance, made him feel like he was wasting time. Like he wasn’t doing enough. Like he wasn’t growing in the way he wanted to. The truth was, he hadn’t allowed himself to fully chase his dreams when it mattered. He had always been afraid of failing, of not being enough. Now that fear had shifted into something else like an overwhelming drive to prove himself, to become the man he had always wanted to be.

For the first time in months, Jake allowed himself to feel the fire of motivation. You had pushed him, even if you didn’t know it. You had always been the kind of person who went after what you wanted, and even though he couldn’t be there with you, he was finally going to live up to the promise he had made, to make something of himself.

By the time the NBA draft rolled around, Jake was ready. He had worked tirelessly, pushing through pain and exhaustion, sacrificing everything for this moment. When his name was called, it wasn’t just a win for him, it was a moment of reckoning. Melbourne to the NBA. He had done it. And maybe, just maybe, he could finally show you that he had become the man you had always believed he could be.

But still, there was this ache. He had made it without you. And he couldn’t shake the thought of how everything might’ve been different if he had been braver. If he had stayed.

He didn’t want to just succeed for himself anymore. He wanted to succeed for you too. He wanted to show you that he could be what you needed, what you deserved, even if it was too late. The thought of meeting you in the States one day, maybe after a game, maybe just to catch up over coffee or a quiet conversation, pushed him forward. He wasn’t sure if that moment would ever come, but it didn’t matter. The idea of it kept him grounded.

In the quiet moments after the draft, he let himself feel it. The sadness. The loss. He missed you more than he thought was possible. And maybe more than he ever would admit. But as he packed his things, ready to head to the US and begin his journey, a part of him believed that one day, his path would cross with yours again.

You were in your room, papers scattered around you, a textbook open as you calculated pediatric dosages. It was late, and your mind was focused on memorizing every equation and formula for your next exam. The quiet hum of the night seemed to match your concentration until your phone buzzed on the desk. You glanced at the screen to see your brother’s name lighting up.

You picked up the call, raising an eyebrow. "what’s up?" you asked, half expecting a random question about the latest meme or an update to send you.

But when his face appeared on the screen, his expression was different. It was excited, almost breathless. "You need to see this," he said, barely able to contain himself. He was holding up his laptop, but instead of speaking, he quickly swiped the screen and held it up to the camera.

"Look at this," he said again, pointing at the screen. "It’s Jake. They just called his name."

Your heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

He turned the laptop to face you properly, revealing the ESPN broadcast of the NBA Draft. There, in the list of top picks, was Jake’s name. Your pulse quickened as you adjusted your position on the bed to get a better view.

"With the first overall pick in the NBA Draft, the Lakers select Jake Sim, guard, from the University of Melbourne."

The words hung in the air as you stared at the screen, disbelief making your chest tighten. There he was, your eyes fixated on his name. Taller, confident, and just as you imagined, still the same Jake, but in a new light. He was on stage, surrounded by his family, his smile wide and proud as they shared in the moment. You could almost feel his excitement through the screen.

You blinked, not sure whether the tears welling up were from joy or the bittersweet feeling that came with it. This was what he had worked for, what he had dreamed of, and here it was finally happening. Just without you there.

You leaned back, your breath shaky as you smiled at your brother, still holding the laptop. "Wow," you whispered, your voice soft and filled with awe. "He really made it."

Your brother grinned. "I knew he would. He’s always had it in him."

"Yeah," you said quietly, a lump in your throat. "I always knew he would too."

You swallowed hard, your gaze fixed on the screen, unable to look away. You missed him. You missed all those quiet moments, the way he’d talk to you about his goals, the way you’d always be there to support him. Now, it was happening. He was living his dream, and though you weren’t there with him, part of you felt like you were. He had made it.

Your brother smiled. "I’ll let you have your moment. You should watch it." He pulled back from the screen and gave you some space.

You nodded, though your heart ached a little more than you expected. Watching him now, seeing everything unfold, you realized how much you still admired Jake. He had done it all on his own, made his dreams come true. And somehow, even if you weren’t physically there to share this with him, you knew deep down you always would be.

You stayed on the call with your brother for a while longer, watching Jake’s moment of triumph unfold. It was bittersweet, but it also felt right as Jake had always been destined for this, and no matter how far apart you were, his success still meant everything to you.

Jake stood backstage, his hands sweating and his heart racing. The noise from the crowd outside was a distant hum, muffled by the thick curtains and walls that separated him from the main stage. He shifted from one foot to the other, adjusting the suit he had spent hours picking out, but nothing felt real in this moment. His name hadn’t been called yet, but he could feel the tension, electric and thick, surrounding him.

He glanced at his family beside him, all of them wearing wide grins and their eyes shining with pride. His mom gave him a gentle nod of reassurance, and his dad’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder. They had all been with him since the beginning. Since that first awkward basketball practice, the countless late-night phone calls when he doubted himself, the days when he felt like he could never get to this point. They had all believed in him when he was too scared to believe in himself. And now, this moment, the moment that defined everything he had worked for was finally here.

The announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, and everything seemed to slow down. “With the first overall pick in the 2025 NBA Draft, the Lakers select Jake Sim a guard, University of Melbourne.”

A wave of disbelief hit him, but it was quickly replaced by the rush of excitement and pride. The crowd erupted in cheers, a roar so loud he could feel it vibrating in his bones. Jake couldn’t help but grin as he walked toward the stage, shaking hands with the commissioner, his family following close behind. As the cameras flashed, he adjusted his cap, standing taller than he’d ever felt. He could hear the cheers, the sound of his name being chanted, and in that moment, he felt like everything he had worked for, every drop of sweat and every lonely night on the court, had led him here.

When he reached the microphone, the world felt still. He glanced over at his family, and his gaze lingered for a moment on his mom, who had tears in her eyes. This was it. This was everything.

But as he turned to smile for the cameras, a thought pierced through the noise. The one person who should have been here, who should have been cheering him on, wasn’t.

It hit him harder than he expected. He had been so focused on the moment, on the excitement, and on the people who had supported him through every step of his journey, that he hadn’t allowed himself to think about how different things were. You had always been the one who had understood his dreams the most, the one who had been by his side through it all. You were the one who had cheered for him even when he was just a kid with a ball, dreaming of this very moment.

But now, you were gone.

Jake’s smile faltered for a split second as he looked out at the crowd, the weight of the realization settling heavily in his chest. He had made it. He had done it, and he was proud of himself there was no doubt about that. But in this sea of people, of flashing lights and loud cheers, a part of him couldn’t help but long for your presence. He missed hearing your voice saying you were proud of him too.

When the cameras shifted, he glanced down at his phone, almost instinctively. His thumb hovered over your contact, the last message you had sent him still sitting there. He hadn’t heard from you in months not since everything had changed. And as he stood there, his heart aching with the bittersweetness of it all, he realized something he had been avoiding. He had no idea how he was going to share this with you now.

The thought of you being so far away, of your lives moving on without each other, hit him with an overwhelming finality. You were part of his story, a constant in the chapters that had gotten him to this point. But now, it felt like the book had closed, and he wasn’t sure how to open it again.

“Jake,” someone called his name, snapping him out of his thoughts.

He straightened up, pulling himself together. The cameras were on him again, and his family was there, cheering louder than ever. The moment had come, and he couldn’t afford to get lost in the past. He had done it. He was going to the NBA, and no matter how bittersweet it felt, this was his dream come true.

He looked at his family once more, feeling a swell of gratitude for them, grateful for everything they had done for him. He promised himself that he would work even harder now, that he would keep pushing forward, not just for him, but for everyone who had ever believed in him.

But as the applause echoed around him, Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Something that he couldn’t quite get back. Something that had once meant everything.

You.

CSU Long Beach was quieter than Stanford, but you liked it. Your classes were tough but fulfilling. You found peace in your routines such as studying at your favorite café, walking along the beach after lab sessions, and calling Olivia whenever you missed home. It was different, and it felt like a necessary step forward, but something was always missing. Something that used to be a part of you, a part of your life, but was now just an empty space you couldn’t fill.

One afternoon, between shifts at the hospital and a pathophysiology quiz you were trying to cram for, you felt your phone buzz in your bag. You pulled it out absentmindedly, the screen lighting up with a notification.

Jake followed you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, and for a moment, you froze. The world around you seemed to blur. He was still out there. Still somewhere, doing the thing he’d always dreamed about. Your thumb hovered over his name, and you clicked on his profile before you even had time to process your emotions.

His profile picture was him in his tight fit uniform, the purple and yellow logo of the team clear on his chest. His jawline was sharper, more mature, and his smile seemed more polished than the one you used to know. But his eyes were still the same. So familiar and so real.

You stared at it, feeling something shift in your chest. He was living his dream. You’d always known he would, and now he was there. He had made it. But still… why now?

You didn’t know how long you stared at the screen, just trying to process it. Everything had changed. The spaces between you both had only grown wider with time, but in that moment, there was that familiar, unspoken feeling that made you wonder if some things could never truly end.

You followed him back without thinking. There was no hesitation, no second guess. It just felt… right.

As soon as you did, his story popped up. A video of him at the gym, lifting weights, his focus so intense that the only sound was the clink of metal against metal. Sweat beaded along his temple, and his muscles flexed with every rep. It was him, in his element, in his glory. The words "Early Morning Grind" flashed across the screen in bold letters.

You watched it once, then again, and then a third time, your heart beating faster with each replay. Your fingers itched to message him, to say something anything, but you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself scrolling back through his feed, through months of posts. The new photos, the stories, all of it. Every little moment of his success, his journey that had continued while yours had shifted. The new teammates, the smiling selfies with fans, the late-night practices that left him drenched in sweat, and his teammates' congratulatory posts after big wins.

But as you scrolled, you felt that same aching longing gnaw at you. You couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. A spectator to a life that was once so intertwined with your own. You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t healthy to be so absorbed in it, but every new post was like a thread pulling you back to the past. Every time he posted, you felt like you were witnessing a side of him you couldn’t touch anymore.

You couldn’t stop. Each story, each update, felt like an invitation, even if it wasn’t meant to be one.

Jake watched your stories too. The little red ring that appeared around his name whenever he clicked on one of your updates sent a rush of warmth through your veins. It didn’t make sense. He had so many followers. He was busy living his life, but somehow, there he was, watching. And that... small acknowledgment... was all it took to keep you holding on.

You never messaged him, though. The silence between you was heavy and deafening. It said everything that words couldn’t.

Every crowded street, every love song on the radio, every text you never sent it all brought him back. You caught yourself staring out the window sometimes, thinking about him, about everything you used to share, about how he used to be your first thought in the morning and your last one at night. You still caught glimpses of him in your life such as his favorite songs popping up on your playlists, his old Instagram posts flooding your memories.

One day, while you were sifting through papers on your desk, you saw a letter poking out from between a stack of textbooks. Curiosity piqued, you pulled it out. It was an envelope with your name written on it in bold, elegant script. It seemed out of place, but you opened it, and what you found inside made your heart stop.

Two tickets.

Courtside.

Jake’s upcoming game in LA.

Your hands shook as you stared at the tickets, your mind racing. You hadn’t expected this, didn’t know it was even a possibility. But there it was, an invitation of sorts from the very team that had drafted him, giving you the chance to witness the success he had worked so hard for. You didn’t even remember how you had gotten the tickets at first until the memory came rushing back.

Your mom had been the one to reach out through her friend, someone who had connections with Jake’s team. It wasn’t anything you had planned for. She’d mentioned how proud she was of Jake, and you’d shared stories of his journey with her so often that she had kept an eye on him from afar. The tickets, she explained, had been offered to you through those connections, a gesture of respect for everything Jake had overcome and for the relationship you once shared. You hadn’t even known she had gone ahead and gotten them for you.

But here they were.

You folded them carefully, slipping them back into the envelope. It was overwhelming, this wave of nostalgia mixed with sadness. The excitement that you could be there, in person, cheering him on, but also the realization of how much time had passed since you’d been a part of his world.

You set the envelope on your desk, the weight of it heavy in your chest. Maybe some things aren’t over. Not yet.

[academicfever]

A practical, step-by-step approach to break free from phone and content addiction:

The goal is to create a lifestyle that is much more attractive than going back to the void for momentary pleasure

Environment Modification

Place your phone in a different room while working/studying

Use a basic alarm clock instead of phone alarm

Create phone-free zones (bedroom, dining area)

Put your phone in grayscale mode to reduce visual appeal

Delete most engaging/addictive apps

Move remaining social apps to the last screen of your phone

Replace Addictive Behaviors Instead of reaching for your phone when:

Waking up → Do light stretching, drink water

Feeling bored → Keep a book handy, practice a hobby

Taking breaks → Go for a short walk, do quick exercises

Before bed → Read, journal, or meditate

Waiting in line → Practice mindfulness, observe surroundings

Eating → Focus on your food, practice mindful eating

#Build Healthy Digital Habits

Use app timers (set 30-minute daily limits for social apps)

Schedule specific times to check social media/content

Turn off all notifications except calls from important contacts

Install website blockers during work hours

Use "Do Not Disturb" mode more frequently

Keep your phone out of sight during tasks

#Create Meaningful Alternatives

Develop offline hobbies (drawing, writing, crafts)

Join in-person social groups/classes

Exercise regularly

Practice meditation

Spend time in nature

Learn a new skill that requires focus

#Mindset Shifts

Recognize triggers that lead to excessive phone use

Practice sitting with boredom

Focus on creating rather than consuming

Be present in social situations

Understand that you're not missing out by being offline

##Progressive Reduction Week 1: Baseline awareness - track your usage Week 2: Remove most addictive apps Week 3: Implement phone-free morning routine Week 4: Establish phone-free periods throughout day Week 5: Create new habits to replace phone use

# specific actionable steps:

Waking Up:

Stretch arms overhead while still in bed

Roll shoulders back and forward

Gentle spinal twists while lying down

Cat-cow stretches after getting up

Drink a full glass of room temperature water

Open curtains to get natural light exposure

Feeling Bored:

Keep a paperback book in your bag/desk

Have a small sketchbook and pen handy

Practice a portable hobby (origami, knitting)

Carry a puzzle book (sudoku, crosswords)

Learn finger exercises for dexterity

Practice a language using flashcards

Taking Breaks:

Walk up and down stairs

Do 5 minutes of jumping jacks or squats

Step outside for fresh air

Shoulder rolls and neck stretches

Quick cleaning task in your space

Simple breathing exercises

Before Bed:

Write three gratitude points

Plan tomorrow's tasks

Read a physical book (not e-book)

Do gentle yoga or stretching

Practice progressive muscle relaxation

Write about your day's experiences

Waiting in Line:

Notice five things you can see

Focus on four things you can feel

Listen for three distinct sounds

Observe people's expressions and body language

Practice good posture

Do subtle ankle and calf exercises

Eating:

Notice the temperature of your food

Chew each bite thoroughly (aim for 20-30 chews)

Identify different flavors and textures

Put your utensil down between bites

Sit at a proper table when possible

Express gratitude for your meal

Remember: The goal isn't to be perfect, but to gradually build these healthier habits. Start with one context (like mealtime) and build from there.

Here's how to handle those intense urges to check your phone;

#Immediate Physical Response

Take 3 deep breaths

Stand up or change your position

Clench and unclench your fists

Stretch your arms overhead

Drink a full glass of water

Walk to a different room

#The 10-Minute Rule

Tell yourself "I'll wait just 10 minutes"

Set an actual timer

Often the urge passes within this window

If it doesn't, the pause still gives you control

#Urge Surfing Technique

Acknowledge the urge without judgment

Notice where you feel it in your body

Observe how it rises and falls

Remember urges are temporary waves

They typically peak at 20-30 seconds

#Quick Alternatives

Do 10 jumping jacks

Write down what you're feeling

Look out the window and find 5 specific things

Organize something small nearby

Hum your favorite song

Stretch your fingers and hands

# Ask Yourself:

"What am I trying to avoid right now?"

"What am I actually needing in this moment?"

"Will this matter in 24 hours?"

"What could I create instead of consume?"

#Emergency Reset Options

Splash cold water on your face

Step outside briefly

Call or text a friend

Do a quick physical task

Listen to one song

Write down your current goal

Remember: Each time you resist an urge; you're building stronger neural pathways. The urge will get easier to manage with practice.

##A targeted journaling approach to redirect that "random lookup" energy into something more meaningful:

#Curiosity Journal Structure

Keep two sections:

"Questions I Want to Answer" (capture random thoughts)

"Planned Research Time" (dedicated lookup sessions)

Date each entry

Include how urgent each question feels (1-5 scale)

Note why you want to know this information

#Daily Practice Morning Brain Dump (5-10 minutes):

Write all questions floating in your mind

Add topics you might want to explore

Rate their true importance

Schedule specific research time

Evening Reflection:

Which questions still matter?

What did you learn today?

What patterns do you notice in your curiosity?

Was the information you looked up actually valuable?

#Implementation Rules

Write down every urge to look something up

Wait at least 30 minutes before researching

Batch similar questions together

Set specific research time blocks (e.g., 4-4:30 PM)

Review old questions - many become irrelevant

#Question Categories Create sections for:

Essential Knowledge (work/study related)

Personal Growth

Pure Entertainment

Practical Needs

Random Curiosity

This helps you:

See patterns in your distractions

Identify what truly matters

Transform impulse into intentional learning

Build focus and patience

[shapewoods]

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[coven-of-genesis]

Beginner in witchcraft tips? Like where should I start?

Beginner witchcraft tips

Part one : where & how do I start

1. Research and Respect Open Practices

• What Are Open Practices?

Open practices are spiritual or magical systems that do not require initiation, cultural heritage, or permission to engage in. Examples include eclectic witchcraft, kitchen witchcraft, green witchcraft, hedge witchcraft, and secular witchcraft.

• Avoiding Cultural Appropriation:

Practices like smudging (specific to Indigenous cultures), Hoodoo, and Voodoo are closed practices unless you are properly initiated or invited. Instead, use general terms like “smoke cleansing” with herbs like rosemary or lavender.

2. Build a Foundation of Knowledge

• History and Ethics of Witchcraft

Study the historical persecution of witches, modern witchcraft movements like Wicca, and the ethical principles (e.g., Wiccan Rede, the Threefold Law, or personal moral codes).

• Learn the Basics of Magic:

• Correspondences: Study how herbs, crystals, colors, and moon phases align with magical intentions.

• Intentions: Understand that intention is the core of magical practice. Clarity and focus are vital.

3. Start with Simple Tools and Techniques

• Common Tools:

You don’t need expensive or elaborate items to begin. Everyday objects like candles, notebooks, or kitchen herbs work just as well as specialized tools.

• Candles for fire energy (tea lights are excellent for beginners).

• Herbs like rosemary (cleansing and protection), basil (prosperity), and chamomile (calming).

• Salt for purification.

• Crystals like clear quartz (amplification), amethyst (calm), or rose quartz (love).

• DIY Approach:

Craft your own tools or collect items from nature (leaves, stones, feathers) for more personal meaning.

4. Create a Sacred Space

• Physical Space:

Choose a small area for your altar or sacred space. This can be a shelf, a table, or even a portable box. Include items like:

• A candle for focus and light.

• Representations of the elements (e.g., a bowl of water, stones, a feather).

• Personal objects that bring comfort or inspiration.

• Energetic Space:

Use cleansing techniques to clear your space, such as sprinkling salt, using sound (bells or clapping), or wafting incense.

5. Practice Energy Work

• Grounding:

This helps connect you to the earth and stabilize your energy. A simple method:

• Sit or stand barefoot. Imagine roots growing from your feet deep into the ground. Visualize excess energy flowing down these roots into the earth.

• Centering:

Gather scattered energy into your core. Visualize a glowing ball of light in your chest or belly, representing your personal power.

• Shielding:

Protect your energy by visualizing a protective bubble or shield of light around you.

6. Explore Divination

• Tarot or Oracle Cards:

• Start by pulling a single card daily to learn its meaning and connect with your intuition.

• Many decks come with guidebooks to help beginners.

• Pendulums:

Use a pendulum for yes/no questions. Practice by asking simple, clear questions and observing the swing (e.g., clockwise for yes, counterclockwise for no).

• Scrying:

Try gazing into a bowl of water, a mirror, or a candle flame to receive intuitive insights.

7. Learn Magical Timing

• Lunar Phases:

• New Moon: Set intentions and start new projects.

• Waxing Moon: Build energy and take action.

• Full Moon: Amplify power, perform gratitude rituals.

• Waning Moon: Release and banish unwanted energies.

• Days of the Week:

• Example: Thursday is associated with abundance and success.

• Seasons and Sabbats:

Research the Wheel of the Year (e.g., Yule, Beltane) and celebrate the seasons in ways that resonate with you.

8. Work With Nature and the Elements

• Earth: Grow plants, use crystals, or walk barefoot outside.

• Air: Burn incense, write affirmations, or meditate on your breath.

• Fire: Light candles, work with fire-safe herbs, or set intentions during sunsets.

• Water: Take ritual baths, work with moon water, or meditate near a body of water.

9. Keep a Grimoire or Book of Shadows

• Document your spells, rituals, and experiences.

• Include correspondences (e.g., herbs, colors, moon phases), affirmations, and journal entries about your practice.

• This will help you reflect on your progress and refine your methods over time.

10. Develop Your Own Path

• Personalize Your Practice:

Use what resonates with you and leave out what doesn’t. Witchcraft is a flexible and personal journey.

• Be Patient:

Progress takes time. Focus on consistency rather than perfection.

• Stay Open-Minded:

Connect with other practitioners to exchange ideas, but always critically evaluate what you incorporate into your practice.

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Bodyswap AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 8, word count 1209

CW- Cronic Illness, Child Abuse (Not described, but you know what's happened).

Sirius and Remus regularly bickered. It drove their other friends mad. Remus thought Sirius was a spoilt rich boy brat, and Sirius thought Remus put on how sick he felt because he loved the attention that came with it. 

The bickering got so bad one day that Remus shoved Sirius, and Sirius shoved him back. James had to come between them and break up the fight. Remus’s eye was swelling shut, and Sirius’s lip had burst open. 

“I wish you two could walk in each other’s shoes for a day. Maybe then you wouldn’t bicker so much.” They scowled at each other until it was time to go home. 

Remus awoke the following morning feeling better than he’d ever felt before. He stretched, and nothing hurt. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open onto an elegantly decorated room. 

“You are late for breakfast. If you are not presentable at the table in five minutes, there will be consequences!” A woman who wasn’t his mother screeched through the door. 

He got up and opened the ornately carved wardrobe. The clothes inside were not his and most definitely wouldn’t fit his tall frame. He rubbed his eyes, grabbed a perfectly ironed shirt and held it up to his body. He used the mirror on the back of the door to see how it looked. He dropped it on the floor. The reflection staring back at him was not his own. 

Sirius had never slept worse in his life. He felt like he had the flu. His joints ached no matter what position he slept in. The sun shone through too-thin curtains, stopping him from falling back to sleep. A gentle knock came at the door as it slowly opened. 

“Good morning, darling,” A sweet honey-haired woman cooed at him. “I’ve got you tablets and some toast. When you’re ready, I’ve got porridge keeping warm for you. Don’t rush, though, my love.” She opened the curtains and planted a kiss in his hair before she walked back out, closing the door behind her. 

Sirius panicked. Pills? What pills could he possibly need? He jumped out of the unfamiliar bed and rushed into the little bathroom across the hall. He stared at the boy in the mirror above the sink, higher up than he was used to. His hands came to his face, and so did the reflections. He pinched himself hard. It hurt a lot. So he wasn’t dreaming. 

“Sweetheart, there’s a phone call for you.” The woman’s sweet voice called through the door. 

“C-c-coming,” He stuttered as he stumbled to the door. He took the portable house phone from her and put it to his ear. “Hello?” He said into the receiver. 

“Sirius!” 

“Remus!”

“What the hell is going on?” They said together. 

“Are you in my house?” Remus asked.

“I think so. Do you have blue striped bedding and a yellow lamp?” 

“Yes! And do you have a ridiculous wardrobe and an insanely gigantic bed?”

“Does it have green bedding?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my god, Remus! What the actual.” Sirius ran his hand through his hair. His fingers came away too quickly. Remus’s hair was a lot shorter than Sirius’s. 

“Your mum seems like a lot,” Remus tried to make light of it like he always did. “Apparently, I was late for breakfast. I didn’t even know that was a thing. Now, I’m meant to be self-studying. Then there’s a Latin tutor. Sirius, I don’t speak Latin!”

“Yeah, she doesn’t abide laziness. Your mum seems lovely, though. She brought me toast and some pills. What are they for?” Sirius followed Remus’s example. 

“Oh, you need to take them. Believe me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” Remus warned. 

“Sirius, where have you gone?!” Sirius heard his mother’s voice over the phone and flinched. 

“Remus, you need to hang up now and go do whatever it is you were meant to be doing.” He couldn’t help the touch of panic in his voice. 

“What are you on about? I’m only on the phone.” Remus chuckled back at him. Sirius heard his mother’s heels click against the hardwood flooring. 

“Remus,” He whispered in a shaky voice. The line went dead. 

Sirius knew what was about to happen to Remus, and he wished he could take his place. He snatched up the pills off the bedside table and swallowed the lot. This he could do for Remus, at least.

Mrs Lupin beamed at him when he walked into the kitchen. 

“Oh, love. You look a bit pale. Why don’t you go snuggle up on the sofa, and I’ll get you some tea? She fussed over him all day, making sure he was comfortable. He had full control over what they watched on the TV, and she never uttered the word homework. He was glad he didn’t have to do too much, as his body felt so delicate. Plus, with the bad night’s sleep, he was exhausted. “How do you feel about pizza for dinner?” She asked when it began to get late. 

“Yeah, Mrs—Er, yeah, mum. That sounds perfect.” He smiled at her.

He asked to go up to his room after they’d finished eating. 

“Of course, you can silly. I don’t know why you’re even asking. Oh, don’t forget to take your evening pills before you go up,” Sirius did as he was told. The stairs were hard to get up. He was out of breath before he’d gotten halfway up. 

He spent the next hour doing all of Remus’s homework for him. By the end, he just got into bed and passed out. 

When he woke again, it was morning. His alarm was blaring next to his head, and his emerald sheets were wrapped around him in a tight ball. He could feel the bruises. She’d proper walloped him this time. He wondered if Remus had talked back at her. 

He got ready for breakfast, but before he could leave his room. Regulus came in. And for the first time in years. He hugged Sirius and hurried back out when Walburga’s shoes clacked across the hallway floor. Monday couldn’t come quickly enough.

Remus, for once, got up early and arrived at school before any of his friends. He watched the town car pull up and deposit Sirius and Regulus onto the curb. 

Regulus hugged Sirius and disappeared off into the building. Sirius and Remus stared at each other. Sirius moved first and gently wrapped his arms around Remus, knowing now how much that body ached and why he needed the extra care the school gave him. Remus gripped him as tight as he could. He’d had no idea how bad Sirius had it. His parents made their lives look so perfect. 

Sirius sucked in a breath when Remus squeezed against one of the bruises. 

“Oh, shit, Sirius. I’m so sorry.” Remus panicked, loosening his hug. 

“No, no. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Sirius knew how much effort Remus was putting into that hug. 

“Aww, isn’t this sweet?” James smirked as he walked up to them. “Nice to see you hugging rather than fighting.” Sirius and Remus looked at each other, smiling happily at each other. Finally, they realised there was so much more to each other than they ever could have guessed.     

[lisupandowntown]

Sick for Science III - Dr TikTok

A/N: This is for everyone who voted for Jeremiah accidentally getting sick making a medical video. Totally not related to the plot or timeline. It will go into the minific masterlist. It is also completely unedited.

Jeremiah adjusted his white coat so it hung smoothly and smiled at the camera mounted near the door.  Drew gave him a silent countdown, and as soon as the red light went on, he took a deep breath and began. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Gable, cardiac surgery resident at Massachusetts General, and here with another episode of Health 101.”  He leaned casually against the corner of his desk and gestured to a table full of cans in front of him.  “Today I’m going to be talking about energy drinks. Everyone seems to be drinking them these days - to help get through an all-night study session for school, to be more sharp and focused at the office, to enhance your workout.   But do they really help?  And more importantly, can they hurt?”  

He stopped and cleared his throat, waving at Drew to keep the camera running.  After almost a dozen of these videos he’d become more comfortable at speaking and working through mistakes.  Most could be fixed later with editing and retakes.  

“Energy drinks like these have a lot of caffeine, sugar, and other additives, which means they can quickly affect your heart rate, blood pressure, and blood sugar.”  Jeremiah cracked one open and held the can up to the microphone to catch the sound of the carbonation. “And that can lead to jitteriness and loss of concentration, no matter how much their marketing departments say about improving your focus.  But don’t just take my word for it.”  He grinned into the camera and delivered what had become his signature line.  

“Let’s test the medical science, shall we?” 

Jeremiah glanced across his home office.  While he filmed some content at the hospital, he and Drew had turned this space in their home into a studio that looked like a medical examination room. It had a big ring light and a couple of mounted holders for the cameras and phones.  And he’d opened up the portable exam table for a touch of authenticity, even though he didn’t really need it for this video. 

“Right then. Before we get started, I need to take a baseline reading of my physiology, which means it’s time to bring in everyone’s favorite nurse, Drew Thorton!”  

Drew rolled his eyes right before walking into the frame and standing next to Jeremiah.  He didn’t join in the videos too often, but he’d already gained a following of his own, as well as the nickname “the IV King” after he’d successfully inserted one on camera for a patient who’d pronounced his technique “top notch”. 

“Sit down and give me your arm,” he commanded.  Swiftly and efficiently, he checked Jeremiah’s blood pressure, pulse and heart rate, and finally his blood sugar with a tiny jab to his index finger.  

“All your results are completely average,” Drew proclaimed.  His lips twitched. There were too many opportunities for jokes and innuendo, and both of them had to be careful to keep these official videos entirely professional.  Their private stash of “personal content” was saved in an entirely different place, firmly off the cloud.  

“Last thing before I drink the first can, I’m going to do this online brain puzzle to test my reflexes and response times." Jeremiah shared his screen and quickly rushed through the program - matching shapes, completing pictures, putting numbers and words in order. “Done,” he announced.  “Twenty-four seconds.” 

“A personal best,” commented Drew.  “Let’s see how you do after your first can.”

“It’s 12 ounces, which comes with 122 mg of caffeine and 29 grams of sugar. For reference, an ordinary cup of black coffee has 95 mg of caffeine.”  Out of the corner of his eye, Jeremiah saw Drew shudder at the mention of black coffee. The drink upset his stomach, and the couple of times he’d had too much it had kept in the bathroom for hours.  

“Bottoms up!”  Jeremiah chugged the can of energy drink, stopping twice to take a breath and let himself burp.  Most of those would be edited out later - he had no interest in fueling anyone’s online emeto fantasies. 

Jeremiah turned off the camera during the ten minutes he needed to wait before doing the medical tests again.  Drew fussed over him the entire time. “Exactly how many cans do you plan to drink, love?  I don’t like you putting so much of that crap into your body, even for science.”   

Jeremiah rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. “That’s the point; I want to explain that these types of energy drinks aren’t as innocent as a lot of people believe.” He burped into his fist.  “Maybe I’ll convince someone to cut down or even stop drinking them, and that will be worth it.”  

“Hmmm.” Drew looked unconvinced.  “If I start seeing really concerning test results I’m calling this off right away.”

“Yes nurse,” Jeremiah teased.  “So far I feel fine.  Ready to turn the camera back on?”

All of Jeremiah’s labs were slightly elevated and it took him 27 seconds to complete the computer games.  “I’m not really feeling anything yet,” he told his audience once Drew was finished taking his pulse. “Caffeine takes 10 minutes to enter the bloodstream and with the amount of sugar in the drink, it will be about 30 to reach peak effects.  I’m going to drink a can every ten minutes or so, so by the time I’ve had three we should be getting some interesting results.”

Drew’s lips tightened with disapproval but he had to tact to turn his head away first, on the pretense of putting away the blood pressure cuff. “Here you go, another 122 mg of caffeine and 29 grams of sugar, doctor,” he said formally, handing Jeremiah the second can as if he was passing him a scalpel in the middle of surgery.  

Jeremiah managed to finish this can in one try, smacking his lips at the end and holding down the need to burp while he spoke to the camera. “I can definitely taste all the sugar,” he reported. “Maybe next time I’ll try this with the sugar free varieties.”  He gave a little salute to the unseen audience.  “See you all in ten.”

“You’re absolutely not doing this again,” Drew scolded as soon as the camera was off.  “Sugar free or not.”  

“Hold on, yell at me after I . . . UrruRP . . . burp.  Phew.”  Jeremiah sagged in his seat.  “I was holding it in that time; easier not to have to edit so many out later.”  He leaned over and squeezed Drew’s hand.  “You were saying?”

“You’re an idiot,” the man said fondly.  “And did you eat anything today?”  

Jeremiah let up another soft burp before answering.  “Toast and eggs for breakfast this morning but nothing since then; I didn’t want to be too full or dilute the effects of the drinks.”  

“Of course you didn’t,” sighed Drew.  “How are you feeling?’  

“A little hyped up but otherwise fine,” Jeremiah answered honestly.  “I hope I start showing more results soon; it would be embarrassing to actually prove these drinks don’t do all the terrible things I said.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that two drinks from now,” Drew said dryly. 

Twenty-five minutes later, Jeremiah had to admit that his boyfriend might have been right.  He’d just finished his fourth can and was now leaning over his lap forcing up as many small burps as he could to try to clear the heaviness in his belly before it was time to go back on camera.

“It’s sloshing,” he complained, palming his side.  “I’m going to be up peeing all night.”  

“Do you want me to say I told you so?” asked Drew pointedly.  He was carefully charting Jeremiah’s latest results on a bar graph.  “Your blood pressure and heart rate are definitely elevated,” he commented.  “We’ll do another finger prick after your next can; maybe that can be the last one?  You’re looking sweaty.”  

Jeremiah rubbed a towel roughly over his face.  “I think I can finish two more,” he said stubbornly. “I want to make my point.”  

“That six energy drinks in an hour will make you feel sick?  I’m pretty sure you’ll prove that point.” Drew looked at his watch.  “Time to turn the camera back on; if your heart rate stays above 100 resting, I’m ending this.”  He scowled at Jeremiah. “I’m not risking tachycardia.”

“I’m fine,” Jeremiah protested.  Truth was, he was feeling a little bit queasy now.  But it wasn’t bad enough that he couldn’t hide it.  It was only two more cans; and the educational value for his viewers would be huge.

“And we’re back.”  Jeremiah injected as much enthusiasm as possible into his voice.  “Four cans down and now Nurse Thorton’s going to . . . urp . . .’scuse me . . . He’s going to do his nursing magic.”  Jeremiah touched his fingers lightly to his lips.  Maybe he’d keep that one little burp in the video; in the interest of medical accuracy.  The point of this was to show how bad energy drinks were, after all.

Drew put on a show too, announcing Jeremiah’s increasingly elevated heart rate and blood pressure in an upbeat and professional voice.  Only Jeremiah could hear the disapproval underneath.  Now it was time to do the computer tests, and he squinted at the screen so he could start completing the puzzles.  His head was swimming from all the sugar and it was definitely hard to focus on the small shapes and numbers dancing across the screen.

“Forty-five seconds,” Drew pronounced.  “That’s a decrease of almost 50 percent since your baseline.”  

“Energy drinks inhibit your concentration,” Jeremiah told the camera.  He rubbed his face.  “I’m even feeling a bit dizzy now, and my blood sugar is skyrocketing.  Shall we see what happens after a fifth can?”  Before Drew could try to protest, Jeremiah cracked it open.  If he was being honest, he really didn’t want to drink it, but this was for science.  He’d seen teens in the ER with symptoms that mimicked heart attacks from drinking too many energy drinks and he wanted to make his point.

The fifth can took longer to get down.  Jeremiah knew he’d have to do some heavier editing to cut out all the times he had to stop to burp or catch his breath, but finally the can was empty.  He gave the camera a jaunty salute.  

“See . . . see you in ten,” he promised, choking down a small gag.  

As soon as the camera was off, Drew turned to him.  “Can we be done now?” he asked testily.  “There’s no way I’m going to let you drink another one of these.  You’ve made your point, Jer - you look terrible.” 

“I feel terrible,” Jeremiah groaned, easily giving up the act.  “I’m so full I don’t even think I can burp anymore.”  Even so he pressed his fingers into his side, trying to work up some air.

“Let me do that.”  Drew impatiently pushed his hands away.  “I’m known all over the hospital for my magic fingers.”  

“All over our bedroom too,” Jeremiah joked with a queasy chuckle.  It was true though; Drew was regularly called to other parts of the hospital to help patients manage their nausea.  The man seemed to have a knack for it and right now Jeremiah was especially glad for his careful ministrations.  He leaned back in his chair and let Drew’s hands roam over his bloated belly until he was finally able to work up a few thin burps.  “Definitely not going to drink another can.”  

“I’d smack you if you even tried,” agreed Drew.  “Sixty ounces is almost two liters of liquid.”  

“My mouth feels coated in sugar.”  Jeremiah gulped as Drew hit a sensitive spot and everything inside of him sloshed uncomfortably.  “Is it time yet?  I need to get this done so I can go lie down.”  

“Yep, time to put on your movie star face, Dr. TikTok.”  Drew picked up the blood pressure cuff.  “Ready for the show?”

“Kill me now,” groaned Jeremiah.  

He didn’t completely hide his discomfort for the last segment, although he kept quiet about exactly how sick he was feeling.

“I’m definitely dizzy,” he told his audience, biting back the urge to gag.  “And I’m starting to feel slightly nauseated.  So keep that in mind the next time you want to grab an energy drink.”  He swallowed hard and sat very still, relieved not to talk while Drew briskly took his blood pressure and then pricked his finger for the final blood sugar count.  

“All your levels are well above the normal range,” he announced.  “I suggest you drink a big glass of water to flush out your system.”  

“Good idea. . . nurse.  I’ll do that.”  Jeremiah didn’t bother telling his viewers that there was no way he’d be able to keep a cup of water down right now.  But he had to finish strong, so he choked down another bubble of air and smiled into the camera.

“If my body reacted this poorly to only five . . . hic . . . drinks, imagine what a couple of day would do to you over the long run.”  He rubbed unabashedly at his chest.  “I’m Dr. Gable and thank you for joining me while I tested the medical science.  See you next time.”  

As soon as Drew switched off the camera Jeremiah groaned and dropped his head into his hands.  “Fuck.  It’s all catching up to me.”  He looked up to gaze mournfully at his boyfriend.  “I don’t feel well.”  

“No shit,” laughed Drew.  “Let’s take your energized belly back to our bedroom where I can take care of you properly, okay?”  

Jeremiah let himself be slowly hauled to his feet. “I hope all the shots turned out, because there is no way I’m going to be able to re-record any of that.”  His stomach whined and he choked back a retch.  “I feel like the liquid is climbing up my throat.” 

Drew stopped walking and took Jeremiah’s face in his hands.  “I don’t like the way your face looks,” he decided. “Should we go sit in the bathroom?”

“Gee, thanks,” said Jeremiah with half-hearted sarcasm.  “I thought you liked my face.”

“Not when it’s this nauseated because of poor decisions,” said Drew primly.  “You may be able to empty your belly but I’m afraid you’ll be feeling the effects of all the caffeine and sugar for a while longer.”  He shook his head.  “Can’t you make videos about things like the proper way to perform a neurological exam?”

“That’s next,” groaned Jeremiah.  In the bedroom he grabbed Drew’s hand and pressed it to his middle. “Feel how much it’s churning?” 

“I do; and I can hear it too.”  Drew disappeared into their walk-in closet and returned with a pair of Jeremiah’s baggiest sweatpants - the one he didn’t let anyone but Drew see him wear.  “I assume tonight calls for your maternity bottoms?” he asked with a grin.

“Fuck you.”  Jeremiah fell back onto the bed.  “Can you pull off my pants?  If I bend over I’m going to throw up all over the floor.”

���Ooh, sexy,” Drew teased.  Once he’d pulled off Jeremiah’s shoes and pants he climbed up onto the bed next to him.  “What can I do to help?”  

Jeremiah was relieved Drew wasn’t teasing him more, even though he’d be completely justified in doing so.  He slowly sat up. “Wait . . .urrurp . . . wait here while I go pee.” 

“Drink some water in there,” Drew instructed.  “I meant it about needing to flush your system.”  

Jeremiah didn’t bother answering.  He peed for what felt like a full minute and was disappointed that he felt just as bloated and gross and jittery after he was done.  He slowly filled a cup with water and leaned against the sink, staring at it and trying to convince himself to take a sip.

“Are you coming back to bed?”  Drew appeared at the door to their bedroom.  You’re staring at that water like it’s personally offended you. “

Jeremiah slowly put the cup back on the counter.  “I’m about to personally offend it, you mean.” He swallowed hard.  “I’m going to drink it and then throw it back up.” 

“And then we can finally get in bed,” Drew finished.  He picked up the cup. “Get down and put your head close to the bowl,” he ordered.  “So you don’t get too much splashback.”

Jeremiah chuckled weakly as he lowered himself to the ground.  “Spoken like someone who’s been puked on more than once, nurse.”  

“The number of people who don’t know how to vomit properly,” he agreed.  “Let’s not you be one of them.” 

Jeremiah cradled his belly.  “It feels like a waterbed in there." As soon as he leaned over and braced his hands on the sides of the seat he belched, deep and wet.  “Maybe . . . maybe I don’t need the water.”  

Drew began rubbing his back.  “Either way I’m giving you water after you vomit.  You’ll feel much better later; I promise.” 

Jeremiah spit into the bowl.  “It’s almost like being drunk,” he groaned.  “I feel so woozy.”  He spit again, cloudy and thick. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, a reaction, no doubt, from the 600 mg of caffeine and almost 150 grams of sugar.  “This was really stupid.”  Against his better judgment he began panting, trying to force something up.  

“That’s only going to make you more dizzy,” Drew chided.  “Here.” He thrust the cup of water into Jeremiah’s line of sight.  

“Ugh, okay,” he groaned.  Without stopping, he tilted the cup back and drained in in three big gulps.  His stomach gurgled with the influx of more liquid and then flipped.

“Yep,” he gagged, dropping the cup onto the floor and leaning further into the bowl.  “Coming back up.”  

Without warning Drew thumped him on his back and Jeremiah belched up a fountain of liquid.  He barely had time to catch his breath before his stomach spasmed even more violently and he threw up even more violently, gasping and burping between heaves.  Drew had been right; all the liquid would have splashed everywhere if Jeremiah had been sitting up higher.  He tried to catch his breath and ended up choking instead when more energy drink rushed up his throat.  

Drew patted his back.  “Slow breaths, that’s it,” he commanded, helping Jeremiah lean forward to gag up another mouthful.  “Almost done.”  

“I forgot . . . to mention the crash,” Jeremiah mumbled when he’d finally stopped heaving.  His hands were shaking so much that Drew had to hold a fresh cup of water for him to carefully sip.  “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“You can include that in the comments after you edit,” promised Drew.  “Now stand up slowly so you don’t pass out. I’m not interested in making a video showing everyone how I treat Dr. TikTok for a concussion.”

“That’ll be next time,” mumbled Jeremiah.