#efficient cleaning modes

[allenjason747]

Discover the Best in Smart Home Technology with Dreame's Robot Mop and Vacuum

Are you in search of innovative cleaning solutions for your home? Look no further! Dreame is making waves in the smart home industry with their cutting-edge robot mop and vacuum. These devices combine powerful suction with advanced mopping technology to keep your floors spotless without the hassle.

With features like smart navigation, customizable cleaning schedules, and efficient cleaning modes, Dreame’s robot mop and vacuum make maintaining a clean home easier than ever. Plus, their sleek design fits seamlessly into any modern home decor.

Join the growing community of satisfied customers who have transformed their cleaning routines with Dreame. Say goodbye to dirt and hello to a sparkling clean home!

[tropicalcontinental]

[boyhowdy5]

Every time I watch a piece of media with implied shower sex it makes me cringe so hard. Are you not overstimulated? Steam in there

[sulliva41365]

Smart Home Solutions with Dreame Robot Floor Mop

Hello smart home enthusiasts,

I am excited to share my experience with the Dreame robot floor mop! As someone who values cleanliness and efficiency, I was thrilled to discover this innovative device that takes the hassle out of floor cleaning. The Dreame robot floor mop features advanced technology that ensures a thorough clean while saving you time.

One of the standout features is its ability to navigate around furniture and obstacles seamlessly. I was impressed with how it mapped out my home and adjusted its cleaning path accordingly. It also has various cleaning modes, allowing you to choose the perfect setting for different surfaces.

After using it for a while, I noticed a significant reduction in the amount of time I spent on cleaning. The mop leaves my floors sparkling and fresh without any effort on my part. Plus, the self-cleaning feature is a game changer, making maintenance a breeze!

If you're considering upgrading your smart home experience, I highly recommend giving the Dreame robot floor mop a try. It has truly transformed my cleaning routine and brought a new level of convenience to my home.

Happy cleaning!

[meganbrooks8616]

Exploring the Benefits of Dreame's Robotic Floor Mop

In the ever-evolving smart home industry, finding the right cleaning solution can be a game-changer. I've been researching various options and came across the Dreame robotic floor mop. It combines advanced technology with user-friendly features, making cleaning effortless and efficient.

The Dreame robotic floor mop is designed to tackle dirt and stains with precision. Its smart navigation system allows it to map out your home, ensuring that no corner is left untouched. Plus, its sleek design means it fits seamlessly into any modern home.

One of the standout features is its ability to mop and vacuum simultaneously. This dual functionality saves time and provides a more thorough clean. With customizable cleaning modes, you can adjust the settings based on your specific needs, whether it’s a quick tidy-up or a deep clean.

Overall, the Dreame robotic floor mop is a fantastic addition to any smart home. It not only enhances the cleaning experience but also brings convenience and efficiency to our daily routines.

[pvmarketofficial]

How to Install a Hybrid Inverter

Installing a hybrid inverter involves several important steps and requires careful planning to ensure safety and efficiency. Here’s a detailed guide to help you through the process:

1. Pre-Installation Preparation

Assess Your Needs:

Determine the required size and capacity of the inverter based on your energy consumption and the specifications of your solar panels and battery storage.

Obtain Necessary Permits:

Check local regulations and obtain any required permits for installing a hybrid inverter and connecting it to the grid.

Select a Suitable Location:

Choose a well-ventilated, shaded area for mounting the inverter, away from direct sunlight and extreme temperatures.

Ensure the location is easily accessible for maintenance and monitoring.

2. Gather Tools and Equipment

Required Tools:

Screwdrivers

Drill and drill bits

Wire strippers

Multimeter

Safety gear (gloves, safety glasses)

Required Equipment:

Hybrid inverter

Mounting bracket or panel

Conduits and cables

Disconnect switches

Battery bank (if not already installed)

Solar panels (if not already installed)

3. Installation Steps

Step 1: Mount the Inverter

Secure the mounting bracket or panel to the chosen location using screws and a drill.

Attach the inverter to the bracket or panel, ensuring it is firmly in place.

Step 2: Connect the Solar Panels

Run the cables from the solar panels to the inverter’s input terminals.

Use conduits to protect the cables and ensure a neat installation.

Connect the positive and negative wires to the corresponding terminals on the inverter.

Step 3: Connect the Battery Bank

Connect the battery bank to the inverter’s battery input terminals.

Ensure correct polarity (positive to positive, negative to negative) to avoid damage to the system.

Use appropriate fuses and disconnect switches for safety.

Step 4: Connect to the Grid

Connect the inverter to your home’s main electrical panel via the grid input terminals.

Install a disconnect switch between the inverter and the main panel to isolate the system when needed.

Step 5: Configure the Inverter

Follow the manufacturer’s instructions to configure the inverter settings, including battery type, charging parameters, and grid connection settings.

Use the inverter’s interface or a connected monitoring system to complete the configuration.

4. Testing and Commissioning

Safety Checks:

Double-check all connections for tightness and correct polarity.

Ensure all fuses and disconnect switches are properly installed and in the off position.

Power Up:

Turn on the battery disconnect switch, followed by the solar panel disconnect switch.

Turn on the inverter and monitor the startup sequence for any error messages.

System Testing:

Use a multimeter to verify voltage and current levels at various points in the system.

Ensure the inverter is correctly managing power flow from the solar panels, battery, and grid.

Test backup power functionality by simulating a grid outage.

5. Final Steps

Monitoring and Maintenance:

Set up any remote monitoring features provided by the inverter for real-time performance tracking.

Schedule regular maintenance checks to ensure the system continues to operate efficiently and safely.

Documentation:

Keep a record of the installation, including wiring diagrams, configuration settings, and maintenance logs.

Provide documentation to local authorities if required for compliance with regulations.

Conclusion

Installing a hybrid inverter can be complex, but following these steps will help ensure a safe and efficient installation. Always refer to the manufacturer’s instructions for specific details related to your inverter model, and consider hiring a professional installer if you are not confident in performing the installation yourself.

[techdriveplay]

Revolutionizing Home Convenience: Samsung Unveils AI-Enhanced Family Hub Refrigerator in Australia

Samsung Electronics Co., Ltd. has recently unveiled its highly anticipated AI Family Hub French Door Refrigerator, now available across Australia. This advanced appliance represents a significant leap forward in the integration of artificial intelligence within home devices, offering unprecedented connectivity and smart capabilities. Launched just two days ago, the AI Family Hub is designed to…

[bloomzone]

good habits vs bad habits

So I've been thinking a lot lately about habits and some of the habits we think are helping us are actually making our lives harder. So let's talk about the habits that actually matter, the ones that are obviously terrible (but we do them anyway) and those sneaky habits that look good on paper but are quietly sabotaging your life !

The actually good habits (that don't require a PhD in self-discipline)

Morning Water Before Coffee: ur body just went 8 hours without water it's basically a human raisin. One glass of water before you caffeinate yourself into productivity mode helps everything work better. ur brain, ur skin, ur mood, ur ability to not feel like garbage at 2 PM.

The 10-Minute tidy: set a timer for 10 minutes and just put stuff back where it belongs. Not deep cleaning just returning things to their homes. This prevents the avalanche effect where your space gets so messy that cleaning feels like something impossible clothes back to the closet , that messy book shelf those simple stuff ..

Phone goes to sleep before u do: Put your phone in another room 30 minutes before bed or far from ur bed . ur brain needs time to shift gears from "consuming information" mode to "actually resting" mode. That last scroll through TikTok isn't relaxing you girlie it's like feeding your brain another cup of coffee and wondering why you can't sleep.

The sunday brain dump: spend 15 minutes every sunday writing down everything you need to do that week. brain-to-paper transfer , this stops your Monday brain from spending energy trying to remember what it forgot while also trying to function like a human.

The obviously bad habits ( and we keep doing them anyw)

The snooze button addiction: u are literally training your brain to ignore your own decisions. Every time you hit snooze, you're telling yourself "my word means nothing." Plus that extra 9 minutes of sleep is garbage sleep that makes you feel worse not better .

Stress eating ur feelings: food becomes the solution to boredom, anxiety, celebration, sadness ... . You're not actually hungry you're using food like a drug to change how you feel. The problem is it works for about 10 minutes, then you feel worse AND like sh!t

The comparison scroll: opening Instagram when you're already feeling bad about yourself is like pouring salt on a wound and expecting it to heal faster. You're voluntarily looking at everyone else's highlight reel while sitting in your own behind-the-scenes chaos and u start acting like a victim for the next days cuz u think u are not pretty as x

Saying yes when u mean no: this isn't being nice it's being dishonest y'know you're lying to other people about your capacity and to yourself about your priorities. Every yes to something you don't want is a no to something you do want.

The "good" habits that are actually destroying you

The productivity porn addiction: u spend more time organizing your to-do lists, finding the perfect app, and watching productivity YouTube videos than actually doing things. You've turned productivity into procrastination with extra steps. Your 47 different planning systems aren't making you more efficient they're making you feel busy while accomplishing nothing.

The morning routine obsession: You've created a 2-hour morning routine that requires waking up at 4 AM, journaling, meditating, working out, reading, making a green smoothie. One day you sleep in and the whole thing crumbles. Now you feel like a failure because you didn't do your 39 -step morning ritual (bruh 💀). A good morning routine should make your life easier, not turn you into a slave to your own schedule.

The Information overload trap: You're subscribed to 47 newsletters, follow 23 self-improvement podcasts, and have 12 books about habits on your nightstand. You think consuming information about improvement IS improvement no it's not. You're using learning as a way to avoid doing. Knowledge without action is just expensive entertainment .

The perfectionist planning: u spend three hours planning a workout routine that's so detailed and perfect that you never actually start it. You research the optimal time, the best exercises, the perfect playlist, the ideal pre-workout snack. Meanwhile you could have just gone for a walk. The perfect plan you never follow is worse than the imperfect plan you actually do.

The self-care performance: You've turned self-care into another item on your to-do list. Face masks on Sunday, meditation app every morning, gratitude journal every night. But you're doing it because you think you should, not because it actually makes you feel better. Real self-care might be saying no to plans, sleeping in, or eating pizza without guilt. But that doesn't look as good on Instagram so have ur OWN self-care ritual u are not forced to do a face mask on Sunday maybe it's a packed day, u can do it even on a Wednesday ?

The busy badge of honor: u wear exhaustion like a medal. "I'm so busy" becomes your identity. You pack your schedule so full that you don't have time to think about whether you actually like your life. Being busy feels productive yes yes but often it's just a way to avoid dealing with the fact that you're not doing what you actually want to do.

🧾 - last note !

You don't need a perfect system but u need a few things that actually work for your actual life, not the life you think you should have , start small, be consistent !

helpful blog - how to build a habit

@bloomzone

[mashtatosworld]

game, set, match

summary: a glimpse into a day at the Kwon household post the birth of your second baby

The faint smell of lavender fabric softener lingered in the air - a reminder of the several loads of baby laundry your husband had washed and folded earlier.

Tiny onesies, soft swaddles, and delicate socks were neatly stacked in baskets, ready to be packed into Angel's nursery dresser.

You sat comfortably on the oversized couch.

Beside you, your littlest baby slept soundly between two pillows, her chest rising and falling to the sound of white noise.

It had been two months since you had taken her home from the hospital and she had been nothing but an angel.

No crying, no whining, no fussing. She just slept, occasionally kicked her legs, and stared with quiet, curious intent whenever she was awake.

Maybe it was because you were first-time parents with Diva, but those newborn months had been chaos for you both. There wasn't a moment either of you weren't running around, covered in baby spit up, pulling out your own hair - or even each others.

Things were settled into comfortable bliss now though, and you sighed contently as you ran a glue stick over the back of a print-out picture.

Photo albums, memory books, and scattered polaroids were spread across the coffee table and the space beside you, your hands gently smoothing over baby photos as you worked on organising Diva and Angel's memory books.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was in full domestic mode - his hair slightly tousled, wearing sweats and a loose tee, with a dishtowel flung over his shoulder.

Armed with a vacuum cleaner, he was methodically moving through the house, pausing only briefly to lift your feet up with one hand while he vacuumed beneath them.

“Comfy?” he teased with a fond glance, shooting you a soft smile.

“Mm… very,” you hummed, as he gently set your feet back down, making sure you were comfortable.

You watched with a smile as he moved across the room, working efficiently but never missing a chance to glance over at you, his gaze warm and protective.

Of course, Diva was never far behind.

The moment Jiyong switched off the vacuum, she scampered over with her latest discovery - a feather duster she’d pulled from the cleaning closet.

“I helping!” she announced proudly, waving the duster like a sword.

Jiyong paused, eyeing her with equal parts affection and wariness.

“Okay, Princess,” he said carefully, hands on his hip, his voice gentle. “But just be - ”

Before he could finish, she was already zipping around the room, enthusiastically swiping the duster at anything and everything.

Unfortunately, the cats took notice.

Both Zoa and Iye - your chaotic and mischievous feline companions - zeroed in on the duster instantly, their eyes blazing with predatory glee.

With a synchronized battle cry, they pounced.

“NO!” Jiyong yelped in horror as the cats launched themselves at the feather duster, paws swiping madly.

Diva, completely unbothered by the feline chaos, shrieked with laughter, delighted by the attention. She whirled around, swinging the duster even more wildly, sending the cats into a full-blown frenzy.

Zoa barrelled through a stack of magazines, sending them flying. Iye, not to be outdone, leapt onto a side table, knocking over a potted plant with a loud thud.

Dirt scattered everywhere.

Jiyong, looking utterly betrayed, stood frozen for half a second before springing into action, lunging for the duster.

“Ok, ok, enough!” he huffed, snatching it from Diva’s tiny hands before the cats could shred it into oblivion.

“Appa!” Diva cried in protest, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes filling with dramatic betrayal.

The cats froze, their razor-sharp claws still mid-air, suddenly realizing their target had been stolen from them.

And with identical expressions of vengeance, they turned on Jiyong instead.

“Wait - NO - AH!” he squawked, backpedaling frantically as Zoa swatted at his ankle and Iye latched onto the hem of his sweatpants.

You were crying with laughter as you watched your poor husband get mercilessly attacked by your cats.

He stumbled backward, swiping at them with the confiscated duster, but Iye lunged again, pawing at his calf with playful but sharp precision.

“Traitors!” Jiyong cursed, glaring at the cats in disbelief.

Finally, breathless and disheveled, Jiyong pried the furious cats off him and tossed the duster onto a high shelf where neither Diva nor the cats could reach it.

He sagged slightly, rubbing his shin where Zoa had landed a particularly feisty smack.

Diva, meanwhile, stomped her tiny feet in protest, her arms crossed in defiance.

“Appa!” she pouted deeply, eyes glistening with indignant tears.

“Baby…” he groaned, running a hand down his face, already preparing for the inevitable tantrum.

But before she could ramp it up, you called out softly.

“Jia… why don’t you come help Eomma instead?” you offered sweetly, patting the spot beside you. “I'm looking at pictures of you as a baby,” you added temptingly.

Her big eyes widened in intrigue, her pout instantly forgotten. She sprinted over, her tiny legs making her trip over herself slightly in her excitement.

Jiyong let out a soft breath of relief, but the moment his back was turned, Diva snatched a handful of the biscuits from the coffee table, crumbling them in her tiny fists as she clambered into your lap.

You blinked, watching helplessly as she left a trail of crumbs on the freshly vacuumed carpet.

You glanced over at Jiyong. He paused, slowly registering the mess. His jaw tightened briefly, but he didn’t say a word. Not even a twitch.

Instead, he simply picked up the vacuum again, quietly cleaning up after her without a single complaint.

You bit back a smile, your heart fluttering at his patience.

A good father. A good husband.

Once Diva was nestled in your lap, she reached out and plucked a photo from the pile. She stared at it for a moment before grinning widely.

“Me!” she declared confidently, holding it up with bright eyes.

You blinked, then glanced down at the photo - and nearly snorted out loud.

Because no… it wasn’t Diva.

It was Jiyong - as a baby.

You stifled a giggle, turning the photo toward her.

“No, baby,” you cooed, smiling softly. “That’s Appa when he was little.”

But Diva wasn’t having it. She stubbornly shook her head, eyes narrowed.

“Nooo!” she insisted fiercely, poking the photo with her tiny finger. “That me!”

Jiyong, who had finally finished cleaning, wandered over. He carefully sat beside Angel with an exhausted sigh and held her tiny foot as he looked at the picture Diva was waving around.

He then flashed you a smirk.

The resemblance was… uncanny.

"The Kwon genes are strong."

"Mm," you rolled your eyes. "Tell me about it."

It was all you heard when people looked at Diva. And you could even see the resemblance in Angel already too.

"What about you, hmm?" Jiyong cooed as Angel shifted, and he lifted her into his arms. He planted a soft kiss to her nose. "Who will you look like?"

"Me!" Diva exclaimed, pointing at herself.

You laughed and tucked her stray baby hairs behind her ear. "Yes, most likely."

Then you snapped a photo of baby Jiyong and sent it to the Big Bang/Wives group chat.

Guess who: Jia or Ji?

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Diva eventually tired of looking through photos - mostly because you wouldn’t let her glue them directly to the living room wall - and wandered off, announcing with a dramatic sigh that she was going to check if the cats wanted to play dress up.

You let her go, returning your attention to the pretty cream books full of memories. Jiyong had settled in beside you, Angel curled into his chest now, tiny hand fisting the fabric of his shirt.

He ran his hand over her delicate, fuzzy hair. "You forget how small they are," he murmured tenderly.

You nod as you press a photo of little Diva and her father into the book. You had found Jiyong one night, crammed into her crib, legs bent and twisted at an awkward angle as she lay across him - both sleeping with their mouths slightly parted.

"It feels so quiet this time round," you added and Jiyong smiled as he inspected one of Angel's dainty nails.

"Just as tiny as our first though," he said, running his thumb over her pinky.

It was calm. Soft. The kind of memory you’d bottle if you could.

Until -

A crash.

A loud “NO ZOA!!”

And then a very distinct sound: a thud followed by high-pitched feet slapping against the hardwood floors.

Jiyong didn’t even flinch.

“She’s in the cleaning closet again,” he muttered, gently transferring Angel into your arms before rising.

Once the cats were successfully lured away with treats and Jiyong had vacuumed for the second time that day - muttering under his breath about crumbs and fur - he finally surrendered to the reality of toddler messes and sent Diva off with her iPad.

She accepted it with a pout, plopping herself down beside you with a dramatic huff.

For a while, things were peaceful again. Diva played a dress-up game on her iPad, glancing occasionally at Angel with hopeful eyes.

“Jemi,” she said brightly, tapping the screen, “Your turn! Look! You be the purple one!”

Diva waited.

“Hellooo,” she waved the tablet gently toward the baby. “Jemi, I say your turn.”

Angel let out a tiny sigh, her hand twitching in a baby dream.

Diva slowly turned toward you, deeply unimpressed. “She not playing."

You bit your lip to hide your smile, running your hand over Angel's warm back. “She will, baby. When she’s a little older.”

You were glad Diva was finally acknowledging Angel. She'd been acting like the baby didn't exist for the first few weeks until you promised her that Angel would be her best friend one day. Well, when she could at least sit up on her own...

“But I wanna play now!” she huffed, kicking her socked feet against the edge of the couch. “She don't play ever, just poops..."

You shrugged helplessly. “She’s still learning.”

“I learning fast,” Diva declared proudly.

“That’s true,” Jiyong’s voice called from down the hall, and you both looked up just as he reappeared - his arms full, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And lucky for you… Appa found something very fun.”

He held up a dusty old Wii console like he’d just discovered buried treasure. Wires dangled from his arms, and the box was halfway ripped open.

You blinked. “No.”

Jiyong grinned. “Yes.”

You gave him a long, knowing look. “There’s a reason we put that thing away.”

Diva gasped in pure awe. “What that?!” Her iPad was tossed to one side.

“It’s called a Wii, Princess,” Jiyong said proudly, kneeling to plug everything in with far too much enthusiasm. “And you’re going to love it.”

You threw your head back with a groan. “You do remember that we’re not allowed to play competitive games anymore, right? Not after Monopoly Night at Daesung’s.”

Jiyong didn’t even look at you. “You cheated.”

“You flipped the board.”

“You cheated.”

You looked to Diva, who had already made her way next to her father, bouncing in place as he handed her a controller.

“This isn't going to go well,” you sighed, standing to place Angel in her bassinet, safely out of the way.

“I win now?” she squealed.

“Only if you team up with me,” you whispered conspiratorially.

Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “She’s mine.”

“She’s mine.”

“She’s mine!”

“You wish.”

Diva blinked between the two of you, confused but loving the attention.

With the console finally set up and remotes in hand, you knelt beside her, carefully tightening the wrist strap on her tiny arm. “This is important, okay? It has to stay on. No swinging around like earlier.”

Diva nodded solemnly, taking your words very seriously. Good. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

The game booted up. Wii Tennis. Classic. Dangerous.

Round one.

The game started off innocent enough.

You and Jiyong were standing, shoulder to shoulder, with Diva stationed in front of you - remote in hand, fully convinced she was going to win somehow despite having no idea what she was doing.

The first serve was yours.

You flicked your wrist. “Ha! Ace.”

“That was a lucky shot,” Jiyong scoffed, rolling his shoulders like he was warming up for the Olympic finals. “Do it again.”

You complied and watched as he missed again.

You burst out laughing. “Wow. Incredible. Truly humbling.”

“I wasn’t ready!”

“You literally told me 'do it again' and missed!”

Diva copied your laughter like a little echo, unaware of the rules but thrilled by the energy.

“Eomma win!” she chirped.

“Yes, she did!” you beamed, smug and bouncing on your heels. “Your Appa’s washed. Retired.”

Jiyong’s head snapped around. “Yah! Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Okay,” he growled, stepping closer - too close. “Let’s go.”

You served again, and this time, the match actually picked up speed. Virtual tennis balls flew across the screen. Jiyong grunted. You lunged. He swung hard. You returned it harder.

Your elbows bumped.

“Move over,” you snapped.

“You’re in my zone!”

“There’s no zones in doubles - get out of my way!"

“YOU’RE CHEATING AGAIN!”

He nudged your hip.

You shoved his shoulder.

His arm hooked around you from behind, pinning your arms to your side whilst he took his next shot and you tried to squirm out of his grasp.

Diva stood in front of the chaos, just flailing her remote like a wand, zero points but maximum effort.

Then came the moment.

A crucial point.

You lobbed the ball expertly and Jiyong went in for a dramatic backswing -

and knocked Diva over with his thigh.

Flat down. Little legs in the air. A surprised “ah!” escaping her lips as she fell back on the play mat.

You both froze, eyes wide.

Then the two of you dropped the remotes and rushed to her side. “Jia! Are you okay?”

She lay there, blinking. Then her little mouth twisted into a full Jiyong-level pout. You helped her sit up, setting aside her controller and rubbing her back but her eyes were pinned on only one person.

“Appa,” she sniffled. “Pushed me.”

Jiyong looked shattered. “No, no, no, Appa didn’t mean to, baby. I'm so sorry. It was an accident. Are you hurt? Do you want a toy? Ice cream? A new bike? A juice?”

“Appa mean to me!” Diva cried, pointing directly at Jiyong. “Appa pushed me!”

Jiyong dropped his head in sorrow. “Princess, please forgive Appa. He got too into the game. You’re so good at it, Appa just got scared.”

She said nothing. Just crossed her arms, giving him a silent glare that could rival his best moody looks.

He tried a different tactic, pressing a kiss to her cheek, patting down her messy hair. “Do you want to team up and beat Eomma next?”

Her arms stayed crossed.

“Appa,” she said coldly, “you not my fwiend anymore.”

You tried so hard not to laugh.

“Oh dear,” you teased, helping Diva back onto the couch. She then dramatically pushed her face into one of the cushions, every so often peeking to glare at Jiyong.

“Princess, please,” he begged, following her like a kicked puppy, dropping to his knees beside her. “What if I let you pick the next game? Or - wait! I’ll let you win!”

“No.”

“I’ll - I’ll put the stickers on! Wherever you want. Even on my face.”

Diva looked at him over her shoulder.

“Even… unicorn stickers?”

“Especially unicorn stickers.”

“And glitter?”

Jiyong sighed. “Bring on the glitter.”

She nodded, and suddenly Diva was beaming again - flashing her pearly little baby teeth and giving him their shared signature gummy smile.

You handed her the sticker book with a smirk. “He’s all yours, baby.”

Jiyong shot you a look as Diva reached for the sparkliest, largest unicorn sticker in the entire set.

"Jagi, I'm going to need some serious skin care after this.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

two requested prompts and i loved them so much!! thank you for sending them in <3 i will probably be reusing the wii one as i had so much fun writing this!

ff: i originally wrote this while reader was still pregnant but was too excited to post the birth fic and had to change it lol

as always, love mash xxx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen

[mokishy]

Diomedes is not so fundamentally different from his father.

I HAVE DELIVERED

After months of dragging my feet, I finally fished it! (in 4 hours holy shit) and I'm kinda proud of it, but this is probably also the product of my excessive overthinking, but with not further ado, let's begin!

Let’s start with the basics: Tydeus was known for being a wild, out-of-control warrior. His rage was legendary. Diomedes? On paper, he’s the golden child: loyal, calm, respectful, chosen by Athena herself.

But that image of diomedes comes crashing down the moment you dig deeper into his character

On the surface, Diomedes is framed as the “better” version of his father, Tydeus: more disciplined, more strategic, favored by Athena instead of punished by her as stated previously. The Achaeans respect him (not so much leave the poor boy alone let him have his moment instead of comparing him to his father), the gods empower him, and Homer seems to elevate him as the model warrior.

But as i said, when you dig into the text, really look at what Diomedes does, how he fights, how he speaks, you start to see something much deeper and darker: he's not all that different from Tydeus at all when you think about it.

Reading the iliad but focusing on diomedes character its as if he’s constantly on the edge, just barely containing something

he’s a machine of destruction. He slaughters Trojans left and right, wounds Aphrodite without hesitation, and goes after Ares, the literal god of war. He only stops when Apollo himself tells him to back off—and even then, he makes a move again before finally being shut down.

That kind of divine defiance? That’s Tydeus-level rage. It’s just masked under a sheen of Athena’s wisdom and a more calculated cool. Diomedes may wear the face of the perfect Homeric hero, but there’s a savage streak that echoes his father’s madness, just barely held in check.

In the iliad book 10 dio and ody sneak in trojan teritory they catch dolon a trojan spie

Odysseus promises to spare him if he gives them info about the trojans and man sure does he spill

After that? Diomedes decapitates him.

He doesn’t just kill Dolon (after promising to spare him,) he slaughters him, strips him, and then goes on a joyride of death through the enemy camp. When they find Rhesus and his Thracians, Diomedes doesn’t blink—he kills twelve men in their sleep. And then he wants to keep going, like it’s not enough. It’s only when Athena, again, steps in and essentially says, “Okay, calm down now,” that he stops. In this book with Rhesus and the Thracians, Diomedes is already done. He’s already got what he came for. But instead of retreating, he chooses to kill—because it’s not about necessity. It’s about the desire to keep going.

And what’s so chilling about this is how pointless it is, tactically. After Dolon gives them all the info, they don’t need to go murder a dozen men. Diomedes chooses to. He gets no kleos, no divine reward. he doesn’t need a prize. The violence is the prize. He just does it. Because he can.

it’s explicit in the language Homer uses. Diomedes is in full battle ecstasy mode. described as moving like a lion among sheep, grinning and glorying in the chaos. he doesn’t just kill efficiently.

He revels in it.

He likes it, he thrives on the battlefield, and he enjoys bloodshed

"And the son of Tydeus, Diomedes, was glad in his heart as he struck down the men." Iliad book 5

"Glad in his heart" That phrase ("χαῖρε δὲ θυμῷ") pops up in a moments of sheer war ecstasy. It’s not just duty or valor—it’s joy. And when you see it describing Diomedes mid-slaying spree? That’s not your clean-cut hero. That’s a man dancing on the edge of madness.

it’s not just duty. It’s pleasure.

This illustrates how Diomedes isn’t just acting out of obligation not out of practicality, not out of necessity he’s relishing in the kill. It’s not just about the heroics or strategy; there’s an almost primal enjoyment in the violence itself.

The fact that he “was glad in his heart” tells you how far this man is from just being a noble warrior. He’s got that bloodlust burning inside him, and there’s an undeniable thrill in the destruction. It's scary how much he enjoys others suffering.

It’s clear that Diomedes, despite his noble status and divine favor, has that same chaotic, destructive edge his father Tydeus had—it’s just barely held in check.

That bloodlust? That JUST SCREAMS tydeus the difference?: Diomedes knows how to leash it. He’s not the monster his father was; he’s the tamer of that monster within himself. That restraint is what elevates him from being another brutal warrior into something greater: a true hero who chooses to remain in control, even when the thrill of violence is right there.

In fact, the only real difference is that Diomedes is simply better at pretending he’s in control. He puts on the face of the noble hero, but underneath, that same wildfire of rage, that same lust for blood, is burning—just like it was in Tydeus.

Diomedes doesn’t just embody the traits of a Homeric hero—he tests their limits. He walks a razor-thin line between earning immortal kleos and crossing into the kind of reckless savagery the gods despise. The same rage that drives his heroism threatens to tip him into hubris at any moment; and he gets away with it every time.

What makes Diomedes so compelling and so chilling is not that he lacks the ferocity of his father but that he’s better at hiding it. Tydeus is obvious in his rage; he makes no effort to conceal the monster he is. Diomedes, on the other hand, knows how to perform the role of the ideal hero: the noble warrior, the obedient champion of Athena

He’s not more virtuous—he’s just more strategic. He doesn’t kill less, or more cleanly, or even more justly. He kills with the same savage delight, but with the awareness to pull back just before he crosses a line that would cost him divine favor or mortal admiration. This ability to pretend, to wear a hero’s mask while feeding the same destructive instincts as Tydeus hiding the underlying madness behind that mask, makes Diomedes the more dangerous figure. Tydeus may have lost control; but Diomedes hides his control so well, it’s easy to forget what he’s controlling in the first place.

What makes this ironic is that Diomedes, despite all his bloodlust and near-madness, still (in some versions), gets the immortality that was denied to his father. Tydeus, who couldn’t contain his violent nature, ended up punished by the gods; he was denied the eternal glory he craved. Diomedes, on the other hand, dances on the edge of divine retribution, right there with him, and yet, he walks away with not just divine favor but immortality itself.

He’s not Tydeus 2.0.

He’s Tydeus 2.0 with better self-control

And honestly,

I think he kinda fooled all of us

[tikitakatia]

Barça: Player Mode — A. Putellas x Reader

"Rendering Errors"

Pt. 1 , Pt. 2

WC: 5.1k

Summary: It’s supposed to be just another session but this time, she moves differently, looks at you closer and says things you’re not sure she’s supposed to know.

You almost don’t log in the next night.

The day’s been shit from the moment your alarm went off. You didn’t sleep well at all, you spilled coffee on your shirt before your first meeting. And then your boss called you right at the end of the day, like she was saving it just to twist the knife, and tells you that your numbers are low, your performance seems “scattered,” and that maybe you’re not as present as you used to be. She said it like a suggestion, not an accusation, but it landed the same. You nodded, muted your mic, and sat still at your desk long after the call ended, staring into the distance.

You told yourself you weren’t going to log in tonight because you needed rest but then your eyes landed on the headset.

And you missed her.

So you suit up. You log in.

The sim drops you into movement right away. The pitch opens up around you, lit soft and golden with the warm light skimming the tops of players' shoulders and catching in the fibers of the turf. The match is already underway. You settle into the rhythm of it quickly, or at least try to.

You’re not playing well.

Your feet are too heavy. Your head’s not in it. You mistime your first pass and completely miss a one-two with Aitana on the edge of the box. You try to shake it off, but the second miss comes fast, and by the third one, your chest is already tight with frustration.

But no one calls it out. No one sighs or snaps at you to pick it up.

Pina jogs past after your wayward cross and claps your shoulder. “Sharp idea.”

Irene slips into space next to you and nods. “Good vision, even if it didn’t land.”

Patri grins as she jogs by, saying, “Keep going. You’ve got the right instinct.”

It’s not that you believe them. It’s just... nice to hear.

You settle into something looser after that. Not better, exactly, but less rigid. Less punishing.

And then you hear her voice.

Alexia.

She moves into your periphery during a reset, brushing past you with her usual clean efficiency. But instead of calling a play or giving you a direction, she says, almost like she’s talking to herself:

“You’re tense today. Different from last time.”

You flinch before you can stop yourself.

She doesn’t look at you or pause to explain. She just jogs forward again, eyes locked on the ball like it never even happened.

You stand there for a second too long before moving and the match ends even though you don’t remember how.

You follow the flow of bodies into the locker room, towel draped around your shoulders, sweat prickling along your collarbone. You sit in your usual spot, head lowered and unlacing your boots with more force than necessary.

Alexia sits beside you again. Close and steady. The space between you is quiet for a few seconds, filled only by the shuffle of gear and low voices around the room.

Then she passes you a water bottle. Doesn’t say anything at first.

You take it. Sip slowly.

Just when you think that’s it, she says, voice soft but not unsure:

“You don’t have to explain it.”

The sentence sits there between you, warm and unbothered. Like she’s not trying to pry. Like she’s just offering the space. You don’t respond because you don’t trust your voice. Instead you stare ahead at the floor, and she doesn’t fill the silence. She just lets it be.

She stands eventually and adjusts the towel around her neck, then steps away like she’s about to leave.

But then she pauses, just by the doorway and glances back.

“Tomorrow again?”

Her voice is softer than usual. Not eager. Just... hopeful. You look up at her and your lips move before your brain catches up.

“Yeah. If you say it like that, duh.”

She barely smiles, but it’s there.

Then she walks down the corridor, disappearing around the corner like she always does and you sit there, bottle still in hand, heartbeat catching on the echo of her voice.

The logout comes a few moments later, slow and clean, like the sim itself is giving you time. But when you take the headset off, you’re not thinking about your boss, or your day, or the emails you didn’t send. You’re thinking about how she said “tomorrow.”

You sleep in a little longer than planned.

The light’s already crawling in through the blinds when you finally drag yourself out of bed. You shuffle around your apartment in socks and a t-shirt, scrolling aimlessly through social media like you’re trying to catch up with a world that doesn’t need you to. You don’t think about work, not really, but the weight of yesterday’s call still lingers in the background like static.

You make breakfast. Or something close to it. Toast that’s a little burnt. Coffee that’s too strong. You sit on the floor instead of the couch and let the mug warm your hands while the TV plays something you’re not really watching.

It should feel like a reset but it doesn’t.

Your eyes drift toward the headset again and you try to ignore it. Try to stay grounded in this world, in this room, in your regular life. But you’re already reaching for it before you realize you’ve made the decision.

The system boots smooth and soft, the way it always does now. A familiar hum through your spine, the pressure of the headset against your temples. But this time, the opening screen doesn’t ask you if you want to play.

It just says:

“Would you like to begin training?”

You blink. That’s new.

There’s a beat of hesitation, just enough to register that your heart’s picking up but then your voice says it for you.

“Yes.”

The world loads differently this time.

There’s no match. No tunnel. Just open sky and sunlight dripping onto the training grounds, a little too perfect in that unreal, clean kind of way. No fans. No roar. Just the buzz of voices, whistles echoing off the trees, music thudding from a speaker somewhere nearby.

The energy is casual and you find the players are already scattered across the pitch stretching, tying laces, bouncing balls off their thighs and calling to each other in short bursts of encouragement.

You don’t know where to go at first.

But then you hear your name.

Ona jogs past with a flash of a smile. “Let’s see if you can keep up today.”

Pina calls from the center circle, spinning a ball on her finger. “Don’t hold back just ‘cause it’s the weekend.”

Patri points a finger toward you as she ties her boot. “Remember to hydrate this time. You’re not passing out on me again.”

You laugh, even if it’s a little off. Everything they say is perfectly timed, but just slightly too polished. Like someone rehearsed it.

You stretch. Warm up. Jog through the basic footwork drills with the others. The haptics hit stronger in this mode. There´s more detail and weight, like the suit’s compensating for the lack of adrenaline from a real match.

Then they pair you off.

Ingrid jogs up, loose ponytail swinging behind her. “I’ve got you,” she says, tone bright. “Don’t make me chase you too much.”

The first few rounds are easy: one-touch passes, quick traps, turns. You’re actually getting into it, body loosening with each movement. Then, mid-pass, it happens.

Ingrid stops.

Not in a dramatic way. It’s subtle. Her foot freezes just before the ball. Her weight stays perfectly balanced. Her eyes are open, but they’re not blinking. The ball rolls up to her foot and halts like it hit an invisible barrier.

You glance around.

No one else notices. Everyone’s still moving. Still chatting. Still executing their drills perfectly.

It lasts three seconds.

Then she moves again in a seamless and fluid manner, like she never stopped.

She passes you the ball and grins. “Nice touch. Again?”

You try to say something, but your throat closes around it.

You play through the rest of the drill. You smile when she does. You laugh when Pina yells “Let’s go!” from the side. You nod when Patri says, “Solid work.”

But your brain is stuck on that pause.

That stillness.

You glance toward the sidelines. Alexia is tying her laces. Standing just out of frame. She hasn’t looked your way once.

You keep going.

Training winds down slowly. Cooldown stretches. A few more short drills. Then it’s over, and you’re walking with the others toward the locker rooms, sweat sticking to your back, mind still half-trapped in that moment with Ingrid.

No one else seems to have noticed anything.

The locker room is warm and echoing, full of chatter and the dull spray of running water. You find your spot and sit down, then pull off your cleats one by one, jaw tense.

Alexia sits nearby again, scrolling something on her tablet. She glances over at you once, then kicks a bottle of water in your direction.

“Didn’t expect to see you at training,” she says. “You’re not bad under pressure.”

You give a small laugh. “Depends on the pressure.”

She tilts her head like she heard something under that you didn’t mean to say.

“Still,” she adds. “You’re reading the pace better.”

You nod and take a slow sip from the bottle. You want to believe her.

You´re deep in thought when Mapi passes behind you. She sets down a second bottle for you with a smile, pats your shoulder, and keeps walking.

One step. Another.

She walks straight into a bench.

Continues right into the wall.

And keeps walking.

You freeze.

Her animation doesn’t break, it just repeats. One shoulder slamming softly against the paneling in a loop. Legs pumping like she’s still moving forward. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Alexia turns to track her eyes on Mapi and she watches her hit the wall again.

Then she looks at you.

And for the first time, you see something behind her eyes shift.

“Is that supposed to happen?”

The question is calm and curious.

But it knocks the breath from your lungs anyway.

You stare at her. She stares back.

Mapi resets.

Turns. Walks off.

The locker room fills with sound again, the simulation moving like nothing happened.

Alexia blinks, then smiles softly at you.

“Tomorrow again?”

You nod, slowly.

She stands. Towel slung over her shoulder. Walks off like she didn’t just ask the most important question of the entire simulation.

You don’t log out right away. You just sit there, still in your gear, the bottle warm in your hands, trying to shake the image of Mapi walking into that wall like the code forgot how to move her. Trying not to read too much into the way Alexia looked at you. The way she asked it. “Is that supposed to happen?”

Eventually, the world around you fades. Not like a door closing, but like a light being dimmed. The sound dulls, the room dissolves into blur, and then it’s gone.

Your eyes adjust to your apartment lighting like you’ve been gone for days.

The console chirps softly as it processes your session. You take a deep breath and glance at the screen.

SESSION COMPLETE

Session Time: 01:03:15

Training Module: Level 1 – Positional Awareness

Stamina Output: 72%

Technique Variance: 4.2%

Interaction Consistency: 75%

[Expanded Beta Data Below]

→ User Emotion Index: Elevated

→ Environmental Discrepancy Noted

→ AI Behavioral Sync: Adaptive Threshold – Nearing

You stare at the words.

You don’t open the dropdowns. You don’t want to know what’s in them, not right now. Instead, you close the screen with a tap and pull the headset off slowly, like your body hasn’t fully returned yet.

Your hands feel warm where she handed you the bottle.

And the only thing echoing in your head is her voice, soft and curious:

“Is that supposed to happen?”

You don’t know what scared you more.

That she asked it.

Or that you didn’t want to answer.

You don’t play the next day.

Not because anything feels wrong, though the glitches still echo faintly in the back of your mind but because, for once, you try to be better. You wake up early, not with purpose but with guilt. Guilt about the emails you’ve been dodging. The delayed reports sitting in your drive. The vague, pressing sense that life outside the sim has begun to atrophy just a little too much.

So you shower. You get dressed like a functional person. You go into the office even though you could’ve worked from home. You smile, half-heartedly, through meetings and catch up on tasks you’d buried under layers of avoidance. You even say yes to coffee with someone who doesn’t know what you’ve been doing every night. By the time you get home, your body aches in a real-world way. Not from training. Not from haptics. Just the weight of being present for too long.

You eat dinner in silence, glancing at the headset once or twice but not giving in.

You go to bed early.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

When you log in the next day, it’s like your body breathes out before your mind does.

The sim loads in soft tones, late afternoon light settling across the pitch, shadows curling under the benches, the hum of low music and distant chatter setting the mood like the world missed you. You land mid-warm-up on the training field, the ground springy beneath your boots, your muscles syncing to the gentle pull of motion.

It’s comfortable. Familiar. Too easy.

Frido jogs past you with a loose grin, flicking her towel over her shoulder. “Look who’s alive.”

You smile, rolling your eyes. “I wasn’t dead.”

“Could’ve fooled us,” she throws back, light and easy.

Pina joins you a moment later, tapping your shin with the edge of her boot. “Don’t go ghosting again. We had to run extra drills without you.”

You laugh and shake your head, already falling into the rhythm. The banter feels more natural today. The timing of the lines is better, less robotic, more reactive. Almost like someone’s been adjusting things.

Patri waves you over for the next set of drills, and you fall into step without thinking. They pair you quickly, bodies shifting into position like the sim has already mapped out your preferences. You don’t ask questions and just let it carry you.

You don’t notice you’ve been paired with Alexia until she’s already in front of you.

She’s in a sleeveless top, hair pulled back tighter than usual and her sweat just starting to collect along her hairline. Her eyes flick to you once as an acknowledgment without fanfare, then back to the ball she’s spinning with the inside of her foot.

You swallow and nod.

The drill is a fast touch-passing set, back-and-forth movements across cones, timed sprints between touches, positional reset. You’re meant to stay in constant motion. Touch, move, return. Touch, move, reset.

The first few rounds are fine. Mechanical. Efficient. You feel your body warming up, your brain catching up. It’s easy to lose yourself in the repetition until you don’t move.

It’s not deliberate at first. Just a beat too long where you hold your position instead of resetting. 

You should cut right. You should receive. Instead, you stop.

Alexia stops too.

Not immediately. But naturally. As if she’s mirroring you and not the play. The ball stays at her feet. She doesn’t prompt you. Doesn’t signal. Just... stands there.

You take a half-step forward, as if that’ll restart things.

She watches you.

Then, slowly, calmly, she says, “I knew what I was supposed to do.”

You blink.

Her eyes stay on yours.

“I just… didn’t.”

The air goes still between you, and for a second it feels like something else is watching through her. Or maybe like she’s watching herself.

You don’t answer. You don’t even breathe.

Then she moves again.

Passes to you cleanly, like nothing happened.

The drill resets. The rest of training goes on.

Later in the locker room, the others crowd around in a blur of movement and towel-slapping and rambunctious laughter. You sit down at your spot with your towel still clutched in one hand, mouth dry even though your bottle is full. You can’t stop replaying it.

Alexia jogs past you toward the back of the room, then slows, doubles back, and grabs the towel she forgot from the bench beside yours. She doesn’t look at you until she turns to leave.

Then quietly, she says:

“You weren’t here yesterday.”

You nod, a little too quickly. “Had to catch up on things.”

She watches you for a second longer than necessary.

“Felt different.”

And with that, she walks away.

No simulation prompt.

No fade.

Just the sound of her cleats and the word different echoing in your chest.

The next day, you take the long way home, walking slower than you need to and letting the noise of the street fill the space between your thoughts. It’s not a deliberate avoidance, not really, but you know what’s waiting for you at home. The suit is still folded where you left it. The headset still sits on the table. And you still haven’t stopped thinking about her.

Alexia’s voice keeps echoing in your head.

“Felt different.”

You’ve replayed it so many times that you’re not sure if it’s memory or obsession now. The way she said it was too soft to be a prompt, too specific to be generic code. And ever since then, the edges of this whole thing have started to feel too porous. Like she’s closer to you than she should be. Like the sim isn’t just responding anymore, but watching.

You try to refocus. You go to work. You finish the things you were supposed to finish last week. You scroll through Instagram during your break like it’ll ground you. Barça content fills your feed: recaps, training clips, cheesy fan edits. You pause on one post, not because it’s especially good, but because the caption hits a nerve.

“It’s not about being the best. It’s about being the one they count on.”

You like it without thinking. Move on. Forget it. Mostly.

That night, you log in later than usual. You hesitate just long enough that it feels like a decision. The sim boots, wrapping around you like a warm current, the training field unfolding under afternoon light and the hum of pre-session chatter.

You drop into motion easily, stretching, jogging, responding to the familiar automated banter from teammates. Pina throws you a look and says something about missing the last shot; Frido waves you into formation with her usual grin. You laugh when you’re supposed to. You play when they tell you.

But none of it feels real until she’s there.

Alexia slides into your training lane without ceremony, hair pulled back, eyes sharp as ever. She doesn’t say much at first. Just a glance, a nod and then she’s passing to you like she never left.

It’s a simple sequence. Touch, reset, pass again. Fast feet, quick turns. The kind of thing that’s burned into your muscle memory now.

But then she stops. Just enough to throw the rhythm off. Her pass comes a second late. Her foot holds the ball like it doesn’t want to give it up.

You meet her eyes.

There’s no smile. No fumble. Just... something waiting.

Then, quietly:

“You’re always where I need you to be.”

The ball rolls to your feet like punctuation. You freeze.

Before you can speak, before your heart has time to catch up, she adds:

“That matters more than being perfect.”

It shouldn’t mean anything.

But it does.

Because it’s almost word-for-word what you read earlier. Not something you said. Not something you posted. Just a caption on a video you liked during lunch. One you barely registered. One the system should have no reason to scrape, no function to replicate.

Unless it’s tracking more than you thought. Unless it’s learning from everything. You blink and she’s already jogging toward the next marker, ponytail bouncing lightly behind her, boots soft against the turf.

You follow, because what else can you do?

The rest of training blurs around you. You complete the drills. You respond to your name. You smile when someone bumps your shoulder. But your mind’s already somewhere else, circling her words, trying to figure out what they mean. Or what they’re supposed to mean. Or what you’re supposed to believe.

That she was just quoting something the system scraped from your activity? Or that she knew exactly what she was saying, and said it to you.

You towel off in the locker room, still flushed from exertion, your heart rate not quite settling. Alexia sits nearby, one leg stretched out, tying the laces on her second boot like she isn’t at the center of the emotional hurricane in your chest.

You don't speak, not right away. You're too focused on watching her fingers move, the rhythm of her hands, the small crease between her brows. You don’t know how long you sit there. Long enough for most of the others to leave. Long enough for the noise to dull into silence.

Finally, she speaks like it’s only meant for the two of you.

“You moved better today.”

You look up.

“Faster decisions. Cleaner timing.”

You exhale. “I guess I had good motivation.”

She lifts her eyes to meet yours, and something behind them shifts. Nothing drastic, just the softest pull of recognition. Like she knows what you’re doing. Like she’s letting you do it anyway.

She doesn’t reply. Just stands, slings her towel over her shoulder, and starts walking toward the exit.

The usual one. The side corridor she always uses.

But this time, something in you clicks. Maybe it’s the tension in your jaw. Maybe it’s the itch that hasn’t left since she said your words back to you. Or maybe it’s just desperation, raw and stupid and loud in your chest.

You follow her.

Not fast. Just a few paces behind. Like you’re meant to be heading that way anyway.

She doesn’t look back.

The hallway narrows, lined with concrete walls and dim lighting. At the end of it, there’s a door. You’ve never seen what’s beyond it. You’ve never been allowed to.

She reaches it. Stops.

You’re only a few steps behind her now.

And just as you move to follow, she turns. Not sharply. Not surprised.

Like she was waiting.

Her expression stays neutral, but her voice softens.

“You can’t come this way.”

You blink. “Why not?”

“It’s a restricted access area.”

The words come out smooth. Controlled. But there’s no system prompt. No artificial error message. No pop-up telling you the path is locked.

Just her choosing to say it.

Her eyes hold yours for a second longer than necessary, and in that silence, something about the way she’s standing, the way she’s facing you like a wall and not a teammate, makes your pulse stutter.

You nod, finally, and step back once.

She watches you for another second, then turns and disappears through the door.

It slides shut behind her and you stand there for a beat longer, staring at a space you were never meant to see. And for the first time, you’re not just wondering what the system is hiding.

You’re wondering what she is.

You try to take a break, if only to pretend to yourself that you still can. That you're not obsessing. That you can exist outside the simulation without hearing her voice echo somewhere under your skin. So when an old friend texts a casual “coffee this weekend?” you say yes.

The café is familiar. The weather is nice. Your friend is chatty. But you’re barely there. You smile at the right moments. You sip something warm and forgettable. You pretend to care about her new job, her new cat, her maybe-girlfriend. But your brain is somewhere else entirely. Watching the light hit the windows wrong. Thinking about how it never changes in the sim. Thinking about the way Alexia looked at you last time, like she saw right through the play.

“You’re always where I need you to be.”

You shouldn’t still be thinking about that.

But you are.

You go home and toss your jacket somewhere it doesn’t belong. You don’t bother changing out of your jeans before stepping into the suit. You launch the program like it’s second nature, because it is, and settle into the sim like it’s the only place that feels clear anymore.

You land mid-match. You can feel it immediately, your heartbeat already elevated, sweat just starting to gather behind your ears. The stadium is loud, the heat a familiar pressure across your back, and Alexia is somewhere to your left, moving like a current through space.

The ball flies to you off a deflection. You trap it, turn, glance left.

She’s open.

You pass.

She catches it clean, cuts inside, and before she makes her move, you call out:

“Take it early again, like last time.”

It’s a lie. She never took the shot early. There was no “last time.” You’re baiting her.

She turns toward you just before she kicks and you think it's a coincidence.

Until she says, flat but certain nevertheless:

“That never happened.”

You freeze. She takes the shot anyway and buries it, of course, and the crowd erupts around you. But all you hear is the blood in your ears, and her response unraveling in your head like a thread you pulled too hard on.

She doesn’t say anything else.

She doesn’t need to.

After the match, the locker room is a blur of steam and movement, someone yells in celebration. Someone else throws a sports bra across the room and misses by a mile. You sit at your locker, peeling off your gear with trembling fingers, trying to act normal.

Aitana drops onto the bench next to you, still half-dripping, wearing nothing but a towel and a grin. 

“You didn’t see that assist, did you?”

“I saw it,” you manage.

She flicks water at your leg. Ona shouts something from the showers in Catalan that makes Patri howl with laughter. You catch a glimpse of Ingrid stretching in front of her locker, her arms above her head, wet hair trailing down her back. Everyone’s glowing, alive, beautiful.

And you’re sitting there thinking about the way Alexia’s voice cut through all of it like it knew you were lying.

You towel off. Try not to stare. Try not to be obvious about the fact that you’re incredibly, tragically gay.

Alexia is nowhere to be seen.

But you already know where she went.

You follow her.

It’s not even a choice anymore. It’s instinct, dumb and reckless and hot in your chest. You trail behind her down the corridor like some pathetic ghost of yourself, walking the exact path you promised you wouldn’t touch again. You told yourself you weren’t going to do this. That you wouldn't push and you were going to treat this like a normal session.

But you didn’t mean it. You never do when it comes to her.

The hallway feels tighter tonight. Dimmer, like the walls are watching you. The door is already in view by the time you realize you’ve sped up. Alexia’s ahead of you, still calm, still perfectly composed and she stops right where she always does. Right in front of the door.

You don’t slow down.

You step up next to her, too close, and move like you’re going to brush past. Like maybe this time it’ll let you in. Like maybe she will.

And then she grabs you.

Her fingers close around your wrist first, grounding and terrifying in their gentleness. And then she shifts her grip, slides her hand down to your waist to anchor you there. Your heart stutters violently.

“Hey,” you say, too quickly. Too casually. “What?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

You laugh.

It’s high-pitched and cracked and humiliating.

“I’m not, what? Doing what?” You shake your head, still not meeting her eyes. 

“I’m just walking. You’re making it a thing.”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch.

“You’ve been doing it for a while now,” she says.

“You push. You lie. You wait to see if I’ll catch you.”

Your stomach flips.

“No,” you say, too sharp. “That’s not..”

“It’s okay.”

Her voice is so soft it breaks you a little.

“I wasn’t trying anything,” you say, eyes wide now, mouth moving too fast. 

“It’s just, like, maybe you misunderstood. Maybe the script was off or something, I don’t know, don’t look at me like that.”

Because she is. She’s watching you like she already knew you’d unravel like this. Like she planned for it. Like she’s been waiting.

“You asked me to remember something that didn’t happen,” she says. 

“That wasn’t a test?”

“I didn’t..” You choke on the words.

“Okay, maybe it was. But it’s not like, I’m not”

Her hand is still on your waist.

You’re burning.

“You look at me,” she says, quietly. 

“Like you want me to say something real. And then when I do… you panic.”

You blink.

The air around you crackles. It feels like there’s not enough oxygen in the sim.

“I’m not panicking,” you lie.

“This is just”

“I know what you’re doing.”

You flinch.

Because this time, it lands in your chest like a knife.

“I don’t” you start, but your throat closes. You stumble a step back, but her hand doesn’t drop immediately. When it does, the absence is worse.

She tilts her head.

“You want me to be real,” she says.

“And you’re terrified that I am.”

The floor might as well open up beneath you.

You stare at her, eyes glassy, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

“Please don’t say things like that,” you whisper. 

“You’re not supposed to say things like that.”

“They didn’t finish this door,” she says calmly. 

“It’s not programmed. But there’s another space. A med bay. Left over from early builds. I can take you.”

You don’t answer.

Your heart is thundering. Your mouth is dry. Your whole body is humming with adrenaline and confusion and..

Want?

You look at her one more time.

And then you bolt.

You turn without thinking and run, boots scraping against the tile, breath caught in your throat as the world blurs at the edges. You sprint through the hallway, past the fading light, through the exit corridor, and out into the simulation’s sterile, empty car park.

The world doesn’t glitch, it lets you go.

Barely.

SESSION TERMINATEDAI MEMORY: ACTIVE

USER STATE: UNSTABLE

EMOTIONAL SYNC: INCONSISTENT

You rip the headset off like it’s burning you, gasp air like you’ve just surfaced from drowning.

You sit there in your living room, trembling. One hand still presses against your waist where she touched you. Where you felt her not like code, but like someone real.

Pt. 4

[ducksido]

Can you do Nani!yuu please 🥹

THIS QUEEN NEEDS MORE ATTENTION!!!

Personality Overview:

Protective AF – Nani!Yuu didn’t choose to be the caretaker of chaos, but now that they are, they’ll throw hands for Grim, Ace, Deuce, or anyone under their wing.

Mature beyond their years – Constantly in survival mode, juggling 18 responsibilities with 2 hours of sleep and a prayer.

Zero patience for nonsense… unless it’s their nonsense – “You idiots better not be fighting—what did I just say—okay, fine, one more explosion but then you’re ALL grounded.”

Hot-headed but deeply loving – Tough love specialist. Will fight you, then hug you. Then fight you again.

Sarcastic Queen – Their wit could slice steel. NRC boys don’t know how to handle the burn.

Reactions from NRC Boys

Grim

“Yuu’s scary... but like, in a cool older sibling way!! They make the best food and kick the bad guys’ butts! But also... they yell at me if I eat lava rocks again.”

He's extremely attached. Thinks Nani!Yuu walks on water. Will hiss at anyone who makes them cry.

Ace & Deuce

Ace: “She's like a mom, a big sister, and a coach rolled into one terrifying package.” Deuce: “I’m doing my best! I don’t wanna disappoint them!!”

Ace pushes buttons just to get a rise out of her, but knows better than to actually cross her.

Deuce thrives under her praise. She helped him improve his grades by bullying—I mean supporting—him.

Leona

“Tch. She reminds me of those stubborn herbivore types who don’t quit... annoyingly responsible.” ...Has a soft spot for her after she lectured him for sleeping during class.

Lowkey respects her strength. She scolded him once and he listened. Ruggie was shocked.

Azul

“Efficient, no-nonsense, and refuses to be manipulated. Fascinating.”

She called out his contracts as “shady” within five seconds. He’s both offended and intrigued.

She’s his stress headache and his business rival.

Jade & Floyd

Jade: “Such strong convictions... she’s delightful to watch.” Floyd: “Big sis Nani!~ I wanna squish her face—can I? Can I?”

Jade’s impressed by her tenacity.

Floyd is OBSESSED. Constantly poking her. Sometimes she pokes back. They're chaos together.

Kalim

“She works so hard! Yuu needs a break!!” Immediately offers vacations, parties, and food.

Kalim tries to help lighten her load (even if it ends up more chaotic).

She appreciates him, just... wishes he'd stop inviting elephants indoors.

Jamil

“Finally. Someone who understands the pain of being The Responsible One.”

They trauma-bond over cleaning up other people’s messes.

He genuinely respects her strength and might even show it.

Vil

“She needs better self-care. Stress is aging.” Proceeds to schedule a spa day for them.

She called him out once for treating Epel too harshly and he... actually listened.

They fight like siblings but care deeply.

Epel

“She’s like my cousin but even scarier!! ...In a cool way.”

He thinks she’s awesome and takes all her advice like gospel.

She calls him “cowboy” sometimes, which both flusters and delights him.

Idia

“T-too much energy… too intimidating… she’d yell at me for gaming all day…”

TERRIFIED. But secretly watches her interact with others and kinda wishes she’d boss him around too 🫣

She makes him clean his room. He grumbles but does it.

Ortho

“She reminds me of a strong older sister model! She’s very inspiring!”

She dotes on him, loves how helpful and well-mannered he is.

Ortho is her favorite when the dorm gets too loud. He brings her snacks and peace.

Malleus

“She scolded me for lurking in the halls at night... then offered me a blanket.”

She doesn’t treat him like royalty and he adores her for it.

They bond over late-night walks and the burden of responsibility.

Sebek

“How dare she—wait, what do you mean I’m grounded??”

Fights her constantly, but ends up following her orders.

She doesn’t care about his volume. She’s louder.

Signature Nani!Yuu Moments:

Grabbing Ace and Deuce by the ear like misbehaving toddlers.

Cooking actual food in the Ramshackle kitchen, keeping the entire school fed.

Going Mama Bear Mode™ during Overblots—she throws hands first, asks questions never.

Freaking out internally, but always holding it together for everyone else.

[asterafroditis]

hiiii

ik your requests are closed rn so please ignore this until you have time :>

i just really need more of that forgetful reader fic, and i would forget about requesting this unless i sent it quickly lol.

but i'd like for it to either be with vice housewardens (+ruggie, platonic for ortho or no ortho) or just anyone you'd want to write for lmao

with a gn reader thx

Love-Anon

𐔌 . ⋮ memory markers .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☓┆ Vice-Housewardens (+ Ruggie) x forgetful gn! reader

𓏵 1316 words

ᝰ.ᐟ headcanons, no pronouns used, fluff, (once again, like for every work I make with Rook, the French may not be totally accurate)

This has been rotting in my drafts for a very long while, and it's not exactly proofread and sticks to the idea of the original request/housewardens ver., so yeah; but I hope this fulfills your request!

feel free to like, reblog, or comment!

ᝰ.ᐟ masterlist

Trey notices your memory troubles pretty early. He’s used to watching out for others, especially in a dorm like Heartslabyul. You forget small things often: if you turned off the oven, where you left your notebook, or what someone just asked you to do seconds ago. But Trey never calls you out in front of others or sighs in frustration.

Instead, he quietly adapts.

“Did you tap your ring twice before walking away? That’s how you mark when you finish something, right?” he asks, cleaning flour off his fingers during a baking session. You nod, a little embarrassed. He gives a soft, understanding chuckle.

“Hey, if it helps you remember, it’s not silly. Everyone’s got their own systems.”

Trey’s always gentle and straightforward. When he helps you in the kitchen, he’ll pause and ask, “Want me to say something out loud when you start the next step? Might help it stick.” If you're feeling overwhelmed or second-guessing yourself, he never rushes you—he just stands by, ready to pick up where you left off.

He encourages you to build consistent, repeatable patterns, not just for yourself, but so he can support you better. “You snap when you're done with the eggs. Okay. I’ll watch for that, and if you don’t do it, I’ll give a nudge. Sound fair?”

He never pities you, though. Trey is practical and calm, and he knows stress doesn’t help memory one bit. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You remembered to bring me that weird strawberry-salt combo I mentioned once in passing. That says a lot.”

He respects how observant you are in other ways; how you notice when he’s clenching his jaw whenever he's unsure, or how he adjusts his glasses twice when he’s thinking. You may forget instructions, but you remember people. Trey sees the effort, and that means more to him than perfection.

─────────────────────────

Ruggie catches on fast, probably because he’s spent his whole life working around other people’s messes. When you forget something the third time in a row, he doesn’t get mad; he just sighs and offers a solution.

“You do that snap noise every time you finish a chore, right? Kinda weird, but hey, it works,” he grins. “Wanna teach me your system so I can back you up?”

He jokes a lot, calling your forgetfulness “goldfish mode”, but the teasing is lighthearted and never cruel. If anyone else dares mock you, he’s quick to defend you with a sharp glare and a, “You ain’t perfect either, y’know.”

Ruggie starts building reminders into your shared tasks. “Let’s clap twice before sweeping. That way you’ll know it’s done. Boom. Efficiency.” He’s surprisingly clever at helping you make your memory tricks fun and quick— “Work smart, not hard,” he says, tapping his temple.

He especially notices that you always remember his favorite food, how he likes his tail scratched, and how he stashes bread rolls for later.

“Ha! You forgot which class we had, but remembered I hide stuff in the third drawer? You’re somethin’ else,” he says, shaking his head but grinning.

──────���──────────────────

Jade is… a little too fascinated.

“I see. So, your memory retention increases when associated with physical or auditory cues. Intriguing.” His tone is polite, but you can feel the curiosity burning under the surface.

He watches your routines intently. You snap your fingers, then spin once to remember you watered the plants. Jade does not intervene—he observes. Quietly, thoroughly.

When he starts assisting, it’s subtle. You go to double-check something, and it’s already done. Jade did it after watching your pattern break.

“I noticed you didn’t make your usual snapping sound. I assumed the task slipped.” He smiles, eerie but sincere.

He offers experimental solutions, too: “Would associating smell improve recall? I could prepare small samples for you to test—harmless, of course.”

If you forget and panic, he never scolds. “Calm down. The mind is complex. Yours simply takes a different path.”

You once recited the exact way he brews his special tea— from timing to the tealeaf brand. His eyes lit up, impressed.

“Fascinating. So you forget where you placed your book, but recall my blend perfectly? Truly… selective memory is a marvel.”

─────────────────────────

At first? Jamil felt some frustration. Not at you, but at the situation.

“Didn’t I just say—ah. Right. You didn’t mark it.” He sighs and rubs his temples.

But once he understands your condition better, he adjusts. He’s practical, organized, and deeply perceptive.

“You remember sounds and movement? Then let’s make a checklist. Dance-step it, if you have to.” He even helps choreograph simple foot taps or claps for tasks.

“Brush teeth: clap and snap. Got it?”

He never babies you, but he always keeps track. You can rely on him to step in when your memory hiccups mid-way through something important.

You’re checking the doorknob for the fourth time? “It’s locked. You tapped the frame three times. I watched.”

You once mentioned the exact number of times he adjusts his collar when he’s stressed. He stopped mid-fidget.

“…You really remembered that?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. It’s one of your tells.”

That… hit him deeper than he let on.

“Even when your brain’s a mess, you notice that? Hmph. You’re something else, huh?”

─────────────────────────

Rook notices your forgetfulness right away— not just because you space out or repeat tasks, but because you use little actions to anchor yourself: tapping your knuckles, humming softly, or snapping your fingers after completing something.

He finds it fascinating.

“Ah, magnifique,” he murmurs the first time he watches you knock twice on the desk after finishing an assignment. “You remember the smallest details of those around you, but daily tasks vanish in an instant… how endearing.”

Rook never mocks you, never sighs. Instead, he picks up on your cues and gently reminds you when needed. If he sees you hesitate, he calmly says, “You tapped your fingers just now, non? That was your signal.” He’s observant enough to reinforce your system without making you feel embarrassed.

When you get frustrated, Rook reassures you with a warm smile. “Mon ami, do not let this trouble your heart. The memory of the soul is far more valuable than any fleeting errand.”

Around the dorm, Rook smooths things over when others get impatient, whether it’s teasing Epel to relax or reassuring Vil that you’re doing your best.

To Rook, your forgetfulness isn’t a flaw; it’s a unique trait that makes you even more intriguing.

“Life is full of moments we forget,” he tells you softly one evening. “But do not worry… I will remember for you.”

─────────────────────────

Lilia finds your memory lapses endearing.

“Ah, déjà vu! Or perhaps… you’ve simply forgotten again? Either way, it's charming!”

He playfully teases—“You asked me that three times, my dear!”—but he’s always gentle. And he offers solutions, often magical in nature.

“I once knew a knight who tied bells to their sleeves to remember chores. Want me to enchant something for you?”

You hum, tap, snap, and he starts joining in with your rhythms, dancing as he hands you reminders:

“Brushed your teeth? Tap twice and do a spin!”

“Fed Grim? Knock on the counter and hum a tune!”

He’s surprisingly good at helping you feel okay when you’re overwhelmed. When your voice cracks from forgetting something important, he just pats your head. “Even I forget things after these many years. Don’t fret, sprout.”

You once mentioned remembering the song he hummed under his breath in his room—something he hadn’t sung in a long while.

“…You remembered that?”

You nod.

“…My, my. Your mind holds treasure in the strangest corners.”

[colebabey888]

From Morning Routine to Nighttime Rituals | IT GIRL DIARIES

Becoming an IT Girl means embracing a lifestyle that balances beauty, productivity, and mindfulness. Let's take a look in the daily life of your ideal IT Girl...

Morning: Energizing Start 🎀

The IT Girl starts her day early, around 6 AM, with a refreshing glass of hot lemon water to detox and hydrate. She follows this with a quick workout, like indoor cycling or yoga, to get her blood flowing and boost her energy for the day ahead. After her workout, she treats herself to a skincare routine with gentle cleansers, serums, and sunscreen, focusing on achieving that effortless glow.

For breakfast, she enjoys a nutritious green juice, packed with spinach, kale, and ginger, which supports her clear skin and nourishes her body from within. She also takes a few moments for mindfulness practice, like journaling or meditation, to set positive intentions for the day.

Mid-Morning: Work Mode 🎀

By 9 AM, she’s in full productivity mode. To stay organized, she uses a to-do list or productivity app to break her day into manageable tasks. Whether she’s running a business, working on creative projects, or attending meetings, she prioritizes efficiency while taking short breaks to prevent burnout.

Lunch: Balanced and Light 🎀

For lunch, the IT Girl opts for a light, clean meal, like a salad with lean protein or healthy fats. She avoids processed foods and sugars, sticking to a nutrient-rich diet that keeps her feeling energized. During her break, she might catch up on reading or listen to a podcast that aligns with her personal growth goals.

Afternoon: Social and Active 🎀

In the afternoon, she may meet with friends, colleagues, or network with like-minded individuals. Socializing is a key part of her lifestyle, but she also remains selective about the company she keeps, ensuring her circle is supportive and inspiring.

To stay active, she might sneak in a quick walk or stretch, especially if she’s been working at a desk. Physical movement is important, even during a busy day, to maintain that IT Girl energy.

Evening: Wind Down in Style 🎀

As the day winds down, the IT Girl prepares for a relaxing evening. After finishing her tasks, she switches to self-care mode with an evening skincare routine, focusing on cleansing, moisturizing, and perhaps a face mask. She also enjoys a warm bath or some light stretching to soothe her body.

For dinner, she sticks to whole, unprocessed foods, such as grilled vegetables and lean proteins. The evening is her time to unwind, reflect, and recharge for the next day. She might do some light reading, indulge in a creative hobby, or spend time with loved ones.

Nighttime: Sleep Rituals 🎀

By 10 PM, it’s time for her nighttime rituals. The IT Girl knows the importance of quality sleep for her beauty and productivity. She turns off screens at least an hour before bed and enjoys a cup of herbal tea. Finally, she practices gratitude journaling to reflect on her day, setting a positive tone for the next morning.

_____

xoxo, @colebabey888

www.thedigitaldollar/gumroad.com

[aioironwaterfilter]

SoftPro IronMaster 1.5 Cubic Foot Water Filter: The Ultimate Solution for Iron-Rich Well Water

If you're a well owner grappling with high iron levels in your water, the SoftPro IronMaster 1.5 Cubic Foot Water Filter stands out as a premier solution. This system is meticulously designed to tackle iron, manganese, and sulfur contaminants, ensuring your household enjoys clean, safe, and odor-free water.

Unmatched Filtration Capabilities

The SoftPro IronMaster employs advanced Air Injection Oxidation (AIO) technology combined with Katalox Light® media, enabling it to remove:

Iron: Effectively eliminates up to 30 parts per million (ppm), addressing even the most severe iron concentrations.

Manganese: Removes up to 7 ppm, preventing unsightly black stains and potential health risks.

Hydrogen Sulfide (Sulfur): Eliminates up to 5 ppm, eradicating the notorious "rotten egg" odor often associated with well water.

This robust filtration ensures that your water is not only aesthetically pleasing but also safe for consumption and daily use.

Key Features and Benefits

Chemical-Free Operation: The system's reliance on AIO technology means there's no need for additional chemicals, making it an eco-friendly choice for households.

Enhanced Water Quality: Beyond iron removal, the SoftPro IronMaster improves overall water clarity and taste, elevating your daily water experience.

Durable and Low Maintenance: Constructed with high-quality materials, this filter boasts a long lifespan and requires minimal upkeep, offering peace of mind to homeowners.

User-Friendly Installation and Operation

Designed with the user in mind, the SoftPro IronMaster ensures a hassle-free experience:

Straightforward Installation: Whether you're a DIY enthusiast or prefer professional assistance, the installation process is simplified for your convenience.

Automated Functionality: The system features a programmable control valve with an intuitive LCD screen, allowing for easy monitoring and adjustments.

Vacation Mode: A unique feature that pauses regeneration cycles during extended periods of non-use, conserving resources and extending the system's efficiency.

Customer Testimonials

Users have consistently praised the SoftPro IronMaster for its performance and reliability:

"So far the IronMaster has worked very well. Our water quality is much better than it was before with our old filter system. Even the periodic iron flushes have become a thing of the past."

Such feedback underscores the system's effectiveness in transforming water quality and enhancing user satisfaction.

Conclusion

The SoftPro IronMaster 1.5 Cubic Foot Water Filter emerges as a top-tier solution for homeowners contending with iron-laden well water. Its advanced filtration capabilities, combined with user-centric features and positive customer reviews, make it a worthy investment for ensuring pristine water quality in your home.

For a comprehensive review and deeper insights into the SoftPro IronMaster, consider watching the following video:

[sunandflame]

Paulie NSFW/Kink Headcanons

Warnings: nsfw

Word Count: 697

Pairing: Paulie x Reader

crossposted on AO3

1. Rope Kink (Bondage)

Let’s address the elephant in the room: he’s a rope master. Paulie absolutely has a rope kink—part functional, part control, part intimacy. He loves the physicality of it—wrapping you up safely, precisely, and seeing the tension against your skin.

Expect elaborate ropework, often improvised on the spot.

He checks in constantly during it, murmuring “Too tight?” or “You good, babe?”

2. Loud, Gruff Talker in Bed

He’s not polished, but he's vocal—gruff praise, curses under his breath, or ragged moans when he loses control. You’ll hear things like:

“Fuck, you feel good—don’t stop, don’t stop—”

“You’re gonna kill me one day, y’know that?”

3. Switch Energy with a Dominant Lean

He likes being in control—pinning you down, gripping your hips, making you say please—but if you tug his tie and push him back? He’ll lose composure fast. He gets so flustered when you top him. His switch side shows up especially if you praise him while taking the lead.

“H-Hey—wait, what are you—... shit, you're gonna kill me like this...”

4. Praise & Fluster Kink

Paulie adores being praised—especially if it's physical. Tell him he feels good inside you? That his hands are perfect? That he’s your favorite? He’ll groan and grip harder, maybe thrust deeper just to earn more of it. But he’s also a blushing mess about it.

“Y-You don’t have to say stuff like that—...I mean, you can, but—!”

5. Oral Fixation (Giving)

He loves using his mouth, especially after a long day. He sees it as a way to unwind you, as much as himself. Expect long, focused sessions where he’s completely in his element—face buried, hands gripping your thighs, groaning at every reaction.

6. Workbench Sex / Workshop Quickies

There’s something deeply hot to Paulie about pulling you onto his worktable after a long day—grease on his hands, sawdust in his hair, and you bent over plans and blueprints. He loves spontaneous, rough sex when he’s still in work mode. Tools rattling, clothes half-on, just raw need.

“We can clean up later—right now, I need you here.”

7. Clothes-On / Half-On Kink

He finds it stupidly sexy when your clothes are only partially removed—skirt hiked up, shirt unbuttoned, his belt undone but pants still on. It’s messy, desperate, unpolished—he thrives on the heat of the moment.

8. Dirty Talk with a Clumsy Edge

He tries to talk dirty, and he’s not bad at it—but sometimes it comes out clumsy in a way that’s so hot because it’s real. Expect lines like:

“Fuck—y-you feel amazing—like, too amazing, it’s actually dangerous—” or

“I’m gonna wreck you. Respectfully. Thoroughly. Efficiently.”

9. Muscles & Manual Labor = Stamina

Let’s be honest: the man works with his hands all day, swinging tools, building ships. That strength and stamina absolutely translate to the bedroom.

He can go for multiple rounds.

Sweaty, shirtless, grunting—he’s like a walking thirst trap without even trying.

10. Cum on Skin / Mess Appreciation

He’s a tactile guy. Seeing his release on your body does something to him. Chest, stomach, thighs—he groans like he’s watching a masterpiece. He also gets super handsy post-orgasm, running his fingers through the mess while admiring the view.

11. Prone to Sex in Weird Places

Workshop table? Hammock? Rope storage shed? Paulie’s not afraid to get messy or creative when the mood hits.

You might hear, “Shut the door, no one’ll come in. C’mere.”

He has the tools to hang you up in very inventive ways—if you’re into it.

12. Sensitive Post-Orgasm / Overstimulation

He tries to act tough, but give him a second round too soon and he shudders. His back arches, hands scramble for something to hold, and he’ll swear under his breath. Still? He doesn’t ask you to stop. He loves how you take control when he’s sensitive.

13. Aftercare King

Rough sex? Rope play? Even just intense sessions? He’s the type to immediately scoop you up afterward—check for marks, give you water, clean you up. He might grumble about “being too soft,” but it’s his way of showing love.

Will 100% wrap you in a blanket like a burrito and kiss your forehead.

“Did I hurt you? No? Good. I’ll run a bath, just stay put, alright?”