#remedies for missing numbers

[shuksrp]

Unlocking Your Destiny with Lo Shu Grid

[numeroclinnic]

Missing Numbers & Remedies (1-4) | Practical Guidance by Dr. Aneil Kkhare | NumeroClinnic

Discover the significance of missing numbers (1-4) in your numerology chart and their impact on your life. In this video, Dr. Aneil Kkhare, the best numerologist and Vastu consultant in Dubai, shares practical remedies to balance energies and enhance positive living. Learn how numerology and Vastu principles can promote prosperity, peace, and success. Whether you’re a beginner or an enthusiast, this session offers valuable numerology tips and practical solutions to align your life path. Ideal for those exploring numerology readings, numerology in Dubai, or seeking numerology for personal growth.

📞 Contact: +971 50 594 7781 🌐 Visit: www.numeroclinnic.com

[radioregine]

I have it btw

now I wanna do math exercises for the fuck of it lol I wonder if I still have that one textbook from middle school when I had to be tutored

[creature-wizard]

Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

[mrs-hatake]

JJK Men Texting You After a Break-up

warning: mentions of violence and stalking. relationships: male x afab!reader a/n: i added yuuta to the list :D also, all images below belong to me‼️

Toji:

The monotonous voice filling the room does not succeed in stealing Y/N’s attention from her phone as it lights up with yet another incoming call.

Toji

Stares back at her, his infamous smirk can almost be seen on the screen as the notification shows his fifth missed call in less than two minutes.

Being stuck in an important meeting on a product the company right after a break-up is the absolute worst. 

Y/N and Toji spent the previous night arguing about something that she cannot remember at the current time. But Toji’s thundering voice rattling her heart in her ribcage rings clear in her ears.

A jab to her side and Y/N is met with a side glare from her colleague who points at her phone with her eyes. Flushing in embarrassment, Y/N hurries to switch off her phone when a text message from her now ex-boyfriend catches her. Scoffing, she sends a quick reply before switching it off.

Satoru:

Binge watching all the feel good chick flicks is the best remedy for Y/N’s broken heart. 

She has shed some tears as the women on the screen cried over a relationship gone sour, has laughed when the female characters enjoyed themselves and has felt empowered when the women got over their heartache and moved on with their lives, becoming the better versions of themselves. 

Which is why when Satoru’s name pops up on her phone, she doesn’t feel the butterflies fluttering about in her tummy like they usually do. Instead, there are tiny spiders crawling in her veins, eating those vermin. 

Pausing the movie, Y/N picks up her phone with disinterest. 

A breathless chuckle, one lacking mirth, rushes past her lips. 

What a ridiculous message her ex has sent her.

Kento:

Going to a bookstore, browsing the shelves for hours and filling the basket to the brim with new books and reading one of them at the coffee shop across the street was Y/N and Kento’s go to date idea.

They will sit at the coffee shop from early afternoon until the sun is just about to set. Having read quite a handful of chapters, they’d review the books they’ve read. Though they don’t read the same genres, they have the maturity to respect the other’s interest and provide honest inputs when asked for. 

But after their break-up just a few days ago, Y/N can’t stand the sight of hers and Kento’s bookshelves in their living room. The only way to shield her from such a sight, the one that taunts her of a lost love, is by retreating to her and Kento’s room. The only solace is that Kento is staying over at a friend’s house until he finds a new apartment to rent. 

Even though she misses Kento, even though she wants him back, Y/N refuses to be the bigger person and takes the first step. 

Which is why when Kento texts her, she doesn’t respond in her usual chipper attitude.

Suguru:

“…So I says to the guy, that’s my ma!”

Y/N shoulders shake as laughter erupts from her. Though the joke itself wasn’t funny, the way her date delivered it with so much enthusiasm is hilarious enough. 

Y/S has been nervous for the past week over the prospect of dating again. She just got out of a break up a little less than a month ago and she isn’t completely ready to be back on the dating scene but her friends have convinced her that the only way to get over a guy is by meeting someone new.

So, she downloads a dating app her friends recommended, matched with someone interesting enough and, here she is, on her first date after being in a relationship with Geto Suguru for two years.

Warmth floods her veins at the look her date is directing her way, gentle and curious, it’s a sight Y/N hasn’t been on the receiving end in a very long time.

She’s glad she is on this date. It’s time she thinks of herself for once.

But her resolve shatters when her phone lights up, showing Suguru’s name.

She picks up her phone to block his number but his message has her rolling her eyes. Typing a quick response, Y/N blocks her ex.

Sukuna:

Finally, after years of emotional abuse, of nights crying herself to sleep, Y/N has finally broken-up with her boyfriend of five years. 

Ryomen Sukuna’s luck runs out when he finally pushes Y/N over her limit. Their last fight has Y/N throwing whatever object she can find at the tattooed man. When he successfully dodges them, she chases him out of her apartment with a kitchen knife.

That was a month ago.

Now, Y/N is in the living room of her new apartment, playing some violent game where whenever she rips off the arms, legs and head of a male character, she pictures them as Sukuna.

Horrifying, true, but this is what happens when you date someone as deranged as Sukuna.

Which is why when Y/N gets a text from an unknown number, her blood boils. 

How the fuck did Sukuna manage to get her new number?

Yuuta:

Dating Okkotsu Yuuta is like dating prince Charming. 

He spoils you with gifts, sings songs of praise, touches you with care and wakes and sleeps to your name on his tongue. 

Which is why, when Yuuta calls Y/N the wrong name in bed — the name of a deceased lover, no less — it is as if she has been doused in cold water, waking her up from her dreams.

What surprises Y/N even more is how incessant Yuuta is; calling her phone nonstop, loitering around her work place, following her room, banging on the door and begging for forgiveness. 

When Y/N grows fearful for her life, she quits her job, packs up her shit and leaves. 

Little by little, pretty colors paint Y/N’s world and she finds herself alive again. 

But the vibrant colors are painted over by dark and dull shades when a spam of messages from an unknown number reminds her of the past she’s been trying to escape.

Y/N isn’t going to give up. She will fight for the life she deserves. And if breaking his heart is the price for it, then so be it.

[freedomfireflies]

How Many?*

Summary: An extra for One for the Money*

The one where Mr. Styles has had a rough day, and fucking you hard and slow is his only remedy.

(Inspired by this softdom!harry prompt!!)

Word Count: 1.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

“Shit, honey. I know. I know, Peach. Stay still for me, yeah?”

You nod quickly, lip between your teeth as your nails scratch down Harry’s back. 

You’re still getting used to his size. Always needing an extra minute or two to catch your breath, which he dutifully gives you. 

Normally, he eggs you on. Mocks your inability to take him. How your tight, little hole is just too tiny for him to fit through. How he’d ruin you before he even got halfway in.

But today is different. Today, he kisses your cheeks, your nose, your lips. Helping the seconds go by as he whispers, “Doing so good, my love. Feel so fucking good for me.”

You try to relax your mind, your body, your muscles. Wanting to feel him as deep as he can go more than anything in the world. Almost wishing he’d just drive himself to the hilt and wreck you if that’s what it takes.

He nuzzles into your neck, breathing you in. His heart is racing against your own and you feel your stomach flip.

It’s rare he lets you see the bad days. It’s rare he has them at all. But instead of hiding them from you—instead of hiding from you—he’d come home and taken you into his arms. 

He held you, and kissed you, and touched you. Gently brushed at your clit before mindlessly stroking through your folds. It was clear what he needed.

You.

And he has you. For now. For always. His body and yours connecting as one until his hips are pressing down into you. His cock now sheathed completely inside your cunt as you exhale a deep, strained, and pleasured breath.

You grab onto his ass and help roll his hips. Whimpering as the sensation in your stomach begins to build again. Soft and slow.

“S’a good girl,” he murmurs, and it’s so very heavy. Yet filled with relief. As if you’re the antidote he needed. As if you’re his remedy.

“Sir,” you whisper, nipping at his earlobe as he grabs onto your leg and hooks it around his hip. You follow suit, tossing your other one around him as well until your ankles can cross near his spine. Aiding in his slow but pointed thrusts.

“I know,” he says again, swallowing a groan as he rocks into you. “Fucking missed this. Missed this pretty pussy today.”

You make another noise as he suddenly nudges his nose against yours. Calling your attention to him.

“Missed you,” he adds gently before kissing you until there’s no air in your lungs.

And you can’t deny the leap in your heart from the thought. The idea that he thinks about you even when you’re not around.

His fingers dance between your bodies until they find your clit. Again, he presses and rubs in cruel but beautiful ways. Making stars scatter behind your eyelids as you gasp and arch from the bed.

“How many times should I make you cum today, hm?” he asks, glancing down at your overused and sensitive nerves. “Already came for me once. Or was it twice?”

Your head buries into the mattress as you struggle against the overstimulation, feeling ruined beyond repair.

“Peach,” he warns, pinching you tight and forcing a gasp to rip from your throat. “I asked you a question.”

“…twice,” you just barely manage to pant, skin incredibly warm. “Made me cum twice, Sir.”

“And how many times should I make you cum now?” he asks again, kissing the side of your nose sweetly. “Three? Four?”

The feeling between your thighs is expanding. Exploding. Making your nails curl into his skin until you’re sure you’ve drawn blood.

“I’ve always been rather fond of the number five,” he muses before suddenly pressing his thumb into your clit and watching as yet another orgasm tears you apart from the inside out.

You know he wants to be proud of the way he’s teased you but feeling you cum around his cock is always his favorite part. And you can see that euphoric haze dance across his face as he sucks in a sharp breath and releases your clit so he can slide his thumb into your mouth.

You suck it with purpose. With appreciation. Whimpering from the taste and the warmth of his hand. Letting your tongue explore the digit before settling him between your lips contently.

He balances his weight on his forearm to keep you satisfied. Continuing his gentle thrusts as you come down from the rush. “You okay, honey?”

You hum quietly, head nodding as you keep his finger snug in your mouth.

He seems pleased. “Gonna give me another one?”

Posed like a question but you know you have little choice. He wants five orgasms from you, and he won’t stop until he either gets them or you safeword. 

So you motion your agreement once again and release his thumb. “Yes, Sir.”

He grins. “Good fucking girl.”

With that, he kisses you, and delivers another sharp thrust. 

He finds a familiar rhythm, uncurling your leg from his hip so he can press it into the bed. Needing a deeper angle before he’s slipping an arm beneath your back and lifting you altogether. 

You cry out his name, grateful the cameras aren’t rolling so you can use his real name. The one that melts from your tongue like butter on pancakes. Warm, and soft, and so deliciously sweet as you say it again just to hear it.

You feel a shiver roll down his spine at the sound. At the feel of you around his twitching cock. 

“Harry,” you breathe just to see his lashes flutter. “Harry, please…please.”

In any other moment, he’d chastise you for the use of his name during a scene. Cameras or not. But today he needs it. Today he craves it.

You feel his muscles quiver under the weight of your adoration for him. He’s too far gone in his idea of you to think straight, and the dominant man you’ve come to know dissipates into the lover you cum for.

He returns to your clit as tears return to your eyes. You’ve always been sensitive. Perhaps too sensitive, especially right now as he works on your fourth.

“Please…please,” you gasp, writhing beneath his hold until he has to use his weight to keep you still. Pressing your body into the mattress until you have no other choice but to take the continued pleasure. “Sir, please—”

“Does it ache, honey?” he coos gently, glancing down at the way your body reacts to his touch and overstimulation. The sensitive nub much more swollen than it was before. “Sting?”

You nod fervently, lip tugged between your teeth until the taste of metal fills your mouth. “Can’t…can’t…can’t—”

“You can,” he murmurs. Firm yet oddly comforting. “You can, Peach. Daddy needs you to cum again. S’gonna help him feel better. And you wanna help him, don’t you? Help him feel better?”

He knows how to play you. Knows how to encourage the response he wants, and your skin is on fire as you squirm beneath his hand. 

“Yes,” you pant before glancing up at him through tear-stained lashes. “Yes, Daddy. Want you to feel better.”

And you do. To the point that you’d endure hours of torture and overstimulation if it made him happy. 

So you allow him to pinch, and pull, and rub until you’re beginning to sob. And you don’t mind because you know he’s watching and monitoring each reaction. Making sure that he never gives you more than you can handle.

But then you feel that strange and somewhat rare blooming in your chest. The kind that makes your eyes roll back into your head as you grab onto his shoulders and gasp.

You don’t have time to warn him. Don’t even have time to understand what’s about to happen.

But he does.

He’s seen this look on your face before and this is exactly what he’d wanted. More than anything, and the smirk the spreads across his face when he feels the rush of liquid over his cock is incredibly smug. 

“There you go,” he coos, glancing down to watch the way you squirt for him. The way you soak his thighs, and hands, and stomach. The way you drench yourself and douse the bedding beneath in your arousal for him. “Just like that, honey, keep going. You’re okay.”

You’re whimpering so hard, your throat is sore. But he loves it. Indulges in each needy whine and groan as you melt under the weight of his strong frame.

You’re still sobbing, cheeks wet and warm. Hair matted to your forehead and skin sticky.

It’s the most beautiful look in the whole world, and he can’t help the rush of pride and appreciation he feels as he gazes down at you.

He slows his thrusts to allow you just a moment of reprieve, hand coming up to stroke down your face lovingly.

“Shh,” he whispers as you hiccup. Thumb tenderly brushing at your tears. “You’re okay, Peach. Did so good for me.”

You try to reply but your chest is heaving with more cries. “S’too much…too much, Sir—”

“I know,” he hums, cupping your jaw and dipping down to kiss the tip of your nose. “I know, baby. M’really pushing you, but you’re doing so well. Almost done, yeah? Just need you to cum for me one more time. Want you to cum with me.”

You begin to shake your head, the idea almost too much, and you catch the worry in his expression. 

“Do you need to stop?” he asks now with an air of seriousness. “What’s your color, my love?”

You pause to catch your breath, allowing yourself enough room to decide. “It’s…it’s green.”

“Green,” he repeats but he’s unconvinced. Brows furrowing as he studies you. “Are you sure?”

You sniffle a bit before nodding slowly. “Yes, Sir. It’s green. Just needed a second.”

“You can have all the seconds you want,” he tells you, pressing his lips to yours caringly. “If you need to call yellow or red—”

“I don’t,” you insist, suddenly overcome by the fear he might stop. And you know he will. “I don’t, Daddy, promise. Was just a lot.”

“I know,” he says again, beginning to smile. “Know squirting takes a lot out of you, hm?”

You nod again and nuzzle into his palm. “Yes. But I’m okay now. Really.”

He regards you carefully, searching for any signs of deceit. “I need you to be sure, Peach. You’ll hurt Daddy if you lie to him.”

“M’not,” you whimper, turning to kiss his hand as if to solidify your promise. “M’really not. Wanna feel you cum with me, Sir. Need it. Need it, Sir, please—”

Your begging has always had this innate ability to turn his brain to mush. And it seems that hasn’t changed as a certain expression passes over his face and his thrusts begin to pick up once again.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, sliding his hand down to your throat. Squeezing it gently, yet enough to make you feel secure. 

You sigh contently as you dance your hands down his spine, taking hold of his beautiful ass to help him along. 

He smirks.

“Then let’s get that number five.”

Next Part:

~ Yellow* (Extra)

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz

[lolli-popples]

The Missing Link in Scott's Characterization

(Wrote this in a random document and I think it's good so I'm loosely transcribing it here)

These are some of my thoughts on a crucial facet of Scott's character in the Life Series that I think is overlooked by the fandom.

From my personal viewpoint, people put a lot of emphasis on Scott's caring about his allies over everything else. I think this is an important characteristic. However, I think this being shown as the most central trait is a detriment to how people read his involvement with the overarching narrative. It might be less of a problem if he wasn't directly involved with the final fight of nearly every Life Series.

Because of this combination of things, his main interaction with fans' reading of the final fight is being willing to do anything to make sure his friends win. It gives people the tendency to attribute some victories partially to him, which upsets people who want main read of the story to focus entirely on the winner. But this also has meant that one of Scott's main traits is overlooked.

Just as much, and often, more than Scott values his allies, he values fairness. To showcase this, let's look at Limited and Last Life, where he had the most control on how the final fight took place.

In Last Life, when it's down to the final four, Scott *could* have teamed up with Pearl, his ally all season, to kill Martyn and Ren. That aligns with wanting either your or your allies to win, no? But he doesn't. He suggests they split to the 4 corners of the map and have a fair fight on equal footing. Very fair.

With Limited Life it's even more apparent. Scott and Martyn have an impressive amount of time. They could both still die multiple times. Impulse is running out, and there's a numbers advantage. They could have killed Impulse and Scott could have let Martyn win, or Scott could have given Martyn his time to fight Impulse alone. But instead, he suggests they all go down to the same amount and have a fair fight.

In both situations, Scott puts fairness *over* an alliance victory. Even though Limited Life didn't end up ending fairly, that had nothing to do with Scott.

Double Life certainly has the strongest claim on Scott "letting someone win". That his death is an apology for abandoning Pearl.

But if you listen to what Scott says in the finale, he never apologizes. He says he didn't think they'd get this far, he says she deserves this more than him, and then he says the iconic "Tilly death do us part."

Scott didn't fight Pearl. But I don't think it came out of remorse. I think that too, came from a sense of fairness. Which is that Pearl, by all accounts, DOES deserve this win. If they fought it would basically be up to a draw. To chance. Scott has every chance of winning. But if you go over the events of Scott's final episode, he mostly runs. He survives. While Pearl 1v2'd two separate pairs and won! The only reason Pearl hasn't killed Scott already, who has been her enemy all season, is because they were randomly assigned to be soul-linked. A concept Scott has fought since the very beginning. He knows that while he never hurt their chances, Pearl is the reason they are here, and Pearl is the reason he is here. It wouldn't be fair for Pearl to lose to what is basically a coin flip. So, he doesn't leave it up to random chance.

So yes, Scott is loyal and does care about his allies, he proves that again and again. But the way he is involved in how the series end shows that his sense of order and fairness are equally important. Also, I think viewing his contributions from this angle help remedy some of the reasons people don't like his usual characterization because of how it effects the agency of other characters.

[thegapbetweenmoments]

Oliver's estate was rarely as lively as it was this evening.

Less than a year ago, his father had passed, and ever since, the notion that he should find a wife, sire an heir, and fully take over had been floating around to the point where now, he could no longer avoid the issue.

This evening was the culmination of a month of planning, procurement, and acquiescing to the odd whims of his mother while he planned a ball to celebrate his new title, an occasion which allowed him to bring in any number of interesting and influential guests.

As the music flowed through the air, and the partygoers twirled in response, he slid through the gaps in the crowd until he couldn't help but pause, taking note of a young woman he didn't recognize near the edge of the festivities. Without missing a beat he made his way toward her and bowed politely, a smile creeping onto his face.

"I don't believe we've met before, and I thought I might remedy that," he announced, holding out a hand to her. "Might I request a dance, miss....?"

@my-many-muse-rp-blog

[shuksrp]

Date of Birth Analysis through Lo Shu Grid

[butterfliesornauseous]

Emeto this or that part two

(500 special 4/5)

Warning for emeto, mentions of medication, not eating, over eating, alcohol

Feel free to use or send me a number :)

emeto this or that part 1

1. Everything coming way in a powerful wave or lots of gagging and spitting up saliva?

2. Gagging on trying to sallow a pill or gagging on a thermometer?

3. Nausea from side effects of medication or nausea from medication withdrawals?

4. Queasy burps or queasy hiccups?

5. Caretaker gently doing a small braid in a sickie’s hair or throwing their hair in the messiest ponytail because there’s no time?

6. “I thought you were getting better” or “I thought I was getting better”?

7. Sickie that’s concerned about getting caretaker sick or sickie who doesn’t care and wants all the love and care they can get?

8. “I want to throw up” or “I need to throw up”?

9. Sickie has a bad caretaker, caretaker that is angry or caretaker that completely ignores sickie?

10. ‘Hurl’ or ‘spew’?

11. Tender stomach muscles after vomiting or dehydration headache?

12. After vomiting, character is hungry and ready to fill their empty guy again or doesn’t want to even smell food for the next couple of days?

13. The character/s getting sick matters more, or the reason for being sick/tropes matter more?

14. Focus on the vomit itself, or focus on the vomiting noises?

15. Producing a lot of saliva before vomiting or throat going dry?

16. Sickie gets caretaker sick, are they more “I told you to stay away” or “I’m so sorry”?

17. Sick feeling tummy from a stuffed belly or nausea from not eating for a while?

18. ‘ Nauseous ’ or ‘Queasy?’

19. Sickie is stuck looking after themselves, absolute pro or absolute mess?

20. Chamomile or peppermint tea?

21. Sickie that begs for their tummy to be rubbed or sickie that would gag at even the slightest belly touch?

22. Embarrassed from throwing up in a doctor's office or embarrassed from missing the bin in a public area?

23. Caretaker has an extremely gross but effective nausea remedy or extremely gross but effective vomit inducer?

24. A formal sickie throws up during work, they suddenly fall apart for the first time in their lives and need care or keep it together?

25. ‘Midsection’ or ‘abdomen’?

26. Puking after getting yelled at or puking after getting told devastating news?

27. ‘Upset tummy’ or ‘Unsettled tummy’?

28. Gagging or heaving?

29. Feeling sick from eating/drinking too much in tight clothes, or already being bloated and feeling sick because sickie forced themselves into tight clothes?

30. Sickie has been hovering over the toilet for ages with no relief, they press down on their own tummy to vomit or caretaker presses down?

31. ‘Twisting’ or ‘turning’ to describe nausea?

32. Kneeling in front of the toilet or crouching in front of the toilet?

33. Hand on the stomach or arm wrapped around the stomach?

34. First time drinker throwing up from the taste of alcohol being way too strong or experienced drinker is proud they have never vomited from drinking but gets cocky one night?

35. Gagging from watching a gross video, or gagging from tasting something gross?

36. Indigestion or intolerance?

37. Accidentally squeezing a queasy belly too hard, or accidentally knocking into a queasy belly?

38. Body language cues (holding stomach, hand near mouth) or sound cues (frequent burping, tummy noises)?

39. ‘ Stomach flu’or ‘stomach bug’?

40. Sickie is extremely nauseous before a massive event, they throw up beforehand and do amazing or do okay during the event and throw up once it’s all over?

41. Feeling sick from physical pain or mental pain?

42. Vomiting on the first date or vomiting before proposing/ getting proposed to?

43. Watching your character hurling in a tv show/ movie or reading about your favourite character hurling in a book?

44. Vomit seeping through a sickie’s fingers when coving their mouth or the vomit pushes their hand away and splats on the floor?

45. ‘Bile’ or ‘stomach contents’?

[eee-lordy]

Number 13 please? I love sickfics!

here is a short little sick/comfort blurb for ya 😍

"I don't feel so good."

───※ ·❆· ※───

Jacob was bounding across the tarmac, suitcases flying behind him. After one long movie shoot and a never ending press tour he was finally home.

You stood giddy, watching him step closer and closer to car you waited outside of. Ever since he left to film, Jacob phoned every day, dreaming up plans with you for when he landed home again. There were countless dinners and dates and trips he couldn't wait to make happen with you, and it was finally time.

"My love!" You called, when he was finally in ear shot. Jacob halted his luggage by the tires of your car and swept you into an embrace that sent your heart fluttering. You hugged him back and let him lift your feet off the ground and rushed to stand and face him when you registered his sniffles.

"Miss me that much?!" You cooed. Jacob's eyes were red and misty, and then he spoke.

"Well duh. But... I don't feel so good." The poor guys voice was worn and you could tell now that there was a pallor to his face.

"Oh babe, come on let's get you home." You pet his face and watched as he grumbled in frustration, still keeping a hold of you.

"But we have reservations tonight. I really want to take you out. It's been too long-" Jacob whined and sniffled.

"Hey, s'okay. We can still make up for lost time without big plans. Don't argue! Get in the car, you poor tired thing." With a nudge, you directed your boy to head to the passenger seat while you snatched his luggage before he could reach it.

///

That night you whipped up a cocktail of cold remedies, drew a bath that was probably too hot, and dotted on Jacob's every move.

"S'just a cold love, I'm not a cripple or something." Jacob laughed a stuffy chuckle as you presented him with a warm pair of joggers and an old concert tee.

"Even if you weren't sick I'd still be all over you silly. I've waited months to trail behind you like a lost puppy. Months!"

"God I'm so glad you're who I've got to come home too. Once I don't feel on the verge of constantly passing out, you're getting this treatment times a billion." Your sweet boy ended his declaration with a vicious cough.

He'd pushed himself so hard this last handleful if months, to get his film finished and promoted and get the hell home. It was no wonder he caught a little something at the tail end of his never ending adventure.

You saw Jacob off to bed, tucking yourself in at his side and insisting he save stories of his time away for the morning.

///

The next day you snuck to the kitchen to cook up a big breakfast, letting him sleep away the sick and relishing in the simple fact that he was home at long last.

When Jacob finally padded into the main living space he tried insisting he felt much better, beginning a speech about taking you on a date.

"Absolutely not." You waved off the offer and sat the tall guy down. Neither of you were going anywhere until the red left his eyes and the sniffles stopped entirely. You ordered takeaway and kept Jacob on a steady cup of hot hot tea.

After a day of lounging, he seemed almost back to normal. Though you were hesitant to offer, you said "If you're still this lively by tomorrow night, I'll go out with you."

"Swear?" Jacob rose a brow, grinning in anticipation. You held out a pinkie as if to promise. You weren't long up, cozy in bed with your beloved boy, another early night.

And then... you woke up coughing. Awe fuck.

You tried to play it off. Like a passing tickle in your throat. But soon you were sat up sniveling away, much to your dismay. All your racket woke up the man at your side. And he registered your condition right off.

Jacob let out a low chuckle of surprise, a smile growing wider as he sat up to reach out to you.

"Jacob Elordi are you excited that I'm sick?"

"Of course not." He responded, planting a firm kiss to your head. "But I am looking forward to taking as much care of you as you've taken care of me the past two days."

You cooed and cuddled closer to his side, feeling weaker now that the sickness was unavoidably addressed.

"Don't you dare move. It's my turn now, my love." Jacob smiled, locking those beautiful dark eyes on yours before getting up to follow in your footsteps. Cooking and cleaning and laying out your clothes so you didn't have to lift a finger.

You were bummed to miss another night out. But you were so damn glad Jacob didn't let a little sickness ruin the time the pair of you had been waiting to spend connecting again after so long.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[violetmina]

Chokehold - Ch. 11

Chokehold Masterlist

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Taglist: @roundroald @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @sexytholland @scraftsku35 @avastrasposts @missihart23 @ladyvillainous @elementress44 @haibara-ai-tsii @123passwort @sanscas @lulzbrokenbyfantasy @icantevenchoose @marksassybanana @a-rogue-tiddy-bot​ @itsyellow​ @lmarina2000​ @d3adite666 @casualfansoul @missrandomheart @cvstle @elianamarie-blog @1970sbitch @depressed-but-make-it-cute @loversjoy @raktajinoaddict @trisaratops-mcgee

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,623

Warning: Swearing, adult themes, sexual tension and...well, Butcher.

A/N: I'm back~! Its finally here! After several months, the next chapter of this series! I promised that I would not abandon it, and I meant it. If it feels off in any way, I do apologize. And many thanks to all of you for your support and your patience. If I forgot anyone that wanted to be on the taglist, please let me know asap so I can fix it.

Two things ripped you from sleep that morning. The first was your final alarm blaring from the coffee table. The second was the abrupt awareness of a particular body missing behind you. The combination of the two had your muscles spasming into a flailing upright position, immediately revealing a slight kink in your neck as your brain tried to catch up. Your fingers fumble and flutter over the table in search of the obnoxious sound coming from your phone. Just as your hand starts to slap against the wood in groggy frustration, your eyes just make out a different set of fingers.

“Billy?” It comes out cracked and garbled from sleep.

The alarm dies quickly under his fingers and the blur in your vision shifts in time to bring him into focus, kneeling before you beside the couch. “Morning, sunshine,” he greets you with that crooked smile. “Gotta tell ya, I hear that alarm again, I'm throwing your fucking phone through the wall.”

“You -ah!” You wince as your neck twinges sharp at your attempt to swing your legs to the floor.

“Yeah, your couch did the same number on me,” he mutters. He slips his fingers to your nape, rubbing the smallest of circles there, just on the new knot. It's brief, his hand withdrawing before you can even sink into it, reaching back to bring forward a cup of coffee.

“Here. Can't send you off to Hughie with bags like that under your eyes.”

You give your thanks, taking a long draw before turning back to him. “Speaking of not looking so good, what about-?”

“Nuh-uh.” He wags back a finger at you as he stands to head out of the living room. “We had a deal. You're done playing nurse.”

You roll your eyes, knowing full well you're not going to argue with this mule. Butcher appears unfazed from the previous night's events, strutting in your apartment as his usual. The only outward indication of his escapade was the faintest peek of the liquid stitches on his head and the missing Hawaiian atrocity the blue t-shirt replaced. A very good looking replacement if anyone bothered for your opinion. But bravado and machismo are not enough to throw off what you already know - he was probably bluffing.

Taking a full gulp of coffee, you shuffle behind him towards your kitchen. The pizza box sits empty and abandoned on your counter. But next to it Butcher rifles through an unfamiliar bag, pulling out to-go boxes.

“You brought me breakfast in bed?,” you ask, smirk tight against the rim of your mug.

“Breakfast on couch,” Butcher replies without missing a beat, sliding warm styrofoam towards you before hooking a palm onto your hip. “Since ya made such a point of avoiding your bed.”

“Actually it was you making a point of avoiding my bed. You did say you wouldn't go near it if I wasn't in it, did you not?”

“Awfully cheeky for just starting that coffee.” He pushes away from the counter and pulls you in as you shrug in response. “And we could remedy that in a hurry, yeah? Being in your bed, I mean.”

“I, on the other hand,” you continue, bluntly brushing off the reply, “was avoiding sinful acts so as not to kill you.”

“Not a bad way to go, innit?” Butcher manages to wrap his arm around your back without sloshing your morning brew over either of you.

“Maybe not. But I'd hate to traumatize the others with the vivid details of what you look like naked,” you grin.

“Fuck off,” he hums before hushing you with a kiss. Then, purring into your ear, “You still haven't answered me…Your bed?”

Butcher doesn't give you much of a chance to respond. Not verbally that is. He kisses you again, longer, firmer. Warm steadily turning to hot, a slow delicious simmer. Your free hand slips along his side, just hitching under the hem to brush skin, and you can't remember this shirt feeling this soft. But you're not going to forget now.

Until he gives you something else to remember.

Butcher's grip on your hip grows firmer, and when you part your lips in invitation, his response is no different than how he handles much else - he does not hesitate. He delves to taste and you're quickly preoccupied with his own, enough to kiss back with more fervor. He nips your bottom lip and you know it's still not safe for him, not really. The concussion is still a danger…but you feel your bed pull at you like his fingers starting to tug at your jeans.

Until his phone buzzes loudly in his pocket.

“Billy…”

He shakes his head, whiskers whispering against your face. “It's nuthin’,” he breathes between kisses. “So? This a yes, lov-”

Another buzz.

You catch his wrist as he rips the cell from his pocket, barely saving the offensive thing from a warp speed trip across your apartment. When yours buzzes too on the other side of the room, the noise that rumbles out of him makes you bite your lip. He leans back from you snarling to the roof, “Fuckin’ cockblocks every fuckin’ one of ‘em!”

“That confident were you?” It comes out just a tad breathless.

He stabs a brief glare at you with a snort before finally looking over the interrupting notification. “Surprise, surprise. Hughie.”

“What did he say?”

“New orders, new case. And a little under the table meeting. Same bullshit,” Butcher grumbles. “I'm sure yours is near identical.” He looks up at you, some of the frustration leaving his face to give you a hint of a smile. “All things considered, I'm guessing you'd like me to let him know we'll be each other's plus one to the meeting?”

Butcher gives a little wink before you place your hand over his phone. His hint of humor falters when he sees you staring with furrowed brow at the text message waiting to be answered.

“...No.”

His face mirrors yours. “No? No what?” 

You look up at him, shaking your head.

He stares for only a second. Then, “Ah, I get it. I'm your new dirty secret, eh? That it?”

“No,” you reply louder, more abrupt. Had that been the tiniest edge on his playful tone? You look up at him, shaking your head. “I didn't mean that. You're not that. I mean I don't know what you - we-!” 

Something twitches in his face at ‘we’, something that makes part of you flinch, and you take a breath before speaking. “What I meant,” you answer slowly, “is that we shouldn't say anything just yet. Not to the others. I don't want anyone thinking that I didn't earn my place here, pull my weight. Especially Hughie.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“He's already shown me once how quickly he can change his mind, even more so when it comes to me doing field work. I hope I won't need you to speak to him on my behalf. But if I do, how much will your word weigh to him if he thinks it's only because we're past being friends…coworkers…what have you…” 

You trail off on that thought, cutting back to the point. “Anyway, more importantly, we've got a big mission here. And I think it would be best if the team has no questions or doubts about where everybody's heads are at. No distractions. Right?”

Butcher gives a slow nod as your words sink in. “That'd be the thing they'd do wouldn't it?” Then with a humorless laugh, “Like they don't question me, bust my balls enough already. And Hughie!” He makes a tsking sound. “Yeah, none of that. We'll deal with this Persuasion business proper first.”

He nods and makes a quick reply to Hughie before sliding his cell back into his pocket. “I best get a move on, meet up with MM while it's still early. And you best get your ass in gear. You need to keep an eye on the congresswoman.” 

Butcher smirks as he shrugs on his coat. “Real shame,” he drawls, giving you a long, parting kiss before beginning to back to your door. “Still wouldn't have minded breaking your bed.”

“Could've died,” you sing-song at him.

“Sounds like a good way to go.”

“Sounds like you're trying to tell me you wouldn't be worth a second round,” you tease.

Butcher shakes his head, a dark, heavy look rolling in his eyes at your sass. “When did I ever say it’d take only one round?” He pauses in your door. “That's a shame, love. I thought you knew me better than that.”

With a smirk your way and a glance over your apartment, he closes the door. You let out a sigh somewhere between relief and disappointment, picking at your to-go box as you remember the coffee somehow still in your hand. “Not yet,” you smile in response to his parting words.

As you eat the breakfast Butcher had delivered, you did your best to focus on the little spark of excitement in you, and ignore the last look he'd given your apartment. Ignore the sharp flicker he'd given the windows.

^^^

“We got one!”

You nearly jump as a news article slaps onto your desk. Hughie beams down at you, almost smug before sliding it closer to you. “Got one?”

“A supe. That fungi one, what's-his-face -”

“Cordycep?”

“Yep,” Hughie grins. “The asshole who was caught spraying those spores everywhere to hypnotize people. His case finally went to the judge. And the judge threw the book at him.”

You skim over the article as he leans against your cubicle wall, clearly pleased. “You're not kidding. Found guilty of all twenty-six counts of fraud, identity and grand theft, and forgery.”

“Every single one,” he says. “A long sentence. And no chance of parole at this time, or bail. We did that. We did that!”

You suppress a laugh as he takes back the article with a fist in the air. “That's kinda the point, isn't it? That's why the bureau exists.”

“I don't mean the bureau. I mean us,” he replies. Then he continues with earnest, “I know that the team has been kinda frustrated lately. We covered this case, and several like it, and it feels like we've been trying to climb shit mountain every time. But this shows that it's working. We're making a difference. And we didn't have to scrub blood out of our clothes to do it.”

“This time,” you emphasize. “We didn't have to this time. Forgive me for raining on your parade a little. But let's keep a little pragmatism here. Cordycep was a push over. Most of the supes aren't.”

He waves you off but you still notice the slight slump in his shoulders. “Whatever. Point is that we are making a little progress.”

You feel a twinge of guilt for being a bit of a realist on him. But despite that, part of you wants to celebrate with him. There has been progress for both the Boys and the bureau. Slow, grinding, frustrating progress. But still progress. Although, if Butcher were the one to measure, you would be found short today. You hadn't been able to keep an eye on Neuman as intended. Even those at work had only seen her in passing glimpses by her office.

With that in mind, you lower your voice just slightly. “Speaking of progress, are we still going over reports tonight with the team? That quarterly thing?”

Hughie nods as he straightens a little, eyes scanning for the congresswoman. “Yep. Right. Quarterly reports. Gotta make sure we're within budget and all that.”

“And are Annie and I still on for girls night?,” you ask, absently shuffling through some files. Not like you care what they are.

“Yes. Actually she hinted that she might - might - be able to stop by tonight. You know, say hello. Iron out some stuff for your upcoming bonding time.”

That certainly puts a little edge in you. You'd be lying to yourself if you thought you weren't hesitant about how the meeting would go. Yes, the whole mission and its variables were certainly part of that. But so was the fact that you now had to keep pretending like nothing was going on between you and Butcher, jiu jitsu or otherwise. Throw in the ever looming threat of Neuman's shadow, and the mutual disdain to put it politely between Annie and Butcher…

“That sounds great,” you smile wanely. “Is everybody else in on that particular detail?”

“Butcher knows,” Hughie deadpans.

“And how many new expletives did you learn from him after telling him?”

“None. Not yet, I mean. He's probably composing a whole list to shove down my throat after the meeting as we speak.”

“Wrapped with a C4 wire bow, I'm sure,” you smirk at him. You slap three files into his chest. “Here. You'll need those for tonight.”

He glares at the manila as if it's offended him while he thumbs the pages. “The hell is this?”

“Budget reports.” Your expression goes flat when his remains confused. “Neuman would want you to have those for the meeting…?”

A beat passes before you see the light bulb come on. “Oh,” he smiles sheepishly. “Riiight. Need those.”

“...How the hell are you my boss again?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles before pushing away from your cubicle to avoid the return of your smirk. Before he dips out of sight he peeps around the corner one more time. “Oh, by the way…”

“Yeah?”

Hughie spares a genuine smile. “I just wanted to let you know that, uh…I'm glad you're working again. You're kicking ass already.”

Fondness fills your chest and you return the smile before he jokingly barks an order to “kick those papers asses!”, and heads further into the bureau. You sigh at the small mountain of work on your desk before dragging a file towards you. 

Kicking more ass than you know, Hughie. Just you wait.

^^^

Homelander's too-piercing blue eyes stare at you through a thin veil of false contrition as you stare back from your seat in the Flatiron. The act is thinner than a blade's edge, and you're grateful for the filter of the LCD screen and a brown-nosed interviewer hired by Vought between you - and everyone this side of the screen - and the supe. It's the second time you've seen it air today, but it still irks as bad as the first time as Homelander lays his woes and regret about Stormfront for the first time publicly since she'd been “apprehended”.

“Fuck him,” Frenchie mutters, snapping your attention away from the TV and back to the crew. He snaps off the TV just as viciously. “And fuck that nazi bitch, whatever is left of her.”

“Can we focus?,” MM asks at his desk, his fingertips burrowing deep in his temples. “We got a lot to cover and very little time to do it.”

Hughie heaves a sigh and nods, looking at each of those present to recollect the room as he stands in the center of it. “He's right. We gotta crunch these last numbers. I'll make it quick. Let's see…MM is good on the books. You submitted that last bit of papers for that druid-wannabe supe, right?”

“Yes. Ready for you to hand off to your attorneys.”

Hughie flashes a thumbs up before turning to the seats near your desk. “Cool. Frenchie, Kimiko. Looks like I just need that last budgeting sheet for…is this a flamethrower? This looks suspiciously like a flamethro- why?”

Kimiko signs before Frenchie grins, “Research purposes.”

You hold back a snicker as Hughie presses on. “Fuck, fine, whatever. Mallory can deal with that, I guess. So that just leaves-”

“Yours truly.” Butcher's chair creaks next to you at his desk, opposite side of Kimiko, as he swivels slowly with a bit of impatience. “It's all there, mate. Double checked the numbers me self.”

“All of it?,” Hughie presses. “Your ammo and armory form was off a couple digits last month.”

“Yep. Even corrected the pornhub subscription cost on the miscellaneous page.”

“Okay, okay. That was lovely news,” Hughie grimaces as everyone else shares a chuckle. “Bleaching that from my mind and moving on. Budgeting is done. Now for the real meeting.” He glances back and forth between Butcher and MM. “Any new leads on Persuasion or Walsh?”

“Only that Walsh is hiring third party goons to try to keep Vought from crawling up his ass. Ambushed me at the club the girl talked about,” Butcher shrugs. “Patched myself up away from the hospitals, so we don't have any tails there.”

Your mind slips into the memory of your fingers running through Butcher's damp locks. It hazes briefly at the memory of calloused hands and warm lips before you remind yourself that there's a reason you and Butcher are not sitting directly next to each other right now.

“I found two other cases from the same night,” MM cuts in. “One male and one female victim, not as lucky as our first. They were from different sides of town. Vought got to them long before me though. But from what I could gather, the situations are uncannily similar. If this is a test run, this drug is going to spread fast.”

“No faster than what Walsh will allow, you mean,” Hughie interjects. “He still has to keep ahead and under Vought’s radar.”

“Any clues what it's for?,” you ask.

“I have less leads than them,” Frenchie replies, rubbing the back of his head in agitation. “After what happened with the last sample, I've had to take the experiments a little slow.”

Hughie shakes his head. “Not gonna lie, that's not great news for our timeline before the gala. How are we coming on that?”

Frenchie perks up a bit. “That I do have good news. My surveillance equipment should be here within a few days. But I will need to know where in the gala we are playing our roles. I need just a little time to make any necessary changes to it.”

Butcher gestures around the room. “So? Where do you lot all wanna be?”

There's the crackle of paper as Frenchie smooths out the schematics splayed out on his desk, Kimiko and MM leaning to peer behind him. “We all start at the top and work down, right?,” MM begins. “Fifteen floors down. We should stack. Nobody more than one floor apart from each other. So I'll take fourteen and every third floor on.”

Hughie starts ticking off fingers. “So that means…”

“Means MM,” Butcher says, rising from his desk to stride to view the schematics, “will take fourteen, eleven, eight, five, and two. The love birds have to split what's left, and they all converge in the sublevels.”

Kimiko types rapidly into her phone before showing the display to everyone. I want to be closest to either of them if they need backup, it reads. I'll take thirteen down.

“I guess that leaves me with levels divisible by three,” Frenchie shrugs.

“What kind of modifications are you thinking?,” you ask him.

“Mostly wardrobe, so I know how to disguise your surveillance gear.”

Kimiko and Hughie smile, confusing you until you hear a voice behind you pipe up, “I guess I snuck out at the right time then.”

All eyes turn and you find Annie coming into the office. While you feel Butcher's not-so-welcoming smirk bloom from his spot, you and Kimiko each greet her with a warm hug before she greets Hughie the same with a kiss tagged on. “I'm guessing this isn't the budget report we're talking about?,” she asks the room.

“We could go back to that,” Butcher grins. “Being the altruistic soul you are, Starlight, I'm sure you'd be more than happy to make a generous donation to our cause, no? And using that Seven member payroll to stick it to Vought?” He lets out a low whistle. “It'd be poetry.”

“Tempting,” she responds tersely. “But even my money is micromanaged. Getting my charity for at-risk youth off the ground has been like pulling teeth, even with all the good PR Vought is expecting. And the last thing all of you need is for Vought to be sniffing further into my ‘donations’. Don't you think?”

“If you're a stingy bitch, you can just say that.”

“Okay!” Hughie quickly cuts in, placing his thin frame in the direct heat of their glaring. You're surprised he doesn't melt like butter in the thick of it. “Let's remember we're all on the same side here. We'll give you ladies a chance to talk over things while we, uh, find the best place to put our surveillance team.”

“I won't keep her long. The less I know, probably the better. At least in this case.” Annie gives Butcher one more pointed glare before shuffling you off a few paces. “It's been awhile since he's worn a shirt that didn't look like he stole it from a Miami retirement home,” she grumbles.

Oh, you had definitely noticed. He was still wearing the blue shirt from your closet, and Hughie had made a similar comment when he had walked into the Flatiron. Butcher merely brushed it off with something about laundry day. Thwarting away the image of what lay beneath said shirt, all stretched out on your couch, you asked, “We're still on tomorrow then?”

“Yes. I know a guy from my Christ for Capes days, his name is Torsten. He doesn't work for Vought but a lot of his clientele have been supes. He's got a hole in the wall for a shop in Manhattan. He can definitely tailor something for what you need.” 

She glances at Hughie, who is preoccupied arguing with Butcher that no, they can't park the van in the goddamn venue lobby. Then says, “I get wanting to wear something you can fight in. But can you? Not saying you don't know how to take care of yourself. I'm just hoping you're going to have enough time to learn what you need.”

You wave at the team as MM seems to get them back on track over the schematics. “If there's anybody that can get me ready with this kind of time crunch, it's these guys. Right?”

Her eyes crinkle as she looks over each of them. “I mean…kinda? A little. I don't think their insurance would agree, but...”

“Says the one who can take a bullet to the chest,” you jibe back.

“Well I don't know what the hell they'll teach you. But we'll get you fitted for it.”

The idea of pitching Annie to supplement your training flits in your brain. What better way to learn than from the one friendly supe in your corner? But immediately you reject it. Annie is already under constant suspicion from the Seven, Homelander most of all. Not to mention what little spare time she has is just that - very little. And again, would she be able to hide your training from Hughie till the right time? Especially if she knew Butcher was involved, in more ways than one?

Not likely, the little voice huffs.

“Hughie told you about meeting at the apartment at 4, right?,” she asks, dragging you from your thoughts.

You nod.

“Okay. We'll meet there, then head to Torsten's. My window will be small though before I have to get back to the tower. So think about what you might like for the gala. He's a damn good tailor but not a miracle worker, and we're calling it pretty tight as is.”

“Sounds good. But one problem. I don't exactly have a budget for a custom fit. And Butcher wasn't completely wrong about needing financing for this.”

Annie shakes her head. “Don't worry about it. Torsten owes me a favor anyway. And it helps me get away from the tower for a time. Which…” She glances at the clock on her phone. “...I am nearly out of myself already.”

“You're not staying?”

“No,” she sighs. “I wanted to get the details to you in person, less risk of our plans being tracked or leaked that way. That and I need to talk to Hughie for a bit. I meant what I said about knowing less. Our resident asshole-”

“Which one?,” you ask in a cheeky tone.

“Our resident asshole,” she continues, “doesn't need any more reason to doubt my intentions. The less I know, the safer all of us will be if shit hits the fan, especially with Vought. Gotta keep my nose clean after the last time I was accused of treason, too.”

“I appreciate your help, Annie.” You glance over at Hughie and Butcher, still mapping out the eventual parking spot of the surveillance van. You notice MM approaching you. “I'll let you talk to your boy toy and see you tomorrow. I have a feeling I'm needed now.”

“That would be correct,” the big man says as he steps up beside you. “We need to start working on your ability to read the room. More like you should've started yesterday. So if you need anything, snacks, restroom break, whatever - now is the time. We're gonna be here late tonight.”

You give Annie another hug before she motions for Hughie to join her for a hushed discussion. You move back towards the others and the venue map with MM. “So what does this entail?”

“Body language is the big one. You use it all the time, you just don't know it. A lot of social cues are given and read more subconsciously. Your role in this depends on it.”

As Hughie and Annie call out a good night, explaining that they needed to headout, Butcher waves them off dismissively and walks towards his desk at the end of the office. “Already we got a snag in your little lesson here, MM. You think four of us is gonna be the same as reading a packed ballroom?”

“No, I think we are her training wheels and that's better than nothing.” There's a hint of exasperation in his tone. You have the distinct impression that Butcher has voiced his charming opinions to the crew on you being their spy for the event. If said impression was right, then at least you knew the crew was on your side.

Frenchie slides across his own desk with a small smile at the corners of his mouth. He disappears for a brief second before bobbing back up with a Bluetooth speaker, and begins setting it up with his phone.

MM watches him incredulously, palms up in confusion. “The fuck is he doin’? The fuck you doin’, Frenchie?”

“I am setting up for the lesson. We are teaching her body language cues, the gala is in a ballroom…” He thumbs over his phone screen before beaming at you. “So dancing serves for both, non?”

MM wipes a hand over his face as Kimiko sticks out her hands in invitation to Frenchie. “Oh my god, fucking really?”

“We're working, not fucking about!,” Butcher growls as a song comes on at random. The sound of a howl and three single notes flow out of the speaker, and Frenchie looks at it with doubt. But he shrugs and begins to turn and shuffle about with Kimiko.

You recognize now that his random playlist had chosen “Lil’ Red Riding Hood”. Not something you even expected with all the French rap you usually heard him play. You highly doubt this will be played at the gala either, but you just smile, enjoying the duo's antics as MM vents his frustration. 

“As you can see, Kimiko's body language is open. She smiles! She is relaxed!”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Frenchie…”

You nod with thick enthusiasm, ignoring Butcher grumbling. “Yes, yes. I see.”

The duo continue to wheel about in the limited space as the song progresses. “Now notice that both of us have some tension in our shoulders? That is from suppression. Why?”

“Why?,” you play along.

“To not laugh at these two boring fuckers!”

MM flips them both the finger, which they return in kind. After another moment, MM finally steps forward. “Hold on, hold on. Let's at least do this proper. Kimiko? May have your hand?”

They paused, confused. But you catch a glint in MM's eyes and you give her the thumbs up. To Frenchie’s surprise, MM takes her hand, doing his best to maintain proper dance form with the size difference. He makes a “eyes on me” motion at you.

“Watch and learn. If you didn't notice, poor Kimiko's body language was giving all the subtle signs of distress.” He begins to move into a different dance than the awkward shuffle from before. “And why? She needed saving. Because he, and his white ass, ain't got no rhythm, and this is clearly a motherfucking tango!”

“Oh fuck you! You think I can't fucking tango?”

MM sweeps Kimiko further away. “Nah, you don't get her back now. You hijack my lesson, I hijack your dance partner.”

You can't help but laugh as Frenchie stomps after them, apparently offended, and MM dancing just out of reach round the office with Kimiko standing on his toes. After the apprehension you'd had about this meeting, this is a pleasant change of pace. But you know the song is just about over, and there's still work to be done. Not to mention there was still the hardass who definitely would not be dancing.

You tear your eyes from the three cavorting about, ready to catch Butcher scowling across the room. Instead, you catch him taking advantage of the trio's distraction to stare right at you. A small knowing smirk appears as the last verse plays.

Lil’ Red Riding Hood

You sure are looking good

You're everything a big bad wolf could want.

You're hit with the memory of that night at the motel, him staring up at you with that same damn look. Those wolfish eyes. He's being awfully bold, right in front of the others. But was he really anything else?

You are not going to make this easy, are you?, you think.

And in the blink of an eye, it vanishes and he is glowering at the others. Teaching you not to be distracted it would seem. He approaches them as they settle. “Turn the music off, and it stays off,” he snaps. “All she's learned in the last three minutes is how to look like a right wanker in a crowd. Which is exactly what she doesn't fucking need when she's supposed to sneak in, and then sneak the fuck out.”

He snatches Frenchie's phone and tosses it to him. Giving the other two one last huff, he turns to you. “Let's start with identifying when someone has a concealed weapon. Something you'll actually fucking use…”

^^^

Hours later, far later than you had even expected, you sit in Butcher's car, head propped against the cool glass of the window. You had originally hoped that he would insist on a rolling session after the training you'd done with the Boys. Or rather a rolling session and seeing where it would lead. But when Butcher had volunteered to drive you home - before the others could - on the ride in the elevator down, he had informed you that he would be out looking for leads again.

You admit, you were a little disappointed. But turning your head to look at him in the passing lights, you see just a trace of fatigue in the wrinkles by his eyes. A ghost of his concussion. And to be honest, you were still a little haggard from a long day, and the long night before playing Florence Nightingale to his stubborn ass. It was better this way.

That didn't stop him from cursing your fatigue. He peeled his hand off the steering wheel and placed it on your knee, rubbing firm circles there with the pad of his thumb. Just like that night at the motel, whistling low and slow that damn song in the Flatiron, as if in case you weren't remembering it.

You arched one eyebrow at him as he parked at the curb outside your building. He arched one back at you with a devilish look. “What? Something on yer mind, love?”

“Just wondering if I'm going to have to patch you up again tonight.”

“Are you now?” His voice is thick with disbelief. He gives your thigh a warm squeeze. “That all?”

“Yep.” You make sure not to bat an eye. “Not much else to think about tonight.”

“Well in that case…” The seat creaks as he leans in and kisses you. Firm and slow. Like that hand that glides up your thigh. Like the way he presses it against the center seam of your jeans…

And he pulls away just as you inhale sharply. “...In that case, since you got nothing to think about, I'll let you dance on up to bed for the night.” He unbuckles your seat belt for you with a cocky twist of his lip.

Fucker.

“Yeah. Not much to think about.” You make no attempt at hiding the frustration in your tone. You hear Butcher chuckle as you step out of the car.

“Give Tinkerbell my regards tomorrow,” he nods. Then with a wink, “And keep that bed warm in case I need a nurse, yeah? Be seeing you real soon, love.”

He closes the door and peels out into the road. You grit your teeth at how painfully aware you are of exactly how your jeans sit now. But you shake your head with a smile as you watch his taillights shrink. Because something tells you that the reason he peeled out was to keep him from stepping out of that car with you.

[mochinomnoms]

MOCHI I WAS ALREADY SENTIMENTAL ENOUGH I CRIED WHEN I READ THE SHIRMPY CHRONICLES THE AAA

Shirmpy chronicles? Nu-uh more like chronical shirmpy emotional pain for me

THE AAGH THE DOMESTIC STUFF UAHJDNAL

I get emotional at the night MOCHI I LOVE YOUR WRITING CRYING SOBBING HITTING THE GROUND

-Vaquita 🐄

IF IT HELPS I CRIED WHILE WRITING IT

I can't speak my first language very well anymore, it's very difficult now, and it's super important that I make sure I can maintain what I have left with my culture. I imagine that for a Yuu that comes from a family and culture they love, being away for so long you really do start losing that part of yourself the longer you're away.

In general, if Yuu never finds a way back, it must be incredibly lonely to not have someone to share that with you. Even if Twisted Wonderland has something similar, the fact of the matter is that it's not the same. It will never be the same, the accent of people speaking will always be off, the taste of your food will feel like it's missing something important. The music, the art, dancing, clothes, the way the sun touches your skin and the water splashes will be just off. And that's not even touching on the people you might leave behind: the sound of your parent's voice as they comfort you, your sibling's yells from your last squabble, the laughter shared between you and your friends. It's gone, truly.

How do you cope? How do you manage as the memories of your previous life start fading away in your mind more and more until they feel like a dream? Like a story from a book that you read? Will you be just a memory? Another number among missing people from your world? Will your family pass on with the knowledge that they never could find you and know that you're okay? The comfort of your friends and loved ones that you make in Twisted Wonderland can help, but only so much, and that really is beautifully devastating. To be loved and love the new home you've created, but feel just something is off.

Your loved ones can't even do anything to really remedy that, other than give you the assurance that they will never let you or your memory fade with them. It's never enough, but it's what will do for the time being.

[manias-wordcount]

Hi! I love your Tamaki (OHSHC)/reader stuff, so I was wondering if I could request one. I'd love to have a fic where Tamaki and reader are married and reminiscing about their high school days, thinking about how they fell in love at Ouran all those years ago. Maybe reader frequented the host club or they had classes together, up to you. I just want some lovey-dovey fluff. ♡

Also, I don't really have a preference for reader's gender since I use both she/her and he/him pronouns, so you can make it gender neutral if you want, I'll leave that to your discretion. (I kinda love Tamaki calling reader his wife or husband though. Lmao)

Thank you for taking the time to read my request! Let me know if you want any more details or anything from me, but I'll leave my silly little prompt in your capable hands. Thank you! ♡

Photograph (Tamaki Suoh x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼! ��� 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗶𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗵𝗲 :)

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Your lives are busy. There’s no doubt about it. 

  Sometimes it’s you, running up and down the country. Sometimes it’s him, living at his private airport between flights. Sometimes it’s you who has to be up and out before breakfast. Sometimes it’s him who only makes it home in time to crawl into bed beside you when you’re good and fast and asleep. And sometimes you can go a couple of days with only listening and leaving voicemails because no matter what you do or when you call, the other person always misses that call you were only able to shave out three minutes to have.

  But sometimes, it all goes away. If you’re lucky, it’s a week. You’re hitting the lottery if it’s a month. But you’re counting your blessings if you can score just a few days with no work and no responsibilities calling your name. And in those days? You like nothing more than to be close to him. And he likes nothing more than to be close to each other. So how do you remedy it? It’s simple.

  You’ll ask to be left alone in the great big house that you share with enough food to last you these next couple of days. You’ll curl up to him on the couch, dressed in nothing but your pajamas. And he’ll hold you tight and hold you close beneath the blankets and in front of a warm, warm fire. And you’ll smile so sweetly when he takes your hand in his and places gentle kisses around the wedding ring that he gave to you- the one that has been in his family for generations. And you’ll tell him how he’s distracting you from looking at the picture book again.

  The one that his closest high school friends made for the two of you just in time for your wedding. 

  “Aww, Tamaki~” You coo at him when a moment you remember very clearly crops up in the album. He doesn’t respond at first- too busy pressing tiny kisses against your skin and cuddling around you even more in that cuddly fashion of his. But that doesn’t stop you from studying the current picture in your hands. “We looked so long back then. Do you remember this?”

  As expected, it’s a picture of the two of you in the infamous Music Room number three. And it’s one of the better ones taken with Kyoya’s hidden cameras when he was first getting into that sort of thing if you recall correctly. The club wasn’t set up to run that day, and so the curtains were drawn closed in a way that let very little light in. But it did, however, manage to spotlight the two of you as you lingered by a beautiful grand piano. 

  The one that currently sits in your drawing room just down the hall and to the left.

   In the photo, you’re standing on the side of the piano bench Tamaki is sitting on, your old flute in hand. The still image of you has your gaze trained on the sheet music propped up in front of you as your fingers press down experimentally on a few of your keys. However, the Tamaki in the image isn’t looking at the music. Nor is he looking at his piano. No, instead he’s looking up with such an adoring expression captured on his face. 

  An expression that he has simply because he’s looking at you. 

  “Of course I do,” the Tamaki in your arms suddenly murmurs. His voice is soft, and the corners of his lips are twitching upwards to showcase an even softer smile to you as he eyes the photo in your hands. The recognition is in his eyes instantly, and it feels nice to once again feel validated by the man you love so much. To see that the moments you found special all those years ago ended up being special for him too. “It’s our first time practicing for our duet. I was so nervous that day.”

  You smile a bit wider as he reveals the exact occasion for the picture. But then you stop for a second and think for a moment. 

  “You were nervous?” You asked with a slight laugh and a raised eyebrow evident in your voice. You recall being quite a bit nervous about the performance that ended up being scheduled a couple of weeks later. But you also recalled being excited at the chance of working with the great Tamaki Suoh and hearing him play piano for you. But it sounded like your then duet-partner, now husband had a slightly different experience “For our…practice?”

  “Of course!” He exclaims as he turns towards you. You’re very suddenly met with a face full of violet-colored eyes and blonde hair as an impassioned Tamaki decides that now is the perfect time for a deeper dive into the story of the two of you. But it’s not like you can deny him the simple pleasure of telling you a story. Not when his eyes shine so brightly like that. “You only knew as a host back then, so I knew I would never get you to like me back if I didn’t impress you!”

  At his words, your mouth parts open in surprise. It takes you a couple of moments to process just exactly what you heard. And it takes you a couple more seconds after that to fully understand the implications of what he just said. And now in your mind, you’re pulling up a timeline in your head. Recalling core memories and feelings and events that shaped who you are as a person. Who you are to Tamaki. And when you’ve gotten every

  “Tamaki…” You call out very slowly, resisting the urge to melt on the spot as he tilts his head curiously at you. Your eyes drag along his face- looking at the man you’re in love with. And recalling all the subtle changes you’ve witnessed as the two of you grew older and older in your relationship together. There are small changes you can see. Little bits and pieces here and there. Signs that he’s grown from the silly, energetic, and oh-so-dramatic teenage boy that you first met. Signs that you know exist in you too in their own little way. Showcasing your growth in both big and small ways. But it makes you wonder about all the little things you might have missed. The little things that you might have passed over. All the little things that were right in front of you, and you just never knew. “That was in our first year…”

  And you decide that there’s no time like the present to ask.

  “Mhm.” Tamaki agrees easily. Eagerly even. Though the smile on his face gleams with the familiar look of nostalgia. Showing you that there was always more to the story than you knew from the beginning. And so you press onwards. And you asked the question that you should asked a long, long time ago. And that dear, sweet husband of yours?

  “Have you…liked me since then?”

  He smiles at you.

  He holds you tight, presses his lips to the ring on top of your finger, and he smiles at you. The bright, big Tamaki smile that makes you feel so warm and safe and soft. That bright, big Tamaki smile that makes you feel so adored and cherished and loved. 

  “My dear…”

  That bright, big Tamaki smile that you learned to fall in love with all those years ago.

  “...I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”

[salvadorbonaparte]

March 2025 in Films

My movie watching habit slowed down to a normal amount.

The Post-Truth World (2022) - A journalist is taken hostage by an escaped prisoner and tasked with solving the murder he was accused of. A film that asks relevant questions about truth and integrity of journalism and social media, but I honestly mostly zoned out looking at Joseph Chang.

Contagion (2011) - Eerily accurate, prophetic. Sure, they could draw on experiences with H1N1 and Sars/Mers but hoooly shit was that on point, including the natural remedies antivaxx thing.

M (1931) - The police, citizens and underworld of Berlin hunt a serial killer. Some absolutely amazing camera work, editing and acting, especially for the early 30s. For me, the most bizarre aspect was hearing the Haarmann song in the first scene, which is still creepily sung by children in my hometown nowadays.

Anderson (2014) - I had the honor to meet the director at a luncheon and screening of this documentary about Sascha Anderson, a poet in the underground avant-garde in the GDR, who turned out to be an informant for the Stasi. The camera work and editing was absolutely amazing. There were some very funny moments as well. I was especially impressed with the nuance and multiplicity of voices and the fact that they recreated an entire kitchen in a studio.

10+10 (2011) - An anthology of 5-minute short films and the definite who-is-who of Taiwanese cinema. There was a wide variety of topics and styles. All of the films were good, in the sense that you need to be very good at film making to make a 5-minute film work at all. Still, anthologies are always going to be hit or miss because you can't possibly like all of them equally.

Train to Busan (2016) - I'm trying to warm up to zombie movies, one of the subgenres I genuinely struggle with. This was absolutely terrifying, with great camera work and effects. The most devastating use of Aloha 'Oe in the history of cinema, perhaps.

Isa Pa, with Feelings (2019) - Fairly standard love story, but gorgeous cinematography, soundtrack and innovative subtitle use. My first film from the Philippines.

Planet of Snail (2011) - A South Korean documentary about an interabled couple. The film is very poetic, intimate, with closeups and extreme closeups, and centers their mundane, domestic life, creative endeavours, friends, jokes, struggles. It doesn't impose any sob-story or motivational angle from the outside.

28 Days Later (2002) - Proper Bri'ish zombie film innit?

Radiance (2017) - A film about an audio description writer falling in love with a blind photographer. Literally luminous and radiant and full of tenderness and human connection but also brutal, honest, harsh criticism. so watch out if you're sensitive to that.

[Rec] (2007) - A camera team follows firefighters on a seemingly routine call and ends up trapped in an apartment with Catholic zombies. Finally a found footage film I like. The last couple of minutes had me shaking with anxiety.

Assassination (2015) - A fun film about resistance and double agents during the Japanese occupation of Korea. My concentration span wasn't with me that day so that's the only thing I can say.

The King (2017) - The rise and fall and rise and fall of prosecutors in South Korea. Some really fun editing choices. Corruption, decadence, power, crime, style, politics, revenge, dance numbers and oh what's this? It's Jung Woo-sung with the steel wooden chair (he literally beats someone up with a chair)

Buzkashi! (2012) - A documentary about a unique Central Asian sport and its players in rural Tajikistan.

JeruZalem (2015) - A low-budget found footage demon zombie film set in Jerusalem and filmed through smart glasses. I could just about suspend my disbelief for the cgi zombie demons or the inclusion of a creepypasta image in the opening montage but the glasses were a little too much. Shout out to bargain bin Indiana Jones for hooking up with the protagonist and then immediately showing her a video of a priest doing an exorcism, failing, and then just shooting the possessed woman with a gun. That's definitely something you want to see during a holiday romance.

[bubblebbg]

The days that pass this slow are sweet.

Yuta x reader headcanons, young love

It's been a long time since he's felt like this, the way he does about you. Yuta Okkotsu is new to romance, stumbling through young love with all of the inexperience it entails. He tries though. He really does.

When Yuta first meets you, the air is sucked out of his lungs. His face is warm and he's stuttering because you're just so beautiful, and you're nice to him on top of that.

So when you gently call his name and he realizes he's been staring at you, and intensely at that, while you tried to return the pencil he dropped, he's a total mess. You know his name? Oh my gosh, you're the most beautiful, kind person he's ever met -

Aaand, he's a goner. From that day on he hovers around you, hanging off of every bit of attention you'll spare him. He feels a bit like duck waiting to be thrown breadcrumbs, but he's too infatuated to care.

He makes sure to eat lunch with you everyday, eyes locked on your expression through every word of conversation. He thinks he's sneaky, but everyone and their mother can tell how lovesick he is.

After long days of training, he's always right there by your side with a towel and a bottle of water to help you unwind. He points out where you did well, what areas he thinks you could improve on. And if you suggest private training together? Oh boy, his heart is racing.

He can never turn you down, no matter what it is you ask. You want to go to that arcade after classes? Sure! You text him to sit on the school rooftops and just talk? He's already up there, asking where you're at.

This extends to things you don't say too - he'll see you add something to your wish list on amazon and he's handing it to you in the next week with a bashful expression. If it makes you happy, the money is better spent. Most of the things occupying your room by this point were gifts from him.

Yuta is the most considerate person you know. That time you got sick during finals, he rushed right over with all of the remedies the internet told him to get, catching you up on any missed lectures or training. His face is warm when you rest your head on his shoulder in a sick haze. His friends may make fun of him but this, this is worth it.

He tries to confess to you, he really does, and Panda and Toge are starting to get sick of waiting. But the timing just never seems right - someone else is always trying to get your attention, something is always coming up right in the middle. He doesn't blame you; you're incredible, of course everyone's pulling you from every direction. He just wishes, hopes that he's as high on your list as you are on his.

When he sees some tall, attractive guy asking for your number from afar, he's sure this is it. He tries not to cry because it's silly to cry over something that was and wasn't at the same time, but his hands are clenching the stems of the flowers he bought you, the gift bag dropped to the floor. You catch sight of him and he immediately rounds a corner. He wants you to be happy, after all. Even if that's not with him.

You follow him to where he's sat on the ground against some lockers, sitting right next to him like you always do. He smiles, and you know him well enough to know that he's biting back sadness.

"I saw that guy asking you out. Congrats! He's really cool from what I've heard, popular, smart, the works. You guys will look good together." He tries to fake excitement, but again, you know him better. This is the same boy who's been glued to you for months, he can't fool you.

And you really don't mean to humiliate him, but it makes you laugh a little, shoulders shaking and a hand over your mouth. He looks at you confused, asking, "What? What's so funny?"

You sigh in content, turning to face him. He really is so adorable. His face always gives away how he feels before he says it.

"I said no."

"...what?" Eyes wide, but heart hopeful. "Really? But he's everything! He's attractive, he's -"

"I said no because I like you, Yuta." You take the gift bag that he was hiding (poorly at that, just stuffed behind his back against the locker) with all of your favorite snacks, rifle through it and find a charm bracelet. You put it on. "Where are the flowers? I know you got some."

He feels his heart pounding like never before now, face stricken with disbelief. Slowly, timidly, he hands you the flowers he had been holding out of sight.

You take them, closing your eyes for an appreciative whiff. Hydrangeas, your favorite.

It's all he can do to meet your eyes with his right now, cheeks flushed beyond belief. "...Really?"

You laugh again and he smiles as he turns his gaze to the floor, a hand scratching the back of his head.

"Yes, you dummy. For awhile now. I've just been waiting to see if you had the balls to confess yourself. Didn't mean for that guy to get in the way."

He smiles with a happiness you haven't seen before, eyes lighting up like you've just given him the world. Yeah, you think, It's always gonna be you, Yuta.

Yuta's silent for a moment. He mutters just loud enough for you to hear, "Can I kiss you?"

And you nod, that smile playing at your face that he yearns for everyday. You lean in and he closes the gap, lips tingling and warm and body brimming with electricity.

Days like this move so slow, basked in the yellows and oranges of sunsets. This has to be the slowest time has ever felt for you two, and neither of you want it to end.

You both pull back after a bit, eyes locked and a bit breathless. You reach for his hand and his fingers interlace with yours naturally.

Yeah, slow days like this are the sweetest.