Chapter 2:

Christina's Sons

HoneyBalls Writing Club: A HoneyFeed Romantic Comedy

I followed Ayenne’s finger as she pointed towards yet another corner of HoneyBalls Writing Club. Over there I saw a girl with luscious black hair, rounded features, and because I’m too lazy to recycle a description I’ve seen [redacted] write in both GEP and Why I Write, I’m going to cheat and say she looked exactly like Sakurajima Mai. She was sitting atop a table with her legs spread open, and she…

“Wait a second,” I said. “Is… Is Christina trying to give birth?”

“Terrable,” said Christina.

“Why does she keep saying ‘terrible’ incorrectly over and over?”

“That’s sort of her thing,” Gil interjected. “When OTK gets excited or stressed out, she ends up replacing her ‘i’s with ‘a’s.”

I guess OTK must’ve been Christina’s nickname. It seemed like the denizens of this writing club were rather into pet names, so I didn’t want to come across as rude by going against the established culture.

“Oh, I see. Thanks for the exposition, ‘Miko-chan, I’m cumming inside’.”

“INCREADABLE!” Christina screeched.

Suddenly realising Christina was in the midst of labour, Ayenne rushed over to help the pregnant high schooler deliver her baby. (For legal reasons, Christina is 18+. She had to repeat a year at Honey High due to her inability to spell.) Ayenne gestured over at Gil and I to do the same, but I was glued to the spot due to my crippling phobia of women’s genitals — as for Gil, I’m not sure why, but he just stared at Christina and drooled.

“Ehehe… Gil is horny. 15 minutes left.”

“Gil?! What the hell are you doing?”

“Huh? Oh… right. Shit.”

Gil sprinted over, and then the two HoneyBalls members crowded around Christina as they grabbed onto her legs. I doubted they knew what they were doing, but judging by the look on the pregnant girl’s face (18+) it seemed like she appreciated their company.

“Don’t worry, OTK! You’ll be alright, I promise!” Gil was rapidly stroking Christina’s legs up and down in a fashion I wanted to call perverted, but because I am BlipXP and I have a crippling lack of self-confidence, I can only give neutered, half-baked opinions in case I offend anyone as I have a fear of being disliked by others.

“Damnit,” Ayenne cried. “Isn’t there a real doctor around here?”

“Oh?” Gil asked, still trying to start a fire using the friction of Christina’s thigh. “You mean that author who makes legendary memes shilling the MAL x HoneyFeed Impossible Romance Finalist, UnCrowned?”

“Yeah, him!”

“Too bad! He didn’t want to fill up the consent form!”


As Christina screeched, I suddenly felt something slimy and wet and hard smack my cheek, and then it plopped onto the ground with a thud.

“Is that a fucking egg?! Did Christina just fucking shoot an egg at me?”

No one in the room bothered replying, because it seemed like Christina was still in labour.

“Push, Christina! Push!”

“Don’t let up, OTK!”


Maybe Christina was giving birth to twins; maybe the egg didn’t actually come out of her vag. Both outcomes seemed extremely dreadful, and so a part of me started thinking this HoneyBalls place wasn’t where a high school freshman should be if the setting was a teenage romantic comedy. However, it was too late to delete the draft at this point, and so I settled on Plan B — running away.

I turned on my heels, away from the makeshift maternity theatre, and I bolted.


Before I could take even a single step, I felt a man’s grip settle on my shoulders. How could I tell he was a man? I just intuitively knew — the strength, the vigour, the ferocity, the almost Spanishness but not quite — it was one hundred per cent a man’s grip. Not to be sexist, but something about being stopped in your tracks by a manly man just hits different… and your body can 100% tell.

But still…

Was there really a man in this room?

I only saw Bryan Gil.

That was not a man, but a twink.

[Disclaimer: twinks are hot]

In a state of confusion, I turned around to face my mystery assailant. As expected, I saw the awesome brown forearms of a man resting on my shoulder: solid, thick, tight, hairy. But as I turned more and more, my amazement turned into shock, then shock into horror as I saw the unquestionable yellow beak and green feathers of a mallard duck’s head.

A mallard duck with a bodybuilder’s forearms.

A mallard duck’s body, with a mallard duck’s feet and a mallard duck’s wings… but also human forearms.

“Campeonato Brasileirão Série A,” the duck said.


“Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior.”

“...Is that Brazilian?”

[SYSTEM: Hey man, that’s kinda racist. The language is actually called “Portuguese”. Also, this joke isn’t really realistic since Blip is Spanish and hence—

“Amazing, Christina!” Ayenne suddenly cooed. “You did it!”

Drawn towards the noises, the newborn duck picked me up with one arm and slung me into his arms. I was now being carried princess-style. I found myself strangely attracted to this duck and his feathered breast, and so I did not resist, but still I did not want to trigger my phobia of looking at female genitalia despite his obvious attempts to make me look in the direction of the HoneyBalls members massaging a half-naked pregnant Yukinoshita Yukino lookalike.

“No, duck… I can’t,” I whispered. "I'm scared of the V."

His reply was curt. “Roberto Firmino, Philippe Coutinho. Ronaldinho Gaúcho.”

The duck slapped me with the force of a footballer’s free kick, then used his impressive 30-second-old-newborn-duck grip to rotate my head towards Christina.

“:tired_face:,” she said.

It was an absolutely grotesque scene. I looked at the puddle of goop and birth juices that lay at Christina’s feet, and there it was I saw another thing that existed but definitely shouldn’t have: Indian Benjamin Button.

“If my novel gets more than ten thousand views, I’ll write something embarrassing here.”