#but those moments always pass by so fast and get worked through so easily

[foragings]

true blue by boygenius is literally so everything. like yeah that's love

[junislqve]

THAT FEELING WHEN / ’she looks perfect’

enhypen ｡｡ their “she’s perfect” moments

n : f!r / 1683 𝑤𝘰𝑟𝑑𝑠 . . . 𝓬 — 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 ⨾ kissing fluff enha in love est rs ⟢ 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗎𝖾

𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝘰𝗀𝗌 ♥︎ 𝖼𝗅𝑖𝖼𝗄

LEE HEESEUNG

one thing heeseung loved to do was watch his pretty girlfriend sit in front of her huge mirror while getting ready. loving the way you’d apply lip gloss on your lips knowing he’d kiss it all away in a minute anyway.

it was always one of those moments when he’d get to admire you as much as he’d like, his eyes chasing after every detail of your face in fear he’d forget about it if he didn’t.

“seung, can you pass me my bag?” you ask, unaware of the way his eyes glazed over, doe-eyed. “‘seung?”

“yeah?” he said, absentmindedly. you turn to him with a pout and only then did he snap out.

“my bag—“

“do you know how perfect you look right now?” your eyes flickered to his, “you look perfect all the time— how do you always look this pretty?”

PARK JONGSEONG

it’s always been hard to waver jay. he was never swayed that easily nor did he get shy a lot. so why was it so hard for him to focus on studying whenever you were around?

he had stacks of books all splayed out in front of him and a test to study for, yet all he could think about was how you looked smiling and laughing with your friends hours ago.

“jay?” hearing that voice, he thinks he’s never looked up that fast in his life, “hi, can i sit here?”

well, now he knows he can never get any studying done, “yeah, sure, of course.”

“have you been studying for long?” you ask, taking a seat right across from him, as if your mere presence wasn’t already a menace to his heart rate yet.

“no, i just started actually” a little white lie wouldn’t hurt. which he was glad for saying, because he spent the next two hours studying (mostly talking) with you. and he thought he’s gotten comfortable with talking to you, but that was until he attempted to crack a joke that gauged no reaction out of you.

“i mean, well, you’re always pretty— smart. smart and pretty” he sputtered, wishing he stayed silent, his dilemma was cut short by the soft chuckle you made. when he picked up the way your dimples showed and the way your eyes creased crescents, he knows he a goner.

SIM JAEYUN

your room was one of the places jake loved to be in. it didn’t matter what he was doing, it just felt better to do it in your room. it was nothing, however, without your presence. maybe it was because of your habit to leave music lulling away through every corner of your room, jake convinces himself.

he loved your room, and he loved you (though you didn’t know it yet) and he was completely fine with it. he was doing his project on your bedroom floor while you were sat on your window sill, typing up an essay.

it’s been hours since you both sat down in silence only letting the music to fill in the atmosphere.

“do you have a ruler i can borrow?” he asked, eyes still trained on his work. when you didn’t answer, his eyes turned to you for a moment, “hey, d—“

jake was reconsidering your friendship the moment he turned to look at you again, double taking at the sight. there was a beautiful sunset right behind you, and yet the only thing he could look at was you.

everything was fading away and you were the reason. all of his desires were begging him to reach out to you and ruin all that he’s built up until now, and while usually he’d create up a logical reason not to, this time, maybe a logical part of him wanted that too.

PARK SUNGHOON

sunghoon has never prioritized a day more than his day-ins. where all he needed to do was lay in bed and rest as long as he wanted. usually, he’d ignore everyone who tried to disturb him during those days. but if it was you, all it took was a call and he’s right outside your apartment.

“why didn’t you call me earlier, baby?” he sighs, fingers carving through your hair lulling you to sleep.

“i didn’t want to bother you” you pout, looking up at him. if you were any more adorable, sunghoon thinks he might not be able to restrain himself from kissing you breathless.

“bother me all you want, i’m yours to bother anyway” he says absentmindedly. unaware of the effect his words has on you, he always knew what to say at all the right times and that never failed to make you warm.

only after half an hour did you finally decide to let the sleep overtake you. sunghoon who was about to ask you if you wanted to eat, looked down to see his girlfriend’s arms around him.

he carefully moved the hair out of your face, brushing the little strands to the side. at first, he found you adorable looking this peaceful, but after a while he found himself not being able to look away. his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb gently rubbed your skin.

his eyes roamed your face possibly about a dozen times, hoping he’d remember every last detail of it to the way your lips pout slightly in your sleep. he found it baffling how you could look so perfect even while sleeping.

planting a small longing kiss on your forehead, sunghoon laid his head on top of yours. not realizing the slight smile on your lips nor the way you snuggled slightly closer to him.

KIM SUNOO

the door to the apartment drew open and sunoo looked exhausted. he needed his girlfriend and thankfully, the moment he was in, you were right there in front of him, sat on the couch.

sunoo walked to where you were, arms going around your body, face on your chest, hoping he could just stay like this forever. he caressed your sides and inhaled your scent until he looked up to you and noticed the familiar pattern of the hoodie you were wearing.

“baby, is this my hoodie?” he asks, heart melting when he saw you dig your face deeper into the hoodie in embarassment. he was about to shoot you a comment until your eyes peeped out of the hoodie and gazed at him.

this whole situation was ridiculous, more ridiculous as he was suddenly unable to think of anything except for the way you stared up at him so adorably. the doe eyes you shot him was enough to make him nervous.

just as fast as you did, you covered your whole face back under the hoodie, leaving sunoo trying to recollect himself, acting as if the fact that you were buried under his clothes and engulfed in his scent didn’t make him drunk on your existence.

YANG JUNGWON

music was blasting loudly. and somehow, jungwon wasn’t actively trying to avoid the place. reason of cause? you. more specifically, the way your hands wrapped around his arm. a simple action enough to drive him nuts. maybe if he was aware of the way he was following you like a lost puppy he’d snap out of it, but for now, he’s stuck to you.

“wonnie, do you want some punch?” you ask, grabbing a clean cup and pouring yourself a glass.

“hm?” he attempted to register the situation and once he did, he carefully took your cup away from you, “are you sure this is safe? we both know you can’t handle your alcohol”

maybe that’s exactly what you need right now though, some alcohol in your system because the way your boyfriend had his sleeves rolled up to his arms and the way his hair sat messily on top of his head was making you insane.

“come on, wonn, just a little” you tilt your head to the side. and that was when jungwon had his little shit moment. the way you looked tonight in the dim lighting and that smile of yours, it was all too overwhelming for him.

all those moments he’s had with you is all catching up to him and his heart feels so full of love for you, he doesn’t know what to do. only then can he gulp, and nod at his girlfriend as he watches her eyes light up, giving him a split second’s kiss that had him grinning from ear to ear while following her from behind.

NISHIMURA RIKI

“riki come on! the sunset’s about to start”

your voice echoing from ahead, riki was struggling to keep up with your pace, his legs running as fast as he could through the road.

“slow down” he huffs, breathing heavily as his feet finally lands on sand and his pace slowing down. despite the need to heave, he continued his slow walk towards you, who had your back towards him.

he stood beside you and he turned to you, just about to scold you for making him run with you, but all his words died on his tongue as he saw the way your eyes reflected the sunset.

he willed himself to look ahead for a split second before his eyes trailed back to you, riki wondered how someone could look so pretty compared to the view right in front of him. he wondered how even though you annoyed him most times, he couldn’t look away from you right now.

he told himself it was because of how you looked dumb gaping at a sunset but even then you looked unreal, riki didn’t understand your fascination with sunsets when you could just look at yourself in the mirror.

but he’ll never tell you that, in fact, he promised himself he’s only going to look at you for that long only for this moment. only because the orange hues reflecting off your skin made you look perfect, only because he knew he couldn’t pay any amount of money to get to see something as pretty as that smile of yours. only this time.

spoiler: that wasn’t the last time.

juni : this took too long bruh

[indulgentdaydream]

protective!jason hcs or blurb 🥰

Ok so I kinda touched on these in my latest fic but anyways i WILL elaborate bc those were just background

We all know that man is touch starved. We ALL know it.

We also all know he’s hesitant with sharing touch

It’s only once you both have been dating for a bit already, maybe three months in, that he really starts to show his protectiveness through his touch

Or at least when you notice it

He’s always at least holding your hand as you guys walk around Gotham. Depending on exactly whereabouts in Gotham is when he changes whether he’s between you and the road, or you and the alleyways.

You watched him change it up one time halfway through your shared walk, him letting go of your left hand, stepping behind you and around to grab your right instead.

“Oh? So you want me to get hit by a car and die?”

Jason only keeps his eyes on the passing buildings and the ones coming up, “The chance of that is much lower than somebody trying to mug you in this area, love.”

One day you’re both out at the bar together. He’s sitting on a stool behind you as you babble to oke of yours friends.

From over their shoulder, you see a man approaching, but don’t think anything of it.

Suddenly, you see the man stop in his tracks, freezing. You glance over at him. He looks terrified. He glances at you, his original target, then behind you again. He spins on his heel and walks back the way he came.

You look behind you, feeling Jason’s hand still resting on your hip. You almost feel a little scared yourself, seeing that killer glare that Jason’s pointing at the guy’s back.

He switches immediately the second he looks down to you, a soft smile and kind eyes, not a hint of the previous bloodlust a mere second ago. “What?” He asks, like watching his expression change wasn’t the biggest turn on in the world.

You’re sitting in your apartment at your desk typing away on your laptop. You’re trying to file your taxes, and Jason had come over to help you with it (surprisingly he knows how even though he’s still legally dead at this point and hasn’t had to pay any taxes. Ever.)

He had stood and was wondering around your room a bit while he waited for you to fill the next part out. You can hear shuffling, but you’re too focused to tune into it.

“Jay? What does this line mean?”

Jason grunts for a moment and you hear your window slide open.

You turn back around, “Jay?”

“One second.” He shuts your window again. You watch as he fiddles with the lock before easily sliding the window back open. He throws his hands in the air and looks at you. “How long have you lived here?”

You shrug, confused, “You helped me move in.”

Jason waves his hand through the air, “When?”

“Almost a year? Last November.”

Jason fiddles with the window again, slamming it back down, “This lock doesn’t work. You been sleeping in here and anyone could’ve just broken in?”

You shrug again, “I didn’t know it was broken! I don’t really lock my window often.”

Jason looks like he almost broke his neck by how fast his head whipped back to you, “You don’t lock your window????”

He finishes your taxes for you before he leaves, saying he’ll be back. Within the hour he’s knocking on your door again, a duffle bag in hand full of power tools, screws, and different assortments of heavy duty locks. He spends the rest of the night installing them.

A new one on your bedroom window that actually consisted of two different locks. A similar two on your kitchen window. Another three on your bedroom door itself. Then four on your front door.

As he leaned over your kitchen sink, screwing in the lock and blocking your way as you tried to make you both dinner.

“Is this really necessary?”

“I’m not having you practically open to every bad thing the city has to offer, love.”

“Then how are you going to come in through my window now?”

“I’ll learn to knock.”

That’s all I can think of right now okay byeee

[cuubism]

Predictive Modeling

Part 10 of Complex Mathematics

[ just a little hurt/comfort sorta fic for you I guess]

Dream gets overstimulated fairly easily. It caused him issues as a child: needing to leave rooms, getting constant headaches, losing his ability to function if there was too much going on.

But he has been dealing with it for so long now that he knows, for the most part, how to manage it. He knows how much time he can spend in certain environments before he needs to leave. He knows how to best approach class obligations to limit the time spent in distressing, overwhelming situations. He knows how to set his own boundaries. Perhaps he sets them too hard, sometimes, as he had done at first with Hob, not wanting to let him near. But he has figured most of it out, and knows how to retreat before getting overwhelmed.

Hob exists in such a state of energy that it takes Dream a long time to realize that he gets overstimulated, too.

He’s not certain Hob realizes it, though.

Hob recognizes the overstimulation in Dream. He’s learned to see when Dream is starting to shut down, when he needs to retreat back into his room and his work. Dream has started to find himself capable of letting Hob stay with him in those moments, so long as Hob is able to just be with him quietly. They’ve passed many an evening with Dream buried in a notebook, using his equations to push away the outside world, while Hob lies beside him on the couch, watching or listening to something on his phone, headphones in, toes pressed to Dream’s thigh, a light, grounding touch.

Hob is so much more capable of coping with chaos that Dream wouldn’t have thought him to get overstimulated. Hob goes out and meets with friends, enjoying the play of a group conversation that Dream always finds too difficult to follow. Hob teaches big sections for his classes and doesn’t seem to find it overly burdensome to manage all the students. Hob likes to go out drinking, and clubbing.

(This latter activity is one he’s managed, somehow, to get Dream into, on occasion. Dream had indulged him the first time, with great apprehension, warning Hob that he would likely need to leave immediately— but Hob had said trust me, I have a feeling. Armed with earplugs to cut the harshest edge of the noise, Dream had let Hob draw him into the darkness and flashing lights and the sound.

Oh, the wave of sound. Dream had expected it to shatter his skull, to need to flee—but the music was so heavy, so loud and undulating, that it somehow crested the threshold of overwhelm and flattened out on the other side. It rolled over him instead of cutting, the bass pounding through his chest so hard he could feel it in each heartbeat. He closed his eyes to block out the flashing lights. Moved close to Hob, let Hob wrap around him so he was all Dream could feel. The press of his body, and the weight of the music so beyond loud he could not even hear his roiling thoughts. He could only feel.

Hob had leaned in close to his ear. Dream could not hear what he said, but he knew it anyway. Told you.)

In retrospect, that should have been his hint.

He knows, already, that Hob is more attentive to Dream’s needs than to his own. He hadn’t realized Hob’s mind moved so fast he simply skipped over his own needs, sometimes. It would be better for Hob, maybe, if he had someone other than Dream to look after him, someone who wasn’t so often behind the curve in understanding what was going on in other people’s minds. Perhaps that person would have picked up on it quicker and figured out something to do.

They wouldn’t have been like Dream, and missed it until it became a panic attack.

~

Hob is. Maybe. A little bit scattered.

Not that it doesn’t happen often enough. And not that it should really be a surprise, considering. But it’s— yeah, he’s a bit all over the place. He’s glad he had the foresight to put Dream in charge of logistics, like the hotel reservation, otherwise God knows if they’d have gotten there.

They’re in London for the weekend. Hob has a tech conference, and Dream came with him because he wanted to go to the library, apparently. Hob half wonders if Dream just wanted to keep an eye on him, or wanted the company, but it doesn’t matter, he’s always glad to have Dream along.

In any case, Dream’s gone to amuse himself reading some arcane mathematical text while Hob’s at the conference, and they’re meant to meet up after. Hob’s been working nonstop on his presentation for this thing for weeks, and now that it’s over he’s—

—he’s supposed to meet Dream to get dinner. Right. Assuming Dream doesn’t get lost in the library.

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. “Oh! There you are.” Dream’s just come up the stairs from the station entrance, and is now a lone still figure in the sea of people streaming around him. Hob weaves his way through the crowd to meet him. Just his luck this conference had to be in such a busy area. He hopes it’s not too chaotic for Dream.

He takes Dream’s hand. Dream smiles at him. He says something, but the chatter and traffic and noise around them is so great that Hob misses it.

“What?”

“Should we go to the hotel?” Dream repeats.

Their hotel is also nearby. But Hob shakes his head. “No, we were supposed to get dinner, remember? The place you wanted to try?”

Dream nods. Hob consults his loose mental map of the area. “Should be… this way.”

He leads Dream along, still holding onto his hand, weaving them through crowds, past street vendors and people congregating in doorways, passing conversation and music and the smells of food cooking in restaurants, flashing lights in the dusk and cars whizzing by—

“How was the conference?” Dream asks as they walk.

“Um.” Hob darts them across a street, keeping an eye out for traffic. “Um. It was good! I mean. I had to explain the project about eighty-seven times in a row. So.” He’s probably going to be reciting the introductory spiel in his sleep for weeks. Dream knows it too, Hob’s practiced it in front of him enough.

“Lots of networking,” he adds, and Dream grumbles. Hob doesn’t mind it too much, though. At least, when it involves actually talking to people about their work with genuine interest, he doesn’t mind. He could do without the false veneer of the thing, and the fake manners.

The restaurant should be around here… probably? It’s starting to get a bit dark and the lights everywhere are very bright and it’s really very loud, all overlapping noises, he might have taken them across a wrong street? Circled or doubled back? He was distracted. He feels… very distracted.

He spins around, trying to figure out where they are. He thinks he’s… maybe taken them the wrong way? Fuck.

“Hob,” Dream says. Like he’s not saying it for the first time.

Turning again to face him makes Hob’s head spin. He feels kind of dizzy. Maybe he didn’t eat enough? No, he ate lunch… probably. Just needs some water, maybe.

“Hob,” Dream repeats, brow pinching.

“I’ll— I’ll find it,” Hob tells him, reaching for his phone. It slips from his hand and Hob watches, as if through tunnel vision, as it drops to the pavement. Dream picks it up, holds it out to him, unharmed. It takes Hob a second to take it back.

He puts it in his pocket. Finds himself reaching out to touch Dream’s arm to make sure the world is not actually spinning the way it feels like it is. It doesn’t seem to be. Dream is solid under his hand. But Hob can’t. Can’t think. It’s too loud. His throat feels tight. He stares at the buttons on Dream’s jacket. Counts them. One. Two—

Dream takes his arm. Starts leading him down the street. Hob tries not to stumble. Everything whirls past. He clutches to Dream.

Well, maybe Dream’s figured out where the restaurant is, at least. That’s something.

He doesn’t figure out where Dream’s actually taking them until they’re through the sliding doors of their hotel—apparently it was closer than he thought—up a flight of stairs, and through their hotel room door. Only then does Dream release his arm, and Hob finds himself hunched on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, collapsed in the sudden vacuum of silence.

It all rushes from him, all at once, all the noise, chaos, energy, and what’s left is a sweeping sense of doom. He might actually be dying. This is what the imminent collapse of death feels like. Sudden assurance of the end.

“Hob,” Dream says. Hob’s closed his eyes, and only feels the dent of the mattress as Dream sits beside him.

Hob means to tell him he just needs a second and then they can get back to what they were doing. Instead he plants his face in Dream’s chest.

Dream makes a surprised sound, then tentatively wraps his arms around him. He doesn’t say anything more. Gradually his embrace grows tighter. He slips his fingers into Hob’s hair and holds him close.

Hob always ends up surprised by how solid Dream actually is. He’s appreciating it now as he hides his face in Dream’s shirt, trying to block out everything else. Being in the quiet of their hotel room helps, though. Everything’s not spinning as much. He thinks he can breathe again.

“Hob,” Dream says, eventually, “are you..?”

“I’m good,” Hob says, and finally lifts his head from Dream’s chest. The room, thankfully, doesn’t spin. “I’m— I don’t know what that was.”

“Overstimulation,” Dream says solemnly. He looks almost guilty about it, though Hob can’t for the life of him fathom why.

“Oh.” That… doesn’t make sense. He’s seen Dream get overstimulated. He usually describes it like something is itching under his skull. Like even the slightest sensation starts scraping at him. This was more like… there were just too many things going on. He got caught up in a whirlwind. Pulled in too many directions.

“I believe you had a panic attack,” Dream continues, still with that vaguely ashamed look that Hob doesn’t understand.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Wouldn’t you have to be afraid of something to have a panic attack? At least upset? “It wasn’t even a bad day or anything.”

“No, but perhaps a loud one,” Dream says, gently.

Huh. Is that really what happened? Did he just… snap?

In retrospect… maybe Hob’s felt that way before. Only he usually just pushes through it, rides the feeling out until it goes away and he can think again. Surely, if he were getting overstimulated, he would feel the need to retreat like Dream does—

Oh.

“You think so?”

Dream nods.

Well, he’d probably know better than Hob. “Well. I think I feel better now, so—”

Dream raises a hand to stop him. “We will order in. I will see if they do takeaway.”

While he’s ordering on his phone, Hob contemplates. Finally, stuck on that guilty look on Dream’s face, he asks, “Why did it make you upset? Wait, that came out wrong, I mean—”

“I should have known better,” Dream says.

“What?”

“I… I have dealt with this,” Dream says. “I ought to have noticed. Known it would happen. I could have done something. Before it got so bad.”

“Dream—” Hob really picked the most ridiculous man in the world to love. He can’t believe this is the same Dream who once told him he wanted to carve out his own eyes to avoid having to look at Hob. Something Dream would probably be mortified to be reminded he said, though Hob still finds it hilarious. “It’s not your fault.”

“I am supposed to help you,” Dream insists. “Particularly when it is something with which I have experience. Am I meant to sit idly by while you suffer?”

“Dream.” Hob squeezes his hands. “Of course not. But you can’t blame yourself for what’s going on in my brain. Besides, you brought us back to the hotel, didn’t you?”

“I’ve seen you like this before,” Dream argues. “I should have recognized it.”

“All-knowing, all-powerful Dream,” Hob teases, but Dream’s frown only deepens. “If I couldn’t recognize it, how are you meant to?”

“I have experience,” Dream insists, but Hob pets his hair, and he quiets.

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve distracted me from it—I’m just going to be thinking about this instead, now.” He ruffles Dream’s hair, which makes his mouth pinch into a little moue of irritation. “Sweet darling.”

“Sweet,” Dream echoes, with some distaste. He is, though. Can’t deny it.

“I will take your experience into account for next time,” Hob tells him, which seems to mollify him.

“The food will be here in approximately twenty minutes,” he tells Hob, after again consulting his phone. “In the meantime, stay there. I will fetch your pajamas.”

He’s doing that thing again that he did once when Hob got a concussion. Taking charge of the situation. Hob kind of loves when he does that. He hopes he’s not just doing it out of some misplaced guilt, though.

“I’m really fine!” Hob calls after him. “Could’ve still—”

Dream is ignoring him. Hob just shakes his head fondly.

While he’s alone, he takes stock of himself. He gets, now, what Dream meant about overstimulation. It was all very loud, and there was a lot going on, and he’d been in the thick of it all day. But. Could Dream actually be right about it being a panic attack?

Hob’s impression was that panic attacks were more… obvious? Surely he’d be crying and hyperventilating on the floor, if he was having a panic attack. Not just— just—

freezing.

Hob goes into the bathroom to wash his face. He still feels a little… shaky. Better, but… he remembers that crushing feeling. Like the world was bearing down on his throat. Strange.

When he goes back out into the bedroom, Dream’s managed to find his pajamas in the mess of the bag Hob definitely overpacked. Maybe he should have delegated that task to Dream like he did with the hotel reservation. Dream would have considered and had a reason for everything he brought.

Dream hands him his pajamas, then promptly disappears again, presumably to fetch their food. By the time he comes back, Hob’s changed and is sitting up in bed. “Didn’t get drinks with that, did you?” he asks hopefully, as Dream sets the takeaway bag on the nightstand.

Dream sighs in exasperation, but opens the bag to reveal a small bottle of wine. Hob mentally cheers. Dream hands it to him, and a glass from the room bar, but says, “Though I think it may not be the best idea.”

“Noted.” Hob opens the bottle—thankfully a twist-off lid, as he didn’t really want to have to break out his undignified uni-era bottle opening tricks in front of Dream. He has no idea if the wine will be any good. He doesn’t much care, just pours out two glasses.

Dream changes clothes too, and sits beside him in bed. Often Hob puts the telly on as background noise to settle his mind but today he just… can’t. So they sit in the quiet. Hob downs an entire glass of wine before even opening his pad see ew. Dream ignores his and just takes solemn, deliberate spoonfuls of his customary green curry. He stays solid and steady as he lets Hob lean against his shoulder.

“Have you had panic attacks before, then?” Hob asks when some time has passed, though it feels far more awkward to reopen the conversation now.

Dream nods. “Not for some time. But. Before I learned what it felt like when I needed to go somewhere quieter. Then yes. It— much of it is in my own mind. And so. Anything outside becomes too loud.”

Yeah. That does track. Sometimes Hob revels in having bustling chaos around him. But today, it’s like his mind was already fielding so much sensation, inside and out, that it just fritzed out.

“I wasn’t afraid of anything, though,” Hob argues.

Dream taps his spoon against the rim of the takeaway container. “I think. Panic. May be a different emotion than fear. Fear looks forward and backward; panic reacts only in the moment. It’s instinctual. An instant flight. Or freeze. Even if the problem is inside.” He ducks his head. “As it often was for me.”

Hob pets his hair, and Dream leans into the touch.

“In any case, it can be prevented if one can remove the overwhelming stimuli. But only if they can be identified.”

“Hmm.” Hob will have to think on it. “What’s your prescription then, Nurse Dream?”

Dream sighs, always long-suffering about that moniker. “You simply need to rest in a calmer environment. And remove sources of stress, if possible.”

“Alright, then.” Dream’s taken care of a lot of that for him already. “Thank you, darling.”

For once, Dream doesn’t tell him not to thank him.

Hob steals a bit of his curry—and then struggles to even swallow it. “Wow. They make that proper spicy here, eh?”

Dream’s lips quirk in a half-smile. “As I was hoping. I don’t think the place at home believes me when I tell them I want it spicy.”

Hob’s not sure he’d believe it either, if he hadn’t watched Dream eat it without even blinking. Dream’s relationship with food is strange, and Hob can’t always get him to eat at all. At first he’d thought he should just try to get him to eat bland foods, but no, it’s actually easier to tempt Dream to break his habits with sashimi than it is with toast. Hob already knows he’s going to have to get some sort of fancy tech job after graduation, because whatever salary comes along with being a maths genius isn’t going to keep Dream in biweekly sushi.

The thought just makes him smile.

“I’m glad. You should have it the way you want. Even if it burns your tongue off. Though on second thought, if you lose feeling in your tongue that affects me too—”

“You must be feeling like yourself again if you are rambling this nonsense at me,” Dream says, going back to eating his curry, but Hob can hear the fondness in his tone.

“That’s a pillar of our relationship.”

“Yes, nonsense certainly is,” Dream agrees, and Hob pokes him in the side in admonishment. Dream breaks into a true smile then.

“Capsaicin does not create actual burns,” Dream continues. “My tongue will continue to be at your disposal.”

“At my disposal, eh?”

“I ought to feed you more of it,” Dream warns, and Hob grins.

“I’ll happily swallow anything you care to feed me—”

“Eat your dinner, Hob.”

“Yes, Nurse Dream.”

~

Hob wakes the next morning with his face planted in Dream’s stomach, and feels immensely grateful they don’t have any plans for the day other than eventually going home. He’d like to stay right here until Dream wakes up, which could very well be at—

Dream is already petting his hair.

“Did you even sleep?” Hob asks, voice muffled in Dream’s shirt.

“Do I ever?” says Dream, deadpan.

“What are you thinking about? And if you’re going to be awake can you get some coffee before I die?”

“You are too stubborn to die,” Dream says, and hands him the hotel room phone.

Hob muzzily asks room service to bring coffee, then rolls on his back to look up at Dream. “Hey.” He reaches up to touch Dream’s jaw. “What are you thinking about?”

Dream takes his hand and starts playing with his fingers. “I did not like seeing you like that.”

“I’ll try not to let it happen again?”

Dream shakes his head. “It was like you simply… froze. I did not like it at all.”

As usual, Hob ends up rambling to distract from the lump that puts in his throat. “Well you’re always telling me to shut up, so—”

Dream shakes his head fervently. “No. I did not mean it. Did you think I meant it?”

“No.” They’ve always been like that, poking at each other, since they first met.

“You did not notice it,” Dream says, apparently back on the track of Hob’s little silent meltdown. Hob’s not sure how much he cares to go over it again. If he lets the possibility worm into him, he’s never going to stop thinking about it. “You thought. It was normal.”

“I guess?”

Dream seems truly distressed by it. More so than Hob, even.

“I do not want you to suffer and not do anything about it,” Dream says, voice cracking, and oh, darling.

Dream presses Hob’s head in to his chest, arms wrapped around him, and Hob strokes his side, throat tight. “It’s alright, sweetheart.”

“It’s not.” Then again, Hob feels much the same when he sees Dream not eat. Helpless to fix it. And Hob knows that even if he doesn’t have that problem, he can definitely be prone to forgetting that too much is a thing that exists. He hadn’t realized it bothered Dream.

“It is not alright,” Dream repeats. Then, quieter. “I do not want to see you suffer.”

“Then don’t look?”

“Hob Gadling.”

There’s a proper snap in Dream’s voice now, and Hob winces. “Don’t make yourself responsible for me.”

“I am responsible for you. I do not know what the point of this is if I am not. For us to simply glance ineffectually off each other with not a care? Is that what you want?”

It’s not. And really, he’s already made himself responsible for Dream. Hypocrisy, not to acknowledge it.

Hob’s spared from answering by room service knocking on the door. But he can’t help but feel regret as he goes to fetch their coffee.

Dream looks sullen when he gets back, but he accepts the cup of coffee Hob offers him. Hob sits back in bed, but this time facing him. He lays a hand on Dream’s knee.

“I do feel responsible for you,” he says. “I’m sorry I said that.”

Dream sniffs. “Thank you.”

“Don’t make my problems your fault, though,” Hob adds, and Dream’s lips twist in dissatisfaction, but this time he doesn’t argue.

“It distresses me when I can see you are hurting,” Dream says, insistent. “You have always wanted me to share my feelings. Well, I am sharing them.”

“I think it’s distressing you more than it is me,” Hob says. But when he picks up his coffee cup again his hands are trembling. Never mind that it’s a day later. Never mind that he should be over it, thought he was over it. It’s the thought of the thing that’s getting to him more than anything. The thought that he could just shut down and not see it until he’s over the precipice.

He thinks. Maybe he was wrong in saying there was no fear there. He might not have been afraid of anything in particular, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t rise up to choke him anyway, that crashing fear when there’s just too much, when your own mind is slipping out of your control.

Panic, Dream had said. The snap instinct to fly, or freeze.

Dream catches it, takes the mug from his hands and sets it aside. Then he draws Hob to him so Hob can press his face into his throat. He often mimics the things Hob does for him, and this is no exception— when Dream is feeling overwhelmed, and hasn’t decided he wants to be alone, he’ll often curl up in Hob’s lap, tuck his face into Hob’s shoulder. Hob does it now, worms in close, takes in the familiar smell of his skin, all the sharp lines of his body that Hob has memorized by now. He thinks of Dream, his very first sight of him, bristly and sharp and quick to snap, and how careful he is now, with Hob, how quick to jump to blaming himself, like he thinks Hob doesn’t have any of that armor and so Dream’s got to provide it himself. And to be fair, Hob let himself get pricked by Dream’s thorns a hundred times before even knowing for sure there was something soft to find underneath. He’s demonstrated himself incapable of operating with caution.

Dream’s learned to protect himself, sometimes too well. Hob’s never felt the need. So Dream’s done it for him.

“Looking out for me, hmm?” Hob says, still with lips pressed to Dream’s skin, and it comes out wavering.

“I do not know what the point is if I don’t,” Dream says, tucking his nose into Hob’s hair. “I do not know how to do this in a way where I am not protecting you with all that I am.”

“Dream…” God. Hob doesn’t know what to say to that. Except that he feels much the same. “I love you.”

Dream squeezes him tight and doesn’t let him go. Hob submits to his fate, gladly, curling in closer against him. It is nice, really, to have Dream hold him. Dream’s better at it than he thinks he is.

“Maybe next time we just won’t plan dinner out after an already busy day,” Hob says, in concession to Dream’s concerns that he ought to stave off overwhelm.

“See,” Dream sniffs, “it is not so hard.”

“Well now you’re just being a superior twit—”

Dream laughs, breath ruffling Hob’s hair, and it feels like they’re able to find their usual rhythm again. “I am not superior. I am only telling the truth.”

“That is, in fact, exactly what someone who’s being a superior little twit would say—”

Dream bundles him down into the pillows, and Hob laughs as he’s nearly smothered in the mess of blankets. “You will pay for your name-calling.”

“Oh, like I’ve paid for it so far?”

Dream kisses him very much like he means to shut him up. Hob laughs into his mouth, tangling his fingers in Dream’s hair. “My perfect darling,” he says when they part to breathe, “my love. Is that better?”

“Yes,” Dream says. “I like when you call me that.”

“Good.” Hob caresses his cheek, and Dream smiles. “So then, just don’t behave like a—”

Dream pushes him down further into the sheets before Hob can finish the sentence, and Hob loses himself to laughing as Dream kisses his cheek, his jaw, his neck. This is really more of what Hob initially had in mind for last night, so he’s glad they’re getting to it now. He wraps an arm around Dream’s back, pulling him closer.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Dream leans his cheek against Hob’s, still holding him tight. “As am I.”

[jedi-hawkins]

Flowers for the Doctor

The Clones all deserve flowers! Or maybe they think you deserve flowers 😉 Either way, love is in bloom this week for the Clone Flowers Fic Event!

Throughout this week, May 20th-25th, certain participants will be posting their own fics of Clones and different flower themes that were selected! The participants as well as the Clones and flowers they will be writing for are listed below and links to each fic will be added as they are posted! 💐 Follow the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see them all as they come!!

Event Masterlist

@arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

@nahoney22 - Fox, Tech

@totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

@dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

@l-lend - Wolffe

@moonstrider9904 - Howzer

@eyecandyeoz - Waxer

Make sure to go check out their entries too, we'll be posting throughout the week!

Pairing: Kix x f!reader

Chosen Flower: St. John's Wort

Word count: 3.8k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Notes: Medical terminology, pandemic, sickness and death, brief suggestive content, friends to lovers

Beta-read by @anxiouspineapple99

The helmet of your hazmat suit hisses as you release the seal. A deep sigh passes your lips as you step out of your suit and hang it on the rack for decontamination. When you open the door to the decontam stalls, the creak echoes around the tiled room. 

'Damn. All this and we can’t even get some WD-40 on the hinges?' You think to yourself before stripping down to your skivvies and stepping under one of the spouts. The doors from the infectious disease ward open again and a friendly face steps in. 

“Kix.” 

He smiles at you as he strips down to his briefs and steps under a spout. “Long day, Doc?”

You can’t even muster a reply as you close your eyes and hit the red button in front of you. For just a single moment, the rest of the hospital fades away with the roar of the sonic waves washing over you, and then it’s over. 

“That good, huh?” Kix notes your response, or lack thereof. 

You shake your head, trying to keep it together. “I’ve had better.” 

Kix holds the door to the locker room open for you as you step through. “At least you don’t have to wear the clone kit all day.” He says, tossing you a pair of clean blacks from the cabinet. “On the battlefield it’s great, but here I bump around like a pinball. I’m lucky if I can make it through the day without breaking anything.” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

The corner of your mouth does twitch a little. “I don’t know.” You respond, “I’ve always thought I looked like a hutt in those hazmat suits, and the gloves are so annoying.” 

“Dinner?” Kix simply asks. 

“Please.”

He leads the way to the hospital cantina. You met Kix just a couple weeks ago, but the two of you had become fast friends. He was a clone medic, sent to your planet to help in one of the hundreds of makeshift ‘hospitals’ that had popped up in the wake of a pandemic. This particular hospital was housed in an academic campus, shut down because of the spreading illness. 

Normally, you were the second in command in the biggest hospital in the planet’s capital, but for the past month your days consisted of random converted buildings, biohazard suits, and patients you felt like you couldn’t do anything for. At the end of the day, you were thankful Kix had been stationed at your hospital. 

Though you two were usually preoccupied with your own patients throughout the day, the pair of you could usually be found together on your breaks. It felt like Kix truly saw you and your struggle. Sure, the hospital Medical Director was the top dog, calling the shots, but you were the one in the trenches of the Infectious Disease Ward every day. 

This pandemic was an enigma that you just couldn’t figure out. It should have just been the normal yearly wave of Wet Lung, easily managed by some general antibios, but those didn’t work. Then your Medical Director ordered you to move up to more aggressive drugs, so you did. Before you knew it, your patients were on IV drips of the most aggressive antibio cocktail you could think of. 

And they still weren’t getting better, in fact, they were getting worse. You’d already lost a number of patients to sepsis, blood poisoning, and the other hospitals across the planet were facing the same issues. As far as you knew, any person that had caught this mysterious strain of Wet Lung were either dead or dying and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You nearly bump into Kix when he stops to open the cantina door. 

“Coruscant to Doc, are you okay?” He asks, guiding you through the door with a hand on your lower back. 

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, Kix. Just a long shift, you know?”

He squeezes your shoulder before grabbing a tray and heading to the serving line. Even though the Republic had brought the war to your Planet a few months ago, you had to admit their support was needed for this pandemic. And nobody knows how to feed the masses quite like the GAR. 

Kix immediately starts eating when you two sit down, he told you about one of his brothers, Fives: 'If you didn’t eat quickly around him, he’d swipe the rest of your rations.'

You just can’t bring yourself to eat, instead you just chase a few peas around your tray. Of course, Kix notices. 

“Jahaal'got.” He says, using your nickname to grab your attention. “Come on. Talk. It wasn’t just a long day.”

You avoid his eyes, the words getting stuck in your throat. You’ve lost patients before, multiple in one day even, so why was today crushing you so badly?

Kix sets down his fork and reaches across the table to gently grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. “How many did you lose today?”

You take a deep breath, “Twelve, eight more deteriorating. I just… I don’t get it, Kix. What are we missing? The drugs aren’t working, they keep going septic before we can catch it, and those that haven’t progressed to sepsis are dying to the Wet Lung.” 

Kix stops your rambling by taking both your hands in his. “You remember what your nickname means, right?” 

You should be able to remember, but your mind has been so overworked, it doesn’t come to you. “I, uh… something about medicine?”

“Jahaal’got.” Kix repeats it. “It’s the mando term meaning 'good for health', because that’s what you are. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s all you can do.” 

You nod, closing your eyes and rolling your head to try to release the tension in your shoulders. 

“You’re off tonight, right?” Kix asks.

“No,” you shake your head. “I picked up the night shift, I have to be here.” 

Kix scoffs at you. “Are you serious? What, you’re just going to sleep on the hospital floor forever?” 

“Not forever.” You protest. “Just until this blows over.” 

“This pandemic or the war?” 

You meet his eyes, and a knowing look passes between you. After meeting him, you had discussed sending in an application to become a civilian medic for the GAR. 

“Well, we have an hour before the night shift starts.” Kix says, standing up and taking your tray. “Why don’t we go for a walk and then try again at this ‘food’ thing before going back to work?”

Your brow furrows at his remark, “But you-”

“Will also be working the night shift, so it seems.” He cuts you off. He shifts both trays into one hand and holds his other out to help you out of your seat. 

Kix leads the way, dropping the trays in the wash basin on the way out of the cantina. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky with shades of orange, pinks and purples. 

The two of you walk through the academic campus, chatting about nothing in particular. Kix asks you a few questions here and there about the buildings you all pass. Though it’s been a few years, you tell him what you remember about studying here. 

“It’s a shame all the students had to be sent home.” You remark as you step into the university greenhouses. 

Kix nods his agreement. “What is this place?” He asks, looking around. 

“The campus greenhouses, they're shared by a few departments.” You explain. “Biology, horticulture, environmental studies, and engineering to name a few.”

“I’m surprised everything is still alive, don’t plants take some maintenance?”

“Well, the greenhouse forms a pretty self-sustaining environment. I remember the medical students coming in here a couple times.”

Kix tilts his head at you. “What would medical students study in here?”

“Well,” you shrug, “There are quite a few medicinal plants native to this planet. Though they aren’t quite as effective as modern medicine, they can still be used for daily management or as an additional treatment.” 

The two of you weave through the greenhouse aisles for a few more minutes before you notice Kix has lagged behind. When you turn around to find him, you notice he’s hiding something behind his back.

Your eyes narrow. “What do you have there, Kix? It’s not a bug, is it? That was only funny the first time.”

He chuckles, “Haha, no. I promise it’s not. Here, one last thing to brighten your day.” 

You freeze when you notice what he has in his hand. 

Kix notices your expression at the small yellow flowers he’s holding out to you. “What, are they poisonous or something?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you shake your head smiling as you take them from him. “It’s just funny, those are St. John’s Worts.” 

“Weird name.” 

“It’s from local mythology.” You explain. “The flowers tend to bloom on the summer solstice, which is dedicated to their namesake.” 

Kix looks from you to the flowers and gently picks a few more sprigs from the nearby planter, tucking them behind your ear. “They’re pretty, like something else I’m looking at.” 

His words make you smile, but you playfully swat at his arm. “Oh stop it. I know I look like hell.” 

“You look better than anyone else would after nearly a month of non-stop work in an infectious disease ward.” He responds.

“Thanks Kix.” You say, hoping that your sincerity projects. Before you know it, you’re throwing your arms around his neck. 

Kix falters, but only for a second. You feel his arms wrap around you, strong and steady, just like him. Just like he has been for you the past few weeks. Maybe it was his clone conditioning, or maybe it was just him, but he seemed so unshakeable and he always knew what to say. 

He doesn’t relax until you do, but his hands remain on your hips, his eyes darting across your face, trying to read your thoughts. One of your hands rests on his chest, the other still on his shoulder. You won’t deny how drawn you are to him. Though you hoped for the end of this mystery illness plaguing your planet, it stung that it’s end meant saying goodbye to Kix. 

Kix is shifting. ‘He’s leaning in, why is he leaning in?’

You move as well, but the moment is shattered when your foreheads bump into each other. 

Kix lets go of you completely and takes a step back, color spreading across his cheeks.

“I uhhh…” He tries to find the words, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Uh, it’s fine.” You stammer. “You’re fi- we’re fine.” A giggle slips past your lips at the awkwardness. 

Kix breaks into some nervous laughter as well before readjusting some of the yellow flowers in your hair. “Tell me about them.” 

You smile at him. “Well, they’re perennials, meaning they come back every year, they don’t need to be replanted. Although the flowers are yellow, they’ll stain your fingers red when you crush them. They’ve been shown to have some antidepressant properties as well as anti-inflammatory benefits, but you need to be careful when combining them with modern drugs.”

You notice Kix’s soft expression as he listens to you.

“It’s been shown that St. John’s Wort has antibio and antiviral properties as we-'' Your heart stops. “Kix.”

“What?” 

“Kix, that’s it,” you repeat. “That’s why we keep losing them. We’ve been treating this Wet Lung with antibios, but those aren’t working because it’s not bacterial.”

Kix’s mouth drops open and he says the words at the same time as you. “It’s viral.” 

You can see the thoughts tumbling in his head. “And because we advanced to use the system-wide drugs, the patient’s are too weak to fight the virus, triggering the sepsis.” He stammers out. “But, wait, that can’t be right. How can it be viral? There’s never been a case of viral Wet lung reported on this planet.” 

Your feet move automatically as you start pacing. “‘There’s always a patient zero. Normal trade is scanned and sanitized.” You stop. “The troopers.”

Kix’s brow furrows. “No, we're vaccinated.”

“Yes, but vaccines aren’t a foolproof plan, with a mutated strain it might present as a mild cold, or not even show symptoms, especially since you all are engineered to have a more robust immune system.” You say, your brain moving a klick a minute. “Where were you all stationed before being deployed here?”

“Most of the 501st was on shore leave on Coruscant.” Kix replies, shaking his head. “The Carnivore and Execute Battalions… They were on Rhodia and transferred directly here for the occupation.” 

His eyes widen and he grabs your wrist without another word. 

“Kix? Kix!” You shout as he drags you through the campus back towards the hospital. “Why is it so important that you were on Rhodia?”

“Rhodia is one of the native planets for viral strains of Wet Lung.” He pants. “The Rhodians are largely immune, but some mutated strains survive. You were right, we had a couple troopers reporting colds when they transferred.” 

The doors to the Infectious Disease Ward bang open and Kix finally lets go of your wrist, giving you a moment to breathe. 

“Like you said, the troopers, we’re engineered to have stronger immune systems and we’re vaccinated.” He continues. “The population here…”

“We never have.” You finish his sentence. “We don’t have any kind of immunity. Combined with your theory that it’s a mutated strain and the antibios we’ve given them, it’s no wonder-”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” 

The two of you turn and see the Medical Director storming down the nearby hallway. 

Kix steps partially in front of you and stands at attention. “I’m sorry sir, but we-”

“I don’t care what you two were doing!” The Director booms. “You bursting in here is no excuse.”

You slowly step out from behind Kix. “Please, sir. We think we’ve figured out this pandemic.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m in charge here.” The Director says, his eyes narrowing.

Instead of bowing away as usual, you stand your ground. “I am just as qualified as you, if not more. I'm the one that's been running this ward while you sit in your office. I graduated from this very campus, top of my class and I’m the second in command at the Capital Hospital. This disease we’re dealing with, it has to be viral.”

Your Medical Director looks you up and down, pausing at the yellow flowers in your hair. “There has never been a case of viral Wet Lung reported on this planet. The antibios always work. We just need to find the right combination of meds.”

“Sir, you need to listen.” You insist. “I know we’ve always treated Wet Lung with antibios, but look,” You wave your arm at the ward behind him. “Every single patient that’s come in is either still sick or has progressed to sepsis. The other hospitals are reporting the same.”

Kix puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “She’s right, sir. Strains of viral Wet Lung are common in other systems. We had a couple battalions transfer here from one of those systems, Rhodia. It’s likely some of our troopers were carriers for a mutated variant and brought it here.”

You pick up where Kix left off. “Even though our population doesn’t have any innate immunity, a fair amount of people probably could have ridden out the virus if we hadn’t given them those antibios.” You bite your lip before continuing. “Those drugs are effective, but in a patient with no bacterial infection, all it would do is compromise their system. They can’t fight the virus, and they progress to sepsis. Only we’re not catching it before it kills them because the Wet Lung is masking the sepsis symptoms.” 

You try to stop the words from spilling over your lips but in a last desperate plea for your officer to understand, it slips out.

"We’re killing them."

Kix’s hand squeezes firmly on your shoulder as you let out a choked sob. Your medical officer looks at you curiously, you’ve always been so level headed and sure footed. 

The Director crosses his arms. "So you’re telling me to take them off the drugs and do nothing. You do know that’s how we treat viruses, right?"

You lock eyes with him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We need to give them supportive treatment; fluids, steroids, pain medication. We can try some antivirals to weaken the Wet Lung strain, but the patients will have to fight it off on their own. All we can do is give them the best chance possible.”

Your director looks you up and down before letting out a little ‘hm.’ He glances behind him to the infectious disease ward and back to you. “I will not take responsibility when this goes wrong. Looks like we’re taking your direction now, Doctor.” 

Under your instruction, all of the patients in the ward are removed off the antibio cocktail. Much to your Medical Director's annoyance, the death rate begins to improve. You sent word to the other hospitals caring for pandemic patients and they saw similar results. It’s a slow process, and Kix stays by your side every step of the way. The day you discharged your first survivor, you cried. You both did, actually.

It takes a few more weeks, some patients are touch and go. There were still a few deaths, and Kix held you as you cried for them. Then came the day that you got the news. Your patient numbers had reduced so much your little makeshift hospital was going to be closed, and you were being sent back to the Capital Hospital with a new position, no less. Your remaining patients would be transferred along with you and the University was going to be reopened. 

And yet, you weren’t quite happy. Sure you’d basically saved your planet’s population from facing extinction, but you couldn’t revel in it knowing that a certain someone was going to be shipped out. 

“The campaign here is over.” Kix had explained. “And with the pandemic contained, there’s no reason for the medics to stay behind.” 

The 501st was being sent to Ryloth. You knew there was a crisis brewing there, and you were proud that you knew some of the brave men going to help there, but it still stung. It stung the same as your eyes did as you stand on the landing platform, waiting for someone to come say goodbye. 

“There you are.” He says, walking up behind you. 

You sniff slightly, trying to keep tears from pricking at your eyes. “Here I am.” 

You hear a bit of laughter and you notice a group of clone troopers in blue armor across the landing platform that seem very interested in the two of you.

“Don’t pay attention to them.” Kix says, moving in front of you to block them from view. “Brothers…” He mumbles. 

“I get it.” You say, searching his face, what for you’re not quite sure. 

Kix reaches for a pouch on his belt. “I- I have something for you.” He says, sheepishly pressing a box into your hands. 

Looking down you realize it’s a jewelry box. Gently you open the lid and gasp at the sight of what lays inside. Strung on a delicate chain is a single golden pendant of a flower. The same flower that Kix had tucked into your hair all those weeks ago. The same flower that led to the salvation of your planet.

“Kix… I don’t know what to say.” You stammer. 

“Don’t say anything,” he says sweetly. “Just turn around for me.” 

He takes the necklace from the box and gently brushes your hair out of the way before clasping the chain around your neck. Turning back around you can only shake your head and smile at him. 

“I have something for you too.” You say. 

Kix looks at you a little puzzled, he hadn’t seen you holding anything. 

“They’re naming the new wing of the hospital after you.” You explain. “It’ll be like you’re always here. No one will forget what you did for us, for me.” 

Kix gingerly cups your cheek with one hand. “It was an honor and a privilege.”

He’s leaning in again.

This time your lips connect and the landing platform melts away. There’s nothing but him. Him and you. 

Of course your heart has to ruin it as it sinks with the returning thought that he’s literally about to leave and never come back. You break the kiss, but he keeps your foreheads pressed together. 

“What is it?” He breathes.

You can’t help but scoff. “You’re leaving and we’re kissing. I doubt the GAR will give you much time for visits.”

“Hey,” Kix says gently holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s like you said, I’ll always be here, jahaal'got. I will admit I should’ve kissed you sooner.” 

“Hey lovebird! It’s time to go!” One of his brothers shouts.

That manages to get a laugh out of the two of you. 

“I think you have to go.” You mutter.

Kix lets you go and takes a step back. “There’s one more thing, but it’s waiting in your office.” 

He turns to leave, but you reach out and grab his bracer. “Kix. Thank you. For everything.”

With a smile, he leans in to peck you on the cheek before turning and jogging over to the shuttle where his brothers are waiting. 

A grin spreads across your face when you see one with shoulder pauldrons wrap his arm around Kix’s neck to give him a noogie, while another with a top knot of hair claps him on the back. 

The sun is setting by the time you get back to your office. The door slides open with a gentle woosh. It’s a nice space, though somewhat empty as you have yet to move most of your stuff over from your old office. On your desk is a vase of small yellow flowers. You find yourself shaking your head again as you walk closer. 

Kix… when will he stop absolutely melting your heart?

When you didn't think he could surprise you any more, you realize the flowers in the vase are ceramic. Tucked in between some of the delicate blooms is a notecard. You instantly recognize Kix’s swooping handwriting.

‘I think I need to make an appointment with the Doc, I seem to have been bitten by the love bug. (augh, that was awful, Jesse told me it would be good) I hope you like these, you deserve real ones, but had a local artist make them for you since I won’t be around to make sure real ones never wilt.  I’ll see you soon, jahaal'got, on my next shore leave.’

Also Happy Birthday @arctrooper69! (today, May 20th)

[hyuckwrlds]

>> caught up

wc: 1.6k you win some you lose some

There are three moments that Jisung will always regret in his life, no matter how hard he tries to forget them. In no particular order, those things are:

Letting Chenle give him a bowl cut before freshman orientation

Sitting with Jaemin during the Calc 122 final (their tests got flagged for cheating)

Meeting you (this might actually be the worst one)

Sure, he knows things could be even worse. In fact, he was really close to peeing himself in his organic chemistry lab once. But even that would be more favorable than his biggest regret—the day he met you.

That day, he’s working a shift at the student store when Chenle suddenly turns to him, gesturing to the tour of prospective students standing outside the glass doors.

“The next group that comes,” he begins, spinning the register keys around a finger. “Over or under fifteen people?”

Jisung snorts; surely the answer is obvious. “Over.”

“You sure?”

“I’ve literally never seen a group with less than fifteen people.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

Jisung snickers, already sensing success. “Bet.”

That was his first mistake.

Because soon enough, the next group arrives and he’s watching, mortified, as Chenle counts a total of fourteen people. Jisung was merely two bodies shy of a victory.

Next thing he knows, he’s trudging out of the storage room in a poorly-ventilated costume of the school’s beloved mascot: Neo, an oversized wolf in a neon green jersey. 

Chenle immediately bursts into a fit of laughter, earning a few stares from the freshmen nearby. Jisung considers smothering him right then and there. His next mistake was not doing that.

“Dude, this thing smells,” he gripes, voice muffled by the large head.

“Yeah,” Chenle agrees, clearly amused. “I don’t think anyone has ever washed that thing.”

Jisung winces at the thought. Then through the perforated plastic eyes, he catches Jaemin barrel into the store, undoubtedly arriving on behalf of Chenle’s erratic texts in their group chat. His face lights up once he sees the giant wolf figure.

“Oh, aren’t you cute?” Jaemin grins, nearly slamming his gym bag into someone’s mom as he makes his way over.

In response, Jisung tries his best to fold his paw into a middle finger.

“Ah—speaking of, I passed by another tour group on the way here,” Jaemin adds. “I think it’s only right that our lovely mascot goes outside to greet them.”

He reaches up to tug at the fake ears and Jisung swats his hands away, scowling behind his mask.

“I’m not doing that,” he groans.

But he stood no chance against the two of them. Chenle and Jaemin easily wrestle Jisung into going outside. They end up (quite literally) having to drag him out the doors and he blames all the time Jaemin spends at the gym.

Now standing at the top of the front steps, he’s held captive by a firm grip around each furry arm. The warmth (and smell) of the suit is starting to get to him so in hindsight, he kind of wants to get it over with as fast as possible. If he can just wave at the group then leave, it'll be fine. It’s not as if anyone will know it’s him anyway.

All of that changes though, once he sees you round the corner.

Fitted in that bright green ‘tour guide’ jacket, Jisung feels his knees buckle as you lead your group towards the store. 

He blanches. “You’ve gotta be kidding—”

There’s a desperate attempt to wiggle away from his friends but it only causes them to hold on tighter, their fingers pressing into the glossy gray fur. Chenle makes it a point to smile widely at him.

“Hey, we can’t have a wolf on the loose when there’s visitors,” he beams.

Jisung’s gonna kill him.

You stop just short of the stairs when you notice their presence, blinking up at Jisung (well, Neo the wolf) in surprise. His heart is pounding in his chest as your eyes flicker between him and his friends.

You’ve shared a few classes with Jisung, and while the two of you have never spoken to each other before, he’s always thought you were pretty (like, really pretty). Meanwhile, he’s not even sure you know his name.

Or that he exists at all.

Beside him, Jaemin coughs out a low, “Wave.”

Hesitantly, Jisung raises his stupidly oversized paw in the air. He can hear you start to tell the story behind the school’s prized mascot but even worse, he can feel Chenle’s hand on his back, pushing him to move closer. Tentatively, Jisung takes a small step forward.

And like the idiot he is, he trips.

With his giant wolf feet, he somehow misses the first step and is sent tumbling to the ground, landing on his stomach as he slides down the concrete stairs. 

This earns a chorus of gasps from you and your group which is soon followed by a stunned silence. He lays still on the ground, frozen under everyone’s stares. Yet that isn’t the most horrifying part.

The worst part was that in the midst of falling, the obscenely large wolf head had come off too.

With his face now smushed into the concrete, Jisung feels the embarrassment coil in the pit of his stomach. He hears someone kneel down beside him.

“Shit, are you okay?” you ask.

Even though the steps were small and the suit had cushioned most of his fall, the lack of a mask meant that he had, in fact, hit his nose at some point. He feels it start to ache. Though the last thing he wants to do right now is face you. He can’t get himself to do it.

Instead, he stays facedown and settles on giving you a thumbs up. You don’t immediately move, so after what feels like an eternity, he hears your shoes shuffle a bit against the pavement. From the corner of his eye, he sees you set down the wolf head beside him. It must’ve rolled away at some point (oh god).

“Jisung…right?”

He stiffens. That might’ve been the worst possible thing that could’ve happened next. He would’ve never expected his name to fall from your mouth and slowly, he lifts head up in humiliation. So much for remaining anonymous.

The sight that greets him, though, could’ve came straight out of a shoujo anime.

Bathed in the afternoon light, you’re hovering over him with knitted brows and a look of concern. He catches you sigh out in relief once his eyes meet yours. Now he’s stuck staring dumbly at you, suddenly at a loss for words. You’re somehow prettier up close.

“You okay?” you ask again, setting a hand on his shoulder.

Jisung is just about to respond when he realizes that his nose is very much going to start bleeding. He quickly pushes himself into a seat and reaches a paw (oh god) to his face. His mouth is uncomfortably dry as he looks at you, nodding sheepishly.

“Y-yeah,” his swallows. “I’m okay.”

Your eyes scan him and his cheeks burn. He looks away, praying you don’t notice how flushed his face probably is.

Unknowingly, you scoot closer. “Are you sure? I can call someone, if you need me to. I’m also First Aid certified.”

He nods again, only to pause at the feeling of blood rushing towards his right nostril and he really can’t risk getting it on the suit. He gives you a bashful look, “Actually…do you have a tissue?”

You smile at the sudden request, laughing softly. “Yeah, I do.”

His heart swoons.

Reaching into your tour guide backpack, you take out a packet of tissues, sliding one out before handing it to him. As best as he could, he presses it against his nose with the stupid paw. You help him stand back up.

“Thanks,” he breathes, giving you a small nod. 

“Yeah, no problem,” you say. “I didn’t know you were the mascot.”

“I’m not,” he admits, nodding towards the two idiots behind him. “I lost a bet.”

This earns another dazzling laugh from you. “Okay, good. I think you look better without the fursuit anyway.”

He blinks at you and suddenly, it’s your turn to blush, waving your hands frantically in the air. “N-not that you don’t look good in the costume. Because you do. You always do. I, um, I just meant that—you know...”

Your words falter and honestly, Jisung is still stunned that you think he looks good at all. He lets out a small laugh, one short and airy to ease you.

“It’s okay,” he reassures. “I know what you mean. Thanks.”

You pause for a split second then, looking up at him as if there’s something more you want to say. Only, your attention is snatched once you seem to remember the unfinished tour waiting for you. You look from the group back to him and take a step back. 

“I gotta go.”

With his free hand, he gives you wave, still a bit dazed. “Oh, right. See ya.”

Though just before you leave, you meet his gaze, adding a quick, “I’ll save you a seat in class tomorrow, yeah?”

He stills. This can’t be real. His pulse picks up again, thrumming against his ribcage.

“Y-yeah, sounds good,” he stutters, a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll see you then.”

You resume your tour and Jisung turns to head back inside, but not without first smacking both Jaemin and Chenle with the stupid wolf head in hand. Even then, he’s undoubtedly smiling like an idiot.

So sure, while Jisung may always regret the way he met you, he can’t really say he’d change a single thing about it either.

After all, it brought him to you.

[spook-inoue]

Sweet.

Hoodie x F Reader ~ (Short)

The worn out old garage with low yellow lit lights that would flicker every few minutes gave me a headache while wiping the old build up of blood that has now hardened on the many different tools owned by my neighbours. But In this very moment, the only thought I could think about was how my fingers would feel going through his hair. Would it easily slip through- Or would it get tangled up?

“ Y/N. “

“ Yes? ”

His commanding tone just made me more tense, if he could hear my thoughts it would be humiliating. But a part of me wishes he knew what I was thinking.

I’ve been working with Brian, or well ‘Hoodie’ for 2 years now. Ever since I’ve been recruited into the shit show. The operator found me in a vulnerable moment and took advantage of it. Made me another one of his minions, we all are aware that that’s what we are. But what els do we have to live for?

“ could you hand me a new cloth? “

His faded worn out yellow hoodie was tied around his waist while his mask remained on. His light brown hair was sticking out from the bottom back of his mask that would lift up whenever he moved too fast due to it not being put on properly.

“ Yeah. “

I reached down to grab a new cloth for him from underneath the bench I was cleaning tools on. As much as I hate cleaning duty, I never mind spending it with him. I held out the cloth for him to take.

“Thank’s Doll. “

Doll. Little pet names and nicknames he would throw around when talking, did he just do it to me? I’m not sure. I’ve over heard him talking to our other female Co workers. He would give them little pet names too when thanking them, I surely wasn’t special? And it angered me. But god, the affect those little names had on me. I bit my tongue when his fingers brushed against my hand as he took the cloth from my hand, I only returned a simple nod before continuing to clean.

He was a quiet man, only spoke when needing something or answering someone. He rarely made small talk, only people I’ve seen him have full conversations with were Tim and occasionally Toby and Jack. But mostly Tim. They both worked in pairs mostly, a perfect duo to pick for big assignments that needed to be done right.

A strong taste of Copper went over my taste buds, the edge of my tongue ruff and hot from the friction of my teeth. Unconsciously I kept biting my tongue without realising, I coughed out into my hand bothered by the unpleasant taste of my own blood in the moment.

Blood from my tongue was sprinkled onto my hand before I wiped it off on another cloth annoyed that I allowed that to happen.

“ Coughing blood? “

He questioned tossing a newly cleaned knife into a worn out box, reaching for the next bloodied up weapon to disinfect. His voice was monotone, but had a slight hint of curiosity in it. I cleared my throat from the copper taste.

“ Just bit my tongue. “

He chuckled, his voice low and deep. It made my heart rise suddenly, it made me nervous.

“ That hard? How? “

Now turning his head towards me, waiting for my response. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to get a kick out of it; or was actually genuinely curious. I couldn’t read him at all.

“ accident. I’m okay, got too focused and didn’t realise- haha “

A moment of silence passed between us as he took his time to respond.

“ Focused on cleaning? That’s the first. “

Just as I thought the topic was dropped I heard the sound of tools being thumbed down as foot steps approached me. His arm rested onto my bench as he leaned towards me.

“ You sure you’re okay? “

No I wasn’t.

“ You’re always so quiet around me, why’s that? “

Me being quiet? No it’s you. He leaned closer, I felt the tickle of the warm taste of copper in my mouth leaked from my tongue as a drop escapes on my lips.

“ I’m not sure what you mean? “

I know what he means. Im a very chatty person, but when it comes to him. My words get caught in my throat. He lifts up his mask only revealing his mouth and nose, my eyes widen a bit surprised. This is the closest I’ve ever seen him without his mask on, it almost felt disrespectful to look- unconsciously I moved my head to the side avoiding to look at him.

His hand grips my chin forcing it towards him, his thumb moves over my bottom lip slowly smearing the blood all over his thumb before bringing up to his face. my blood on it. He sticks his tounge out and licks the blood clean off before smirking at me, all I could do was stare. The lower part of my body screaming while I gawked up to him like a god.

“ it’s sweet. “

He said before pulling his mask back down.

“ I see what you do. “ he moved away walking to the door

“ You’re not sneaky, Y/N. “

Looks like that wished came true, and now I’m not sure if I peed myself or if it was something else.

[thatsatricky1]

𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐛𝐢𝐞

Jeno’s friend group profiles

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐋𝐞𝐞:

Oldest in the business Major course. He was the one to stumble across fight club first, slowly getting the rest of his friend group involved. During his daily university life no one would think he had serious anger issues considering the fact he had a tight lipped smile and polite manners, exactly the way his parents had taught him to be, especially with people that have connections.

𝐇𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧:

The one who doesn’t take shit from anyone, if it were socially acceptable he’d be swinging left, right and centre at any inconvenience if it weren’t for the fact he was studying at the top University in Seoul. But for now he had to put up with only being able to do that through Fight club, and Haechan if he was around and testing his patience.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐨:

Jeno is widely known to be a soft and gentle person when it comes to interacting with him on campus, easily conversing with others even if he’d rather be anywhere else in that moment. When it comes to being off campus he won’t give anyone the time of day if said person isn’t influential or has possible connections to higher up people. His parents were used to paying people off for their silence when he was younger when he’d cause trouble or problems, which he did quite a lot due to his deep rooted anger, however through time Jeno had learned to control his behaviour in front of other and only fight through fight club, unless he had a slip up here and there which would be covered up immediately. If he sees someone as a potential threat to himself (education, life, friend group ect.), he won’t hesitate to get rid of the said problem.

𝐋𝐞𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧:

How Haechan managed to get into the University of Neo Technology was a wonder to many who knew him. But it all chalked up to his parents and their well known contact of higher ups. Even so, he did well in his major surprisingly enough, passing through semesters with b+’s which were the low averages. If there’s any possibility of riling up his friends, he’ll take it, mainly hoping between Mark and Renjun who gave him the best reactions. He has zero patience and will push to get his way even if it means unethically.

𝐍𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧:

Jaemin was set up to go to Neo Technology University since the beginning, with his parents being loyal funders of the faculty for years even before he’d applied and gotten into the major he wanted. If there was something he wanted, money always allowed it to become a reality. He come’s from old money and doesn’t mind flaunting it. In his opinion if he has the money why not use it. Don’t let him behind a wheel though, he may have a driving license but that may or may not have been due to bribery.

𝐙𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐠 ��𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐞:

Chenle is also someone who comes from old money but not just that, his parents had a lot of connections to many influential people, though as Chenle grew up he was smart enough to broaden those connections by himself and knew a lot of people even his parents hadn’t quite gotten to. That being said Chenle has an image as a Zhong to uphold even if he’d rather not. To the influential public he is a distinguished and bright young man with a great future ahead, but to those that fall below that category he is blunt and will make it his goal to get them to either have a breakdown or leave his vicinity as fast as possible, either way works well for him.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐉𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠:

The youngest of his friend group, but don’t get it twisted Jisung is just like his friends when it comes to the double sided persona he’d built over time. On campus he’s seen as the quietest, mainly avoiding interaction if possible though if he has to talk or interact with others he’ll do so with an awkward smile and nearly whisper levelled response. In private he is much more relaxed and isn’t one bit afraid of giving his option on anything even if it comes out harsh, mainly because he intends on it being harsh. If there is one thing Jisung prefers it’s talking with his fists rather then forming sentences with his mouth.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @strrykais @chenlesfavorite @dudekiss3r @strawberrysavi @nislost @polarisjisung @nattan127 @rotinyzen @wonyoungmywife @snflwrhaerecs4u @thegreenlynx @serinebsblog @delululi @molensworld @morkiee @marvelahsobx @kaciebello @kgneptun @bluedbliss @haechansbbg @officiallyjaehyuns @bunnychui

𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐛𝐢𝐞 | l.jn smau masterlist:

Click here

[optimisticstudentangel]

Studying with side characters to an upcoming exams

I am inactive right now because of the exams, so yeah.

Diavolo

Preparation with Diavolo is always fast and fun. With him, you can easily forget about the transience of time. It’s all because you will not get bored in his company even during boring studying.

- Hmm, I think you made a mistake here, - Diavolo pointed his finger at your answer. He took your hand and started writing over your mistake. His hands were big and firm, from such close contact, you blushed. "I hope Diavolo doesn't notice my red cheeks," you thought to yourself. To hide the fact that you blushed, you decided to turn your head a little so that the Devil wouldn't see your face.

- MC? Everything is fine? The demon asked worringly.

- Yeah, it's okay. I'm just a little tired of the work I've done," you said.

"Oh, then let's get some rest," Diavolo suggested. "I am gonna be honest, I myself began to feel tired. Maybe we'll have a snack, food surely will give us some energy to continue our studies," said the demon.

"That's a great idea," you agreed with him. "Maybe food will distract me from embarrassment. I can't concentrate on preparation when all my thoughts are about Diavolo," you thought to yourself.

Before you were going to have a snack, Diavolo stopped you. "Is something wrong?" you asked.

Diavolo came closer to you and patted you on the shoulder. "Great job, MC, I'm proud of you!" he smiled.

- How damn cute he is... - you thought. Well, I suppose the thoughts about Diavolo will only get worse.

Barbatos

It would seem that preparing for exams with a butler is like signing a contract on your own death on your own initiative. Very stupid and masochistic. But it's not that scary. Perhaps because you are his favorite, Barbatos is not as cruel as, for example, with the demon brothers. You've seen a couple of times what a butler is capable of in a bad mood, so annoying him is not an option.

- MC, I had to cancel some tasks directly related to Diavolo. I hope you understand the responsibility and importance of our preparation for exams with you? Please don't disappoint me," the demon said with a smile. After the words he said, goosebumps ran through you.

You looked through the materials of those lessons with which you did not understand. The demon explained topics that were hard for you, which you could not grasp in any way.

- Well, I've told you everything you need to know. Now let's check how well you listened to me," the butler said. "If you can answer all the questions correctly, you will receive a reward from me"

- Okay – you agreed.

The butler asked you a lot of questions. You tried to give an answer to each of them, to the best of your abilities.

- Hmm... - Barbatos drawled. Judging by his expression, he wasn't particularly happy about your situation. "Well, I think it's satisfactory for today," he barely managed to say.

- So there will be no reward? – you said jokingly.

The demon sighed wearily. "Okay, since you did your best, I think we can pamper you a little," the demon kissed you on the cheek. "It's not enough," you muttered. Barbatos chuckled because of your insolence. "Get a better result, then you will get your reward. Consider it your motivation to try" - Then get ready, because next time I will get not only a kiss," you threatened.

Luke

Getting ready with Luke wasn't really easy. It took you a lot of work yourself to learn the material at least a little. And explain it to Luke? But despite the difficulties, you wanted to help the angel so that he could pass the exam at least for the average score.

- MC, I'm tired. I can't take it anymore," the angel began to complain. At such moments, he strongly reminded you of a small child, which he really is.

- Okay, Luke, do you want to move a little? Exercise and walking have a good effect on our brain, after any movement, it becomes easier for the brain to remember information," you explained. And Luke happily agreed.

After you walked in the park, which was near the hall of purgatory, you asked Luke if he was ready to continue. However, Luke shook his head, and his face transformed into a sour expression.

"No, it won't work that way," you thought to yourself. Even though you understood Luke's strong reluctance not to prepare, you still had to play dirty. "Luke, do you know Michael recently asked how you are doing with your studies" - the pupils of his eyes have become larger.

"R-Really?" Luke asked.

"Yeah," you confirmed.

The angel drooped, but he himself offered to continue preparing for the exam. Still, the boy did not want to lose face in front of Michael. After both of you worked hard, you invited Angel to go with you to eat a sweet cake in a cafe so that Luke would be happy. The angel became happy again and agreed.

Simeon

It wasn't the first time you've asked for help about studying with Simeon. Being an angel, Simeon skillfully possessed a lot of knowledge about the Devildom, which always amazed you. He was like a mini encyclopedia that could easily explain you topics that you didn't understand.

- Here's a test assignment for you, little lamb. I'll give you 20 minutes, I hope that's enough? After that, we will analyze your mistakes and focus on those moments where you have questions, okay? angel asked.

- God bless you, Simeon. What would I do without you," you thanked your savior.

"Heheh, I'm just glad I was helpful," Simeon said, embarrassed.

You have done test tasks several times, each time your mistakes became less and less. After the next test, you exhaled wearily and lay down on the bed.

- You must be tired, little lamb? Let me give you a massage so you could relax ," the angel suggested. You gladly agreed and lay down on your stomach to give Simeon your back. His hands expertly massaged your body, pressing on the places where you need and easing the friction in your sensitive areas. Because of his magic hands, you began to fall asleep, the angel, having learned this, began to massage your skin more slowly so that you could finally fall asleep. As soon as you fell asleep, Simeon passed his hand over your cheek and said: "You're so cute in a sleepy state." The angel put away all your books and papers and put them in your bag.

Solomon

Preparing with Solomon was something between fun and peculiar kind of activity. He always liked to study Devildom lessons in depth, so don't think you can fool around while he seriously explains something to you. At times, Solomon acts as your demanding teacher, who is ready to force you to redo the work so many times until he is satisfied with you.

- Solomon, I've already said this spell thousand times, can it be enough already? – you said plaintively.

- Oh no, don't exaggerate, it's only 23 times. Besides, are you going to behave the same way in the exam? Don't forget, my dear student, you can't let me down. So get ready and cast the spell again," the sorcerer ordered.

After you honed the spell to perfection, Solomon offered to cook you something. "Oh, no, no, Solomon! Of course I'm grateful, but I don't think I have the strength to eat anything at the moment," you quickly got your bearings.

- what? What a pity, but I wanted to please you. Then tell me what should I do for you to make you feel better," Solomon asked.

- Just spend some time with me in a hug, I think that will be more than enough, - you said.

Solomon agreed. He picked you up and carried you to his bed as if you were newlyweds. He gently laid you on a soft mattress, covering you with a pleasant-to-touch blanket. Then he lay down next to you, pressing you against his warm body. You hugged each other, it really relaxed you, making you forget about your long preparation for the exam.

[drabblesandimagines]

Breathless

Clive Rosfield x female reader Angsty, one swear word, description of panic attack, minor game spoilers?

Inspired by this request.

It has been a trying, upsetting week. Not once, but twice had your unit of Cursebreakers arrived too late in order to free some overworked Bearers. Masters have been working them harder since the crystal magicks have started to falter, depending on their source. You knew you were spread too thin – it was always going to be by a couerl’s whisker if you made it there in time. It still hurts, though, to find the petrified bodies, gathering up their remains to perform another solemn casting in the hope that at last they will have found peace.

You’re exhausted, overworked – by your own hand, you know – and to come back without anything to show for it is so discouraging.

You know you should think of all the successful missions, the ones where the boat had come back filled with Bearers who would be safe for the first time in their lives at the Hideaway, but the failure weighs heavily on your mind. Reporting back to Dorys that, no, you weren’t fast enough, you weren’t good enough…

You shake your head, as if you could physically shake the negative thoughts from your mind. You need a hot meal and a decent sleep – one that wasn’t a short nap on the ground, never allowing yourself to sleep too deeply as you needed to be ready to move at a moment – and to be embraced in a certain Fire Dominant’s arms.

As the Cid of the new Hideaway, Clive is a very busy man. He’s often being pulled in multiple directions with various requests. You both had your own missions too and rarely did the two coincide in nature, but that’s the way your relationship had always been. There’s always been something between the two of you, the spark kindled into a steady flame throughout the past few years, culminating in a passionate liaison under a moonlit sky. The time apart always made the moments you had together all the more special, like no time had passed at all as he held you tight in his arms in his bed at night, when you kissed him as if you needed him to breathe, nipping your teeth lightly on his neck to coax a moan from Lord Rosfield’s lips.

Or other nights when you’d sobbed in his arms – for those you’d lost, the injustices you’d witnessed and he’d whisper soft reassurances in your ear, promising the dawn would come.

The world is wearing you down and he is like a tincture for your soul.

Dorys must’ve been keeping an eye out for the skiff because she is waiting for you as the lift opens up on the boarding deck. She casts a questioning eye over the group who stands behind you, obviously looking for Bearers.

You shake your head, sadly, before she can question aloud.

“You did your best, all of you. Any injuries?” A couple in the group nod and are promptly sent off to the infirmary. Dorys gives you a hard stare as you stay put.

“I’m fine, honestly. Nothing to trouble Tarja with.”

“Then get some food and sleep – we’ll debrief in the morning.”

“Thanks, Dorys.” You cast a glance up at the balcony outside Clive’s chambers but your captain easily catches it.

“You’ll be pleased to know he’s home, I’m sure,” Dorys teases.

--

The ale hall is deserted due to the late hour but as you climb the stairs up to Clive’s chambers, there are noises from within. A light feminine laugh, accompanied by Clive’s deep chuckle and it makes you stop right outside the door. It seems impossible for anything to be funny at the moment, but another intrusive thought comes to mind - when was the last time you’d even heard Clive laugh in your presence?

There’s a bit of warped wood that needs tending to, but no-where near on the list of priorities. If you angle yourself just so, you can see through the crack. Jill and Clive are sat on the bench he keeps in his chambers, wine goblets in front of them, candles flickering throughout the room. It looks romantic. He has his body turned to the door, but you can see Jill is leaning towards him, her hand on his thigh.

You can’t hear what they’re saying – their voices too low for that – but Jill leans forward then and you step back, not wanting to see what happens next. Your heart pounds – you’re tired, you know you’re so tired and upset and a failure and your mind spirals.

Clive is a lord and Jill is a lady – a proper lady – raised in the courts and beautiful and charming and sweet. You don’t dress as fine as she, your hair never sits as pretty, you’re incapable of holding yourself with the same grace she does. You’re coarse, you only learned your letters in the last few years of Hideaway living, struggling somewhat as you don’t practice as much as you should. There had been a handful of nights where Clive would lie besides you patiently as you tried to read aloud a couples of passages from a children’s storybook, for Founder’s sake. Jill could write and read fluently, a dab hand at needlework too…

Of course they belong with each other. They will always have a connection that you won’t, of a shared childhood. They’re Dominants and they spend so much time together, they’re a perfect couple and you’ve been deluding yourself that you could’ve ever had kept hold of his heart in the way you did.

Your chest feels tight. You need to get out of here.

There’s movement from behind the door then and you hurry down the stairs, pressing yourself into the corner, being obscured by the shadows. The door to the chambers open and Jill departs.

“Thank you, Jill, for everything.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek and bids him goodnight, walking down the stairs and heading out via the boarding deck to head down to her room. The door to the chambers closes and you sink down against the wall, cuddling your knees.

Why does your chest hurt so?

You don’t know how long you sit there, eventually clambering back up to your own feet, leaning heavily on the wall, and taking the long way back to your bunk through the forge and up via the atrium and across the bridge, thankfully not meeting anyone on your journey as you crawl into bed.

--

You don’t sleep well, if at all. Your mind whirling with thoughts of Clive and Jill – what had he meant when he had thanked her? Clive is the sweetest man. He’d never want to hurt you, even at the cost of his own heart, but loving someone is letting them go, isn’t it?

You give up on sleep just before dawn, heading up to the mess where you find Dorys, mulling over reports at one of the tables. She smiles, sadly, at the sorry sight of you.

“I did not mean for you to be up with the sun to hand in your report.”

“I just want it over with. There’s not much to report. We failed, we were hours too late to both groups of Bearers. I need,” you swallow, before correcting yourself, “We need to get back out there today to try and get a head start on the next. I’m sure there’s a pattern, or we can stage something or-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dorys.”

“No. You look awful. Did you even sleep?”

“I’m fine.” You reply, tersely.

“I disagree. I’m not letting you take out a group like this, let alone go out yourself. You will report to the infirmary and you will rest.”

“Really?” You can’t mask the incredulous tone of your voice.

“I’m surprised Clive didn’t say this to you already.”

Your heart skips at the sound of his name, but then Dorys frowns in realization.

“Wait, you came down from the bunks. Did you not see him last night?”

“It doesn’t matter where I slept!” You hiss, remembering to watch your volume at this early hour.

She gives you a hard stare. “If you won’t listen to me, I know you will listen to him. Go and see Clive before I drag you to him.”

You clench your fists in frustration, trying to steady your breath.

“Yes, Captain. I apologise. It was late, I did not wish to disturb him. I will go and report in now.” You spin on your heel and jog down the stairs to the boarding deck and towards the ale hall. The problem is, your frustration drives you until you reach the top of the stairs once more, the handle in your grip but then all you can remember is the scene of last night – how perfect the two had looked together…

It suddenly feels hard to breathe, a tightness constricting your chest, as if you can’t get your lungs to expand fully enough.

You need to get out of here, back into the fresh air.

You turn and stumble on the stairs, catching yourself on the banister.

“Hey, you all right there?” Gav’s concerned voice comes from below – he’d emerged through Blackthorne’s forge. He must be setting out on a scouting mission to be awake this early.

You look at him, trying to get a hold of yourself, force a smile and a word of reassurance, but you can’t.

Your legs give out under you and you sit down heavily on the stairs, still clutching on the banister. Your grip is weakening, the edges of your vision tinged with black. Why can’t you breathe? Are you so useless now you can’t even do that?

“Shit.” Gav races up the stairs, crouching down in front of you, eyes scanning to see where the injury is, because there must be one for you to be in such a state. “Clive.” He bellows in the direction of the chambers. “Clive!”

Heavy footsteps come from the chambers behind and you hear the door open behind you, that familiar gravelly, albeit sleep-tinged voice calling your name out with affection at first, but then again with alarm when he sees Gav’s face.

Gav stands up and back to allow Clive to take his place, before darting down the stairs, yelling something about how he’ll go fetch Tarja.

Clive cradles your face, asking you what’s wrong. He looks frightened, but that can’t be right. Why can’t you breathe?

He says something again to you, but the words don’t go in. All you can hear is how shallow your breathing has become. Tears line those stormy blue eyes you adore so much, the ones you could’ve spent staring into for hours. His mouth continues to move but it’s almost as if you were underwater, a ringing sound in your head, the black continuing to creep over your vision until the world disappears entirely.

--

The next conscious thought is that someone is holding your hand, rubbing their thumb back and forth over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm. Your chest still feels tight, but not as much as it did. You open your eyes and blink at the somewhat familiar ceiling of the infirmary.

“Thank the Founder you’re awake.” Clive says quietly, squeezing your hand.

You try to bolt up at his voice, but he places his hands on your shoulders and keeps you still.

“Easy, darling. You need to rest - please.” You’ve always found it hard to refuse him.

You nod and he smiles, letting go of your shoulders and readjusting the pillows to allow you to rest against a little more upright. “Here, drink.” He passes you a goblet of water from the bedside.  “I will fetch Tarja.”

You nod, taking it in trembling hands and sip the lukewarm water as he gets to his feet and heads around the curtain, soon returning with the red-headed physicker as you place the goblet back down.

“Good afternoon. You gave everyone quite a fright this morning.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tarja gives you a kind smile and takes a seat on the vacant bed. “Can you tell me what happened? Gav, Clive and Dorys have given me their side of the story.”

“I don’t know what it was. I just… I suddenly couldn’t breathe. It was like something was constricting my chest and I couldn’t get the air in.”

Tarja nods. “How had you been feeling before this occurred?”

“Fine.”

Clive and Tarja give you a disparaging look.

“A little tired, then.”

“Dorys told us you’ve been working exceptionally hard, and it has been a trying week.”

“Please, can we not speak of my failures?” Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart begins to pound again. “I’ll do better, I will…”

“Easy.” Tarja chides, leaning forward. “Take a deep breath, hold it, then release. Copy me.”

You do so for a couple of moments, feeling silly, but your chest loosens, your heart settling into a more comfortable rhythm.

“Better?”

“Mm. What’s the matter with me?”

“You’re exhausted, for one. You need to rest and properly look after yourself. You’re taking too much on your shoulders and this is your body’s way of repaying you. Your mind is overwhelmed." She paused for a moment, and nods to herself. "You’re relieved from the Cursebreakers.”

“But-"

“Listen to Tarja.” Clive pleads. “They will cope without you and when you are better, I promise you can resume your duties.”

You know you can’t get out of this, not with Tarja, Clive and Dorys all laying down the law.

You nod.

“Good.” Tarja smiles. “I’m going to brew you some tea and get you a hot meal. I will discharge you later on, all being well.”

“Thank you, Tarja.” Clive nods as the physicker gets to her feet.

“Thank you.” You repeat, softly.

Tarja retreats back around the other side of the screen and Clive takes hold of your hand once more, his brow still furrowed in concern.

“Dorys said you returned last night. Why didn’t you come to my chambers? I’ve missed you so.”

You look down at your lap. It would better to get this nightmare over with.

“I heard you and Jill.”

“Heard what?” He sounds truly puzzled.

“I came up to the chambers and the two of you were laughing. You sounded happy. And all I could think was when was the last time I’d heard you laugh like that? We hardly see each other. I’m always out with the Cursebreakers, and you’re always away with Jill.” He starts to protest, but you hold up your hand. “Please, Clive, it’s okay. I understand. Don’t… Don’t let me stand in the way anymore.”

“Stand in the way - what do you mean?”

“You and Jill are perfect for one another. I understand that you want to end whatever we’ve been calling this…“ You continue talking into your lap, afraid that if you look up you'll see relief in his eyes.

“Now, I admit I’ve been somewhat neglectful of you-”

“No, that’s not what-“

“Please, allow me to finish. I have, and that’s not fair. I desire nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you, but I have allowed myself to be consumed with the Mothercrystals and the nature of that does mean that Jill has been in my company as late. I can’t take you into an aetherflood, I won’t risk it.”

“Destroying the Mothercrystals is important.”

“It is, and though we are fighting so Bearers and Dominants and everyone can live on their own terms, we still must remember to live in the moments we have.” Clive presses his hand to the side of your face, placing his thumb under your chin and tilts your gaze gently towards him.

“I love you.”

“Clive…” Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“You, and only you, are the flame that burns within my heart. Earlier, when you spoke of your failures – what failures? You strive to be the best you can every day, darling. I see it, Dorys sees it, Jill, Gav, Otto, Charon – the whole Hideaway. You are passionate, hardworking, kind, considerate… You will have to forgive me as I am no scribe, but I could continue to wax on somewhat lyrically of everything I adore about you.” His face flushes red as he continues to hold your gaze.

“I love you – I do not tell you enough, I know I don’t – and I vow, from this moment onwards, I will make sure you know this every day.”

Your breath catches again, but not in the same way it had previously. You lean forward, allowing yourself to be fully enveloped in his arms and you sob into his neck – releasing the tension that has been building up within you for days.

He holds you close, rubbing his large palm on your back in comforting circles, allowing your anxieties to retreat under the surface. You know they will re-emerge at some point – it would be foolish to think they would not – but for now they settle.

“I love you too,” you mumble, gaining some composure after a period and pull back, wiping the tears from your face before kissing him, delicately. It is a gentle, reassuring kiss – perfect for the moment. Soft pecks against each other’s lips, before you nip his with your teeth ever so slightly.

He pulls back, pressing his forehead against yours. “Careful, my love, or you’ll make me lose my breath.”

--

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

[phantomrose96]

I love space and how extreme and fucked up it always in when viewed by the human level, and I thought many times about making a story like 938 Seconds Per Second, but I would always stop myself finding holes like "would the transported items even be valuable after so many years?" or "wouldn't the technology become obsolete at the exact moment it worked and years passed?" or "what about the ways language would have changed?" and you didn't allow details such as these to stop you. You didn't even gave them a spot in the story because it thematically ruins it, and now I am thinking "why am I not allowing myself to indulge the whole point of fiction?" and I feel something slowly unloxking within me. Also as a fan of fucked up physics and morals in sci-fi, loved the work!!!!

(938 Seconds Per Second)

See, here's the thing for me! Questions like that DO occur to me. It's part of thinking through the world-building. But for questions like that, unless they have a spot in the story it's MORE important, in my opinion, to instead answer: Does it detract from the story at all if I simply don't explore those? Is there anything about those questions that fundamentally breaks the story? Is it actually impossible for those to have answers?

"Would the items still be valuable?" If you mean in terms of the money amount that trades hands, I figure Entente money is pinned to an inflation-free peg. It can trade into local currency when it exchanges hands, but the Entente value is specifically inflation free, and specifically for workers dealing in time dilation. If you mean will the buyer still WANT the items after being shipped for so many years, sure there's speculation buying something you won't get for 100+ years. But I figure for intergalactic trade that spans light years, all their trade exists on these massive timescales. To have created this trade culture means there are cultures willing to wait out the time. The very foundation of their trade expects this exact thing.

"Wouldn't the technology become obsolete?" Keeping in mind the speed of light is still the fastest anything can move, you would NEED something like the ship to even get technology across the universe. So even if advancement is fast somewhere, spread is slow. These ships are probably couriers OF technology spread. And sure, probably a bunch of independent places independently advance their own technology, but the ship still docks down with some frequency between missions. Maintenance and upgrades can be done during any of those dock-down periods.

"Changing language?" Sure I bet language changes all the time. But for an intergalactic trade relation culture which has built itself upon immense time-gaps, they could easily have standardized to a specific, and non-changing, language standard. All legal documents are written in the common language, and as new items and concepts come into being they're given standard names. And then among regular people--translator masks. I gave the doctor one. The technology for that practically exists already today with google translate and text to speech, so it's very believable technology.

OKAY SO, ...were any of those answers actually super important to 938sps? Was 938sps harmed by not digging in to those...? I don't think so. Because none of this actually mattered to the core of the 938sps story. As long as none of these things presented glaring, unfixable plot-holes to the story, then I'm good. My answers to these questions might still be full of holes and what-ifs. Hell I probably could have answered any of these with "eh I dunno" and that still doesn't impact 938sps.

I think all of that leaves just a lot of runway and play-space to expand on the world presented in 938sps. But having any of those stop me from even putting down the first word? No, they don't matter.

[fountian-of-youth]

Entity/z- 013253

Name

Allo Bernila Dalisay nanol

Sex

Female

Gender preference

Male

Pronouns

He/him

Age

25

Race

Filipino

Personality

Snarky , sarcastic , sassy with hostile asshole behaviors but has been seen to be calm or tired at moments with a caring parental / brotherly love and soul . Basically tired dad 24/7

DNA/ mutations

Sea angel , tendril tongues , black fanged teeth and tail n wings

Ability

Hyper regenerative healing , breath under water , flexible , toxic

Weakness

physically the same as a human so easily hurt and damaged especially his tail and wings, a paper clip can slice through those. Basically Fragile body , eyes sensitive to bright lights or annoying flashing light, can't see well in the dark . Downside of healing super fast means he feels the pain of every fiber of his body being mended back which can exhaust him to passing out. He's easy prey if you catch him off guard only toxic when someone bites him or tries to eat his flesh

Appearance

5.2 with short dark chocolate hair , yellow eyes with slitted pupils , tan with hints of lighter skin tone around the face and hands. Round but slim jaw and lean body frame with slight muscle but mostly skinny frame. Wears typically dark blue hoody and pants n shirt , black vest strap , a belt with customized eye on it . Black face mask and a black hat with glowing parts that matched the glowing accents of his outfit and combat boots.

Family ties

Father (deceased , mother (deceased , brother (deceased ), aunts and uncles or related family (estranged/ deceased )

Criminal history

Hit n run , murder proven guilty after being sent to urban shade (innocent)

Sentence/jail time

20 years in jail , only served two before handed over to urban shade

Additional information

can do medic work and CPR / basic wound care , ASL , knows how to comfort and care for autistic spectrum kids/ people due to him being his brother's caretaker. Can sew clothes up too . Knows how to cook and clean really well

History

growing up allo was raised in a very pampered stern love in his family . His parents were never the best in money and had to constantly work to earn things either by selling things from his mum's side store below their apartment. Or from his father's jeepney business (think of buss but on a jeep all painted and sparkled out ) . When he was old enough to help out at age 12 his parents taught him sternly to keep the house clean and to cook so when the day ends the family can eat dinner together.

Most time dinner was just fish and rice they were able to get / buy. When he grew to be more older at 17 his parents slowly started to get better financial but still held stern to the way allo lived. Even asking allo to at least help out by working as a part time house cleaner. So when he earned money he can pay them for his school bills and such when really his parents were keeping the money safe to give to allo when he was an adult. Since allo wanted to get good money and always wanted to help his family when he graduated highschool. He went straight for medical school mostly nursing and health care where he learned to help kids out.

This lead to him earning good money once he graduated and plus with his parents giving his money back he was able to buy a home. A nice little tropical beach house in a cleaner part of his home. This was about the time allo's parents revealed they were gonna have another child. Which worried allo cause his mother was past birth safety but knew he couldn't speak out much.

After his mother gave birth to his brother there was some complications as during the birth a emergency c section was conducted . Now allo 's brother was healthy and ok when taken out but the doctors found out allo's mum had undiagnosed uteruses cancer.

Stage 3 ones. When allo's mum was patched up and the news given the family was left horrified as allo's mum had at most two years to live. But even with this allo mum was strong and helped the family stay positive. For the two years she lived allo helped his parents by staying with them for a bit to help with his mum's treatment and to aid in raising his baby brother. When his mother passed allo had to help raise his baby brother with his father.

When Leo (allo's brother ) was at age four another accident happened. Allo's father had a heart attack and passed away leading allo to getting sole custody for his baby brother. From there he discovered Leo's autism causing allo to raise and care for his baby brother with more care. He even learned sign learned sign language to help speak with his baby brother seeing him struggle with words when Leo was overstimulated.

For four years allo would raise his brother giving him nothing but love and care to help Leo express himself. Either by helping the kiddo swim at lakes and oceans to see the wildlife there . Allo was very cautious of box jelly fish due to the dangers and his brother's safety. To help his baby brother have a good childhood especially in the school he enrolled his brother in that helps kids like him understand society and some abilities to learn to work.

This came to end in a hit and run accident that acquired when allo was driving his car to take himself and Leo to the lake again since Leo wanted to see some fishes and swim in the hot summer days. A drunk driver that was driving same day and time as them hit the card from the side and sent the vehicles rolling to as top over the road.

The damage done and being directly impacted Leo passed away from his injuries when allo helped him out and tried to perform CPR to keep Leo alive. Since that incident he was sentenced to jail for two years before urban shade found him . When he was handed Over to urban shade later to try and retrieve the crystal.

The first time he was there Allo would do as urban shade wanted ie trying to get the crystal while avoiding the monsters. But the next day he knew he was forced to work with another expendable that showed up after him. During the two working to get to the crystal the other Expendable thought it would be funny to use a random dna container and syringe to inject allo with this "glowy stuff" . From there allo was mutated with the start being only his eyes and mouth . He did kill the other Expendable from the adrenaline rush from the painful transformation. From there he stayed hidden by wearing a scuba mask to be normal to other expandables. But a week later he would mark as dead due to the diving gear going off when he walked into a dead zone. He was marked as a wanted entity once urban shade spotted security footage of allo healing up after being nearly torn apart by the pandemonium.

[lacontroller1991]

Fluff/WhumpTOBER Day 16: Ernest Lawrence x F!Reader

Day 16: Yes, No , Maybe/Necrosis Masterlist Warnings: GA, social drinking, two idiots in love Word Count: 754

From the moment you joined Berkeley’s faculty, you knew that your life would change. The atmosphere was wildly different from the one back home. College students are found anywhere you turn, discussing their work amongst their peers. Even the faculty members all hold themselves in higher regards than where you’ve previously worked. One of those faculty members included Ernest Lawrence.

Tall, broad shoulders, neatly combed hair that shines under the sun, infectious smile, firm handshake, and smart. He’s a tall drink of water and 7/10 females on campus can’t help but to swoon when he gives them the slightest bit of attention, including you.

As the year grew on, you and him got close, closer than just fellow staff. What were small smiles in passing, grew into friendly greetings that would end in full conversations, grew into lunches with each other in his office, grew into full blown invitations to dinner parties at his house. Eventually, every time you stood anywhere near him, his hand would always briefly find yours, touches lingering a few seconds more. And you don’t know what to make of it.

----------

The chatter of people echoes in your ears as you weave your way through Oppenheimer’s house. It was another one of his bi-monthly house “meetings” that always turned into social parties. Tonight was no different. In most cases, you seek out Ernest, sticking to his side to avoid any other communication, instead choosing to engage with him over anyone else, but despite his tall stature, it sure is hard to find him.

“(Y/N), avoiding more people are we?” Robert questions with a smirk on his face, handing you one of his martinis. “I think I saw Ernest talking to a few people over there,” your eyes follow to where the physicist is pointing, easily spotting Ernest’s broad back facing you.

“Ah, thank you, Robert.” He nods his head with a smile before turning to another coworker, slipping into whatever conversation with ease as you walk towards your friend, your crush.

The sight in front of you causes you to halt in your movements. Facing him is a woman whom you’ve never seen, and she’s gorgeous. Painted red lips twist upwards in a smile that causes her eyes to twinkle. But what bothers you isn’t the beauty of the woman, it’s his hand gently resting on her bicep, words being softly spoken for only her to hear. Oh, so we don’t have anything. I was making everything up. He’s like that with every girl.

“Oh hey (Y/N)! I thought I saw you here. Want to join the conversation?” His voice snaps you out of your mental pity party. Downing the martini in one gulp, you offer a polite smile before turning on your heel and walking away, aware of the soft “excuse me” that he whispers to the woman, his footsteps chasing after you. “(Y/N), hold up.” It’s easy to find the door, and you’re thankful that Oppie keeps it open for anyone to come and go when they please, allowing you to slip out into the cool spring air. You need to get out of here and fast. “Hold up,” a hand gently grabs onto your wrist, pulling you into his body.

“What?”

“Why did you rush off? Are you feeling ok?”

Is he serious? “I’m fine. Sorry to disrupt your conversation. Didn’t want to intrude,” you forbid anger to rise to the surface, knowing that if it did, you’d just embarrass yourself. 

“I didn’t get to introduce you. That was Amy, my sister in law.” Wow, aren't I an idiot?

“Oh nice, sorry for running off. Needed some fresh air,” you attempt to chuckle, rubbing at the skin of your exposed arm, but he sees through it.

“Try again.”

Well, might as well. “Ernest, do you love me?”

“Ummm…” And here it comes. “Yes?” Wait. “No?” Well there goes your heart. “Maybe?”

Grabbing him by his biceps, you gently shake him. “Ernest. Pick one.”

He lets out a sigh, his head dropping as his eyes stare at his shoes for a second before looking back up to your waiting gaze. “Yes, yes I do.

“Oh thank God.” You push forward, standing on your tiptoes with your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself as you press a kiss to his lips. “I’m in love with you, Ernest.”

A goofy, dazed, smile plasters itself on his face as his hands fall to your hips. “It’s still early enough, wanna go get dinner?”

“Nothing sounds better.”

-fin-

@un-ionizetheradlab @anonymous-badger-238

[catofadifferentcolor]

Terrible Fic Idea #72: Game of Thrones, but make it rags to riches

For all being a bastard in Westeros is not ideal, being the acknowledged natural son of the Warden of the North is a pretty good life. Sure, your food and clothing may not be as good as your trueborn siblings and your stepmother may hate you, but it could very easily be worse. As with many things, the wealth gap makes a difference here too.

So naturally I thought: why not take that all away? Or: What if a female Jon Snow was raised by her mother's maid?

Aka: The People's Queen Fic

Just imagine it:

Lyanna is just that much more stubborn than canon. She manages to grin and bear it through the first few hours of labor, giving no sign to her captors she's about to give birth. She calls for her maid - Myria Sand, a Dornish woman only a few months older than herself - only when the urge to push becomes too much.

She gives birth in silence to a daughter, biting back all her screams until her lips and tongue are bloody. Even if it wasn't clear Lyanna had lost too much blood, she wants better than what Rhaegar had planned for the babe. Lyanna urges her maid to take the child and escape.

Ned arrives at the Tower of Joy to find the remaining Kingsguard burying his sister. Thinking they killed her to hide their prince's secret, he flies into such a rage his bannermen would later say it was as if the spirit of Brandon overtook him. He takes his sister's bones north without ever learning of the child she carried.

Meanwhile, Myria gets as far from the Tower of Joy as possible. She has no idea who the lady in the tower was, only that she was being held against her will and her captors called her Lya. She names Lya's daughter Lynesse, thinking the names are similar enough to honor the woman she barely knew, but who gave everything to protect her child, and eventually finds her way to Oldtown.

Myria takes up service at the Scribe's Hearth and raises Lynesse as her own. It's a hard life, but it's loving, and several of the apprentices dote on little Lynesse, passing her sweets and teaching her to read and draw and do sums.

One of those apprentices is another Dornish bastard, Olyvar - a man a little older than Myria whose father, Nymor Lyons, is a minor lord sworn to House Uller - who has earned six iron links studying bladesmithing. He ends up leaving the Citadel to become a swordsmith in Oldtown and marries Myria in the middle of the Greyjoy Rebellion. He never treats Lynesse as anything other than his own.

Life gets a little less hard after that, but it's still hard work. Lynesse helps as she can as she grows older, but in the end its her drawings - including beautiful, functional designs for hilts - that end up getting attention, especially after her stepfather starts incorporating them into his work.

Meanwhile, canon proceeds apace elsewhere. Jon Arryn dies, Ned Stark is beheaded, the War of Five Kings rages. Prince Oberyn is killed by the Mountain... and Olyvar's father, who was part of Oberyn's retinue, tries to kill the Mountain in revenge. This goes poorly, leaving Olyvar's aging grandfather, Lord Lyons, without an heir. Lacking other options, he recalls Olyvar home and starts training him for the position.

Olyvar is not a bad student, merely disinterested in things that aren't swords. Lynesse, however, eagerly soaks up everything that her grandfather has to teach - though her main interest will always be in drawing and sculpture.

After a few month's preparation, Olyvar and his family are presented to Prince Doran. It is a Cinderella moment without a glass slipper.

Doran takes one look at Lynesse, sees Stark, and the wheels in his head start turning so fast they smoke.

His son Quentyn takes one look at Lynesse and falls into immediate lust, but is gentlemen enough to realize that his attentions make her uncomfortable and so leaves off his flirtations fairly quickly. They end up falling into a conversation about blade design through the known world - and, somewhat amazingly given their backgrounds, end the event as friends.

Doran encourages Quentyn's friendship with Lynesse and suggests to Lord Lyons that his granddaughter might benefit from time spent in the Lady Myrcella's retinue. Meanwhile, Doran has his agents start researching Lynesse's background - and what he finds surpasses his wildest dreams.

But while that plays out, the War of Five Kings continues. It's less major battle and more general chaos, with rule of law stretching only so far as each local lord cares to hold it. Dorne is an island of peace amid the storm and is waiting for the moment Daenerys makes landfall.

No one is more surprised than Quentyn when he's told to go to Dragonstone and present Lynesse as the queen's niece - except for perhaps Lynesse herself. Daenerys is suspicious at first, but the evidence is convincing - and, more importantly, a female relative is less threatening to her claim to the throne and thus can be safely considered family. Once they get over the awkwardness, they become fast friends.

Daenerys carries out her reconquest of Westeros and is eventually crowned Queen. Lynesse remains her heir until such time as she has children of her own... which seems less and less likely as time goes on.

When Dany dies in her 40s after a riding accident, Lynesse is crowned queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She is, perhaps not as powerful a ruler as Dany, but she is competent and fair and aware of her own limitations, and surrounds herself with good advisors. The commonfolk adore her, and for this and her childhood she is often called The People's Queen.

Bonuses include: 1) A slow burn romance between Quentyn and Lynesse. This should characterized by immediate lust on Quentyn's part which turns into genuine love and affection as he gets to know Lynesse over the course of two or three years. His attentions should make Lynesse uncomfortable from the start, but his efforts not to pressure her are a pleasant change after years of being a nothing more than a pretty bastard. Her feelings for Quentyn grow slowly, and its not until Dany suggests she marry Willas Tyrell to secure the Reach that Lynesse realizes she's in love with her best friend; 2) A lot of emphasis on what it's like to grow up as one of the common folk, without the advantages being a lord's bastard might grant. This should continue to a lesser degree after Myria and Olyvar marry, but still be a lingering presence in the back of Lynesse's mind well into Dany's reconquest; 3) Swords. Just everything there is to know about bladesmithing, complete with Olyver's attempts to recreate Valyerian steel. He never quite succeeds even with access to dragons, but comes up with a variant of Toledo steel during the reconquest (called Lyons steel) that makes his house very wealthy; and 4) Lynesse always considering Myria and Olyvar her true parents, and honoring them above all others.

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you do.

Other Jon Snow Headcanons: Aelor the Accursed | Aegon the Adopted | Aegon the Undying | Aegon the Unyielding | Aemon the Adventurous | Baelor the Brave | Bastard of Winterfell | Daemon the Destroyer | Daena the Dreamer | Daeron the Desired | Dyanna the Defiant | Elia the Magnificent | Jon the Fair | Jon Whitefyre | King of the Ashes | Lady Arryn | Lady Baratheon | Lady Lannister | Lady Stark | Lord of the Dance | Maekar the Maester | People's Queen | Prince Consort | Prince of Summerhall | Queen Mother | Queen of Nightingales | Red Queen | Rhaegar the Righteous | River Queen | Shiera Snowbird | Visneya the Victorious | Wolf Queen

More Terrible Fic Ideas

[kyufessions]

three a.m

synopsis: your boyfriend, jiseok, catches you crying in the middle of the night

pairings: boyfriend! jiseok x g.n. reader

genre: angst w/ a comforting ending

warnings: mention of mental illnesses (depression + anxiety), reader mentions suicidal thoughts

word count: 1.9k

requested?: yes, angst prompt #27 - “i wish i’d never met you”

general taglist: @jwnghyuns @eaudenana @soobin-chois

xdh taglist: @dreamylogy @tentenharuno

a/n: please read with caution and remember to talk to someone if you are ever feeling suicidal or your mental health is declining. mental health is very important and speaking does help relieve some of those pent up emotions. please remember your life does matter and life eventually gets better. also, my messages are always open for anyone and everyone. stay safe please. ♡

it was three a.m., your boyfriend was fast asleep in your shared bedroom as you sat outside in the living room with your knees to your chest and a fuzzy blanket engulfing your body in warmth. the only way to describe how you were feeling was numb both mentally and physically. life had been too much for you within the past three weeks, your coping mechanisms and ability to work through your negative thoughts slipping past you. you had been dating jiseok for ten months, every single moment spent together was better than the last. but you couldn’t help but feel bad for faking your smiles for the past few weeks, the depression eating you up inside.

you were the type of person to not open up easily, and jiseok knew that better than anyone. slowly but surely, you did start to open up about him. but not about your deep struggles that you only withheld for yourself and your journal, but rather things that only scratched the surface of your problems. although untrue, you felt as if your personal issues were too bothersome and if you opened up about them to someone, you'd only bring that person down with you. deep down you knew that wasn’t true, but you were also scared that if you did open up he would leave. convinced you had too much ‘baggage’, you just kept your feelings to yourself which was ultimately causing the decline of your mental health.

there you sat, head laid upon your knees as you stared at the naked white wall across from you with your back to the couch. mind wandering to places it shouldn’t at such an ungodly hour. inside your bedroom laid jiseok, half asleep as he goes to throw his arm over your waist to bring you closer to him but being met with an empty space. eyes fluttering open, he quickly realized you were not there and sat up against the headboard. although he figured you were just in the bathroom or getting more water, something inside him told him to get up and look for you.

listening to his intuition, he puts on his slippers and opens the bedroom door to walk straight to the bathroom. but in order to get to the bathroom you had to pass through the hallway that showed a view of the living room, so as he was walking he noticed the top of your head leaking out from the corner of his eye. calling out your name with no response from you, he walks fast towards where you’re sitting and calls your name out once more as he gets closer to you.

upon hearing your name, your head shoots up in his direction with instant worry washing over you. “jiseok, baby” you mumble, your voice cracking from all the silent sobs you’ve been releasing for the past two hours. “why're you awake? are you okay?” grabbing his hand, you pull him down to you and cup his face in your hands. why was he awake at this hour? he has practice in a few hours, he should be sleeping peacefully right now.

his hands cover yours, placing them in his lap as he intertwines your fingers together. “why're you crying? what’s wrong?” he releases his one hand from yours, bringing it to your eyes and swiping away drying tears. the puffiness of your eyes gives away that you’ve been crying for a while, and the cracks in your voice confirm that for him as well. jiseok has never seen you cry, not even tears of joy. so catching you like this was heartbreaking for him. why wouldn’t you want to cry in the comfort in his arms instead of isolating yourself in the living room at this hour?

you nod, avoiding eye contact as he questions you. “i’m fine. i’m just, thinking a lot is all.” you stand up, letting go of his hands temporarily before making grabby hands at the man sitting on the ground. “come on, you have an early practice tomorrow. let’s get you to bed, im sorry.”

shaking his head, he hops up to his feet and instantly grabs your hands once more. but instead of walking to your shared bedroom, he stays put in front of you. “whyre you sorry? you have nothing to be sorry for.”

you bite the inner part of your cheek, taking in a deep breath before responding to your loving boyfriend. “i wish i’d never met you, jiseok.”

hearing his own heart break, he lets go of your hands and starts walking away without a word. although aware of the confusing situation that was unraveling before him, he couldn’t help but hear his own heart break as he grabs a jacket and left the apartment. all you did was stand there, mentally cursing at yourself as tears fell from your eyes at a rapid pace. as your body fell onto the couch behind you, you grabbed the fuzzy blanket from the floor and wrapped it around yourself as you stared up at the ceiling.

before jiseok knew it, his feet had carried him to the convenience store down the road that always stayed open till five a.m. grabbing some ramen and a peach drink, he quickly assembled his food and sat outside in the spring weather. he took his time as he ate, wanting to not go back to the apartment too soon since he was still trying to swallow what you had admitted to him. was that your way of breaking up with him? were you trying to tell him something you’ve been dying to get off your chest? he didn’t know how to react, so all he did was leave. he didn’t want to yell, he didn’t know how to respond, so he thought leaving everything to marinate in his thoughts away from the situation was better.

an hour passed without a word from your boyfriend, the hour now nearing five a.m. as you realize how long it’s been with no return, your anxiety starts to sky rocket. assuming the worst, you quickly shove some sneakers on and grab the apartment keys. without a second thought, you start running towards the convenience store you both frequently visited. from a distance, you can make out his messy hair and bunny slippers from anywhere. as he heard someone running towards him, his head shot up to see you running at him in emoji pajama pants and an old bleached band tee with no jacket.

“jiseok, what the fuck!” you yell from a distance, stopping right in front of him as his eyes widen in surprise. “you can’t just leave like that and not say anything. especially at this hour, what if something had happened to you?” you go to place your hand on top of his but frown as he pulls it away.

“why do you care?”

baffled at his response, you take a step back as he continues to sit on the bench with his cup of cold noodles almost finished. “i’m your partner, why would i not care?”

no words, just a roll of his eyes as he stands up and throws away his cup of ramen and drink. before he can walk away, you grab his arm gently and turn him around to face you. “i get you’re upset for whatever reason, but that’s no excuse to say what you did. i was only trying-“

“i know, i know.” you sigh, feeling your throat start to close but ignoring it. now was not the time to cry, especially not in public. “i didn’t mean it in the sense that you’re thinking. just,” you start walking to an empty bench, jiseok following behind in confusion but ultimately deciding to hear you out.

as you take a seat beside him, you start to open up about everything you’ve been feeling. “i wish i never met you because i once im gone, i'm going to feel bad for hurting you.” on the last word your voice cracks, eyes glossing over as they move from his to the grass below your feet. “i’ve just been so mentally unwell lately that i don’t know what i'm going to do to myself. im scared that one day i'm just going to say that i’ve bad enough and, do something to myself.” you bring your hand to his, fingers shaking as you intertwine his fingers with yours. “and i don't want you to go through the pain of dealing with someone like me, jiseok. i don’t want you to hurt, you don’t deserve to hurt.”

as jiseok listens to each word, he continually swipes away any tears threatening to fall from his eyes. how could he have not noticed you feeling this way? how could he not have realized how much you were hurting? “why didn’t you tell me sooner, 자기야?”

he watches the tears from your eyes fall into the pavement below, the darkening stains increasing with each passing moment. “i have too much baggage, i didn’t want you to leave me for having too many personal issues.” you intake a deep breath before meeting his eyes, your heart breaking at the sight of his hurt facial expression. “you’re the only joy i have, i didn’t want to lose that. i’m sorry for what i said, i never meant to hurt you and i sure as hell didn’t mean it. but jiseok,” as you bring a hand to his cheek, you can’t help but let out a small yet silent sob before finishing your sentence. “i’m so scared to hurt you if i ever leave.”

watching you crumble into a sobbing mess, your boyfriend wastes no time in bringing you against his chest to allow you to sob into him. he wraps his arms around you tightly as he nuzzled his face in your hair, allowing a few tears to fall as he holds back sobs of his own. “i’m not going anywhere,” he says before placing a kiss to your temple, pulling you away to make you look at him. even with your puffy face and bloodshot eyes, he still thought you were the most beautiful human to exist. “and you’re not either, okay? i’m here now, and i’m not going anywhere.”

holding out his pinky, you watch as he interlocks it with yours and places a kiss on your knuckle. “i want you to come to me whenever you feel like this, okay? please? even if i’m at practice, call me or one of the guys if it’s urgent. i will always answer and come home to you in an instant.” feeling his own throat close up, you watch a few tears escape his eyes as he lets out a chuckle at his own vulnerability. “baby, you are the most important person to me in this entire universe. i would do anything to keep you alive, no matter what it takes.”

as you walked home hand in hand, you finally opened up to jiseok about how you have been feeling. you confessed about your past and how it’s affected you up until now, about your depression and anxiety. when you both finally got into bed, he waited for you to drift off to sleep in his arms before texting his bandmates he wouldn’t be making it in today, using the excuse he didn’t feel too well. as the clock struck six fifteen in the morning, he finally felt his eyes get heavy and fell asleep to the sound of your almost inaudible snores that he couldn’t wait to fall asleep to for the rest of his life.

[fearhims3lf]

TIMING: Before the Parker Incident

PARTIES: @animotoph0bia @fearhims3lf

SUMMARY: Looking for an escape, Finn takes a walk and stumbles into the Vinyl Countdown, where Mateo shows him the wonders of punk music.

WARNINGS: None

A phone call with his mom always ended in one of two ways - she was almost too busy to be checking in and ended the call once she had confirmed her son was alive or, on days like today, she ranted. Finn got to hear about his sister’s trouble in school, his brother’s anxiety, how hard work was at the moment and how worried she was about her eldest living in another town. It was draining to say the least and the reason why those kinds of calls usually ended with Finn flopped on the bed, surrounded by smog and head spinning a little too fast. 

He’d finally resigned himself to a walk when the options had become that or having a small freak out in the apartment. Time passed in a blur, no real mission ahead except maybe finding something to eat at some point. In his easily distracted state, Finn found himself drawn to the sound of music, decent music even, filtering through an open door and muffling as soon as the door closed. Without hesitation he followed the sound, stepping into a store that thankfully wasn’t crowded. It was, however, filled with gorgeous vinyls, posters lining the wall and making this a feast for the eyes as well as the ears. 

Shuffling inside, his fingers traced over every singer and band name he recognized, heart filling with longing even though he had no actual means of playing these beautiful vinyls back in his shitty apartment. The adoration got halted for a moment as Finn was made aware of the sand-like texture in his mouth, backpack thrown off in a less than fluid motion as he began the search for a water bottle that he maybe probably had in there. 

—

The shop had been particularly slow, foot-traffic growing slower by the day as the goo around town made it harder for everyone to travel. Mateo groaned to himself, drumming his fingers on his chest as he leaned back in his chair idly. There were two customers, one older man with his son, nothing to really rush to. The older the customer was, the worse, because they knew exactly what they wanted and had no intention of venturing toward something that could actually enlighten them. 

“Hmm…” Mateo rocked the chair back and forth on the tips of the legs, contemplating whether or not to convince the boy to rebel and request some good music. “Eh…” He shrugged, brows rising at the sound of footsteps entering the store. “Welcome to the Vinyl Countdown, ask for my help if you need it, or don’t.” Propping his head on his palm, Mateo blew air through his lips, making a raspberry sound out of boredom. He scanned the newest customer, watching the other two leave without buying a damn thing. There was a roll of his eyes and he got up to walk around, leaning over the shelf to peer over it.

“Thirsty for some good music?”

The water bottle had finally been dug out, held victoriously in hands that were maybe struggling a little bit to work the cap, when a voice from nowhere startled him. It wasn’t from nowhere, of course, just the other side of the shelf but it was enough for Finn to drop it and then dumbly watch it roll away. “Shitfuck - I mean, yes. Or hi. Or yes to water and music,” he blathered, elegantly stretching his arm out for the rogue bottle, tilting some of the contents of his bag out in the process. 

Crouching down, dropping his bag to the ground before the rest of his belongings littered the floor, Finn stared at them as if wondering what to do other than simply pick them up. Getting up and just leaving did feel like a decent option right now. “This might take a while, can you, like, circle around and come back so I can pretend none of this happened?” he asked, finally looking up at the store clerk from his graceful position on the floor, noting that the guy looked… intimidating. Didn’t feel intimidating though but he didn’t feel like anything, which was to be expected since Finn could barely feel his hands at the moment. 

“You look like you’re supposed to be selling something other than music.” See, this is why we don’t go out amongst people in this state.

Okay, so the dude was jumpy and probably needed a good smoke by the looks of it. That wasn’t to say that his state of being was bad. Just a little ruffled and out of place. “I think I’ll stay right here. Make sure you don’t leave anything behind on the floor I cleaned this morning.” Was it rude to do that? Yes. Did the mare care? Not really. It was fun to be a little rude, and it wasn’t like the customer would die of embarrassment. Well, hopefully not. Mateo had learned Wicked’s Rest was capable of anything, and he really didn’t want to soil any good reputation the shop had accumulated.

Laughing at the remark, Mateo rolled his eyes and looked at himself. He wasn’t sure if he was offended by the comment or not. He needed to talk a little longer to really get a read on the guy. “Is it the battle vest? The tattoos? Or my mug?” He tilted his head back, putting on his best macho vibe. If Mateo had really wanted to, he could probably intimidate the guy, especially with how lost he seemed, but sales needed to be made and punks to be recruited.

“Regardless, I’m here to get music in your hands. I can probably throw a little extra in there, but that depends on your music taste.”

Honestly, fair. Finn probably wouldn’t have left himself alone under normal circumstances so the store clerk had the right idea. “Guess I’m thankful I’m not dragging myself along a dirty floor,” he muttered to himself, finishing the job of finally gathering up his belongings with dark eyes boring down on him. Backpack zipped up safely and thrown over his shoulder, Finn finally got to his stupid feet, bottle of water crinkling in his hand as the guy laughed. Angry? Offended? Amused? Fuck, it was hard to tell. 

Shrinking into himself slightly, Finn still took the question very seriously, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought before two syllables finally made their way out, slow and dragged out. “Haircut,” he decided was an appropriate answer for some reason, one finger wagging in the vague direction of the guy’s head. “Also just the whole ‘fuck everything’ vibe which…” He gave a thumbs up, the gesture genuine even though he probably looked like an idiot. 

The temptation to leave was still rearing its head but it seemed the guy had a sale to make and honestly, wasn’t that the least Finn could do after interrupting the poor man’s whole day and maybe offending him? Uncapping his water and downing more than half of it, Finn finally nodded. “Yeah, yes. Music sounds good. Music taste is… fluid. And I most definitely do not have a vinyl player?”

Yeah, the dude needed to relax, and maybe that was a little Mateo’s fault for several reasons. Most of all, he was doing it on purpose. It was funny, and besides selling a single vinyl so far, that was the most fun Mateo had had all day. He continued his mischievous smile and watched and waited, holding back another chuckle as the gentleman in front of him let his anxiety win over. At least he liked the vibe Mateo was giving off, which meant his opportunity at making a big sale full of the music he adored was broadening. 

“Well I most definitely live by ‘fuck everything’ and ‘fuck authority,’ so I’m glad I give off that energy.” Mateo grinned and as he listened to what his anxious customer liked and lacked as far as music went, an idea began to spark. There was money to burn in his pocket, and if he could push something other than Taylor Swift out and get more people listening to something like Public Enemy. ‘The real shit,’ Mateo calls it. 

“Tell ya what,” The mare bounced his brows playfully and gestured for the young man to follow. “Don’t even worry about the record player. I’ll cut you a deal.” Mateo spoke as he walked the pair to his favorite section and plucked out the album, Black Dots by Bad Brains. He placed it adoringly into the system, moving the tonearm over for the music to burst to life on the speakers. First the gentle static, then the playful bass, and then finally, the drums. Mateo bobbed his head along, smiling. “Now, you won’t be getting a system like this, but the sound will be just as quality. And better yet, this album was peak punk back in the day. Not to mention, they’re a black punk band. They did punk the best, and you can hear the history in the sound.”

Lucky for Finn, it seemed people with anarchist vibes quite enjoyed being called out on said vibes, the shopkeeper grinning wide and maybe only a little bit at the empath’s expense. “You are very on brand, then.” Bullet seemingly dodged, Finn nodded dumbly at the mention of a deal and shuffled along behind the smiling man. Already wondering how many extra jobs he would have to scrape together after inevitably spending money he didn’t have here purely because saying no at this point would be way too awkward. Well, not purely, he did like the idea of listening to music on something other than his laptops tinny sounding speakers. 

Eyes trailed the unassuming looking record cover as it was pulled out, the band name not ringing any bells in particular. It was fitting though - ‘bad brains’ sounded like a good description for a soundtrack to Finn’s life. Sound started to filter through the speakers before Finn could voice that very astute thought to the shopkeeper, head tilting further and further with each introduction of a new instrument. It was loud, brazen - the kind of shit sixteen year old Finn would have loved to blast back at the family house to annoy his mom on one of her ‘more controlling than usual’ days. 

The hand not clutching the water bottle tapped distractedly against his thigh to the chaotic beat, mind jumping from the notes to the words, gaze focused on the spin of the record. Snapping back into his environment as the low voice cut through the music, Finn turned his attention back to the shopkeeper. “I’m not even going to pretend to know the different sorts of punk but… yeah. Hell yeah.” He held out a hand for the vinyl cover, flipping it over to look at the back and huffing out a small laugh at the song titles. “They’re great.” He couldn’t have pretended not to like it even if he’d wanted to, head subconsciously bopping along, small smile curled on his lips as the record rolled into the next song. An even more aggressive guitar strum surrounded the pair, filtering through Finn’s entire body, making him excited to blast these guys in his headphones at a volume that would threaten his hearing permanently.

Victory in sales wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it always felt like there was a scale, always on the verge of tipping in any one direction. Mateo often found it shifting in his favor, but nevertheless, it was always a relief to not pivot toward failure. “Now, these guys are from back in the day, ‘bout…seventies. Late seventies, I think.” Holding a finger up to ask for a moment, Mateo sifted through more records, chuckling triumphantly as he found the two other records he was looking for. 

“This album is a little old, but a little more recent, and they released a single two years back. Good shit honestly. Look ‘em up on whatever you listen to music with, but you gotta get this album, too.” He presented Hearts of Hoodlums by Whole Wheat Bread, spinning it between opposite corners. There was just one final album Mateo wanted to find, and it was only a section over. With a smile, he reached over and slid it out of the array of other records, planting it on top of Hearts of Hoodlums. “Teen Mortgage just came out with their self-titled album last month, and it’s bomb as hell. Punk revival at its finest.” 

He puffed his chest victoriously just before removing Black Dots from the player and returning it to its sleeve. When it joined the rest of the pile, Mateo placed them all in Finn’s hands and walked away to retrieve a player he’d refurbished from a storage closet. It was an older Crosley turntable he’d found that only had a few frayed wires and needed a needle replacement. After that, it was good as new, and it even still had the original box, which Mateo presented when he returned. “Thirty bucks and all of this is yours. I fixed up that turntable so it’s no big deal to pay what it was worth before. Just pay for those sweet records and spread the good word of punk.”

Finn let the music bleed into him as the clerk rifled through records, actually appreciative of the fact that there were no outside emotions spoiling the experience. Sure, a thought had passed through the semi functioning portion of his brain that so far, no emotions meant vampires but this was public and in broad daylight. Besides, eating your customers was far from a good business model. 

Nodding along as the clerk’s excitement grew with every pulled record, Finn realized this is what people normally meant when they talked about infectious excitement. The passion held for the music being displayed was hard to ignore and it definitely made the empath curious to listen. A change of pace from making a fool out of himself and applying that the guy looked like he should be a thug for hire, but a good change. Returning the genuine smile that somehow softened the man’s harsh edges, Finn couldn’t even be bothered to worry about how much money he was about to lose. “Look, the only music recs I’ve ever gotten are from my younger sister so I am putting my faith in you completely.”

The records felt nice in his hands - maybe shit like this would make the apartment at least semi less depressing. Speaking of stuff that would liven up the apartment… “Oh, dude. That’s so dope. Pretty sure my dad might have had something similar now that I think about it.” And consequently, Finn made sure to not think about it. Running a hand over the slightly frayed edges of the box, his head whipped up as it came to the payment part of the sale. “Wait, seriously? I mean, I can totally pester people about good music like nobody’s business but… are you sure?” 

Sale tactic or not, this definitely felt like a nice gesture. 

—

When a younger sister was mentioned, Mateo couldn’t help but think of his own back home. How most childhood afternoons were spent picking music and ragging on each other’s tastes. They’d skip songs, yet spend hours dancing or head banging around the room before their parents were home to tell them to turn the “noise” off. Then when it was quiet, they would make mixes, blending the music they were just making fun of because music held value, and the currency changed from person to person. 

To this day, Mateo still held on to a good handful of those old cds, and he softened with a swallow as he thought of those memories, almost thankful for the babbling idiot that was now a bit more composed than before. He chuckled, mostly to himself, but also because it was an appropriate reaction to mask the tenderness he was experiencing. “Ayo, don’t knock her tastes too quickly. Guarantee there’s at least one banger in there.” With a smug but friendly shrug, Mateo patted the records. “But…putting your faith in me is a smart move. C’mere.” He took all the items and led the two to the register, scanning each one as a mixture of reverence and awe washed across the customer’s face. That’s when Mateo knew he’d not only made a sale, but also helped someone truly listen to the message of punk. Passion, freedom, and expression. 

“I’m serious, chico. Like I said, found that thing and fixed it pretty easily. Not losing anything on it, and if it plays these records, that’s all the payment I need.” With a passionate rocker horns gesture, Mateo wrapped the records and placed them on the turntable’s box. “So gimme that thirty bucks and scram to listen to these. Oh, and, uh…” He plucked a logo sticker from the stack and planted it on top of everything. “Don’t forget to come back for another hit.”

It was hard to remember why exactly Finn had been so intimidated by the guy before. Okay, maybe not hard - he was confident and had a buzz cut and maybe looked a tiny bit scary in that way his sister definitely would have fawned over - but definitely silly. Not to say he’d want to pick a fight with the guy but in the setting of discussing music, the clerk was easy to talk to. “If there is, she’s not sharing them with me,” Finn sighed, following obediently to the register and bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Right! Yes, payment.” The traitorous bag was pulled off his shoulder, this time with less incident, and the crumpled bills dug out from a zipped pocket. Finn was sure he’d probably been saving that money for something but whatever it was, this literally felt more important. Maybe just a tiny bit because he wanted this guy to like him but mostly because of the music. Bills exchanged for the purchase, Finn scooped the stack into his arms with a smile. “For sure. Next job that doesn’t pay like crap, I’ll swing by straight after. Which, by the way, you ever need a coder for anything, I owe you one.” He raised the new, prized possession in his arms to cement the point before adding, “and also for not kicking me out for being an idiot.”

Starting to backtrack towards the door, careful with the record player because at the very least, he wasn’t going to break it in front of the guy that had literally just fixed it up, Finn gave a tiny wave. “See you, then. And, right, I’m Finn, if you need coding. And I am leaving now. So, uh, punk rock and all that.”